Work Text:
Then
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He's 17 when he finds out.
Morty had wandered a bit too far from Rick's side on one of their visits to the Citadel. To be fair Rick had been acting like a dickhole and Morty needed some space. But it was hard to get away from Rick when literally every other person around you was another version of your grandfather. So he went to the only place he knew to be devoid of Rick's: Mortytown.
He'd never actually been there before. He had no reason to. Mortytown was for lost Morty's; Rick-less Morty's. The lucky bastards. It was both refreshing and weird to see himself and only himself for once. At last he could finally relax without Rick breathing down his neck.
He feels at peace for all of 20 minutes. As he walks through the town, he takes a turn down an alley. He didn't really have a destination in mind. He was just aimlessly wandering around. If only he'd known better…
He sees it by complete accident. The large sign declared it "The Creepy Morty." From what Morty could make of it, it seemed like a bar from the outside. A bar by Morty's for Morty's. How great was that? His feet hurry to take him inside, eager to see the kinds of alcohol they served.
The lights are dim as he passes the bouncer on the way in. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust; even longer for his nose as it smelled way too intense. Like old people's cologne. Slowly, the scene unfolds before him. The first thing he notices are the Rick's scattered about. Morty feels a slight disappointment climbing within him. He'd been hoping to get away from Rick's for a while. What were they doing in an all Morty bar anyway? Didn't they have their own bars in the main part of the Citadel?
He resigns himself to the fact that even in Mortytown, Rick was everywhere. At least these were genderless Rick's. He can't smell them the way he could with someone from an ABO dimension. As an omega he was sensitive to scents, so it was a small blessing that so many other dimensions didn't have secondary genders at all.
The second thing he notices is the large stage occupying the center of the room. Morty rubs at his eyes and blinks slowly. There, sliding over the stripper pole, is a dancing version of himself. Their legs were shaved and smooth, skin sparkling with glitter. That isn't what unnerves him though. What makes him stop and double-take are the Rick's sitting by the stage. One of them was reaching up to slide a dollar bill into the Pole Morty's panties.
His stomach flops, breath suddenly heavy and thick. He looks away quickly, jerking his head in the opposite direction. That is when he finally notices the third and most important thing about the entire scene. Across the way, in a dark corner, a Morty slides seductively onto a Rick's lap. And it was seductive. There is no other way to describe it. The Morty and Rick look at each other with heated gazes, an unmistakable bulge in the Rick's pants.
Morty swallows, not wanting to believe his eyes. He blinks heavily, staring uselessly. His mind refuses to compute, unable to process what it is he is looking at.
He didn't...Rick wouldn't…
He backs out, body trembling and hands numb. He bursts out of the building and falls over onto his hands and knees on the street. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.
Morty looks up at the blinking sign overhead. It's neon lights beckon both Rick's and Morty's inside.
Morty runs. He runs and runs all the way back into the main part of the Citadel. He runs until his lungs are on fire. Until he can't think about anything beyond the burning muscles in his legs.
He collapses on a park bench near the center fountain. He breathes in and out, shaking and terrified. Morty curls into himself and waits.
After what feels like an hour later, his Rick finally finds him.
"Morty what the FUCK??"
Rick takes a step forward, his hand outstretched.
Images of dirty, filthy things fill Morty's head. He flinches back away from Rick.
"The fuck is up with you?" Rick growls. "I've been all over this goOooddamn city because you can't stay in one fucking spot!"
He reaches for him again. Morty cowers on the bench, leaning away from Rick's grabbing hands.
"Don't touch me!"
Rick stops, blinking once. Twice. His gaze roams over Morty cataloging every inch of him; the hunch in his back, the fear in his eyes. Then Rick sighs. His shoulders droop.
"Dammit, Morty,” he mutters. “I told you never to go over there!"
There. As in Mortytown.
Morty lifts his gaze, staring up at Rick. ”You k-knew what happens over there," he whispers.
Rick grumbles, looking away. "Look we stick to our side of the Citadel, and the weird fucks stick to theirs, okay? Just don't think about it."
Morty had gotten pretty good at not thinking about anything anymore. But this? This was different. He couldn't just let this one go. This was about Rick! His grandfather! He can still see that one Rick in the corner, blue eyes raking over a Morty with apparent lust and a wolfish sort of grin and–
Morty bites his lips, shivering from disgust. There were Rick's out there who desired him. Who wanted him in a way that wasn't purely beneficial or platonic. They were out there right now. They may even be all around him; out and about in the heart of the Citadel.
He can push away the time he killed an entire race, bury the time his face melted off, even forget the time when Rick and him accidentally switched a pair of twins at birth. But this? He can't just forget this. He can't push it into a box and not think about it.
This changed everything.
