Work Text:
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Before
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Less was more with Rick. He was the kind of man who gave the bare minimum of affection. And even then he did so grudgingly. A pat on the head was the equivalent of pouring his heart out.
Morty liked it when Rick was more drunk than usual. It wasn't because he drooled more, or ranted louder, or vomited all over his carpet and then left Morty to clean up the mess. It was because he was terribly, achingly, tender.
"Y-y-you're my favorite person. In the--in the whole fucking multiverse! You're my buddy Morty."
He's completely blasted. Which is how Morty knows he means it.
Rick grabs Morty like he needs him to understand. He holds his face between his wrinkled hands.
"Out of everyone. Every single person I've ever met! You're my goEeUuuGhddamn favorite!"
Spittle flys off Rick's mouth. It's disgusting. He's covered in a weird black soot which could be anything from motor oil to alien intestines.
It felt exhilarating, it felt terrifying, to know this monster loved him.
"You're my favorite too, Rick," he says, face too warm from both Rick's palms and his confession.
Rick snorts. "Th-that means nothing you're fucking--you're fifteen you're a fucking baby!"
It should send a jab through him, but Morty smiles nonetheless. Rick allowed more hugs than usual like this, more contact. He didn't push Morty away and tease him for being a pussy.
So when Rick finally passes out over his bed, Morty doesn't feel guilty snuggling up on his chest. He falls asleep listening to Rick snoring in his ear. It was ironic how he used to kick Rick off and make him sleep on the floor. Some nights he still does if he's angry with him.
They wake several hours later. His head rests over Rick's heart. The older man pushes Morty off him as he comes to. But the weight remains, a light pressure on his ribs. Rick rubs at the spot on his chest, fingers brushing it softly while he avoids Morty's gaze.
-
Morty's are meant to protect their Rick's. It's their entire purpose. They were born for it. Bred for it. Trained for it. But it hadn't been until his lungs were wet, punctured and flapping, that Morty realized he would die for Rick.
Rick gripped his soul with long, slender fingers and snatched him back from death's hands, like so many times before. But this time it had been different. This time Rick's hands were shaking.
"I'm a piece a shit Morty! I-I-I could drink myself to death tomorrow! Drown in my own stinking vomit! And it all would be for fucking nothing! Don't fucking die for me!"
Morty had been shaking too, but with revelation not pain. He was drowning in his own blood, his skin burning at Rick's touch.
The thing is--the thing is--Morty doesn't like villain characters. The Joker wasn't cool or charismatic. Assholes like Kylo Ren and Eric Cartman weren't nearly as fun or interesting as people made them out to be. And he never saw the appeal of Hannibal Lecter. What was so fun about being a dick? What was so fascinating about serial killers?
Society tended to romanticize violence. The old "he's mean to everyone else but not me" bullshit. Rick was mean to everyone including Morty. It's just that he was nice from time to time too.
And yet.
And yet…
Rick's eyes are always so bright with satisfaction after his rage has subsided. When he's thoroughly destroyed someone else for fucking with him. (Or with Morty.) Morty hates it. He hates the way it lights him up inside as well.
It should horrify him. Well, it does, but it also excites him in a way nothing had ever done before. It was weird feeling both disgust and arousal in equal tandem; neither one stronger than the other.
He wishes his feelings were a visible, tangible thing so that he could have seen them forming. He could cut them out before they got too thick and twisted around him.
Rick had forced his way into Morty's life. He didn't just rearrange the furniture. He renovated the entire house, repainted the walls, tore up the carpets, smashed through load bearing walls. He'd broken him down until Rick was the center of Morty's whole world.
And Morty couldn't even be angry with him for it. Not really. Because he knew for a fact that he was the center of Rick's world too. Even if that bastard denied it. He'd witnessed his grandfather's devotion before. The fall of the Federation and the Citadel had been proof enough of that. But it was just that Rick loved so hard it destroyed him when people left. Rick didn't know how to deal with rejection.
Morty couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave him. Rick kept him grounded when it felt like he would fly off the handle. As many times as Rick was the source of his ire, he could turn around and say a single word that could calm Morty down.
Dr. Wong says that danger is as much an addiction as any other. The adrenaline spike was similar to the same thrill people got when stealing a car or cheating on a test. The blood pumped faster, hearts thudded louder, sending a rush of chemicals to the brain. It would mix and tie positive feelings of excitement with negative ones.
