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Rick had a cardboard box crudely labeled 'time travel stuff' in the garage. Morty has known this for quite some time. But despite being incredibly curious, he could never quite work up the nerve to ask about it.
Until the day he did.
“Hey Rick, why don’t you ever use any of your time travel stuff?”
“Time travel is a fucking mess, Morty! It's a fucking mess! I—i—it's like an elephant that has explosive diarrhea and it shits everywhere! It’s in your bed, your carpet, it's in your cereal Morty! It’s a fucking nightmare!”
Morty never mentioned it again.
*
He wasn’t that hard to recognize. The hair may have been its original brownish color instead of the old bluish gray, and the ever-present drool was absent, but Rick’s personality was still as shitty as ever. Morty watches as the teen he speculates to be his grandfather burp on a passing stranger only to laugh and then get punched in the face. Yep, that was definitely him.
From what Morty could see Rick was probably (definitely) worse in his teenage years. Sure he wasn’t warping through time and space and accidentally killing off entire races, but Morty couldn’t say that he wasn’t terrified of him all the same. Rick was cocky and arrogant as an old man, but as a teenager he had the one thing that made it even worse: youth. With that kind of deadly combination Morty could imagine Rick terrorizing the whole town.
He’d heard stories from his dad (okay fine, they were actually eavesdropped arguments his parents had behind closed doors about his grandfather living with them) that Rick apparently drank, smoked and fucked his way through life until finding true love in science. And then he graduated to drinking and fucking on other planets.
Jerry was very insistent on Morty’s education, never liking Rick’s nonchalant attitude when it came to school. Whenever Rick and his dad really got into it, Jerry would ruthlessly point out the many times Rick had been sent to juvie. To which then Rick would point out that he nevertheless aced all his tests and made all his teachers cry. Except of course for the hot ones which he bragged he could seduce with a flip of his wrist and a wink, and then Jerry would get a green look on his face and race for the bathroom. Morty would pretty much stop listening at that point.
Rick had always been pretty much the same in matters of love, however. (“You’re 16 Morty! Your hormones are gonna be all over the place like—like fucking cockroaches! Believe me I know! But listen to me, Morty, there’s just not much point past getting your dick wet! It—it—it's best to just keep it simple! Get in and then get out. Remember that Morty. Remember that.”) Despite his advice, Morty wanted his first time to be special. To do it with someone special. Someone like Jessica.
He was just glad that Rick wasn’t such a womanizer in his old age. It would have been traumatizing if Rick added interspecies fucking onto the list of many inappropriate things he did while dragging Morty along on his adventures. Not that Rick didn’t do that from time to time, because he did. Believe him, he did. Morty still has nightmares about it. But still, from what Morty understands from Rick’s teenage years it could be a lot worse than it currently was. He was just grateful the old man’s libido wasn’t what it used to be.
The point was Morty didn't really know much about Rick in his younger years. And now, standing here stranded in the past, Morty is desperately trying to recall any information he'd remembered about his grandfather. The problem was that all the things he was currently recollecting were only reaffirming his natural instincts that trying to approach this younger Rick for any literal reason was a Bad Idea. But for some reason the moment Morty had spotted out of the corner of his eye he couldn't help but follow him. It'd been at least 2 hours since he'd fallen out of the time stream and Morty was getting worried. He didn't exactly have a contingency plan for this sort of thing. He didn’t know when, or if, Rick would come get him and bring him back to the present. And to be honest, he was a bit curious as to what his grandfather was like in his teenage years. To see it for himself. Plus it was better than wandering around doing nothing for another 2 hours.
Morty is so lost in thought that he doesn't even notice that Rick has turned his head and caught him staring. He meets Morty’s gaze dead on.
Well, shit.
Morty’s insides freeze as Rick strides towards him. He presses further against his hiding spot behind the telephone pole. There’s a deadly look Rick's eye that can only mean trouble and Morty briefly entertains the thought of running.