-
Now
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Morty opens his bedroom door to find Rick lying across his bed. He isn't surprised. Rick had been following him all day. He'd been in the background, just watching. It was this new thing he did; waiting for Morty to break and come to him. Because Morty always did. Every time. Even when Rick was being an asshole, even if he'd told Rick to fuck off and never come back, even if Morty said he never wanted to go on another adventure again, Rick would wait. And he would watch. And Morty would eventually come back.
It was idiotic. Rick couldn't just ask him like a normal person. No. He had to be an emotionally stunted narcissist and wait for Morty to be the one to crack. And Morty tried to hold out. He really did. But the longer he lasted the more obnoxious Rick became.
The last time Morty had attempted to ignore Rick's “not-asking” to go on an adventure, the older man had started sitting in on his lectures at school. Once he'd disrupted his classical literature class by bringing in a clone of William Shakespeare. The professor had reverted into a star struck fangirl. Morty had to run for his life when the two had started making out and tried to have sex on the desk.
But most of the time Rick would just insert himself into Morty's space via at home. Two of his three roommates were almost never home thankfully. Between work and school he barely ever saw Chrissy or Anna. Dylan, on the other hand, didn't have a job. Needless to say Dylan had been very, very confused the first time he saw an old man munching on his cereal in the shared kitchen.
"Uuuh, Morty? Who's this?"
"No one. Don't worry about him."
Dylan never asked again. Probably because of the piercing stare Rick had been giving him that promised death if he so much as approached him. He didn't know what kind of rumors his roommates had made up about Rick and frankly he didn't care. Just so long as they left him out of the conversation.
Morty shuts the door behind him and shoves his backpack off his aching shoulders. The backpack falls with a heavy thump. He gives a half-hearted glare at Rick as his grandfather haphazardly throws an empty wrapper of beef jerky onto his bedroom floor.
"If you're gonna stalk me can you at least refrain from eating my f-food? I don't have much money as it is."
"Money? Well shit, Mort! Then I guess it's a good thing I've got a buyer lined up for today!" Rick smirks. A brief moment of cold calculation crosses his face before he allows a hint of sincerity to bleed through. "If you come along I'll give you eight percent."
Morty narrows his eyes. He knows how this works.
"Fifteen."
"Ten."
"Twelve."
"Deal!" Rick grins like he's won the lottery.
Morty didn't have much dignity to his name, but one never did when keeping company with Rick Sanchez. The old man didn't have much use for it and Morty was tired of living off ramen.
Rick jumps off the bed and shoots a portal into the wall. Morty frowns.
"Wait, you meant now? But I just got back! Can I at least eat first?"
Rick frowns. "Yes now! I was supposed to–the meeting time was ten minutes ago!"
Morty sighs loudly. "Uuuuuuuuugh, fine!"
He throws his hands up and walks into the portal. Rick goes right behind him.
-
Then
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There were horrifying truths in the universe: the end of all things, the beginning of existence, how they made the shoelaces. But somehow Rick always managed to scar him in a brand new way every time they went out for another adventure.
He went to school. He slept in his bed. He did his homework (as much as he could anyway.) But it was still there; still lurking in the back of his mind.
He'd never noticed how casually Rick would touch him until now. How he would ruffle his hair, or grab his arm, or crowd his space while they sat on the sofa. But now Morty jumped every single time Rick was near. He'd tense up if Rick so much as breathed in his direction. It weighed on the both of them. He could see the hurt in Rick's eyes, but only barely. Most of it was just open annoyance.
His grandfather was annoyed that Morty was having trouble coping with the fact that there were versions of them out there doing things with each other. He was frustrated that he couldn't yank Morty around anymore without him spazzing out about it. And oddly enough that helped. Because it pissed him off. It infuriated him the way Rick could shove shit like that down. How he didn't even care Morty was having an existential crisis! He. Didn't. Care.
And that sparks an ugly thought. An ugly, unholy, disturbing thought.
What if Rick didn't care because he was one of those Rick's? Did he also feel stirrings of less than familial affection towards him? Did Rick also want to do those sorts of things with him?
And that's when the nightmares started. Ones with Rick coming into his room and stealing him away; taking him back to that awful place in the Citadel, and tying him up and holding him down. He could do it if he wanted. Rick could do literally anything and no one would know. No one would be able to stop him.
Morty shut down entirely after that. He refused to go on adventures for a whole month. The only reason it worked was because Morty had convinced his mother that he needed to catch up on schoolwork. But Rick knew better. He'd glared at him across the table, angry and lurking. Morty tried not to look directly at him, but it only made Rick angrier.
By the end of the week, Rick finally confronted him. Morty was sitting at his desk in his room when it happened. Rick barged in and yanked him from his chair, ruthlessly throwing Morty into a portal. Morty had brief flashes of a sex dungeon, or a costumed orgy party, or worse…
Only to fall into the garage. He looked around. There were no chains or shackles anywhere. Just the same old boxes and shelves.