Rick always felt like that. Like a rush. Like a high. Morty both hated and loved adventures where they almost died. To know that he beat the odds and told Fate to fuck off. He knows it was different for Rick. His grandfather did it to stave off the impending depression always biting at his heels. But even so, it was a thing they shared. A love for adrenaline.
He could talk about it, if he wanted. Morty knows his mother would gladly pay for separate therapy sessions. But Morty is too afraid. Afraid that if he confesses to anyone, even if it's a trained professional who can potentially help him through this, then he might let it slip to someone else as well. And once the secret comes out, it won't be a secret anymore. Eventually Rick would find out. He always found out. Nothing about Morty is private or sacred. Rick, in a true hypothetical dick move, demanded openness and honesty. Forcing Morty to bare everything and get nothing in return.
So he sticks with group therapy. The sessions are still nice. Morty liked going with his family and being able to talk about issues in a safe and controlled environment was comforting. Rick was practically the only thing they ever really talked about in therapy. I It was ironic since he was the only one that refused to come.
"I would like to go around the room," Dr. Wong says. "Say one thing you dislike about Rick and one thing you like."
"Where do I even start?" Jerry says, hands gesturing wildly as he begins to list things. "His drinking. His crassness. His rudeness. His drooling. His--"
"That's more than one thing Jerry," Beth says, already exasperated.
"Well they're all true! This is a safe space for feelings Beth, and these are my feelings!"
Beth sighs.
"What's one thing you like?" Wong asks, ignoring the rising tension under Beth's stance.
Jerry pauses. "Oh um...I guess his…uh…"
"Don't hurt yourself there, Dad." Summer snickers.
"His ability to fix the lawnmower!" Jerry supplies. "...even if he won't stop adding confusing buttons to it…"
"Thank you, Jerry. Beth?"
Beth lays her hands over her knees. She hums. "One thing I dislike is how he'll twist the truth or hide things from me."
Dr. Wong nods. "And one thing you like?"
Beth grows still. She thinks for a moment. Admittedly there weren't a lot of positive qualities about Rick. She chews her bottom lip.
"The thing I like the most about my father is his bluntness," she provides. "It makes loving him a little easier."
"How does that make it easier?"
"Because at least he's upfront about being an asshole before you get too close. You have no one to blame but yourself if you get hurt."
The room grows still. Her family looks at her in varying expressions of stupor.
Dr. Wong addresses her. "It's easy to blame ourselves for our own mistakes, Beth. A person's choices are their own. Would you place blame on your husband for marrying you?"
"I...what?"
"Jerry fell in love and asked you to marry him. Is that his fault or yours?"
Beth seems frozen in place. Summer whistles under her breath.
"You either love someone or you do not," Dr. Wong says clearly. "It is not always so clear cut to assign blame to it. When we think ourselves responsible for something it clears the other of any wrongdoing. But when we blame the other party, we start to think of ourselves as a victim. Beth, love is simply your feelings and your feelings alone. Once you accept them only then can you begin to make peace with them."
Beth squeezes her hands together, letting the words sink in.
After a brief moment Dr. Wong turns again. "Summer?"
"Huh?"
"Would you mind sharing one thing you like and one thing you dislike about Rick?"
Summer thinks for a moment, taking slightly longer than Jerry or Beth. Then she opens her mouth.
"I don't like his disregard for human life. It's kinda jarring at times. But I do like how fun he is at parties."
"Thank you, Summer. That was very insightful."
Dr. Wong looks to Morty. He freezes, not quite prepared to answer yet. He twiddles his thumbs.
"I uh...I dunno, it's hard to choose."
Jerry nods. "See? I'm not the only one!"
Morty shakes his head. "No, not the dislikes. I mean it's hard to choose what I like about him. There's so many."
There's a pause in the room. As if someone had pressed the stop button.
Summer scoffs. "Like what? I mean, I love Grandpa Rick but there isn't a lot to work with there."
Morty bristles, irritation rising. "There's plenty to work with! Not everyone just wants to go out and get wasted all the time, Summer!"
"I do not get wasted all the time!"
"Could have fooled me!"
"I mostly hang out with my friends you jerk! Which you would understand if you had any!"
"Summer!" Beth exclaims.
"Now that was just uncalled for!" Jerry says.
Morty swivels his head to glare at both of his parents. They almost never admonished Summer at home. They were putting on a show of good parenting for Dr. Wong. As if it might get the therapy points for being good people.
