Chapter Text
Implicitly.
Cautious deep breaths echoed in the dead silent room. His hand kept clenching and unclenching its grip on the bunched up bed covers.
Implicitly.
Rick's unblinking eyes were fixed on the ceiling, jaw locked and teeth aching from the force.
Normally, he wouldn't mind being the source of someone's trust. It was good to know he was reliable, trustable, someone to confide in.
"I trust you."
What a sweet, innocent and touching thing to hear, was it not?
If only the voice weren't attached to the image of his grandson embracing certain death.
"I trust you Rick." Morty softly, certainly, announced before raising his arms from the sides. Taking a step back, his foot met mere air, and he fell back, closing his eyes.
And Rick's heart stopped beating entirely. "MORTY!" He could barely hear his own cry through the shock.
Back in the present, Rick cursed aloud, face crashing into the pillow.
Why did the idiot jump off the cliff?! He literally volunteered for bait, stirring the creatures attacking them away from Rick to buy him time.
If the fall hadn't killed him, those things certainly would've.
Of course, Rick found a way to both save Morty and get them home, but that memory didn't leave his mind for the rest of the day. Playing on repeat as if to mock him and his inability to digest just how fucking honest Morty had been with him when he'd said he trusted him.
Implicitly.
Eventually, he crawled out of the bed with a grumble, shoulders slouching as he dragged his legs to the hallway. He hadn't even talked to Morty about it yet, and something told him he wouldn't be able to sleep unless and until he had.
He didn't bother knocking, throwing the door open in one movement.
And his mouth dried suddenly.
Morty was where he was expected to be, on his bed. The odd part was his t-shirt that was hurled on the floor in the middle of the room, and the deep angry red rashes crawling atop of Morty's upper body. He'd walked in on the teen intensely scratching himself- the one thing he shouldn't be doing.
"You little-!" Rick shouted in panic, making Morty startle and yelp, attempting to cover the spots with his pillow. "Shit, shit- they stung you?! Why didn't you tell me?! Do you know how deadly their venom is- you fucking imbecile?" He demanded, throwing the offending pillow out of the way.
"It's not t-that bad." Morty tried reassuring in a small voice, eyes averting sideways.
"You were walking around the house all day like that?" Shaking his head, he started dragging the boy by the wrist with extra uncomfortable tugs. "Why did you hide this from me?" He hissed, jerking the hand forwards.
"I didn't wanna bother you." Morty mumbled as the force threw him off balance, sounding ashamed and confused. What did he have to be uncertain about?
"Timing matters, dumb shit!" Why was he overreacting like this anyway? Morty still had enough time. "You had like- seven hours to live tops!"
"O-oh." Morty on the other hand, didn't sound too concerned.
"Oh?" Rick echoed in incredulity, reaching the bathroom. "That's your reaction? Honestly- do you want to die? Are you actively trying to die? Cause I-I'd understand." His behavior recently certainly looked that way.
"Of course not." Morty huffed, sat on the edge of the tub as Rick looked for the healing creams. "I just trust you to fix me, that's all."
Rick accidentally knocked over the shampoos, freezing in his tracks. His shoulders slumped then, a helpless sigh escaping him. "… Morty, if you trust me, then why the hell didn't you tell me?"
"I told you, I didn't wanna bother you."
"You're not making any sense."
"I'm sorry."
"… Why?"
"For um, not making sense?"
"That's something to be sorry for?" Lips pursed, Rick continued replying for the sake of argument.
"I thought that's what you'd think, so yeah."
"I'm gonna heal this." Rick muttered carefully, stressing each word. He tried his best not to snap on his younger partner, because technically, any personality change on Morty's part was his fault. "And then you're gonna go back to your room and think about how much of a fuck up you are."
At Morty's low-hanging head and silence, guilt crawled up inside his chest. But he pushed it down with irritation. "First, the jump. Then losing our loot, and then keeping your injuries from me- and FYI, if not telling me highly poisonous and corrosive chemicals are eating at your tissues is your definition of not bothering me, I'm gonna have to burst your bubble here." He rambled on, forcing the words out of himself at this point.
"You're a time-bomb with no fucking countdown, Morty- you absolute shit-for-brains!" His sharp tone gradually increased in loudness as he aggressively went through the medicines. "It's been like- fifteen hours? There's no warning before you… people start dying from twelve hours onwards!" He snapped.