“Oi! You a fag?”
Morty startles. Should he say something? Would talking to the younger Rick it affect the timeline? He'd only been watching out of curiosity, he'd never planned on actually approaching Rick. Who knows what sort of butterfly effect he could cause?
“Uh...”
“You’ve been staring like a fucking creeper, it’s weird. Stop it.”
“O-okay.”
Rick crosses his arms and raises a brow. Morty doesn’t really know what he wants at this point so he says nothing.
“Well if you’re going to continue following me and staring like that at least buy me something.”
“N-no! I wasn’t! I d-don’t want any trouble!”
Rick taps his foot impatiently. “What, were you gonna wait till I needed to piss and sneak into the stall for a good look? You saying you just wanted to sneak a peek for free? I think you oughta pay up front for shit like that.”
“Ah geez! I wasn’t going to look at your junk I swear!”
Rick snatches Morty’s collar in his fists and Morty squeaks as he’s pulled in closer.
“I’m hungry. I want a burger as payment. You got a problem with that?”
Morty gulps. He’d really rather not get beaten up by his teenaged grandfather. He was positive it would pack a particularly nasty punch. He nods nervously up and down. Rick snorts and shoves him away.
“Well get to it then.”
Wondering how the hell he'd gotten into this situation, Morty follows behind Rick as he leads him to a small burger joint a block away. Rick strides in with a confidence born of familiarity and slides up to the counter. One of the waiters runs to the back the second they spot Rick’s face. Another pales and looks away. An older man, Morty assumes this is the manager, with a hardened face and sets his hands on the counter as if ready to pull out a knife if it came to that.
What the hell did Rick get up to in a burger joint? Scratch that, Morty really didn’t want to know.
Rick slaps his hand on Morty’s shoulder and he jumps. “Relax, small fry, I ain’t gonna eat’cha.”
He winks and Morty feels a funny flutter in his stomach. Rick turns back to the counter and lets out a shit-eating grin. “One large double deluxe and a coke!”
The man stares. Rick stares back. The man puts in the order, eyes never straying from Rick’s, and holds out his hand for the money. Rick jabs Morty in the side. Morty shakily pulls out his wallet, thanking heaven that his parents recently paid him his allowance, and pulls out a twenty.
Rick’s eyebrow shoot up into his hair. “Holy shit kid you’re fucking loaded!”
Morty blinks. What was he talking about? It was only twenty dollars...oh right. Inflation.
“I think I just found myself a sugar daddy!” Rick laughs and tugs him closer.
Morty trembles under Rick’s hand. “A-aren’t sugar d-daddies usually older?”
Rick shrugs. “Who cares? You can stare at me all you want with that kinda cash! If you let me throw in a milkshake I’ll probably suck your dick later!”
“Oh geez!”
Rick belts out in laughter, drawing annoyed looks from the other customers. Morty flushes. He really, really hopes grandpa Rick comes to get him soon.
He hands the money to the cashier—who didn’t even look fazed by their conversation—and gets his change. Rick saunters over to a booth and puts his feet up on the table. Morty slides onto the other side and tries not to shake too much as he twiddles his thumbs.
“So seriously, you a drug dealer or something?”
Morty stiffens at the abrupt question. “N-no.”
“Do you always stutter like that? Geez, man just relax.”
Morty presses his lips together. He feels like his whole body is going to shake until he implodes. He looks up at the rustle of clothes and jolts in surprise as Rick joins him on his side of the booth.
“I said relax.” Rick slides a hand up his leg. “I ain’t into stalkers much, but you seem pretty cute and you did just buy me lunch. I don’t mind if you wanna...fool around.”
