The rumble outside the sanctum had settled into an eerie stillness.
Only the low hum of the machinery remained, siphoning the last dregs of energy from whatever cosmic mess Rod had unleashed.
Rick hunched over a floating holo-table, one finger spinning a galaxy-shaped projection in lazy circles
"Alright," he muttered, "hypothetically—if we piggyback the omega array's quantum signature off my portal gun's zero-point frequency, we might be able to ping Diane's… uh… soul address.
Assuming souls have an address, which—"
"They do," Rod cut in.
He lounged against the table like it was a bar counter.
"Fourth-dimensional residue. Everyone's got one. Like a MAC address, but way harder to spoof."
Rick squinted.
"Right. So we tether the retrieval node to the chrono-psychic anchor and—"
"—feed it into an entangled loop with the omega core," Rod finished.
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
They both stood there a moment, staring at the floating projection.
"This might actually work," Rick said.
"Might? No," Rod shot back. "Will."
Rick jabbed a finger at him.
"Okay, Mr. Omega-Device—you're forgetting we're trying to un-erase a person from infinity except one copy without getting a copy-paste error.
We're walking a fine line between 'Diane's home' and 'Congratulations, you've summoned an eldritch librarian that eats time.'"
"I accounted for that," Rod said.
"You forget who you're talking to, old man."
"Oh yeah," Rick said dryly.
"My other kid genius who rewrote the multiverse for shits and giggles."
Rod grinned, entirely unbothered.
They dove back into the data, their conversation turning into a barrage of equations and jargon, like a verbal knife fight only they could survive.
"…and then we just need to amplify it through a dual-phase nexus bridge," Rod said.
"Uh-huh," Rick replied, already calculating.
"Which means we need…"
They both said it at the same time.
"The damn sub-chroniton regulators."
Rick slapped his forehead. "You mean the ones I sold to a death-worshipping flea cult for booze money?"
"And the biospheric tuner from the nanoforge on Neo-Alpha," Rod added.
"Great. And the emotional calibration crystal from—oh hell no. Not going back there.
Last time, I got turned into a soap opera subplot."
Rod smirked. "You're going back there."
Rick groaned. "Alright, fine. But if we can portal anywhere instantly, why are we even talking about logistics?"
Rod hesitated, his eyes flicking sideways. "Because… I need to talk to Beth."
Rick tilted his head. "Why? You got a death wish?"
"You remember how she was as a kid. Absolute menace," Rod said.
"She couldn't even come with us most of the time 'cause you and I agreed she'd… well, destroy everything.
But I dropped by sometimes, before I got erased. Hung out with her and Mom.
We were close, okay.
She saw me as her older brother—the big meanie devil keeping the little devil in line."
Rick leaned back.
"Yeah. I remember. In some universes, you two caused more trouble together than apart."
Rod laughed. "Exactly. And that's why she's probably freaking out now, getting memories of me back after all this time. I owe her an explanation."
Rick waved him off.
"Cool. You handle the family soap opera, I'll grab the missing toys.
Saves me from a lecture on parenting I don't wanna hear."
Rod chuckled. "Alright. When you're done collecting the stuff, meet me in the living room. I'll be there, getting roasted by the little devil."
Rick snorted. "You're screwed, kid. You made your bed—now you get to sleep in it while Beth lights it on fire."
Rod shrugged.
"Eh, I think she'll go easy on me. She's… different now. Without me around, she's more mature. Probably the kids. Anyway—see ya, old man."
With a flick of his hand, a swirling yellow-orange portal erupted, casting them both in its glow.
Rick raised his flask in a lazy salute.
"See ya, kid."
Rod stepped through, gone in a flash.
The sanctum fell silent again, save for the steady hum of the machines.
Rick stood there a moment longer, eyes fixed on where his son had been.
"…we can't screw up this time, Rod," he murmured.
---
The yellow-orange portal spat Rod into the Smith living room with a hiss and a ripple of static.
The place looked the same as always — messy in that "this is actually organized chaos" way, half-empty cups on the coffee table, a TV paused on some trashy true-crime doc.
Beth sat on the couch, legs crossed, a glass of red wine in hand. She didn't look surprised.
(Beth's image)
"Hey, stranger," she said, like he'd been gone for a week instead of wiped from existence.
Rod raised a hand. "Little devil."
Beth's eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that."
"You loved it."
She didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on him like she was counting the atoms in his face.
"So… you're real."
Rod grinned. "Depends on your definition. I could be a quantum ghost sent to gaslight you into—"
"Yeah, save it," Beth cut him off.
"You disappear for years, drop in unannounced, and expect me to be all… what? Happy?"