He looks around the room, jaw set and hands clenched. "You wanna know what I like about Rick? His determination." He looks from person to person. "I like his passion and his willingness to do anything for his family! I like the way he says 'dawg' unironically and secretly thinks the backstreet boys are cool. I like the music from his old band The Flesh Curtains. I like the way we can spend the whole day just watching TV doing nothing. And I like his stutter and how it matches mine and makes me feel less like a freak."
The room has grown quiet. He's said too much. He knows he has. But he cannot help the anger in his gut. How can they not see how amazing Rick was? Were they truly blinded by his flaws? Weren't you supposed to look past the exterior and in people's hearts?
"Do you feel angry Morty?" Dr. Wong finally asks.
He nods.
"Why?"
"Because it's like my family only ever wants to focus on the bad things and none of the good."
Beth's mouth falls open, stunned. "Morty I..I had no idea you felt this way."
He says nothing more, suddenly embarrassed. He looks down at the floor and doesn't speak again for the entire session. Which wasn't hard considering they only had ten minutes left.
Later, when they're in the car and safe from Dr. Wong's nonjudgmental stare, Summer teases him about it.
"Man, Rick should totally start coming! I mean, you really went off Morty! He's gonna be sad he missed it!"
"Don't fucking tell him!"
Summer tenses, surprised by the ferocity of his outburst. Jerry looks back from the front passenger seat. Beth's eyes flicker up in the rearview mirror. Morty blushes, ashamed.
"I... please don't," he says more quietly. "Please don't tell him."
"Okay bro geez. Chill out."
Everyone falls uncomfortably silent. The only sounds are the wind passing by and the purr of the engine.
"...what was the one thing you disliked?"
"Hm?"
Summer smiles tentatively. "You never said. The one thing you disliked?"
Morty looks out the window, avoiding his sister's gaze. His hands twist in his lap.
"I guess that he hates talking about stuff. If you try to corner him he'll just clam up even harder."
Summer nods. "Huh. Okay then."
His mother's hands are tight on the steering wheel. No one speaks again.
True to her word, Summer never says a thing about the session to Rick. It hadn't mattered in the end. Three months later he turns 16 and his world shatters.
-
After
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It was an unusually hot day for Washington weather. Morty passes through the living room, intent on getting a popsicle from the freezer. He spots Rick on the couch. His lab coat was absent. He was just in a tank with his pants rolled up just below his knees. Morty himself was dawning a thin pair of pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt.
They don't talk about the Incident. At first Morty is grateful. He doesn't exactly wish to remember the day he spilled his guts out for Rick Sanchez: grandfather, genius, and asshole. But it eats at him either way. He finds that having his feelings out in the open was just as hard as hiding them. Because now, every touch is loaded. Every glance full of meaning. Rick knows.
It's okay. Rick says it's okay but it's not. Morty wants more. He wants more every day that passes.
Morty grabs the ice cold treat from the freezer and pops it in. He relishes the sweet relief on his tongue. Popsicle now in hand, he goes back into the living room. He means to head up the stairs back to his room. But it's hotter up there. It was much cooler on the first floor. He stands idly by the couch.
"What'cha watching?"
Rick tilts his head to respond, not looking up from the TV. "Eh, s-some equivalent of The Bachelor where the final girl he picks gets to eat him after the ceremony."
He pauses, eyes sliding off the screen and latching onto Morty. He squints up at him.
"How's your neck doing?"
Morty scratches the spot between his shoulder under his ear. It was red and splotchy. Rick had forbidden him from scratching it as it could spread and take over within mere hours, but it was hard. It was far worse than poison ivy or chicken pox.
"B-better."
Rick hums. He sits forward, gesturing for Morty to come closer. Morty takes a step and bends over to give him access. Rick prods the skin gently earning a small hiss of pain.
"Needs more ointment," Rick mutters. "It's in the garage, go get it."
"Okay."
Morty springs up, unsure why he was so eager. He tells himself it's because the alien burns were bothering him. He retrieves the cooling gel quickly and heads back inside.
Morty could have sat beside him or kneeled on the floor in front. But without really thinking about it, he hands the tube to Rick and settles between his legs right in front of him. Morty is glad his back is facing him and he cannot see Rick's face like this, because no doubt Rick was two seconds away from pushing him onto the floor and calling him an overeager horn dog.
But he doesn't. Morty hears the click of the gel lid snapping open. Then long, thin fingers start to apply the ointment. It attaches itself to his skin, repairing the damage in a gentle cooling fashion. Morty shudders and sighs.