Morty swallows what feels like his left lung. It’s suddenly too hard to breath. This is what Marty must have felt like when his own mother hit on him in Back to the Future 2. A thought takes hold of Morty with a growing horror: what if he messed up the timeline to where he was never born? It seemed unlikely given that Morty would probably be gone soon anyway once his Rick came to get him, so there shouldn’t be a big a worry about it. But still, it felt wrong, wrong, wrong when Rick’s hand slid up his thigh like that.
He squirms in his seat. Rick’s breath is light and warm against his ear. He gasps when Rick bites down, just softly at first, teasing and licking the skin.
“How ‘bout a quick snack before lunch, huh?”
Morty can’t take it anymore. He launches up out of his seat, climbs over the table, and falls head first to the tiled floor below. Rick and half the restaurant stare down at him.
“W-w-well, I think I’ll be g-g-going now!” He scrambles for the door in a panic.
He hears Rick’s shout behind him but he keeps running. He bursts outside of the doors to freedom and away from his technically yet-to-be-grandfather’s roaming hands.
*
It’s incredibly difficult to sleep on a hard, wooden bench. Morty shivers and wraps his arms around his middle as another breeze rolls by. Rick, his Rick, definitely should have come by now. Was there something wrong with the machine? Maybe it was broken and Rick was trying to fix it. Maybe Rick had gotten lost somewhere and was refusing to ask for directions for the sake of holding on to his pride—actually that last one seemed the most plausible now that he thought about it.
Morty sighs angrily. Why did he have to get stuck in his original timeline’s past and not an alternate reality’s past? At least then he wouldn’t have to constantly worry if he was going to fuck something up and fade from existence or cause Hitler to take over the world.
“Oi, shithead!”
Something hits him over the head and Morty shouts in pain. His hands spring up to clutch at his throbbing temple. He opens his eyes only to freeze in terror as he looks up into the one face he was hoping never to see again.
“Uh...”
“Why’d you run away like that?”
Morty blinks, lying there awkwardly and desperately wishing he could just evaporate. Rick looks him up, then down, and then at the bench he’d been napping on.
“Dude, why are you sleeping on a park bench in the middle of the night?”
Morty wants to make a quick comeback of his own but words fail him. Rick, whether young or old, would eat him alive at any attempt of wit on his part.
“Don’t tell me you’re homeless after that stash you pulled out back at the joint.” Rick’s eyes widen. “Wait, that wasn’t stolen wasn’t it?”
Morty flails his hands aggressively in denial of such action.
“Dude, that’s killer!” Rick laughs.
“I didn’t steal it! It was my own money, I swear!”
“Sure, sure.”
Morty frowns down at the ground. It seemed the safest place to look at since every time he meets Rick’s gaze all he can think about is the way the other teen’s tongue felt on his skin.
“Let me guess, you’re having issues at home so you stole a wad from your old man’s pocket and are now running away?”
Morty says nothing. It’s too hard trying to come up with a lie on his own. It was probably easier to just let Rick come to his own conclusion.
“You wanna crash at my place or something?”
Morty’s head shoots up in shock. “R-really?”
Rick shrugs, looking away from Morty’s grateful gaze. “Yeah, it’s the least I can do. Not everyone buys me lunch from the kindness of their own heart after all. Figured I could at least pay you back.” Morty opens his mouth to retort and Rick snaps at him, “Okay fine, I made you buy me lunch. Whatever. It’s not my fault you’re a pushover. You coming to my place or not?”
Morty looks away, uncertainty flowing through him. He was pretty sure this topped the list of Terrible Thing to Do in the Past. He should really be thinking about preserving the timeline here.
...but a bed sounded wonderful right now.
Morty looks at Rick and notes the guarded expression on the other teen’s face. His shoulders were tense and his mouth twitched as if he was biting his tongue from saying something. This Rick was much more expressive than the older one was. It was sort of nice being able to tell what Rick was feeling, if only for just this once.
Morty gives a small, minuscule nod. He’s then startled at the sudden hand that grasps enthusiastically around his wrist.
“Great!” Rick grins widely at him. “It’s not too far from here! Come on!”