"I was hoping for… let's call it 'cautiously ecstatic.'"
Beth leaned back, swirling the wine.
"You know, I used to be jealous of you. Dad always let you go on the cool adventures. I got stuck here, babysitting reality like a chump."
Rod tilted his head. "You say that like you didn't terrorize half the neighborhood before you were ten.
And if I remember it correctly, I'm the only one that sometimes bring you to adventure without mom and dad knowing."
Beth leaned back in the pilot's chair, boots kicked up on the console.
"You realize you nearly got us killed back there, right?"
Rod, still picking sand out of his hair, shot her a look.
"Oh, sorry, princess. Next time I'll let the radioactive sandworms politely ask if they can eat us."
"Yeah, because insulting them worked so well," Beth said, her eyes scanning the navigation feed.
"You told their leader he looked like a discount spaghetti monster."
Rod smirked. "He did. And guess what? Discount spaghetti monsters are still terrifying when they have teeth."
Beth rolled her eyes but didn't hide the grin tugging at her lips.
"You're lucky I had the plasma cutter. Again."
"Oh yeah, thanks for saving my life. Again."
He glanced at her. "You keeping score?"
"Obviously. I'm up to seventeen rescues. You're at… what? Negative three?"
Rod raised an eyebrow. "Negative three?"
"Yeah, I'm counting the times you almost got me killed. Which is most of them."
He leaned back, unbothered. "Look, near-death experiences build character."
"They build horse shits," Beth shot back.
"And trauma. You're practically a walking trauma generator."
Rod grinned, not even trying to defend himself. "Admit it though… you'd be bored without me."
Beth didn't answer immediately. Instead, she flicked a few switches, setting their course.
"Maybe. But one of these days, you're gonna run out of luck."
He shrugged. "Then we'll make our own."
Beth finally looked at him, her smirk softening for half a second.
"Seventeen rescues, Rod. Don't push for eighteen."
Rod's smile faltered, but only for a heartbeat. "Fine. But next time, I'm saving you."
"Sure," Beth said, turning back to the console. "I'll let you know when the universe freezes over."
Her mouth twitched — almost a smile.
"Still. Then Mom died."
The words hit heavier than the wineglass she set down.
"And I started… appreciating what I had with her. The time. The stupid inside jokes. The way she'd… you know."
She gestured vaguely, like the word was stuck in her throat.
Rod's grin softened. "Yeah."
"I think I actually spent the most time with her, though," Beth said, her voice quieter now.
"Not counting the years that motherfucker little omega-device stunt scrambled almost all my memories of mom."
Rod winced. "That wasn't—okay, it was partly my fault, I make it worse... I think. But hey, I'm here now."
Beth's eyes sharpened. "Are you?"
Rod smirked. "What's with the interrogation? Afraid the replacement older brother comes with a warranty?"
Her lips curved into something more dangerous. "Not afraid. Testing something."
There was a subtle click — too quiet for anyone without his engineered hearing.
Beth's right hand had dipped just under the armrest, fingers curling around the grip of a compact sniper rig hidden in a false panel.
Rod barely had time to register the flash before a thin, burning lance of red light drilled into his chest.
The beam fizzled out, absorbed into his skin like a drop of water on hot metal.
Rod glanced down at the faint scorch mark on his shirt. "Huh."
He looked back up, almost grinning. "Okay… not cool, little devil."
Beth's expression didn't change. "Oh, you're not build like Dad."
"Nope," Rod said, still staring at her, "and I don't wanna be. I like being human… just not regular human."
He tapped his chest. "Bio-engineered, top to bottom. No cybernetics. No cold steel. All me."
Beth's eyebrow arched. "So you can't die?"
"Not easily. But that's not the part that's got me worried."
Beth tilted her head. "Oh?"
Rod's smile stretched wider, something between amusement and warning.
"Because the girl who pulled a sniper on me in her own living room? That's the little devil I remember. And if she's coming back… oh man."
He chuckled, low. "…now that's gonna be fun."
Beth's eyes narrowed. She leaned against the workbench, twirling a small plasma scalpel between her fingers.
"So, what's the point of you again, Rod? I mean, besides being a walking human parrot."
Rod smirked, pulling on a pair of cracked gauntlets that hummed with unstable energy.
"The point of me? I'm the upgrade you never knew you needed.
The feature pack your dad never bothered installing in you because he was too busy… what?
Drinking and ignoring your birthdays?"
Beth flicked on the scalpel. The blade hummed, bright blue.
"Careful. I've carved steaks bigger than your IQ with one of these."
