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Morty shifted, half-asleep, wincing at the sudden tug of bandages across his chest. He knew he shouldn't have followed Rick this time, knew it even before the gun-fire started and the whole thing collapsed into nonsensical bullcrap.
He stayed still as much as he could, eyes closed, letting his senses come back. He couldn't even be sure what happened – it was all such a blur. Rick... He knew Rick had grabbed him right before he fell off the balcony. They'd both hit the floor before the explosion, but after that he couldn't remember much.
Slowly, he could feel the room snap down and lock into place around him. Solid ground, finally. He was lying on a bed and there were bandages up his right arm and across his chest. He could still breathe on his own though and that was a good sign. He tensed a few of his muscles and was fairly relieved to find out he wasn't paralysed. Whatever had happened couldn't have been too serious... well, not in the grand scheme, at least.
The room was quiet aside from a soft noise somewhere off to his right. He held his breath for a couple of seconds and listened.
“Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around...” A voice... Rick's voice, he realised as his mind caught up. “Nothing's gonna harm you, darling, not while I'm around.”
And just like that Morty was five years old again, sick in his bed and shaking from his nightmares. Rick never stayed long enough for his mom and dad to notice he'd been there back then but Morty remembered being glad to see him whenever he did turn up. He smelled faintly like some kind of spicy cologne and what Morty would later recognise as Scotch, and in his five-year-old mind he was his own guardian angel. He was the one who always showed up when he needed him to.
Rick must have been sitting near the bedside. He sounded tired but it was clearly him. Morty would know his voice anywhere, especially after all they'd been though. So he laid there and listened to him singing in that quiet voice he hadn't heard in years, raspy with too many late nights and too much alcohol.
“No one's gonna hurt you, no one's gonna dare... Others can desert you, not to worry – whistle, I'll be there.”
And Morty believed him. He curled his fingers into the sheets, just a bit, and heard the soft rustle of fabric as Rick leaned forward in whatever chair he was likely sitting in to set his hand down on Morty's arm – his lifeline, just like always. Yes, Rick could be a callous, selfish, insane, borderline-sadistic jackass but just when Morty thought he might start to hate him... well, he did things like this.
“Demons will charm you with a smile, for a while, but in time... nothing's gonna harm you. Not while I'm around.”
"Grandpa Rick?" Morty asked and instantly regretted it. His throat felt like he'd swallowed about a gallon of broken glass.
Rick's lab coat rustled. "Yeah," he said. "Welcome back, Morty. You, uh... y-you kinda had me worried a little bit back there."
"Did I?" Morty cracked one eye open and was relieved when it didn't spark a massive headache. Rick must have given him something for the pain he'd likely be in otherwise. "Aw, jeeze, Rick, what happened?"
"Nothing to worry about, Morty," Rick slipped back into his usual tone, like this was nothing out of the ordinary. "I got it all sorted out. We'll be back home soon."
Morty blinked at him. His eyes felt gritty and his throat was painfully dry but at least he was still in one piece. Wait...
"You got hurt."
It was a kiddish thing to say and he mentally kicked himself for it. Rick's hand went to his own throat, wrapped from just under his jaw to near his shoulders in a white bandage. There was a dull, dark pink smudge across the front.
"You protected me."
Morty said it before he remembered it but then there it was, clear as day. He remembered lying on his side on the ground, faced away from Rick, when the man had placed an arm over him. None of it felt real. Rick had sat there beside him, facing... himself. Just another version of himself. And he'd waited while the other Rick talked. Just listening. Just sitting there with his arm thrown out over Morty, long fingers pressing into the asphalt.
He hadn't connected it at the time but Rick was caging him in. He was making sure he wouldn't get hurt any worse than he already was, even if he had to take the damage himself.
"Rick?" he asked. "What did they want with us?"
He felt his grandfather, his Rick, squeeze his arm and soon after that he got the answer he was expecting.
"Don't think about it."