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Morty’s whole body trembled as he crouched in the corner of the tiny closet he and Rick had taken refuge in. The muffled sounds of various alien thugs, all of them vicious and armed to the teeth, floated under the crack at the bottom of the door. He squeezed his eyes shut and fingered the trigger of the plasma gun clutched in his shaking hands. Rick had modified it so that it wasn’t as sensitive after Morty had almost shot himself in the foot by mistake and the stickiness of the mechanism was reassuring in a way. Each shot would count.
He cracked his eyes open to look at Rick, who was fiddling with the portal gun. It had been broken earlier during a bar fight the old man himself had instigated. The alien’s punch just happened to strike right where his grandfather kept the device in an inner pocket of his coat. Rick had subsequently vaporized the creature which, of course, led all the other patrons and every one they could gather to lead a man hunt on the both of them, simply for honor’s sake. They had run and hidden themselves in various locations before settling on the closet.
Without the portal gun, though, they were fucking screwed.
Rick cursed under his breath, making Morty grimace. He had been at it for what seemed like hours now but every time he fixed one part of the gun, another would suddenly send out an electrical spark and a cloud of smoke. It was a constant repair job and it wouldn’t end. Rick had never had such trouble fixing it before, so Morty wondered what the problem was now.
“J-jeez, Rick. Are you almost done?” Morty whispered to his grandfather. He regretted it instantly as the man flashed him such a heated glare that Morty found a way to squeeze even tighter into his corner of the closet.
“Does it look like I’m fucking done, Morty?” Rick said through clenched, yellow teeth. Almost as if in response, the gun sent out another tiny pop of energy. “Goddammit!”
Rick made a motion as if he was going to throw the portal gun and Morty flinched and waited for impact. It never came, however; Rick simply deflated and let it fall into his lap. He stared at it, defeated and, if Morty had to guess, ashamed, two things he had never seen on the scientist’s face.
“Rick?” Morty said softly. He uncurled his gangly legs from against his chest just enough that his sneakers touched the very tip of Rick’s own loafers. The old man’s head fell back against the wall of the closet, his eyes closed.
“The fuckwad in the bar got a lucky shot, Morty. Tore the inside of the gun to fucking shit. I need more tools than I have to fix it,” he muttered, an ashen hand running through his hair. Morty blinked, processing this information before casting his eyes down at the sparking gun. Rick’s not able to fix it, he thought to himself numbly. It wasn’t possible, was it?
“C-come on, Rick, that isn’t funny,” he said, laughing nervously. Rick leveled a deadpan stare at him and he felt his insides freeze with fear.
“What…what are we going to do?” Morty was afraid of the answer. What could they do? Neither of their guns had enough charge to take down the posse hunting them down, even with Rick’s prowess with various space arms. And with horde directly outside their hiding spot, there was no way they could sprint to another hiding spot or even to one of the ships parked a few kilometers away. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Morty knew that Rick had thought of various possibilities and, judging by the listless expression on his face, had deemed them unlikely to succeed. The gun in his shaking hands clattered to the cement floor as his arms dropped to his sides and his body adopted the same demeanor as the man across from him.
“We’ve been in worst situations, haven’t we?” he said, “Why is this one any different?”
Rick snorted. “Because today I just happened to wear my other coat.”
Morty giggled weakly before it devolved into hiccupping sobs. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this in front of Rick but in the face of imminent death, he couldn’t help himself. He let his head fall into his dirty hands and wept.
After a few moments, Morty was dragged into a warm embrace. Rick rested his pointed chin on the young boy’s head and rubbed his back comfortingly in a display of affection that very few people had experienced. Morty gripped the lapels of his jacket with wet hands and cried into his shirt.
The sounds of searching outside seemed to grow closer and Morty glanced up, frightened. He looked up at Rick, eyes puffy and red and the tear streaks stark against the dirt on his face. He watched the gears spin in his eyes before finally alighting on some idea. The hand on his back left and picked up the abandoned gun. Rick checked the cartridge before handing it to Morty and pulling out his own pistol.
“Well, I’m not going to hide like a fucking pussy anymore,” he said gruffly. Morty tumbled out of his lap as he stood up, setting his jaw and brushing off his lab coat. He looked down at him with determined eyes and an outstretched hand, “Looks like we’re cutting our one hundred years short. You coming with?”
Morty felt one last tear slip down his cheek as he stared up at the person he never knew he needed in his life until he barged into it. The one who built him up and tore him down, only to do it all over again. Who had become his friend when he needed it most.
Morty scrubbed the heel of his palm across his stinging eyes before nodding resolutely and taking the offered hand from his grandfather. They stood side by side in front of the door, gripping their meager chances of survival.
“Yeah, let’s do this.”