Work Text:
You woke up late to the sound of something crashing downstairs, and for a brief moment, your heart fluttered. You sat up abruptly in your bed, listening to the sound of what seemed like bottles banging together and very quiet mumbling that you couldn’t seem to make out in the silence of the house.
Rick.
The idea slipped its way into your head, and no matter how much you wanted to just roll over and go back to bed, you threw your feet over the edge and darted downstairs. The sound of glass against glass got louder and louder as you ran down the stairs, desperate. You stumbled as you panicked, dashing into the kitchen as quickly as your little legs could take you.
He was there.
He turned to look at you for a short moment, eyes wide with surprise as he realised that you were here for him. Your eyes welled up with the sting of tears, and you took only a few more steps forward to wrap your arms around him. He was warm, and stank horribly of alcohol, but he was here. He was home.
He didn’t shove you away, or curse you out like he usually does. He just held you for as long as you held him. You didn’t realize you were crying until he started crying too- why was he crying? He never cries.
Rick Sanchez didn’t ever cry.
You push him away, fear taking hold of your delicate mind. Was this real? Is this just some kind of sick dream? His face is pained, but slowly fades back into a scowl- and you can’t help but choke out his name in your confusion.
He doesn’t reply, and you’re sort of glad that he doesn’t. He just looks at you, face still wet with tears and eyes showing a lack of sleep. You knew that he turned himself in, because there’s no way your dad could have ever… So why did he come back? Why is he here now? There’s just no way…
“I-I-I’m sorry, Morty. I-I-I-I didn’t think I’d run… I didn’t think you’d be awake.” His voice is too soft, it’s not… It doesn’t feel real to you. Maybe it’s just been that long since you saw him last? Maybe you’re actually losing it and he isn’t here at all?
“We have to go, Morty. W-W-We gotta… We have to leave.”
You know why he says it, because he’s on a planet that’s been swarmed by the people he’s been spending years attempting to escape from- the government he just escaped from. You want to tell him yes, you want to let him take you away… But you know that your mother wouldn’t be able to go on. She’s already a mess after him leaving again, losing you would be the end of her.
Not to even mention Summer.
“N-No… Rick… W-We…” You choke on your own words, you just can’t get them out. It hurts you too much. “Mom… Mom won't be able to deal with me leaving too.”
His face lights up, this time with some kind of strange realization. He runs a hand through his hair, and you almost start crying again. You just can’t seem to believe it- it’s all too real, however. You’re crazy.
You’re fucking insane.
“Morty…” His tone of voice is so shaky, you can’t understand what’s wrong with it, but you know it’s wrong. his eyes are avoiding yours, because you know what he’s about to say will probably send you over the edge.
“Did y-you go to the wedding?”
It clicks, he’s not your Rick. He never was. You’re still unsure if he’s even real. You nod your head slowly, waiting for him to do anything in response, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.
Before you can say anything else, he rips his portal gun out of his pocket, and forces it into your hands. You don’t protest, hell, you can’t even bring yourself to move anymore.
“Just visit that dimension any time you… I-I’ll… I’m sorry, Morty.” His voice is gentle- it makes your heart thump. You’re so fucking scared for no reason.
Just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone again, through his own portal. You just watch, eyes wide. You wish it was just a dream now, because you don’t know how well you’d be able to handle it if it wasn’t. You glance down at the gun in your hands, and it reads 73012C-616.
Your heart hurts, and your head is spinning. You don’t even want to look at the all too familiar gadget in your hands. You just want to cry.
You push yourself back upstairs, and back into bed. Putting the gun by your clock that reads 3:28. The usual time he would wake you up for his crazy adventures.
You cry yourself to sleep, and wake up at 8 the next morning, with no signs that anything had happened the night before. No signs other than the soft green glow of the gun on your bedside table.
You grab hold of it, shooting a green portal on your bedroom wall as you slip on a pair of pants and some shoes.
He’s gone, but he’s not ever going to be out of your life- even if it’s not actually him.