Rick pauses, like he's going to say something. Then the moment is gone and his hands continue. The unspoken truth hangs heavy overhead.
Despite having grown a lot in the past two years, he was still small compared to Rick. He would probably always be shorter than him. Morty was okay with that, he thinks--the idea of being able to curl into Rick's larger than life warmth.
His back presses against Rick's chest. He can hear the old heart thump. He swallows, wondering if Rick can hear his too. He grips the cushion in front of him with the hand not holding his popsicle. Fingers tear at the seams. It was pretty old. So much damage had been done to the couch over the years. Yet his mother had never bought a new one.
His cock stirs, springing to life unbidden. He can't will it away. He can't pretend it's not there. He breathes in, feeling Rick's strong yet tender touch. And then breathes out. Rick's thighs are on either side, brushing against him.
His skin throbs where they brush, pulsating with an ache that will never be filled. They would always be this close, but never close enough.
Rick's breath is stale. It tickles the back hairs of his neck. He likes the way it feels. He likes the way Rick envelopes him. His entire world was brought down to this, just the two of them.
If Rick could see his thoughts (which Morty is still debating) he'd call him a romantic dumbass falling for greeting card bullshit. And maybe it was stupid, but they were his thoughts all the same.
"Okay. Done."
He's cold as Rick pulls away. Even as the sun blazes outside Morty feels the gripping vestiges of a shiver settle across his neck where Rick no longer touches him.
"Don't stop."
It's a soft, whispered plea, falling out if his mouth before he can stop it.
Rick leans back against the couch, pulling away completely. Morty curls into himself.
"Morty…" it sounds exasperated, like this thing inside Morty is annoying more than anything else. Like the thing that's literally breaking him in two is a minor inconvenience. And that is the final cord that snaps within him.
Morty turns his head around to glare. "Fuck you."
Rick snaps up. "What?"
"You h-heard me!"
Rick pushes him off sharply off his lap. Morty swiftly falls to the floor with a hard thud. His ruined popsicle melts into the carpet. Rick stands up and walks into the garage muttering curses and insults. Morty gets up quickly to follow him.
Morty slams the garage door behind him, mostly because he wanted to feel something break under his hands rather than any sort of benefit of shielding them from the rest of the house. "You have no trouble bossing me around but the second I want something it's the end of the f-fucking world!"
Rick stops and turns. Icy blue chips away at the surrounding heat. "You should be very glad I have lines I won't cross, Morty! You don't wanna know what a Rick without limits looks like!"
He knows that. Logically Morty knows he should not, cannot, have this. But he wants.
"You could...what if you didn't know you'd broken your boundaries?"
Rick grumbles, "Morty what the hell are you talking about?"
Morty licks his lips, tasting the last of the phantom cherry popsicle flavor on his tongue.
"You erase my m-mind all the time! I could use it on you. It'll be like it never happened."
Rick looks stricken. As Morty had slapped him across the face. He looks horrified. Morty feels it clang inside him, rattling around in the empty vestiges of his slowly blackening soul.
Rick opens his mouth. He closes it. The last time he'd been this dumbfounded had been when Morty told him all the dirty little secrets buried in his head. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with him anymore. Like Morty is someone else. Unrecognizable.
"Morty, I can't...I can't love you the way you want me to."
That look twists around him, thorny and unpleasant. The silence of the garage is filled with the hum of electricity. Outside the wind blows lightly against the side of the house.
"I know that."
Rick looks tired beyond his years. Or rather, like the years have finally caught up with him. His bones sag the way they should for a 70 year old. Rick is very, very tired.
"What do you want, Morty?"
Morty's face scrunches up, chest heaving with sudden anger. What did he want??
"I want you to take responsibility!"
Rick bares his teeth like an animal. As if Morty had the audacity to be angry in this situation. Like this was all Rick's fault. Like everything fucking was.
"You want me," Rick says slowly. "To take responsibility...by fucking you?"
"No!" Morty snaps. "You're still not listening!"
The early sag of years lifts through sheer force of will. Rick towers over Morty with his full height.
"By all means fucking enlighten me then!"
Little shit thought he could push Rick around then he had about goddamn thing coming.
Morty takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking over his words and choosing carefully. It wasn't often Rick listened to what he had to say. This was important.
"You were only ever jealous of Jessica." He lets the words hang overhead like a noose. "Every other time I was interested in someone, you didn't give a sh-shit! But Jessica, who I had a crush on, you couldn't fucking stand."
