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Mordecai and Rigby really didn't mean to hurt Pops. He was just so good at wrestling that they forgot that he's still an old man. And now they're stuck on watch to make sure Pops doesn't get hurt even more. Pops is great and all but Mordecai just wants to go to RR Wrassle Frassle VII.
Rigby groans from his spot next to Mordecai - in a sleeping bag by Pops' bed - and complains quietly, "Dude this blows."
"I know man, but what about Pops? We can't just leave him," Mordecai huffs, trying to be responsible even though it really just sucks.
"Dude it's fine. He's totally asleep," Rigby shimmies out of his sleeping bag and stands next to Pops' bed, quietly calling out to the old man, "Pops? Pops? Hey Pops?"
He waits for a moment and when Pops doesn't respond he turns back to Mordecai, "See? He's totally asleep. Now come on let's go."
Mordecai looks at the lump of Pops' head on the bed. Pops doesn't move. Mordecai hesitates for only a second longer, then nods, shimmying out of his own sleeping bag, "Yeah, alright. Let's go."
They scamper out of Pops' room quietly. As they sneak through the house and out the front door Mordecai realizes something. He stops just atop the house stairs, looking out at the dim park, "We don't have a way to get there. The cart is still in the shop."
Rigby grins at him, offering up a hand, "Wayyyy ahead of you."
Mordecai grins back at him and grabs Rigby's paw, tangling their fingers together, tangling their very beings together. It never gets old, the feeling of fusing. There's no way to describe it, not really. Everything they are and everything they've been to each other culminating into something of its own.
Mikey tilts his head back and takes a deep breath, the chill soothing his lungs even as it fails to creep in past his feathers. (He came to the realization the other day that he might have a layer of fur under his feathers. It's nice when he's flying higher up, less nice in the summer.) He's got a timeline though, if he doesn't want to miss any more matches, so he trots down the stairs. Standing at the foot of the lowest step, he flares out his wings, takes a second to brace his core and back, and leaps.
His first few flaps are shaky, but quickly he gets everything where it should be, pushing through the air like a fish through water. He spirals up, showing off for an audience of two. He settles just below the clouds, holding steady in a glide.
He soars gently, hardly flapping at all, until he reaches the stadium. It's incredible from up here. The building is aglow with spotlights that are bright enough to illuminate the clouds above. The parking lot, large enough to be for a mall, is packed full. He can't see a single empty spot. Most notably though, is the roar of the crowd, audible even from all the way up here like the ocean from a distance.
He grins and banks around in a loose spiral, twisting his tail for balance as he looks for a spot to land. Locking onto a spot near the entrance, close enough he won't have to walk far once he lands, he tucks his wings into his body and turns face down into a dive. The wind whips around him as he picks up speed, but he's built for this, whatever kind of bird he is, and he stays on course. Only as the tops of buildings come into view in his peripherals does he twist, snapping his feet down and his wings out wide. He jolts as his wings catch air, but stays braced in his back, so it doesn't really hurt. A second later his feet hit pavement and he hits hard, landing in a crouch.
He stands up, stumbling slightly, and lets out a whoop. The dive never lasts more than ten or twenty seconds. The actual landing even fewer. It's still one of his favorite parts of flying, the rush as he rockets towards the ground, each second an eternity, it's hard to beat.
He ruffles his feathers, shaking out the tension in his shoulders, and turns his attention back to the stadium, "Aw yeahyuh! This is gonna be sweet!"
He jogs inside - he's late enough there's no line to get in - and finds his seats. They're in the top row, row Z, in seats 97, 98, and 99. He sprawls out in 97 and 98, Mordecai and Rigby's seats. He looks down at the ring below, "Man... This is awesome! So close to the action."
Still. He turns to glance over at the empty seat next to him and says to no one in particular, "Sucks that Pops can't be here."
All well. Pops needs the rest, but there's no reason Mikey shouldn't take advantage of the tickets. He brushes the concern off and turns his attention back to the action. The fighters are being introduced, most of which he recognizes. There's Forearmageddon, a four armed, blond wrestler with an additional set of arms for legs; The Fire Marshall, a muscular, bearded dude who's wearing a hard hat like firefighters wear; and Hissy Fit a green lizard in cowboy boots. They all flex and pose as they enter the ring.
Then comes a name they don't recognize, a debuting wrestler, Hugehead. Dramatic music picks up as the wrestler comes in, sitting atop the shoulders of two workers and grinning at the crowd. They really weren't kidding, the dude's head is huge. It's almost as big as Pops'. Actually, it is as big as Pops'. Wait. That is Pops.
"Dude! What is he doing here‽" This is bad, really, really bad. Pops' back is still injured! He can't fight. They'll kick his ass. He launches out of his seats and takes the stairs three at a time down to the ringside.
"Pops! Pops!" He calls out as he turns at the bottom of the stairs, skidding to a stop by the bench Pops' is resting on.