"I've given you plenty of space but this shit stops now!" Rick towered over him, drool hanging from his mouth.
Morty scrambled to get up as Rick approached. He backed away quickly.
"Jesus, Morty! I'm not gonna fucking molest you! You're a scrawny, wimpy little shit! Why the fuck would I ever want you?"
Morty felt slightly offended until he remembered that that was a good thing. He rubbed his arm, looking at the ground.
"I just... it's h-hard Rick."
"I can still erase it," he offered.
"NO!" Morty said quickly. "No, please! I needed to know. I'll be fine. Just...I'm sorry."
Not knowing would be even worse. Not knowing what lurked in strange Rick's heads. Not that he had trusted any other Rick's before, but now he knew to be even more cautious.
Rick sighed, grumbling. He looked straight at Morty, an expression of determination in his eyes. "Look, don't read too much into this."
"Into what?"
Slowly, so as not to startle him, Rick moved towards him. Morty tensed but didn't move. Rick's arms came closer and closer. Morty was very, very still as he allowed Rick to wrap around him in a hug. His arms were boney but gentle. He was warm and tender in a way Morty was unused to. Rick laid his head atop Morty's. He could hear the old man's heart beat, steady and strong.
Morty relaxed around him, letting Rick pull him in. He forgot his waking nightmares. He forgot the Citadel and the rest of the house and the world outside. It was just them, and only them.
Morty clung back, tentatively gripping Rick's shirt. He buried his head into it. It smelt as terrible as it always did, but it was a comfort now. Rick was the same old Rick. Not a stranger. Not a pedophile. This was his grandfather. He knew him. And although Rick was mean and scathing at the best of times, he'd never once done anything untoward. Neither fingers nor his eyes had ever lingered on him.
He breathed out, exhaling the last of his worries into the air. Rick's arms were loose around him. Morty could pull away at any time. He wasn't trapped. He was safe.
"You good, buddy?"
Morty hummed softly. "Yeah."
Rick pulled away, running his hands down his sweater as if wiping away any access affection. "Good because we've got a shit ton of errands to run! If we hurry we can be back before four a.m.!"
Morty drooped. "Aw geez, Rick. Can we just do it l-later? I have school in the morning!"
Rick glared. "No! It's all backed up because someone had a giant fuckin hissy fit! Now p-put on this stealth suit!"
Morty sighed and took the suit. Their fingers brushed against each other. He doesn't flinch. As Morty stripped down to put the suit on, Rick turned away. He'd never bothered to give him any sort of privacy before. Nudity was normal between them. Yet Morty appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Rick was obviously trying, as annoying as it was for him.
Morty stared at Rick's back as he undressed. His grandfather's shoulders are deceptively tense. One could argue he always looked like that; tense and high-strung.
Rick wasn't just a liar. He was a professional. Morty reasoned that it was because of the mission they were gearing up for that caused Rick to look so tense. Maybe it was more dangerous than Rick had let on. But somehow it felt more than that.
There was something heavy in the air. It permeated through the stank of chemicals and oil. It was as familiar a smell as Rick's favored alcohol. It would creep up at odd times whenever he was with Rick. Yet to this day he'd no idea what it was. It was always watered down by some other scent: smoke, blood, whiskey. It was impossible to pin down Rick's natural scent because of it.
There was an equation trying to build itself in his head. Numbers and letters raced past him. He was never that good at math. But this time, as he stared at Rick in his half naked state, his subconscious finally put two and two together.
It was the faint, underlying scent of his grandfather's arousal.
-
Now
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Morty steps through the portal. He never knows what he's going to see on the other side; what new crazy thing is going to happen, or if he'll even live through it. But he goes anyway–always.
True to Rick's word (for once) it actually was a simple exchange. Morty spots the large, hulking figure of Rick's favored customer the second they emerge from the portal. Morty was familiar with a lot of Rick's contacts now. But out of all of them, he definitely liked Assassinator the best. What can he say? The guy was charming for an eight foot killing machine. It was probably the fur. Assassinator resembled an earth panda down to his cute little round ears.
"Hello, Morty!" They greet him with a wave of their paw.
Morty smiles. "Hey Assassinator! Been a while."
"It has. You well?"
"Yep! Still doing the college thing."
Assassinator nods. "Education is good."
Morty grins, knowing Rick hated these little exchanges. Ironically that was the reason why Rick brought him along. His grandfather could pull in enough people by reputation alone, but even the toughest criminal got sick of dealing with Rick's shit after a time. Morty was, for lack of a better term, the charm in their duo.
"What about you? S-still dating Roxa?"
Assassinator pauses. His species did not blush but Morty wonders sometimes.
"I am. We married. Couple months ago."
"That's fantastic! Congratulations!"
Assassinator smiles, or at least Morty thinks he does. The lip curl looked weird on a panda face.