Morty is yanked up from his place on the bench and he stumbles along the sidewalk as he tries to keep up with Rick’s pace. This, at least, felt familiar; trailing behind Rick as he pushed his way head first through life. The hand felt warm around his skin against the cold of the night. Morty smiles. Despite the number of ridiculous and scary situations his grandfather had gotten them into, the man’s confidence was like a shield around Morty. He always came back for him. He always came through.
“So seeing as you're staying at my place, I should probably know your name.”
Morty's thoughts are pulled away from the warm hand upon his and he looks up. “Morty.”
“Morty, eh? I'm Rick.”
Morty already knew this of course, but Rick didn't need to know that.
He ends up following Rick to a dingy apartment complex and up to the second floor. It was nothing special. But at least there weren’t any giant rats or mutant babies trying to eat his toes. There was a lot of clutter scattered about though. It looked a lot like the stuff in the garage that Rick often tinkered with back home. With the exception that a lot of the gadgets looked unfinished and not in as high of quality of the ones the older Rick had built.
“You live here by yourself?”
Rick puffs out his chest in pride. “Yep! Moved out of my old folk’s home ages ago. I made enough dough between doing people’s homework and selling inventions that I get by pretty good!”
“Oh.” Morty fiddles with the end of his shirt. “What sorts of things do you make?”
Rick walks into the bedroom and shoves his shirt up over his head. Morty panics and turns away.
“Eh, a little of this and a little of that. Depends on what you want. Most people just want me to build them cleaning bots so they can get out of housework. It’s a waste if you ask me.”
Rick didn’t seem the sort for small talk, young or old, so Morty doesn’t ask anything more. He waits until the rustle of clothes stop and glances up timidly. He’s relieved to see Rick has changed into a t-shirt and boxers. He knew he slept nude as an old man, but apparently not as a teenager. Good to know.
“You can borrow some of my stuff to sleep in if you want.”
“Oh, thank you.” Morty stands there awkwardly as Rick ruffles around for some clothes. He’s tempted to ask Rick what was making him act so nicely towards him but doesn’t want to jinx it. What if Rick realized that, yes this was weird and he should probably throw this stranger out on the street pronto? Morty takes the clothes and attempts to go find the bathroom to change.
“Really? You really one of those?”
Morty stops. “One of those what?”
“Those losers who go into the stall to change during gym! What’s the fucking deal? We’re both men here, it’s not anything we haven’t fucking seen before.”
Morty really doesn’t want to change in front of his teenaged grandfather but then again Rick had indeed seen him naked several times in his old age. He sighs and turns his back towards Rick. He pulls down his shorts and puts on the pair of thin pajama pants Rick had given him.
He turns back to see Rick has already left the room. He wanders out, looking to see where he’s gone. Unfortunately, the bathroom door is wide open giving Morty an eyeful. Morty squawks in embarrassment and immediately averts his eyes.
“Jesus, Rick! Close the door!”
Rick grumbles from the toilet. “Living alone means I don’t have to shut my bathroom door if I don’t fucking want to.”
“At least spray a little freshener!”
“You saying you don’t think my shit smells like roses?”
Morty is tempted to give Rick a glare but thinks better of it because Rick was still half naked on the toilet seat oh god. Rick laughs and Morty stomps away into the kitchen. It was hard to believe, but younger Rick was probably even more disgusting than older Rick. He’d never walked in on his grandfather pooping before at least.
God, the images.
Rick joins him a few minutes later and goes to the fridge to crack open a beer. He holds one out to Morty.
“Want one?”
Morty scratches his upper arm, his gaze sliding away. “No thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Rick sits down at the table and shoves aside several projects to make room for his drink. There wasn’t another chair at the table so Morty just stands there unsure of what to do. As he watches Rick tinker with an odd looking invention Morty wonders what the hell he was even doing here. It occurs to him quite suddenly that he doesn’t know this Rick at all. He doesn’t know anything about him; what he does, what he’s like—he’s followed a practical stranger home. Knowing someone in the future doesn’t mean you know them in the past.