Rod stepped sideways, scanning the cluttered garage. His hand darted out, snatching a spherical drone off the shelf.
"Funny, because I've reprogrammed murder drones for breakfast."
He tossed it into the air and it came alive, aiming its targeting laser right at her forehead.
Beth sighed, pressed a button on her belt, and a hard-light shield flared to life just in time to deflect the drone's pulse blast. The impact rang like a church bell in her ears.
"You seriously bringing garage toys to a grown-up fight?"
Rod grinned, pulling a small metallic cube from his pocket and twisting it.
The cube unfolded like origami, snapping into a spidery mech no bigger than a toaster.
Its legs scraped the floor as it skittered toward her.
"Oh, you're cute," Beth said, kicking it like a soccer ball into the wall.
It exploded into harmless glitter.
"Is this how you test people where you're from, or do you have commitment issues in every multiverse?"
"Testing you?" Rod ducked as she hurled the plasma scalpel at his head — it embedded itself into the wall, still humming.
"Nah, this is foreplay."
Beth barked a short laugh and vaulted over the workbench, tackling him into a pile of scrap.
"Foreplay, huh? You kiss your alternate dick with that mouth?"
They rolled, knocking over a shelf of fluid canisters. One burst, splattering neon sludge across the floor.
Steam hissed where it touched metal, and the smell was sharp and chemical.
Rod shoved her off and grabbed a junky pulse rifle.
"Tell me you've at least shot one of these before."
Beth wiped the sludge off her sleeve and grabbed a handheld grav-inverter from the floor.
"Tell me you've ever fought someone who actually wanted to win."
The next thirty seconds were chaos — blasts of inverted gravity flipping them into the air, Rod firing wild shots that vaporized entire chunks of wall, Beth using debris as cover and lobbing magnetic grenades that dragged his rifle out of his hands.
When the smoke cleared, they stood panting in opposite corners, hair singed, clothes scorched, both grinning like idiots.
"Not bad," Rod said, brushing off soot.
Beth adjusted her ponytail. "Not bad yourself. I give you… a solid six out of ten."
He raised an eyebrow. "Six? After all that?"
She smirked. "You want a seven, you'll have to survive the next round."
Then, Beth clung to him like she was trying to fuse their bones together, her nails digging into his back. Her sobs were hot against his neck.
"You big mean devil… how dare you erase my memories of you…"
Rod's arms tightened around her. He let out a long breath, his voice low, almost guilty.
"It's an accident, little devil. I couldn't convince the old man I'm real unless I could bring the memories back, y'know… I'm sorry, okay?"
Beth sniffled and nodded, her face still buried in his shoulder.
Her breaths came uneven, a messy mix of relief and lingering hurt.
The door creaked open.
Summer stepped into the living room, took one look, and her jaw nearly hit the carpet.
(Summer's image)
In her teenage brain, the alarms went off like a fire drill.
'Mom's having an affair!? In our living room!?'
"MOOOOOM! WHAT'RE YOU DOINGGG?" she screeched.
Beth jerked her head up, tears streaking her cheeks.
She wiped them away with the heel of her hand, then turned toward Summer with a look halfway between annoyance and amusement.
"Summer, why are you screaming now? Oh—" she grabbed Rod's arm and tugged him forward "—here's your uncle.
Call him Uncle Roderick… or whatever he wants you to call him. He's my older brother."
She smiled through the remnants of her tears.
Rod raised one hand lazily in greeting. "Yo, Summer."
Summer's eyes went wide. "Say what now?"
Summer's eyes darted between them, suspicion twisting her face.
"Older brother? Since when do you have an older brother? You never mentioned him. Like… ever."
Beth pulled away from Rod and swiped at the last of her tears, forcing a casual grin.
"Since always. You were too busy with your phone and teenage drama to notice I had a life before you, sweetie."
"That's not an answer."
Summer crossed her arms, glare locked on Rod. "And why were you two… hugging like that? That was way too… emotional."
Rod leaned back against the couch, grinning like he'd been caught stealing cookies instead of resurrecting lost memories.
"Because your mom missed me. A lot. Long story. Includes dragons, storms, angry villagers, and one really ugly fish monster. You had to be there."
Summer blinked. "Dragons?"
Beth smirked at him. "Don't start with the dragons. You'll have her convinced you're some kind of wizard."
"Please," Rod said, smirking wider, "wizard's an insult. I'm way cooler than a wizard.
Ask your mom about the time we crossed that canyon with—"
"Nope," Beth cut in, waving her hands.
"Not telling her about the canyon. Or the waterfall. Or the time with the—"
"—flaming goat?" Rod supplied helpfully.