"We have cub on way. I am preparing to enter fatherhood."
"Wow! Look at you settling down!"
"Indeed I am. This will be last job."
Before Morty can say anything, Rick interrupts, rudely pushing forward.
"The fuck? Don't tell me you've gone soft!" Rick says. "Y-you fucking love killing!"
Assassinator nods. "I do. Did not think I'd ever stop. But I love her. Love her so much. Don't want to die before see my cub grow up."
"Jesus!" Rick makes a gagging noise and Morty gives him a glare.
"I think it's a noble thing you're doing," Morty offers. "Family is important."
Assassinator nods. "More than anything."
Rick gags harder.
After that Rick hurries their exchange along, no longer willing to put up with anymore small talk. Morty was sad to see Assassinator go. They'd probably never see each other again, but he was still happy for him. If anyone deserved to get out of the game and live a happy life, it was Assassinator. Morty waves goodbye and wishes him luck on his journey. Rick doesn't.
As soon as they're alone again Morty turns to Rick.
"Hey, do you mind if we make a pit stop at the supermarket on Kleckin?"
He was in dire need of groceries and the Kleckin grocery store had prices to rival Aldi's there. He could get an entire month's worth of food for thirty dollars.
"Yeah whatever. Gonna get me some booze while we're at it."
Rick opens up a portal and they step on through. The supermarket itself was massive. It was a four-story tall labyrinth of aisles upon aisles. The first time he'd been here, Morty had gotten lost and had to go to the front and page Rick like a 5 year old. It'd been humiliating. Rick had laughed his ass off; offering to get Morty a leash and lead him around the store.
As they make their way around, Morty tries to think about what he needed. He didn't bring a list with him, not having expected to come here. He couldn't let himself buy too much as there was limited space in the house. Morty mostly stuck to non perishables he could stash in his room. It's not that he didn't trust his roommates not to eat what wasn't theirs in the fridge, it was just... well no he didn't trust them. Anything in the fridge was free game. So yeah. His closet and under his bed had a lot of cans and ramen. It was definitely annoying, but Morty was over it. He can't exactly blame them for being curious about alien food.
Beside him, Rick walks around, head buried in his phone and muttering to himself.
"...ten thousand? Motherfucker this info is worth twice that amount!..."
Morty largely ignores him. He grabs what he needs off the shelves. He wishes earth had one of these stores. They were really convenient, like Walmart. It had everything you needed under one roof. Only without the crackheads and the weirdos wandering around.
An hour later (it normally took him just under two to get through the store) Rick is still glued to his phone. Whatever it was, it seemed like serious business. He didn't like to get involved in Rick's business and actively tried not to. It was almost always something messy and almost always ended in disaster.
He tries not to worry about it. He really does. But opportunity presents itself when Rick stops in front of the sauces. He stands with his back to the aisle, completely oblivious. His fingers are swiping vehemently across the keyboard. If Morty leaned over just enough he could see over his shoulder...
Chucklefuck#3: You're fucking lying bro! Ain't no way!
Rick: The fuck would I gain from lying??
Chucklefuck#3: Assassinator has been killing longer than I have! He's more bloodthirsty than any of my mates put together!
Rick: You want the deets or not? I can sell to someone else…
Morty's stomach drops. His hands tighten on the cart. Not even an hour later and Rick was already selling Assassinator out. The guy had a kid on the way.
The cart rolls to a complete stop. He feels the aisles moving and twisting around him. The tiles under his feet start to rumble.
"The fuck is up with you?" Rick flicks Morty's forehead.
Morty scowls, blinking out of his daze. He turns away from Rick's scrutinizing stare.
"Let's just p-pay and get out of here," he grumbles.
"Not without my booze!"
Rick walks away, assuming Morty is following. Morty watches his back. His gait is steady and calm, like he wasn't about to ruin a man's life and tear apart someone's happy ending. Why did Morty constantly forget who Rick was? Why was he always shutting out the bad parts to enjoy the good ones?
He wants to scream. He wants to hit Rick and shove him; punch his stupid face and give him a black eye. But Morty doesn't want to cause a scene. He'll get kicked out or possibly banned from the store.
So he stays quiet and he says nothing.
-
Then
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Sometimes he'd catch Rick looking. He'll stare at him when he's at the dinner table, or watching TV, or out on an adventure. It could mean anything. From early on-set Alzheimer's to doing math equations in his head, Rick could be thinking about anything.
Morty thinks he dreamed it up sometimes, spurred on by his own paranoia. Maybe the garage fumes had just been messing with his head? The scent had been really faint after all. But Morty's mind couldn't help but supply endless amounts of dangerous what-ifs. Was Rick trying to pick Morty apart? Did he want something from him? Something dark? Something other?