“What temperature does human skin melt, do you think?”
Morty feels the air in his lungs compress and disintegrate. “W-what?”
Rick hums thoughtfully to himself, taking another swig and eying the device nearest him. “Bones probably melt at a different temperature though.”
It was always hard to tell when Rick was messing with him versus when he was being sincere. Most of the time Morty tried very hard not to think about what it would mean if Rick were being serious.
And so, going with the only option he has, he chooses to ignore it.
He clears his throat. “S-so uh where is it okay for me to sleep?”
There’s a couch in the corner but it looked busted and one of the cushions appeared to be completely damp with something Morty would rather not examine up close.
Rick snorts into his bottle. “Are you really this nervous all the time? You act like a scared little virgin. You’re sleeping in my bed with me, stupid.”
Morty stiffens with embarrassment at the V word. He tries to quickly play it off but Rick catches it.
“Wait, you’re seriously a virgin?” His eyes widen. “I was just kidding, oh my god that’s priceless!”
“Sh-shut up!” Morty’s ears redden and he wants to sink into the dirtied floor. His past experiences were limited to a sex robot and he’d rather not talk about that.
“No, no that’s okay. It’s cute really.”
The blush spreads further down.
“I really didn’t take you for one after how hard you were staring at me before. I thought I was gonna be your next victim in a series of sexual murders.”
Morty glares at the ground. “I wasn’t staring that hard.”
“You kinda were.”
Morty finally looks up and is taken back by the smirk on Rick’s face. He was totally messing with him! Angry, he turns heel and walks back to the bedroom. Let that jerk just sit there then, he was 100% done with this horrible day and he was going to bed.
He settles under the covers, nervous and uncomfortable. Both because of the entire situation, and because he was unsure if Rick ever washed his sheets. And what of the pillow cases? Who knew how clean those things were. He sighs and turns on his side, turning the covers up over his head and then deciding against it when it proved too difficult to breathe. He can hear burping and muttering in the kitchen. Morty wills his eyes to close and lets his thoughts slow down as his mind drifts away.
He’s been lying there for an hour or so when there’s a slight jostle on the mattress. Morty is too tired by this point to register the heat that engulfs his body, nor the fingers that stroke his face. He hums unconsciously and nuzzles against the skin under his cheek.
Something wet presses against his lips and Morty’s brow furrows. Sleep fades away as the stench of drunken breath invades his senses.
“W-wha?”
“Morty, shh, Morty it’ss o-Okay gonna...gonna make ya feel reeeeel good.”
Morty is awake so fast his head spins. He pushes his arms against the chest bearing down on him and turns away.
“Rick stop!”
“You’re fucking adorable...” Rick burps into his face and Morty coughs. “Wanna fuck you so bad—“
“No!”
Rick painfully squeezes Morty’s shoulders, pressing him down into the mattress and Morty struggles against him. He was surprisingly strong for an inebriated man.
Rick tries to tell him to relax, and whispers into his ear all the sweet things he wants to do to him. But Morty is frozen now. Terrified and trembling. The tears fall hot on his face and he never, never thought he’d have to go through this ever again. Not from Rick. Rick protected him. Rick loved him (in some small way at least). Rick wasn’t him.
King Jellybean was a ghost in a locked box in the dark corner of Morty’s mind. He’d shoved it back, back until he didn’t have to think about it anymore. Until he couldn’t remember the dirty hands that shoved him down. The disgusting breath that wrapped around him and choked him. The feeling of helplessness. Of hopelessness.
The dirt and blood that had stained his fingers and didn’t wash off for a long time after. And even then sometimes Morty would look down and feel like scrapping his hands clean.
