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Oh christ.
Morty had to recollect himself. He fell out of the green, noisy portal that was just a moment in front of him. His body ached; scratches, bruises, cuts— littered across his arms and chest. Clothes were ripping at the seam, simply another yellow shirt to toss. His previous jacket, due to a winter day, was torn to shreds already. A shame, really, he liked it quite a bit. The maroon suited him well. Now, the cold concrete met his side and it burned. He winced, teeth grinding against each other painfully as his jaw began to shake quickly. There was a decent hit on his face already, the tightness of his jaw was making the pain worse.
Now, Morty had to deal with his grandfather, who leaped into the garage quickly whilst the green portal had warped into itself and disappeared with a silent pop. Rick, too, was battle-damaged. Of course, he was more battle experienced, meaning all his injuries meant nothing to him as he waltzed to the spinny chair and sat down, hurridly tending to his own scratches and bruises. Rick tossed his blood-stained shirt off, meanwhile, Morty continued to lay on the garage floor; arms were jittering, trying to scratch the side of his arms (just to feel something,) despite the injuries in the way. The younger boy could feel the small drops of blood that surfaced at the edges of the cuts, but the blood seeping through his clothing due to the bigger attacks.
"Oh, come on, it cannot be that bad, pussy." Rick's scruff voice echoed in the empty, moonlit garage while he took a swing from the flask that appeared at his side. The elder squinted and stepped forward to take a closer look at Morty. Despite the teenagers blurred vision, he could make out the gadget that Rick had just pulled from his coat; the silver, handheld device with blue accented tubes at the side. A successful beam at his stomach, and the pain of it all had sizzled away. Morty felt the warm pool of relief fill his middle body, down to the fingertips that are now only bloodied instead of scratched. Just the residue to wash away in the sink, and to sleep off; but all of this made his stomach still churn, in ways of displeasure and pure fear.
"R-Rick?" Morty called out, fearing to open his eyes.
"I'm here, christ. Do-ooUGUGH— do you always have to be this clingy? Was your— what, 13th 'Morty Adventure' too-ooough much again?" Rick rolled his eyes.
Morty stayed quiet. The choice he had to make to answer that was important, considering how lowly Rick already treated him. The silence was a choice he picked, and instead, pulled himself up to sit on his bottom with knees pulled up to let the heaviness of his head rest. His eyes slipped close while his body already began to let loose. Whilst he relaxed, his mind played with the events that were witnessed.
Now, he realized the ugly tears that streamed down his face. Opening his eyes revealed the moonlit garage to be lonely, not a single light or beep detected by fallen senses. Rick's spiky hair was no longer outlined by the natural light. Morty felt himself break more inside, alone with himself and his thoughts. Ugly, silent screams were torn out his throat, tears likely to leave a rash in the morning from rubbing his eyes, trying to rid of the evidence. His sobs grew more, only wishing that this house was empty.
Too much. Everything, was too much. It weighed down on his shoulders, still aching due to the injuries that were only freely bleeding moments ago; despite the ray of healing. All of this that happens is so much for his mental state. Rick and Morty, 100 years, but what happens after? Too much cracking and moss would be grown over his old stone heart. Even if Rick doesn't drabble in immortality, perhaps Morty could. Maybe he could live his years, suffering of what's left damaged. Broken cell door, wide open, nowhere to go.
Morty's hands were digging into the skin of his arms, previously of what was damaged. His dirty nails were breaking the layers of skin, drawing more blood as it falls down his arms and seeps into the shirt that was previously mint condition, weathered by his adventure. The jacket arms did nothing, for the sleeves were torn, and now only left a vest. The blood fell down his elbows and dripped onto the dirty concrete. The pain did nothing but dull the emotions, and increase the tears. Morty's breath was now getting too far ahead of him to catch up, and he felt his chest tighten painfully. Once again, his side collided with the cold concrete and was left to try to scoop air into his lungs.
His thoughts drifted, until his body was picked up in a hurried pace. He saw the dulled images of car lights passing by windows, the bright bathroom light suddenly blocked his vision and he was forced to open his eyes and look around. Morty's vision might've been blurred, but he could still make out his grandpa. A slight worried face was in the undertones, but he looked furious. Morty could hear the rambling of his grandfather,
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! I tried to make it better, do you just like the look of scars on your arms? Are you those freaks who cut themselves because they need to 'feel something?'" Air quotes around the last part. "I'm trying so fucking hard, what am I doing wrong, damn it."
Now, his self-convo was fading out as he recognized the look on his grandson's face. "Morty, fucking c-christ, stop scratching! It's like fucking sandpaper to my ears." Rick's eyes were glassy, tears threatened to fall. Morty only caught onto the 'stop scratching', and realized how much blood, dried and fresh, caked his arms and hands. Morty's head fell in shame, but he couldn't make himself out to apologize. Was it his fault?