"Gah! Look how it's spread out- alien scum, bleh." He gagged, talking to himself mostly. "Just when I thought my day couldn't go any worse- I hope you're proud of yourself. Of course you are, you thought you weren't bothering me-" He air quoted sarcastically. "-but here were are, at an ungodly hour in the morning, abso-fucking-lutely bothered." What the fuck was he saying?
Only when he got back into his silent quarters did he realize he spent thirty whole minutes arguing with himself while Morty simply sat there and watched him. Not uttering another word.
Rick didn't get a wink of slumber that night.
Not that it was anything new these days. It was too loud in his head for him to mentally rest. Morty was nowhere in sight in the house, and he decided to go back and finish yesterday's deal. The way things had gone last night, he wasn't eager to see the boy again so soon- he didn't like the emotions Morty stirred up inside him in his state, and he couldn't risk him pulling another dangerous stunt. His stage-two rashes also took a while to revert back to normal, so more rest was in order for him.
Rick spent the night repeating to himself, "That was just a glitch. He'll be fine." Wrong. The more he said it, the less he convinced himself. He wasn't very good at rationalizing.
He retrieved the crystals from down the cliff where Morty'd fallen, dropping them in the process. Strangely, no one else had found them. It had taken a while, since the sea he was searching went pretty deep, and just his luck, the scattered crystals were swallowed by multiple sea creatures. He chased lots of fish for hours.
Morty would've found his struggles hilarious.
His grin faded away as his thought process came to a halt. Right, Morty.
Speaking of him, Rick still couldn't spot him anywhere when he got back, beginning to get worried. What if the cure hadn't worked…?
"Isn't Morty coming down?" He asked as casually he could muster at lunch.
Beth sat behind the table, no traces of worry on her. Was Rick really overreacting, or was everyone in this household blind?... or was his guilt too heavy? "He hasn't come out of his room all day."
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, he nodded and went back to his food, though appetite had abandoned him completely. He'd had enough of pretending not to worry. It took way too much energy out of him. So he stood up and headed straight for Morty's room, abandoning the dining room.
"Morty?"
"Yeah?"
The response came rather quickly, making him exhale in immediate relief. "Why is your door locked?" His eyes narrowed on the door as he tried to open it unsuccessfully.
"I haven't gone through all my fuck ups yet!" Cried out the teen, much to Rick's momentary bemusement. "Wait, does handing you the wrong screwdriver count?"
"Uh… I-"
"Never mind, I already thought about it."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rick glared unbelievingly through the wood. "Open the goddamn door, Morty. How's the rash?"
"It's better, but I can't come out yet." Morty drawled in a patronizing tone, like that was obvious.
Taking a deep calming breath, Rick pinched the bridge of his scrunched up nose, fighting back annoyance. "And why can't you come out, Morty?" He deadpanned, drawling the words the same way Morty had.
"Cause you told me not to, remember?"
"Yes, I…" Rick was halfway through confirming it before he fully processed the sentence, head snapping up as his brow furrowed. "Wait, when the actual fuck did I say you have to lock yourself in your room?"
"Last night. You told me to go to my room and think about how much I fuck things up." Morty helpfully and casually reminded him, like he was discussing the weather.
"And you took that literally?" Rick incredulously emphasized on the last word, taking a step toward the door.
"Of course." Morty almost sounded offended.
"And even if I meant that, why would you just listen to m- oh, never mind." He gave up halfway into another long sigh. "Wait, so you've been thinking about it since last night? How long is your list?" He glared at the door. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on was stabbing him in his chest. "You know what, I don't wanna know."
He managed to convince Morty to let go of that task and join the family for lunch.
It didn't take much persistence .
Morty was easy, and it made him sick.
"Hey, Morty, I dare you to eat it." Rick nudged the boy in the side amusedly with a snort, trying to rub the sleep deprivation out of his eyes. "It'll guaranteed give you iguanarea, fucking heart cancer, and-"
He was cut off with eager slurping noises.
"W- MOTHERFU-" Rick bawled, sharply turning around to slap the cut off tentacle away from Morty's hands. It flew to the ground, and Morty had the audacity to narrow his eyes. "What the, fuck?!"