Rick had denied it, but what if he was lying? Morty would never know. He would never know. Rick was a master at the craft. And if he was caught, he could bend your mind and erase your memories.
That wasn't even the worst of it. Morty only wished it had been. It started out as a morbid fascination; plain curiosity. But one day while in class, pretending to pay attention, a stray thought crossed his mind. What made a Morty attracted to a Rick in the first place?
He'd never thought of Rick in that way before. Why would he? Rick was old, boney, and permanently smelt of alcohol. But that image of the bar won't leave his mind. What made any sort of Morty think Rick was desirable? What was it about him?
It's a question that keeps popping back up over and over again. Morty never specifically thought about it, but it came up in small ways nonetheless. They'd be on the couch and Rick would throw his head back and laugh. Morty would think, he looks nice when he's happy. They'd be on an adventure and Rick would leap over debris like an Olympian and take out an enemy with a skilled headshot. Morty would think, he's extremely agile and capable for his age. They'd be getting ice cream and Rick would ruffle his hair. And Morty would think, his hands feel nice.
Little things keep adding up, answering Morty's unspoken question one by one. It's both easier and harder now that he knows. Only now he couldn't stop thinking about it. His voice of reason grew smaller and smaller, buried under dirt and filth. He couldn't turn off noticing Rick in that way. He can't stop looking at him and seeing what made him attractive.
Days and weeks and months pass in this way until finally it's been an entire year. Their relationship was on the decline, drifting apart day by day. There was a strain between them whenever they went out. Rick sensed it. It was too great to miss.
Their adventures dwindled from every other day to once a week to every other week. By the time Morty turns eighteen, Rick takes him out only once or twice a month.
Morty missed the regular adventures but it was better this way; less awkward, less weird. Besides, he had been doing better in school. He'd gone on a date with Jessica! It hadn't worked out in the end, but still it had been great to go out without Rick bursting through the bushes to pull him away. Plus Morty had even made a friend! They were a space nerd who was fascinated by all the stories Morty told him about interdimensional travel. Though Morty kinda stopped hanging out with him when they kept trying to pester Rick about the universe and his various inventions.
His grades became steady enough that he felt confident in applying to a few colleges. This was a good thing, Morty reasoned. Grandfather's and grandsons weren't supposed to be co-dependently close. It was good that they could still hang out without it being a life or death situation. It was stable. It was fine. Rick and Morty just being normal. Perfectly fine.
It was fine.
-
Now
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They arrive back at the house in Morty's bedroom. Morty places his bags on the bed and begins the process of hiding away his food. He really ought to put a forcefield or something around it to prevent any theft. Rick would do it if he asked. But the thought of asking Rick for anything right now turned his already sour mood dire.
Rick has already taken out the bottle of booze he'd bought and was uncapping it. He mumbles angrily to himself, taking a long sip.
Morty wants to tell him to get out. But when he opens his mouth that's not what comes out.
"You still m-mad about Assassinator leaving the game?"
It's not the best, nor the most subtle way to bring it up. But Morty has long since accepted he had no ability for tact. It was okay though. Rick worked best with blunt truths.
"He's a f-fucking chump!" Rick replies, predictably. "He was my best customer!"
Don't get angry. Don't get angry. Don't get angry.
"You left the game too once," Morty reminds him; the ghost of Diane settles between them.
Rick rounds on him quick.
"You wanna hear about my stint of insanity?!" Rick spits viciously. "About how I convinced myself that dopamine and endorphins meant that I-I-I should give up everything and move into a stupid cul de sac and paint a goddamn picket fence white?
"Yes, Morty! Even I managed to fall prey to the greeting card scam that love is worth it and you should give up on your fucking dreams!"
"Wh-what dreams?" Morty clenches his fists. "You sell drugs and weapons! You steal and cheat your way through the galaxy! Was it your dream to grow up and be an asshole?!"
Rick growls. "You think you got a spine now? Just because you go to coOouUllege now? You a big campus man, Morty?"
Figures he would try to deflect. It was his number one go to. Bring down the people around him and beat them with their own mundane stupidity.
"You sure like to look down on the rest of us, Rick! Like we all live pitiful boring lives! But the truth is you're scared! You–you're scared that maybe it wasn't us that wasted our lives! It was you! You're the one who threw away everything!"
Rick stares at him. Then, calmly, he picks up Morty's backpack from the floor. He takes a device out of his coat pocket and incinerates his backpack. It goes up in flames, disappearing within seconds. Only a pile of ash remains. Morty stares in disbelief.
"That had my homework in it you petty bitch!"
Rick flips him off and heads for the door. Not because he needed to exit that way, it was simply more dramatic to slam the door rather than walk through a portal.
Morty crashes into his back, throwing them both onto the floor. The bottle of liquor rolls away, sloshing alcohol all over the ashy carpet. Rick huffs underneath him. They grapple violently and Rick elbows him hard. Morty can take a hit. He's learned how to by now. But Rick always hit like a steel ton bus. He never held back.