He can see Rick growing more visibly uncomfortable. There's a strain in his shoulders. Rick's eyes dart away, following the line of shelves by the wall behind him.
"It was okay for me to fuck whoever I w-wanted so long as I didn't form any kind of emotional attachment to them! You didn't, and still don't, want me to have anyone in my life outside of this family!"
He sees the moment it pierces through Rick's armor. The old man flinches at the accusation, too close to the truth. Of all the things Rick has done to keep him by his side, Morty is pretty sure he only knows the half of it.
"You isolated me on purpose, Rick! This is the consequence of your actions!"
Rick is still for a moment. He scratches his cheek, a nervous habit they both share. Their tics, their stutters, their repressed rage, their penchant for ice cream, all reminders that this was the person Morty's genes had sprang forth from. All that they shared served as both a comfort and a damnation.
"...m-maybe I shouldn't have pulled you out of school so much. Fine, I admit that. You should hang around more kids your age." He reaches for his flask in his pant leg and takes a swig. "But it's not like I wanted this to happen or anything! Jesus, I just wanted to spend some time with my grandson! Nothing wrong with that! Y-you're the one that had to be a creepy fucker about it, MooOorty!"
"Oh my god just fucking admit it!" Morty shrieks. "Admit you fucking manipulated me! You knew exactly what you were doing but you miscalculated and now shits fucked!"
His chest heaves with effort. Rick glares across the garage. His rage is a storm, eyes electric with fury.
"You want a gold star? I-i-is that it, Morty?" He takes a menacing step forward. "Fine! Yes! I wanted you to myself. Not in an incestous weird goddamn way, but yes! I'm a selfish fuck! So sorry if I didn't like seeing you hang out with other fuckwads that didn't deserve you!"
Morty's chest twists at the words. Rick advances on him again.
"But that don't mean shit, Morty! Doesn't matter if you think you got it figured out cuz you don't! I'm ten steps ahead of you! You don't know me!"
It's a fucking lie and they both know it. Because that was the thing, Morty knew him too well. So well it scared him. No one who knew all of Rick's horrible tendencies, his overbearing thoughts and rants, who knew about his laughable weaknesses, wanted to stick around.
Morty laughs, dry and cracking. He takes a step forward of his own.
"I know you better than a-anyone in this universe Rick. There are people who have known you longer than I've been alive. But they only know who you used to be. I know who you are. And what you are is a coward!"
He spits the word out viciously. He watches the way Rick's head tilts in anger. It's the same way it tilts as he assesses a threat right before he kills someone.
"You want people to love you--respect you. But you don't want to open yourself up in return! And that's--that's not how love works!"
He should stop now while he still can. But Morty is still thrumming with the throes of fury. Before he can stop himself he opens his mouth and pushes the last of the words out.
"That's why everyone always leaves you Rick! You're not an asshole because you like being mean! You're an asshole so no one ever expects anything out of you! And th-that's why you always end up alone!"
It's as still as a cemetery--quiet and deadly. Stinking of rot under the surface.
"You wanna know how love works Morty?" Rick asks softly, his eyes dark with intensity.
"Yeah Rick, I know. It's all just chemicals. It's not real. You tell me all the f-fucking time."
"No," Rick hisses. "You wanna know about love?"
Something shifts in the air. It grapples for his lungs. It feels heavier, like he's fighting with every inhale. Morty suddenly realizes how close they are standing. He takes a step back.
"Love is a fuckin disease! I-i-it literally changes the way you think! All those fuckin chemicals rushing in makes the brain start to crave it like an actual fuckin drug. A drug, Morty! And the brain will continue seeking out ways to get that high back. Maybe with a grand gesture, or a ro--euURuhhp--a romantic dinner, or a stupid little anniversary present! So what do you think happens when the dopamine levels are low?"
Rick is wild in his movements. Morty curls in on himself.
"Withdrawal! Fucking withdrawal! You--you get crazier! Seeking out more expensive, more idiotic ways of expressing your primitive attachment to this one fucking person! And suddenly you can't think about equations anymore! You can't build a fucking neutrino bomb to save your life! You go to sleep and you wake up and all you wanna go is get that high back because newsflash you're an addict!"
Rick's rants always tended to sound a little crazy. Just another insane old man rambling again about Iraq or Columbus Day. He would get a certain pitch to his tone, a light note that sounded higher than the rest. But as he slows down, his tone grows deeper. Until his voice is low and guttural.