"You said eat it!" Morty crossed his arms defensively.
"Oh my fucking god- stop doing everything I fucking say!"
"Jesus." Summer rolled her eyes, reminding Rick that she was there in the first place on the couch. "I think I see what you mean now, grandpa Rick."
"Ya think?" Rick deadpanned, turning back to the brunet. "Morty. I spent the entire time hunting for this species and after we killed one of them telling you about how fucking dangerous this shit is for the human body." He tried to remind him, spelling it out. But his patience wore thin by the day.
"You said it's eighty two percent highly reactive radicals that could form cancer tumors on contact." Morty chimed in helpfully- and unhelpfully at the same time, earning a glare.
"Yes, Morty. I did say that, didn't I?" Dryly, he gritted out.
Summer turned to her brother as if it were her turn. "Bro, if Rick told you to jump off a cliff-"
"Then I'll jump off a cliff." Morty blurted out, Summer had a dumbstruck look on her, and Rick slapped himself in the forehead way too hard.
Actually, Morty had jumped off a cliff without Rick even asking that of him, but Summer probably didn't need to know that, considering all of it was Rick's fault.
He paused at that. The reminder felt like a stab to his nerves every time.
It felt like the dumbest and corniest shit ever, but Rick missed his grandson. He was sitting right next to him of course, physically there, but he wasn't Morty.
He was a typical obedient, anxious mess, but he wasn't Rick's cheeky self assertive bitch of a Morty. Who didn't put up with his bullshit, who saw right through him. Who smirked at him infuriatingly every time he bested Rick at something, keeping the man on his toes, crushing his ego whenever he got the chance.
And Rick loved him for that. But Morty didn't even remember the very fact that Rick loved him, because he'd said it to Marta alone and no one else. The part of him that was missing.
Rick hated his obedience. He hated that Morty didn't question him anymore, that he didn't criticize his inventions and plans. He couldn't even keep count of how many times Morty'd apologized to him in the last week.
Rick regarded Morty with a guarded expression.
He genuinely missed the kid, and the guilt was eating him alive.
The next day, Rick killed someone.
Was it a big deal? No. Did he care? No, why would he? Did he do it to selfishly test the limits of how much bullshit Morty would let him get away with? Of course not.
Maybe the last question was a lie.
If it were Morty- under normal circumstances- he would've chosen to die rather than kill an innocent person. One of them had to have black and white morals.
But they weren't under normal circumstances now.
When Rick, standing in front of the corpse with blood all over his hands, stared at Morty expectantly, Morty barely even noticed him staring. "W-what?" Baffled, the boy finally blinked at him.
"You're okay with this?" Rick easily pointed at the gory scene with his thumb, appraising the teen.
To his testiness, Morty weakly shrugged. "Sure."
"That's not even an answer." Rick's foot began tapping impatiently. "There's something called opinion I'm asking you about?"
"Really, it's fine. I'm okay with it." Morty waved his palms to clear the misunderstanding.
"How the fucking hell are you okay with it?" Rick snapped, impatient and a bit on edge. "This is murder- do you even remember, Morty?! Murder for most people is an incredibly fucked up action!"
"Then why did you do it?" After a moment of thought, Morty asked, head tilted to the side.
"Cause I'm Rick motherfucking Sanchez, that's why!" Spleen swam in his voice as he cried out.
"Th-then why are you angry?" Morty winced, hands coming around his own arms protectively.
"Because you're not!" His voice cracked halfway through with rage, sinking into a sudden silence afterwards. Until he'd voiced it out, he hadn't know what exactly about the situation was pissing him off. "You're not Rick Sanchez, Morty. You're not supposed to be okay with this."
"Does it… matter?"
"Huh?" Rick looked up at the timid inquiry, a deep frown on his face.
Morty rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, seeming hesitant. "I- I said does it matter? It's not me committing murder, it's you, s-so why do I get a say in it?"
"You don't." Rick scoffed outright, denying it. The uncertainty in his voice was clear as plain day, but Morty thankfully didn't notice.
"Okay."
Then why did ask him, you sick sack of balls?
Mouth drying up, Rick shook his thoughts away, or tried to anyway.
Show me what's right or wrong, a growing part of his mind pleaded desperately, never making to the surface of Rick's scowl. Tell me what my morals are.