"Take-take off your shirt, I'll wash your arms; because apparently my healing gun isn't enough!" Rick's face morphed more into anger, and Morty could never feel so much more than fear in the moment. He took off whatever left of his jacket and shirt and placed them beside him. He noticed now, that he was sitting on the edge of the sink in the upstairs bathroom. Rick's arm reached over and turned on the water, warm, and grabbed a rag off the door handle. The rag quickly absorbed the water and the elder began to slowly wipe off the blood of his grandson's arm. Morty could do nothing but sit in shame, thoughts left to think that what happened was his fault. Now, he realized the tears that swept under Rick's chin as they fell.
"R-R-Rick.. I'm sorry, I-I... I don't know, I-I'm so-sorry." Morty felt his voice buckle and rattle as he spoke, more tears that fell. Rick only stared past him, in the mirror or in no reality. He just looked past. Panic struck his face, and now he was left with an empty mask. Morty couldn't help but feel like it definitely was his fault. His grandfather took Morty's hand, and washed them with a successful swipe of the warm rag. It was left to dry on the handle of the sink, and now, they were both left in silence. Only now, Morty could only think about the look of fury on his grandfather's face. He still felt afraid, and paranoid.
"I'll just send this to Morty's Mind Blowers, this doesn't matter." Rick's voice, too, shook from the tears. He leaned in for a hug, long arms trying to grasp Morty's arms while not touching the newly scratched flesh. Morty, though, panicked quickly and pushed him away, even when the ache of his arms began to surface from the sudden movement.
Rick stopped and looked up at Morty. A look of confusion was not the way to describe it, but simply, a look of betrayal. Morty's face also fell, his mind rushing to find words of what could describe he meant. "Ri-Rick, you don't have t-to hug me. I'm j-j-just... scared, is all. Y-yeah."
The elder's chest rose while he took a deep breath, and he simply walked away. An apology was thrown under his breath as he left the bathroom. Morty hopped down from the sink, legs shaky from the state earlier. His arm clutched the sink counter and he grabbed his shirt and jacket, tossing them in the bathroom trash. Morty closed the door behind him, and slowly made his way over to his own bedroom. The light from Rick's room was filtering out underneath, beaming a stream of light onto the wooden floor. He hesitated to knock, but only let out a sigh and made his own way to his bed. He collasped, exhausted and worn.
In the middle of the night, Morty felt a dip in his bed, as if a person had sat right next to him. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. The outline of Rick made his way to his vision. Morty let out a breath of relief, "Hey, Rick...", his voice slightly raspy from disuse.
"Ha, Hey kid." The voice was Rick, no mistake, but now he realized the cheer in his voice. Morty took a second glance, realizing the hair outline was much different from his Rick. Now, he realized what Rick had that haircut. Morty screeched loudly, but Rick Prime did nothing to stop it. In fact, he laughed more. Rick Prime got off the bed and flipped on the switch, which made Morty squint his eyes in the sudden light in contrast to the dark that was just his room. He blinked a few times, and saw the signature look of Rick Prime. Not only him, but the slight green aura to which surrounded his entire room.
"Don't worry, 'Rick' won't hear you anymore. Just me, Grandpa Rick, and you!" He smiled, with no teeth. A simple smile. It creeped out Morty, he felt the fear bubbling up again. Prime walked forward and picked up Morty by the arms, raw from scratching, and hugged him. Hugged him too tight, his arms felt like they were on fire and his chest was blocked. Morty struggled in the grip, afraid. He didn't like Rick, and he couldn't like Rick Prime. Morty felt himself tugging at his arms, despite the searing pain in his upper arms. He tried to push himself off, but couldn't get out of his grasp. Rick Prime tilted his head, and chuckled while he dropped Morty onto the ground.
The air was knocked out of the teenager, and he had to take a deep breath before he was kicked right in the ribs. He yelped and winced, holding his hands at his side. Rick Prime looked down with his smile. He tilted his head again, like a dog, and kicked Morty in the side again. He screamed, and rung out, "Rick!" in defense.
Rick Prime giggled and picked up Morty again, by the raw ribs. "I'm right here, Morty!" A fist connected with his temple, and Morty almost lost his ground again. He felt his head loll on his shoulder, before a pill was placed on his tongue and water was rushed into his throat. He choked, almost spitting up the pill. Rick Prime began to fade away. Bright colors were all over his vision, fireworks sparked. He saw himself get old, younger, die, and born. A clicking clock in the back of his head. His sight swam as he felt his body get tossed around, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. Blood rushing down his arms again. Rick's face was circling his room, Prime's body stuck onto it. He saw himself in the future, with the same outfit of Rick, C-137 and Prime arguing. He felt his eyes being torn apart, almost. A splitting headache forming in the sides of his head.
Rick Prime watched the boy writhe on the ground before picking him up, tossing him over the shoulder, and shooting a portal into the wall. Soon enough, C-137 would realize his missing grandson.