Rick's hands wander further down his sides and cup his genitals. Long fingers tug at his boxers and slide them down. Morty cries out, pushing and kicking, but too afraid to truly fight back. If he had to use force, like that one time, there's no telling what would happen. Even if he succeeded in kicking Rick off, he might accidentally hurt him. And that's the last thing he wants.
In a burst of desperation, Morty surges up and wraps his arms around Rick’s neck, hugging him close. He presses his wet cheek against Rick’s and sobs into his shoulder.
"Rick, please, please stop.”
He feels Rick go still against him. Feels his breathing slow. Then, quietly, softly, Rick’s body goes limp against him. Morty breathes silently as Rick slides off the bed and retreats entirely. It’s too dark to see his face, but Morty can see the stiffness in his shoulders. He watches Rick wobble tiredly towards the door and listens for the click as it shuts.
Quietly, he gets up from the bed and presses his ear against the door. He can hear rustling behind it, but Rick doesn’t seem to be coming back. Morty turns the lock anyway and crawls back into bed.
*
He can’t sleep. His thoughts are pouring in every which way and he can’t seem to control the flow at all. Sleep trickles through his fingers like water; futile and useless.
Annoyance rushes towards the front of his mind; the only preferable emotion compared to the other feelings threatening to consume him. It just seemed easier to forget everything. Rick did it all the time and it seemed to work for him. Every hour that passes Morty’s aggravation towards Rick grows—his Rick not young Rick. He wants to go home. He wants to be sleeping his in own bed in his own room on his own damn sheets.
He'd been half expecting his grandfather to burst into his younger self’s room during the night and steal him away back to the correct timeline. But no, he Still. Hasn’t. Come.
It’s somewhere around 3 in the morning when he hears the sounds of a sharp, painful cry and cursing at God outside the room. Hope rises in his chest for a brief moment that his Rick had finally come, he sits up to investigate but then another curse follows and Morty realizes it’s the other Rick.
Morty lies back down and wonders if he should be worried. He doesn’t think grandpa Rick would willingly leave him stranded somewhere, but it was sometimes hard to tell whether or not he actually cared at all. Morty wasn’t the best at being able to read people, and Rick hid at least 90 percent of his feelings behind an impenetrable mask of careless drunkenness. He wasn’t stupid enough as to think his grandfather felt nothing, it’s just that he didn’t always know what he was feeling at times.
Cars honk at each other outside of the dingy apartment window and Morty glances at the clock: 3:25. The other Rick hasn’t tried to come back in since Morty locked the door. Was he okay? Maybe he should check on him?
There’s a hesitant fear in the back of his mind but he pushes it aside. He wasn’t afraid of Rick. Morty sits back up and rubs at the sleep in his eyes. Might as well, he supposes since he wasn’t getting much sleep anyway. Plus, maybe if he was lucky his grandfather would finally come rescue him.
He ventures out of the bedroom and stops in confusion at the sight that greets him in the living room. Rick is lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling with a pair of weird looking glasses over his eyes. Morty approaches cautiously.
“Uh...Rick?”
Rick raises his head up from the floor, looks at Morty, and lets his head back down with a ‘thunk.’
“What are you doing?” Morty offers after Rick fails to acknowledge him.
“I’m looking at the stars.” Rick’s voice is harsh from not sleeping and Morty strains to hear him. “You see this? It’s my own invention. One of my best-sellers. Star Gazers or some shit. You just put them on wherever you are, day or night, and BOOM you can just look at the fucking sky and see a whole bunch of fucking lights.”
“Gee, that’s cool.” Morty toes the carpet, unsure of what else to say.
“Of course they’re fucking cool. I’m gonna go up there someday. Don’t have access to the materials yet, but Imma make a cool ass lookin spaceship. Gonna get the fuck off this planet and go somewhere, yanno?”
Morty sits down next to Rick and listens to him ramble about his ambitions. His limbs start to sag in protest as he fights to keep his eyes open. He gives in and decides to simply lie down next to Rick and stare up at the blank ceiling.