Throughout the years, he'd grown to forget them, sinking to the back of his mind. Morty felt like a representation of himself when he was human, when he had lines yet to cross.
Nothing had ever hit him harder than the realization he'd been trying to avoid, the one that fell upon him as he drove the spaceship, nearly driving into a meteor from how frozen he was.
Morty wasn't just his tag along or sidekick or grandson.
Morty was his entire conscience.
That was why without him, he was collapsing.
Rick drank extra heavily that night, waking up in a pool of his own vomit.
He couldn't do this shit anymore.
Rick didn't know how much time had passed inside Morty's room. To his drunken knowledge, it could vary between five minutes and an entire hour since he'd sat by the peaceful figure of his grandson on the bed, his chin resting on his hands, which he'd put up on the bed as he studied the details of Morty's face.
At his return from Blipz and Chits, he couldn't bring himself to wait any longer for the remerge. And after he merged the missing remains of Morty with him, he found himself not wanting to leave. There was something cold about the quarters of his room and something warmer and more inviting about the cool floor of Morty's room. He'd lost track of time.
Instead trying to gather whatever focus he could muster into taking in the boy's expression. It was the same relaxed features as before, unchanged since Rick made the adjustments, but he probably should wait for Morty to wake up to decide that for himself by his attitude. He really wanted to wake him up, to make sure that this time, this was his real Morty, but he wasn't that drunk… yet.
On cue, he chugged on the bottle in his hand.
Grunting out, he set his head on the edge of the bed again. His head was starting to get dizzy.
Rick really needed to wake Morty up. He couldn't do anything until he knew he had his anchor back.
Before his reached out hand could touch him, Morty's eyelids slowly fluttered open, making him freeze. His head span faster at the lack of expression on him.
That moment seemed to drag on for eternity as they stared at each other. Eventually, Morty spoke, hoarse and a bit irritated. "No, Rick."
The man swallowed numbly. "No, what?"
Even in his half-conscious state, Morty gave him a perfect glare that put Rick Sanchez to shame. "No, I won't go on this- amazing adventure you have planned out for us." He croaked with a hint of sarcasm, pulling his blanket higher to his chest. "Imma need you to get the fuck out of my room if that's all." He huffed.
Rick let out a shaky breath he'd been holding. The familiarity of this conversation soothed his uncomfortably beating heart, but he still wasn't sure.
"Say s-something mean." He breathed out with a hint of pleading, grip clinging to Morty's beloved blanket.
"What?" Morty seemed to pause for a moment to process that, becoming gradually more awake as he raised an eyebrow. "It's three in the fucking morning." He pointed at his phone.
"Say somethin' mean to m-to me, quick." He slurred again, more urgent.
"You're drunk." Morty plainly noted, unimpressed.
"C'mon," Rick hissed, shaking him by the shoulders. "You can do better than that."
"I'd love to try, Rick," Morty grunted out, trying to push the inebriated man off of himself. "But you're breathing fucking alcohol into my face- and I'm sorry if it paralyzes my goddamn brain."
"…"
"You need to sober up right now." Morty was sitting up at this point, sighing as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
Rick's unreadable gaze cracked with vulnerability and a hint of affection, but Morty didn't quite catch it in the dark. "… o-okay."
"I can smell your misery from a mile away, Jeez." Morty told him as a matter of fact, still testy that he'd been rudely awakened at such hour. "I leave you to yourself for what- one week? Another day and you would've turned into a-a really sad intergalactic Hitler- like Abrodolph Lincoler or some shit."
The corner of the man's mouth twitched up at the ranting, and he hiccupped. "Y-yeah."
"Get out of my room, I'm tryna sleep."
"If I don't?" He was actively trying to provoke Morty at this point.
"I'll kick your ass, that's what." He growled out and Rick slowly blinked in surprise. "… Let's get you into a cold shower." He sighed in admit defeat, getting out of his bed.
The last thing Rick remembered from that night was when he'd been scrambling out of the bathroom, asking; "Morty, do you trust me?"
Morty threw him a dirty look by saying, "Especially not when you ask me that question."
"You can be smart like that, kid." Rick finally allowed himself to chuckle and shake his head, finally relaxing and allowing Morty to take him to his own room.
Morty merely grinned.