Morty punches Rick's face, aiming for his jaw. Rick catches it and flips his wrist. He then shoves Morty onto the floor, holding his arm up in a painful hold.
"You done?" Rick snaps.
"I'm counting the days till you turn to dust, old man!" Morty hisses through the pain. "Sh-should be any fucking day now! I'm putting my bet on Monday!"
Rick twists harder. Morty squeezes his eyes shut, teeth grinding against each other.
"Fuuuck!"
Morty knew better than anyone that if you went for Rick Sanchez, you'd better not fucking miss. He'd come back ten times harder and ten times more ruthless.
"Uncle!" He screeches.
Rick lets go. Morty snatches his hand back, cradling it close. Rick stands up leaving Morty upon the floor.
Rick could take an enormous amount of physical punishment. But words? Rick never knew how to deal with truths. Here he was running away again. But he'd be back–just like always. Expecting Morty to say yes because he assumed his grandson was bored out of his mind and must hate college just as much as him.
Morty holds his hand to his side and swallows the pain. "You've never felt guilty over anything h-have you?" He says, low and cold.
There are no tears. He's far past them.
"No regrets. No emotions. P-probably ripped them out of you long ago!"
Rick stops. His back is stiff.
"You trampled over Mom and you trampled over me! And now you're–you're throwing Assassinator to the wolves because what? Because he has the guts to go after what he truly wants??"
Maybe it was a bit mean. Maybe it was unfair. But Morty knows it's the only thing that can truly get under his grandfather's skin un a way that nothing else can. Rick, for some unfathomable reason, valued Morty's opinion. He cared about the way Morty viewed him to the point of erasing something as insignificant as the time he won a chess match from his memory.
But that's what Rick had never understood about him. Morty never wanted to see Rick as infallible. Flaws made him human. Morty liked knowing that his grandfather failed sometimes. But despite what Rick thought, he didn't want to rub it in his face. (Though maybe a little bit of teasing would be nice.) It simply made him more approachable.
"That's... that's not–" Morty bites his tongue before he apologizes.
Even now he can't spit the vitriol needed. He wasn't, and would never be, as cruel as Rick. He didn't actually want to see the man hurt. He just wanted Rick to acknowledge his faults and own up to them. And yeah, maybe also to stop fucking other people over.
"Go ahead Morty say what you really think." Rick's back is still turned away from him.
Morty knows what Rick's face looks like regardless. It is carefully blank; a cold mask of nothing behind his eyes. Say what he really thought? Morty shakes his head.
"I can't," he confesses. "My image of you changes daily."
Nothing he can say will save Assassinator from the fate Rick will deal him. Morty cannot reason with him. He cannot bully him, fight him, or coerce him. There is nothing to be done. He should be used to this really. And while he isn't surprised by Rick's callous cruelty, he still can't accept the fact that this was who Rick really was. Maybe that was why he continued to try and appeal to a conscience that had long since been burned away. Because at some point in his life, Rick had cared.
"Some days I hate you. S-some days I don't. You are a reckless, pathetic old man who won't leave me alone b-because I'm the only person who keeps giving you the time of day!"
Morty licks his lips. He watches the unnatural stillness unfold from his grandfather. It used to creep him out; the way he could be so rigid. Like a predator. It was almost wrong to see a man so aggressively expressive be so motionless. He remembers being 17 and absolutely convinced Rick desired him; the unnerving way Rick's eyes followed him across the room.
"I miss you all the time."
Morty looks over the creases of Rick's lab coat. He liked to think that Rick had first put it on as a joke–play up the scientist stereotype. But then he ended up liking it too much and never took it off.
"And I hate that too! I hate that I m-miss feeling close to you! I hate that I miss how it used to be."
Rick's eyes are heavy, peering at him as he looks over his shoulder. It wasn't until he was free from the gravity of his grandfather's orbit, that he could see just how destructive he was. And yet even now he longed to go back. Rick was right. Morty loathes the mundanity of everyday life. At least if he died out there in the universe it would be spectacular. The most exciting thing Morty could do now was choke to death on a toothpick from his BLT.
"You stole from me–bits and pieces of myself. Things I hadn't realized or missed until it was too late. You stole my f-future before I even grew up."
Rick hadn't just stolen it. He'd smashed it; ground it under his heel. He'd ripped every single dream Morty had ever had from him.
Morty gestures around the room. "I think we both know this isn't going to go anywhere! I'm just biding my time! Pretending like I have a say in how the rest of my life is going to go!”
"Do you have any idea how fucking annoying it is," Rick says, finally speaking, "To have some–some brat constantly whining about going out into the literal fucking universe–a privilege almost no one else on earth fucking gets–only to grow up and beg for adventures like a cheap whore for a fat cock?"