“That’s really nice, Rick.”
“You bet your sweet, virgin ass it is.”
“...was that really necessary?”
“Yes, yes it was.”
Morty sighs and settles for ignoring it. He should really be used to Rick’s comments by now. Rick’s filter had always seemed to be nonexistent despite constant chastising. He continues staring up at the ceiling, and even though he couldn’t see what Rick was seeing, he can imagine it. He’d seen the stars plenty of times up close and personal to know just how brightly they glowed. Going on adventures with grandpa Rick was mostly terrifying, and always nerve-wracking, but he’d always thought of the stars as beautiful.
He doesn’t even realize he’s said this out loud until Rick laughs beside him and grins under his goggles. “I bet they look even more beautiful up close.”
Morty turns his head to look at Rick then. His hair was an unkempt mess in desperate need of a shower and a comb. His clothes where scruffy and ragged just as they’d been when he'd first seen him. But the smile on his face captured Morty’s attention. He looked a lot more attractive like this; face turned towards the sky, eyes full of wonder through the glass of the goggles.
“They really do.” Morty says.
They lay there in comfortable silence and Morty feels a stirring in his chest again. But this time it felt right.
*
Rick stares down at his younger self, he frowns hard at the body lying next to him. The little shit really should have known better.
He kicks him in the side.
“Morty get up!”
“Ow! Shit!”
Morty clutches his side in pain. Rick nudges him again with his boot.
“Come on Morty! We don’t have all night!”
“R-rick?”
“Who do you think, dipshit, Santa Claus? Get your ass in gear!”
Morty sighs dejectedly, slowly rising from the floor. Rick looks around the apartment in distaste. He hates being back here. He hates how stupid he was back then. Hates how he’d made so many mistakes. Thinking about the past was stupid and a waste of time. At least he was a heavy sleeper; Morty’s shout of pain would’ve alerted his younger self otherwise.
He waits for Morty by the doorway. He watches his grandson pause and look back down at his younger self on the floor, drool running down the side of his mouth. He watches Morty's hands clench and unclench, the uncertainty in his stance.
“Goodbye.” Morty says quietly.
Rick snorts. “I’m right here shit for brains, saying bye to a younger me is pointless.”
Morty’s face flushes red but he doesn’t say anything back. The ride home is terribly and utterly silent.
*
Rick awakes to a headache pounding through his skull. His back hurts like a motherfucker but then again it was his fault for sleeping on the ground. He turns his head left. Then right. No one was there.
Morty must have moved back into the bedroom. Figures the kid would hog his bed. He yawns, stretching his arms over his neck and moves towards the bathroom for his morning piss. He doesn’t bother shutting the door and his lips quirk up into a smile at the thought of Morty catching him with his pants down again. That kid was way too much fun to mess with. He zips himself up and wanders out to the hallway. He knocks on the bedroom door and it swings open.
“Morty?”
The covers are turned down, no sign of the kid anywhere. Something weeds its way around his lungs and he swallows, trying to ignore it. He turns around and heads for the kitchen.
“Morty?”
The single chair at the table is unoccupied. There’s no one there.
The ache in Rick’s lungs grows. He takes a beer from the fridge and he goes to sit on the busted couch. It creaks under his weight. He takes out a cigarette from between the cushions and lights it up. Morty isn’t in the bathroom complaining about the lack of air freshener, he isn’t in the bedroom curled around his pillows, he isn’t in the kitchen looking exasperated at his life choices in the fridge.
Morty’s gone.
He’s alone.
Rick inhales the smoke into his lungs. Whatever. Figures the little shit would squeeze him for a free night under a roof and a warm bed. Fuck him.
He opens the bottle of beer and raises it up to his lips. But it slides between his fingers and smashes onto the floor. He stares at the pieces; at the jagged lines and sharp edges. He doesn’t clean it up.