Summer's jaw dropped. "Flaming what now?"
Beth gave her daughter a stern look. "Don't encourage him."
Rod threw his hands up in mock defense. "Hey, the goat lit itself on fire. Totally not my fault."
Summer was still staring like she couldn't decide if she'd walked into a soap opera or a fantasy novel.
"Okay… you two have some explaining to do. Because right now, this sounds insane."
Rod winked. "Oh, kid… we haven't even started."
Before the conversation proceed further, Morty wandered in, looking vaguely lost.
(Morty's image)
"Uh… hey, has anyone seen Rick?"
Rod's face shifted instantly—serious gone, grin back.
Rod looked up, lazily interested. "That'd be a supply-run, probably. Who's asking?"
Morty blinked. "Me. Wait—who are you?"
Rod pushed himself off the couch, folding long legs over the coffee table.
"Roderick Sanchez. Call me Rod. I'm Beth's older brother. Your uncle. Hi my dumb but adorable nephew!"
Rod's eyes flicked briefly toward Jerry, then back to Morty.
Internally, he was already sighing. How could two kids be so smart and so dumb at the same time?
At least they weren't too dumb—Morty had his moments, and Summer had practically become the household's backup plan whenever Rick's crap blew up in his face.
Just like Beth had been for him and Rick.
Morty's face contorted through a dozen emotions in a second: confusion, suspicion, awe.
"U—uncle? Like… your uncle? My uncle?"
He stepped forward, voice on a nervous tilt. "So you're—like—Rick's son? That—"
He flailed. "Did Rick have another kid I never heard about? Where have you been?
Are you alien? Are you cool? Do you like video games? Can I—"
Rod let him babble, amusement slowly curving his mouth. When Morty finally ran out of oxygen, Rod gave him a single, slow nod.
"Yep. Kinda. Long story. Not the kind you want to binge before breakfast."
Jerry, who'd been hovering in the doorway with a box of soggy cereal, overheard enough to go full human thundercloud.
(Jerry's image)
"Beth—who is this man? Who let this stranger into our house? This is not how I—" He straightened, chest puffing.
"I think you should be careful."
Rod's grin evaporated. He sat up, his posture folding into something clinical.
He pivoted, planting elbows on his knees, eyes drilling into Jerry like a tax auditor about to read your bank statements aloud.
"All right, Jerry. Tell me about yourself. Job. Daily routine. Hobbies. Any criminal record? Parenting philosophy—short version."
Jerry blinked, thrown. "W-well, I work in sales. I… I do presentations. I like hiking sometimes. Criminal—no. Parenting philosophy is—well—"
Rod's face shuttered into mild disappointment before he cut in.
"Right. Marketing. Mostly rebranded content." He straightened, sighed theatrically, then glanced over at Beth.
"Whatever, Beth. I support whoever you wanna be with."
His tone landed somewhere between fatherly and half-mocking. "Just ping me when you're ready to divorce him—I'll grill this motherfucker on Mount Fuji."
Beth burst out laughing, the sound half-tears and half-relief. "Rod!" she gasped, wiping her eyes. "You ass."
Jerry's face went red. "Hey! I am not—" He glanced down, then up, and caught himself staring at Rod's broad shoulders and easy lean.
His posture softened like someone remembering they're supposed to be the grownup.
He muttered under his breath, a half-complaint, half-prayer: "Keep calm, Jerry. Keep calm. He's your new in-law that come from no where."
Morty, still orbiting, didn't process any of that maturity.
He shuffled his feet, eyes huge. "So… you're actually my uncle? Like for real?"
He looked to Beth for confirmation as if she'd been hiding a holiday surprise.
Rod's expression warmed in a rare, human crease. He leaned forward with a goofy, conspiratorial grin.
"Yes, Morty. Rick should be back soon. We've got… work. Wanna come? Could be fun. Could be traumatizing. Your call."
Morty's brain tried to assemble the concept. "Huh. W-work, what kind of work, Rod?"
Before anyone could answer, the living room ripped with a familiar crackle.
Rick folded through a portal, coat smoking, flask in hand, the exact picture of chaotic apathy.
He froze, took in the assembled family, and let the look fall across Rod like a scalpel.
"Oh good," Rick said, voice flat and dangerous.
"A family reunion I didn't RSVP for. Who invited the scenic sweater catalog? Who brought the guest who looks like the part-time villain on a soap opera?"
Out stepped Rick, covered in grime and holding a metal case that hissed faintly.
"Alright," Rick said, brushing ash off his lab coat. "Got the last piece. Now we can finally call Diane. You're ready, kid?"