"Why hello there good sir. I must inquire as to how you know my name." Pops states - asks? - in his usual fancy tone
"Right- Uh-"
A voice cuts him off suddenly, and he looks over his shoulder to see Forearmageddon leaning against the ropes, "Oi, Hugehead! Get up here! The ladder match is starting!"
He turns to see Pops trying to stand up and shaking as he braces his weight on his arms. Pops looks over at him and gives him a polite but curt nod, "Well, I'm sorry sir, but I must be going now."
"No! Pops, it's too dangerous! You're still hurt! They'll crush you!"
"While I appreciate your concern, you are not in charge of my well-being!" Pops says, starting to sound upset. Mikey can't help but laugh slightly, because technically he is. God, Benson is going to kill him. "My friends told me this was all fake, so I see no reason that I could not go enjoy the match."
"Dude, your well-being tot-" "FAKE!! YOU THINK THIS IS ALL FAKE??? HOW ABOUT YOU GET UP HERE IN THIS RING, AND WE'LL SHOW YOU HOW FAKE ALL THIS IS!"
Forearmageddon leans down, using his upper set of arms to yank Pops into the ring. Pops yelps, "Unhand me you-"
"Pops!" Mikey climbs up into the ring, wriggling under the bottom rope, to try and help Pops. "Hey! Let him go!"
"Bring it on!" The Fire Marshall yells, grinning. Maybe he didn't entirely think this through. Still, what else can he do? Pops needs help. He squares up, trying to throw a punch at The Fire Marshall. But it turns out, being a fusion doesn't inherently make you better at fighting and zero plus zero, still equals zero.
The Fire Marshall catches his fist and grabs his arm, spinning around to get some momentum before throwing him into the corner of the ring. He tries to get up but Hissy Fit gets in low and wraps their arms around his chest before bodying him into the floor. He's left lying there winded.
He almost manages to get back up to his feet, but Forearmageddon takes him down with a kick to the stomach. His back slams into the corner ring post again, and this time he stays down. Pain radiates from. Well. Everywhere. His ears are ringing, but only faintly, so he's pretty sure he doesn't have brain damage, even if his head is pounding.
He hears Pops cry out and Fuck. Pops is an old man who's already hurt his back. Benson is going to kill him if Mikey doesn't die here in the ring first. He tries to get back on his feet, or even just back up on his knees, but his stomach lurches when he tries to move. He can't do anything but watch as Pops falls from the ladder and hits the ground. Hard.
Only, then Pops gets up. Properly. Whatever was going on with his back, it's not happening anymore. Pops steps forward and starts to grapple with Forearmageddon. And he wins‽ Getting Forearmageddon in a chokehold until he passes out. A second later, in a move he can't see from his angle on the floor, Pops sends Hissy Fit flying across the ring. The lizard lands unconscious near Mikey, blocking his view of the rest of the match.
Pops must win though because the crowd goes wild and the announcers are screaming and then the bell rings and the whole stadium is shouting and the announcer roars out, "YOUR WINNER, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HUUUUUUGEHEAD!"
-
Mikey stumbles out of the stadium, hobbling slightly but on enough pain medication that he doesn't feel most of it. "Dude, Pops! That was incredible!"
"Well, I'm glad you think so," Pops says with a smile, but then his face twists in confusion, "but I really must ask how you know my name."
"Oh yeah. I'm- Uh- Here we'll just show you."
"Show me wh-" Before Pops can finish his sentence, Mikey defuses. Mordecai comes to with his hand still tangled in Rigby's. They look at each other and Rigby sighs happily, then winces. The raccoon leans against Mordecai carefully, clearly also feeling his injuries.
"Mordecai and Rigby? Did you see where that young man went?" Pops looks around, before stating inquisitively, "He seems to have disappeared."
"No Pops, we're that guy. He's our fusion." Rigby says, sounding tired.
"Oh! Oh! How wonderful!" Pops says looking positively delighted. Huh.
"You really think so?" Mordecai can't help, but ask.
"Why of course! You two are always together, so really, it's no wonder you make such an incredible fusion!" Pops says gleefully. Mordecai feels a little bit like his world in caving in on him, but in a good way. Pops thinks they're a good fusion. Someone looked at them - other than Eileen who doesn't count because she'd always support Rigby (and other than Skips, who's seen too much to ever be phased) - and thought they looked good together.
"Ah, thanks man," Mordecai manages to get out, even if it's nothing more than a mumble. He looks down at Rigby, who's just grinning like he won the lottery. He nudges the raccoon slightly, smiling back at him. Then he freezes, turning to look up at Pops, "Heyyyyy Pops, you wouldn't mind driving us back right? I think my... everything, is bruised, there's no way we're flying back..."
"Of course not! It's really no problem."
"Thanks man. And uh. If Benson happens to find out about this..."
"Ah. Well. I snuck out on my own, and you guys simply had no choice but to go retrieve me."
Mordecai and Rigby say their thanks. Benson really does seem to have a soft spot for Pops, so it's much better if he takes the heat. With that taken care of, Mordecai and Rigby follow Pops to his car, ignoring the crime scene tap as they take off back towards the house.