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The atmosphere of the ship was swallowing Morty alive, and he wriggled all the way down into its tumultuous belly.
This was often his least favorite part of adventures, aside from attempting to evade death, of course: having to sleep in the ship.
It was always too hot.
Or too cold.
Or too… something.
Instead of being able to eliminate Morty’s discomfort, Rick was always too high.
Or too drunk.
Or too… something.
Tonight, the blistering heat pressed down around him like a thick, weighted blanket, and he cursed the fact that his grandfather had demanded he not bring his spare set of pajamas kept on the vessel for this very purpose.
For the sake of storage, the elder had insisted- though, Morty was well aware that Rick’s insistence very rarely equated to actual practicality or fact.
While Morty wouldn’t say that Rick had an inclination towards lying, he would go as far as to imply that his grandfather had a tendency to evade the entirety of the truth. Therefore, when Rick had promised him that this would be a “quick” adventure, Morty assumed that such brevity was in reference to whatever bullshit timeline the old man had conjured up in his own mind.
“Quick” in reference to what? Morty didn’t know.
The thick cotton material of his shirt and bulky denim of his jeans did little to give a façade of movement to the stagnant air of the ship, especially from his uncomfortably angled position on the passenger seat. The fabric of the seat stuck to what little amount of his sweaty skin was exposed- the backs of his arms, the sides of his cheeks, the palms of his hands.
Finally, Morty decided to give up on sleeping.
Tossing himself into a lounging position flat on his back and raising his arms to rest his hands beneath his mop of sweaty curls, he shifted his gaze over to the dozing form of his grandfather, absolutely amazed by his drunken ability to swaddle himself tightly within a thick blanket. He tried not to make the glass bottles and metal cans littering the floor clatter together with his movements- something that had become second nature to him now.
Rick was facing away from the younger, the semi-transparent reflection of his expressionless face plastered along the glass interior of the ship. Morty listened to the sounds of his breathing in annoyance. Every now and then, one of his inhales would sound like one of Rick’s pockets when they were full of bolts and nuts, making the boy cringe.
He was sure it was vomit or drool.
Rick was a heap on the reclined seat next to him, curled up in something resembling the fetal position, loafers still on and poking out from the bottom of the swathe of blanket.
The dim lighting on the ship was yellow, and Morty studied the way it made Rick’s reflection look sickly and wan from its position amongst the stars strung up in the background. The boy mused for a moment that, if Rick hadn’t had an artificial liver, this was probably what he’d look like naturally- all washed-out and ghostly.
Morty sometimes regarded Rick as a ghost already- just some undead thing that haunted and taunted him. He stalked about like a spindly phantom, huffing out promises of death and destruction.
Maybe it came with the nature of living above your own dead bodies. Who knows? Maybe his entire family was just made up of walking ghosts without purpose.
He let loose a sigh, taking a moment to ground himself before looking up at the vast expanse of stars hovering above them.
Morty liked the stars. It was one of his favorite things about being in space. From his bedroom window, his parents’ balcony, or on the front lawn, he could only see a handful of what he could witness out here amongst the real thing through his telescope.
Some, he could name and categorize from his charts he’d made back home, and some…
Well, some he assumed he could name himself, since no other human had probably been able to pick a name out.
He’d mostly kept the names to himself, scribbling them down on the charts and in the books he kept tucked away on his shelves when they got home.
Jessica, he’d named one he’d found particularly beautiful. It’d been pink, with gargantuan arches spitting off it and into the distance. Soon to die and explode, his grandfather had spat pointedly.
He’d named a couple after his mother and sister.
Summer was one in the middle of going supernova- dead now, but still visible from the edge of their solar system. It'd been spirals and coils of violent shades of crimson and copper, sputtering out into the vast expanse of space. It’d reminded him of his older sister- so rebellious and desperate to be seen. Lovely and daring. Deserving of more.
Bethany had been a more minute star, green in hue if you could get up close enough. Around it had orbited tons of tiny celestial dwarves, some even getting sucked up into its surface when their paths got too close.
Morty searched the infinite above them now, pulling up mental images of his drawings at home to see if he could place any of the ones he had named from… wherever they were right now.
He had gotten through a hundred or so before spotting one. The caerulean orb burned more brightly than any other star it sat amongst, and Morty’s tongue went sour. He nearly rolled his eyes.
Rick.
Of course, that would be the only one of his collection visible to him on a night like this. It seemed that, no matter where he went, his grandfather’s existence demanded to be observed and gawked at.
So, Morty gave him what he wanted.
Rick was one of the earliest stars he’d named. He was 13. At the time, he’d still thought Rick to be someone to admire and trust. Sure, he’d been angry for his mom, but Rick was the only person who seemed to get him, in an odd sort of way.
Rick was an adult who had given him the time of day, presented him with interest and intrigue about how he spent his time, gone out of his way to make sure he was alive.
That was the first time Morty had ever experienced that.
Even now, Morty knew that Rick was the only person he could trust to… care, if you could call it that.
They had been running from a small fleet of the Ventralican armada, Rick cursing and swerving this way and that. They dove around asteroids and moons and debris, and Morty could have sworn that he could still see the trails of colorful light that whisked past their heads; could still taste that hint of blood coating his tongue from clenching his jaw with such ferocity.
They had managed to dip out of sight, settling into the outer orbit of some smaller system. One with two suns.
Or, what used to be two suns, but were now some strange peanut-shaped conglomerate. Like Siamese twins- artificially sewn together, pulsating light and caressing the surfaces of gas giants with gentle tendrils of flame.
Rick, he’d decided.