"If you love something set it free right?" He sounds far away now, staring past him. He smirks, a nasty glint to his eyes. "That's bullshit."
Rick's gaze snaps back to Morty's. Addicts never did have the best track record in letting things go.
"If you love something, you tighten your God. Damn. Grip!"
Rick moves forward inch by inch. Morty's neck cranes to look up at all of Rick's height. He moves backwards again, just a tiny little step. Rick steps with him, sensing blood in the water.
"You trap that love! You make it rely on you! You f-force it to acknowledge that it's insignificant without you! You make it feel worthless and weak!"
Morty's back hits the wall. Rick's hands thump hard as they slam down on either side of his head. Rick bears down on him, eyes alight in a full blown rant.
"You can't leave if you don't remember what you're angry about! You can't go if your legs are broken and mangled!"
Rick's hand snakes over Morty's throat, squeezing lightly. Morty's eyes grow wide. He shivers partly out of fear, partly from arousal.
Rick watches the way Morty's eyes dilate. That wouldn't do. He needs him more afraid. Rick squeezes harder.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of when I'm in love, Morty. I would destroy you."
His breath is hot on Morty's cheeks.
"I would l-lock you away! Keep you chained down!"
Morty trembles, finding his voice. "I'm n-not afraid of you."
Rick chuckles. It slithers past Morty's ears. "I once had a partner suuuper into BDSM, Morty. I beat them over the tub with a baseball bat. I broke their fucking spine. Then I dragged them out and stitched them back up."
Rick moves his other hand up and pinches the repairing skin of the burns on Morty's neck. Morty struggles, crying out.
"I was the number one requested person at this one doctor kink clinic. I've opened up hundreds of people. Had my goddamn hands allllll over their organs! You have any idea what it's like to hold a beating heart in your hand and know that one wrong move can end it all?"
Morty tries to look away. Rick forces his chin back. Nails dig sharply into his skin as Rick leans in. Teeth scrape over Morty's soft cheek as he whispers into his ear.
"Love is not nice, Morty. It's not sunshine or flowers or cute little puppies. I'm incapable of it."
Tears gather in Morty's eyes. He can't breathe. He pushes against Rick, but his grandfather only presses harder. Black spots appear in the corners of his vision. His mouth hangs open, gaping like a fish. He kicks out, erection finally waning. The terror sinks in.
"I only know how to be a monster."
The hand let's go, blessed air finally returning. Morty drops to the floor, gasping and clutching at his tender throat. He coughs, gagging at the sudden influx of air.
Rick kneels down beside him. He takes Morty's head between his hands in mock tenderness. He leans down to kiss Morty's forehead sweetly.
"Now get the fuck out of my sight," he says softly into the top of his hair.
-
Morty sits in his room nursing his wounds. He stands up only to sit back down again several times. His skin is thrumming, fingertips burning. He gets up to pace.
Rick was a deeply physical person. If he was happy he hugged you. If he was angry he hit you. And if he was aroused, well in theory he kissed you.
Morty touches his lips. Most of the time when he imagined Rick kissing him it involved a sloppy tongue or scratchy chin hairs. Now all he can think of is teeth and blood and fear.
He puts a chair against the doorknob. It wouldn't stop his grandfather from coming in if he really wanted to. But it made him feel slightly better. Sort of.
-
It's late when he dares venture out again. He knocks lightly on the garage door in a way he almost never did. He normally had no problem barging into Rick's space. The same way Rick always barged into his.
Rick's back is to him as he opens the door. The courage Morty had gathered up is almost depleted from his trip down the stairs. He grips the door handle, ready to flee if need be.
"What if…" He croaks. His voice was scratchy as if he'd been yelling at the top of his lungs for hours. "What if I want you to keep me?"
The bones of Rick's back twist and pop as Rick turns to look at him. His eyes are glass, swirling with a terrifying unnamed emotion.
"You shouldn't say those kinds of things around me, Morty."
He's rubbing his chest, knuckles brushing against that same exact spot Morty had laid his head upon yesterday morning. Something tears inside him. Maybe his sanity. Maybe his heart.
Morty swallows and licks his lips. Rick has already turned back around.
"I'm...I'm gonna go stay with Dad for a bit."
Rick doesn't react. He doesn't do a goddamn thing. Just keeps touching that one spot on his chest like Morty can't see and what did that even mean?
Morty shuts the door and leaves Rick alone. The next morning he packs a suitcase and runs off to stay at his father's place. Fuck Rick.