"Adventures?" Morty smiles darkly. What a laugh! "You called them that to make them sound fun! To pull the wool over my mother's eyes! Calling the genocide of an entire planet an adventure? O-o-or taking a teenage boy to a high stakes gambling ring? The things we did were closer in description to a nightmare! An adventure would be going through the closet to Narnia! To make friends with a mythical creature that didn't want to fucking eat you the second you let your guard down!"
"Yeah you reeeally hated going around the galaxy and seeing shit no one can even begin to imagine! You hated it so much you've decided to waste the rest of your life on this dirt planet!" Rick scoffs. "How awful of me to give you the chance of a lifetime!"
Rick's hand twitches, raising to pat his coat for his flask. But it was empty, and the bottle of booze lay ruined on the floor.
"I didn't foOOoorce you to enroll here! I didn't tell you to fuck off and eat ramen for every meal! That was you!"
"You could have made me stay!" Morty says sharply. "We both know you could have made me! Brainwashed me or chipped me or bad the colleges deny me admittance!"
He's shocked at his own words. It wasn't until this moment Morty realized he resented Rick for letting him go.
Rick narrows his eyes. "Why would I do that? I think you're overestimating how much I need your brainwaves. New flash, I've gotten by for–for decades without them! I don't need you!"
"You do Rick."
The absolute certainty has him shaking. Rick needs him. Because he is here right now in Morty's room. Turns out neither of them were capable of letting the other go.
"If you're so sure of that then why leave at all?"
"Because I'm trying to be a better person!"
Rick laughs at him like it's some cosmic joke.
"I want to do better! That's n-not wrong!!"
"You know Morty, lording your ethical superiority over other people isn't very ethical!" He says with a nasty little grin. "You think you're such a saint!"
"I don't! And stop twisting my words! I know I've done b-bad stuff too! But at least I'm better than you!"
Rick's teeth glisten as his lips twitch up. "So I'm the bad guy? Is that it?"
Rick steps forward, walking around him. He circles Morty; a lion sizing up its meal. It sends a shiver down his spine that's not entirely fueled by fear.
And there it was. The other reason he'd left. The secret buried deep down that he'd locked away the second it became known. The reason why he needed to get away from his grandfather.
"Nothing is just good or bad by itself, Morty. It has to be assigned to it. Alcohol isn't bad. Guns aren't evil. People associate things and place them in–they p-put them neat little categories so they can feel good about themselves! Nothing is actually right or wrong on its own! They're just social constructs created to control the populace!"
Rick circles around and stops in front of him.
"The minute you try to bring order to a chaotic universe is–is the minute you fail! The universe is a violent, uncaring thing! It's all disarray and mayhem right down to the atoms constantly colliding with each other! The world makes no sense! I only act accordingly."
Words Rick lived by. If there were no heroes or villains, then it was just people living and dying in their own little stories. Irrelevant. Unimportant. Side characters.
"You're wrong."
Rick pauses. Morty glares back.
"You can explain it away all you want, but there are lines and boundaries for a reason!"
Rick rolls his eyes like Morty just said another stupid thing. "Is that why you decided to run away to a fucking scam college? Boundaries?"
It's on the tip of his tongue; sleepless nights and restless days. The way the bones shifted under Rick's clothes. The crook of his smile like it'd caught on something. Morty couldn't stop watching him. He couldn't stop.
Morty had always been afraid of what Rick may do to him; of what he might want Rick to do. Lines don't exist as boundaries for Rick, they were just temptations–a dare.
Morty pushes him, hands flying up to shove harshly at his chest. Rick stumbles backwards in shock. Morty shoves at him again, ignoring the flare of pain that shoots up his wrist. He keeps pushing at Rick. But now that he expected it, Rick barely budged an inch.
Morty remembers being small. When he was 14 Rick was like a giant immovable object. Never flinching even in the face of a fate worse than death.
"I left because I couldn't take your bullshit anymore!"
He gives another shove with every word he shouts.
"Because some–of us–have a –moral–compass!"
He goes to give him one last final shove out of his bedroom. But this time Rick's feet root themselves into the ground. His hands come up to grip the sides of the doorway. And when Morty hits Rick's chest it's him who stumbles instead. He thuds forward against him. Morty breathes heavily into Rick's chest. He glances up. Rick looks down on him, brow raised high. He was always looking at him, always with that same piercing stare.
"Moral compass?" Rick hisses, as if the word tastes like ash in his mouth. "Let me let you in on a little secret, Morty. People assign morality based on whatever the fuck helps them get ahead in life! Society is a construct! Love is a fucking chemical! And a conscience is you thinking that maybe you should feel bad about killing people when in reality you fucking don't!"
Rick leans in, dark and ominous. Still pressed against him, Morty can feel every harsh inhale and biting exhale. Rick's heart pounds against his chest. For a wild moment Morty imagines crushing it under his fingers.