He rarely ever saw a star that closely twice. Rick was no exception.
Morty ignored the rustling to his left, continuing to take inventory of the stars he’d already counted and attempting to identify ones he hadn’t. Rick often rambled incoherently when he was drunk, so tuning him out was something he was quite adept at.
The sound of a bottle clattering to the floor startled Morty, but he kept his eyes fixed on the glowing specks above him.
He’d learned a long time ago that it was best to stay out of Rick’s way when he was drunk, unless Rick specifically asked for you.
“Morty?” Morty’s breath caught in his throat. Maybe if he ignored him long enough- "Morty? B-Buddy?”
Morty couldn’t place what it was within him that prompted him to lower his arms and turn towards his grandfather. All he knew was that it was something about Rick’s tone- that sense of… desperation. It was something that Morty rarely heard from him.
Fear.
The gaze that met Morty’s was one of wide-eyed frenzy.
The spluttering of Rick’s eager breaths had filled the hot space of the compartment; his blanket still wrapped tightly around him. The elder faced his grandson now, sitting up and his right hand jutting out- like a quivering branch on a dead tree in the middle of a storm- as he careened forward, grasping for something to steady him.
Morty was scared- scared of the storm, of the shelter he couldn't take from it, and of his lack of choice. Rick’s eyes were flickering with exhaustion and something manic, but wholly unlike that dangerous sort of hysteria Morty had grown accustomed to.
Still, instinctually, something curdled in Morty’s gut, and he flinched away from the old man’s touch, pressing himself flat against the door nearest him and throwing his hands in front of himself as a sort of fruitless barrier.
“I-I’m sorry, Rick!” Morty yelped, squeaking like a wounded dog. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Rick was the gruff man of the house saddled with collecting his shotgun and dragging him out back. No use in prolonging misery, or feeding a broken dog. “I d-don’t know wh-what I did, b-but I’m sorry!”
Rick winced, pulling his hand back and faintly mimicking the younger’s posture.
“Wha- Morty, n-no…” Rick lowered his stare to where his free hand now shakily picked at threads on the blanket. Morty took the opportunity to sag against the door, sucking in a breath he’d been unaware he’d been denying himself. “I… uhh… -I thought you were… scared…”
Rick’s last word came out more like a question, as if he were planning on building a house upon the utterance and needed to test out its stability- make sure it wasn’t a crumpling pile of sand.
Foolish was he.
Something flashed along Rick’s face as he spoke, as if he cringed at his own mumbling of the word, like it was bitter as it rolled off of his tongue.
Somehow, Morty managed to piece it together- the remnants of his grandfather’s nightmare a heavy layer of dark clouds rippling over them and dancing in the space between them.
He made a decision.
Morty curled in on himself a bit, giving into that bit of himself that tended to tremble at the nature of all things.
“Heh, yeah… Jeez, R-Rick, I think I had a bad dream…” Morty murmured, letting the light within his words serve as a small blight to that nether that engulfed them.
Rick perked up a bit, and Morty knew that they were both well aware of the game they were playing; of the rope they walked together.
Willing mutual deception.
That tendency towards evading the entirety of the truth, even when it was fully known.
“Well, tough shit, there, buddy,” Rick said in a way that was almost harsh. “We’re not pussying out h-here ‘n goin’ home, so…” The old man made to lay back down, his joints popping as he did so. He pulled his cover back up to his chin and took in a shaking breath, awaiting Morty’s next response.
They both knew it was coming, and the air held its breath in anticipation.
“D-Do you think we coul-- you could hold m-my hand?” Morty said, barely more than a whisper.
“Hmmf…” Rick grumbled, pretending to consider the notion. After a pause that felt long enough, he finally extended his hand into the space between the seats once again.
Morty loosed a sigh, resigning to the fact that he was going to have to curl up and attempt to get some sleep in these horrendous conditions.
He let a thankful smile play at his lips as he settled back down onto the seat, reaching out his own soft fingers to curl around Rick’s calloused palm.
Rick’s hand around his own was a rough thing- his fingers heavy and uncharacteristically hot against Morty’s own. As thorny and gritty as it was- as much as it added to the unbearable heat swallowing him alive- Morty appreciated the touch.
It was odd to feel so grounded amongst the endless vacuum of space. So earth-bound while in a spaceship. So familiar with a stranger’s touch.
“Goodnight, Rick,” Morty whispered, shutting his eyes. “…I love you.”
“Nahhh…” the elder breathed, giving Morty’s hand a light squeeze. “You’ll end u-up hating me f-for fucking you up, at some point. Th-That’s how these things go, kiddo. You only think you love me now because you feel like you’re s’posed to.”
“Hmm…” Morty mulled Rick’s words over in his mind for a long moment before he responded. “I dunno… Maybe y-you’ve fucked me up enough th-that I could love someone like you anyway.”
Rick let out a husky chuckle and gave Morty’s hand another squeeze, but didn’t respond.
“I named a star after you,” Morty offered softly. “I-I mean… I kinda wished I hadn’t f-for a while, but… yeah… If that even means anything.”
“I mean… No, it doesn’t, r-really. The concept of naming things in infinity is kind of useless. The whole point is that nothing’s s-special and, in the grand scheme of things, no one’s even going to remember you named it,” Rick grumbled. Morty had expected that.
“But…” Rick sighed after a moment, “It could be pretty cool if you were the only person to know its name.”
Morty smiled to himself, not bothering to open his eyes.
It was a lengthy pause before he heard Rick’s voice again, so minutely audible that Morty questioned if it was really anything more than a small burst of air from one of the vents in the ship.
“I love you too, buddy.”