"M-m-morality changes as society changes, Morty! Romans thought it perfectly acceptable to have gladiatorial fights The Victorian shits thought marrying your cousin was completely fine! And just a couple decades ago death by hanging was considered humane!
"We're all goddamn animals pretending we're superior beings! Like we can rise above and go to backupsmore university and get 100,000 dollars in debt so you can spend the rest of your life paying it off!"
Morty doesn't notice when he's stepped back, only that he has. Rick remains where he is, hands still holding the wooden frame of the door in a deadly grip.
"None of us are better and no one is good. So you can take your self-righteous ideology and shove it up your goddman asshole!"
Morty listens stoically. Neither man moves. Outside his bedroom door one of his roommates is probably bustling around the living room, pretending they can't hear Rick's ranting. Down below, on the sidewalk, cars and people continue to pass by.
"Of course Rick. Nothing m-matters. That's all you've ever said since I met you."
"Yet somehow none of it ever stuck."
Morty is silent a moment. He takes in Rick's figure; his hardened eyes and deep scowl on his face. Then he steps forward, back into Rick's space. Rick stills. His shoulders tense, ready for defense. But Morty slows his movements into something deliberate and soft.
"It did Rick,” he says, voice barely a whisper.
His skin is screaming, but his hands are steady and he reaches up.
"I've killed for you. Stole for you. I've died and been resurrected."
He presses his palms gently against Rick's chest. He feels it as his grandfather breathes slowly in. There it is again. That faint scent of a distant forest fire–destruction on the horizon. The scent he could never quite place; too unsure and too scared to call it what it was.
"This? This means nothing."
Slowly, he strokes his palms down, feeling every inch of him; every breath in and out. The chest underneath him shudders, but Rick's face reveals nothing. Not a hint of inner turmoil. Morty has never touched him like this. And Rick has never insinuated anything since that day in the garage. Morty never accused Rick of anything remotely inappropriate in the years that followed.
"What does it matter who I am? Or what I am?"
Morty catches the ends of Rick's shirt. He brushes his hands back up underneath it to the vulnerable stomach. Rick was clammy to the touch; a consequence of both being old and the cold cybernetics running through him. If Morty concentrated, he would be able to feel which ribs were real and which ones were fake.
He rubs little circles with the pads of his fingers. "You always take what you want Rick."
Morty leans in, sliding his nose over Rick's. He'd always expected to have an overwhelming sense of panic in this moment. He'd numerous nightmares of Rick slipping into his room and grabbing more than just his leg to drag him out of bed.
There's a glint in Rick's eye, the same spark of something Other that had sent Morty shaking and stumbling to the bathroom on more than one occasion–terrified for his sanity and his life.
"So why don't you take it now?"
It's only because he's so close that he catches it. There’s a small hitch of breath as Rick's pupils dilate. It cannot be mistaken for anything other than what it is. Rick wanted him. Morty was right.
Suddenly the scent is overwhelming. It's stronger than he's ever smelled it before; no longer overpowered by cigarettes or booze. He doesn't feel scared or panicked or anything he thought he would feel. Anything he should feel. Morty was right. And it sends a rush of dark satisfaction through him. He fucking knew it. All this time the bastard had been lying.
It makes him feel inexplicably powerful. He can't use this knowledge against him in any feasible way. He wouldn't be able to. Rick wasn't about to roll over for anything Morty said. And he didn't bow or bend for anyone. Rick could erase free will as easily as he could erase a planet from the galaxy. But nevertheless Morty felt…more.
The quiet horror from his childhood is still there, but it's small now. Now that Morty is grown, he knows exactly what weapon to wield when facing the monster in his closet.
Rick's head tilts. Morty leans up. Their mouths slot together. The kiss is brief, a tiny flicker of tongue against lips. He feels the second Rick reciprocates, chest expanding under his palms.
He drops his hands in a quick and sudden motion, denying Rick anything. He leans up and nips the tip of Rick's nose as he pulls away.
"Been meaning to ask," Morty whispers, "Was it your own 'morality' that stopped you from fucking me? Or was it something else?"
Rick's mouth glistens with Morty's saliva. His eyes are dark and wild.
"Yeah that's what I thought, Grandpa."
He slams the door shut in Rick's face. Fucking hypocrite.
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"So you're Rick," a voice from behind him says.
Rick turns to see a blonde woman leaning against the door of a bedroom.
"Didn't take you for his grandfather the way he talked about you."
"Fuck off!" Rick growls.
"We all pegged you for his ex actually."
Rick stops, leg frozen in mid-air. His head tilts ever so slightly. The woman grins, having successfully snared him.
"Buy me a drink?" She says. "Tell you all his dirty secrets."
Rick squints at her, already knowing which answer he was going to go with.