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Rick had been acting like a total fucking asshole for days, no real reason, just Rick being Rick. Morty kept his mouth shut, wearing that blank dead-eyed look he always did when Rick’s bad mood filled the air like toxic fumes, tolerating it until the old man finally poked him hard enough to blow a fuse.
“What’s that, Morty? Huh? What the hell do you want from me? What, you don’t—you don’t like the way I do things? Oh, boo-fu-urgh-cking-hoo. Maybe you should run to that half-assed Christmas trash-bot I built last year. Oh, wait, oh, shit, Morty, I just remembered — that’s right, he’s fucking dead. Wanna know why? Because of you. Because you, Morty, you’re a-a walking disaster in puberty pants. Every-every single time you open that gaping maw of yo-urghr-s, some half-baked, dumb-as-shit idea flies out and screws me over. So how about this? Take all your genius little suggestions, roll ‘em up real tight, and cram ‘em where even I won’t look. And then maybe just fucking do what I tell you.”
“Geez, go to hell, Rick.”
That made six — yeah, six — mentions of RickBot in three days. Not that Morty was counting or anything. It was some kind of record since the whole Christmas fiasco. A year. A whole goddamn year. Morty had no idea what had crawled so far up Rick’s ass lately, but whatever it was had somehow latched onto Morty himself too, and he was officially fucking done with it.
Morty didn’t say another word. He just crouched on the ground, picking up little red crystal balls scattered across some alien tundra. He stayed quiet when they got back through the portal, both of them hauling overstuffed sacks like some twisted Santa duo (thank God they didn’t come down a chimney, for fuck’s sake). Quiet the next morning, when they ran into each other in the kitchen at some ungodly hour, the rest of the house still asleep.
He didn’t speak to Rick at all. And when the silence stretched into a third day, it started to dig at Rick worse than what had been fucking with his brain before that. With a growl, Rick slammed tools into a drawer, kicked it shut, and stormed out of the garage.
The house was dead quiet. Beth had dragged Beth off on some pointless Christmas shopping spree. Jerry, Jesus fucking Christ, the dumbass had tagged along because he’d “won” some stupid “free unlimited carousel rides” coupon from one of the most obvious online scams and “couldn’t let it go to waste.” Summer was… somewhere.
That left him and the kid.
Probably.
Rick grumbled his way upstairs, throwing open Morty’s bedroom door like a SWAT team member on a raid. (The dumb, slack-jawed deer-in-headlights look Morty always gave him when Rick barged in — pure comedy gold. Never got old.)
But the room was empty. No Morty on the bed, no Morty on the chair, not even a Morty lump on the floor. Rick froze in the doorway, scowling as he listened for any sign of life.
Then he heard it. Laughing. Morty’s high, squeaky falsetto, answered by some deep baritone. Oh, you little shit. He wasn’t not alone.
The fuck…
One ‘how the turntables’ later, Rick found himself frowning at the backyard through Summer’s bedroom window with that very dumb, confused look. Morty was out there, tossing snowballs back and forth with a rusty, banged-up, but somehow functional Robo-version of Rick.
Rick quickly went downstairs and stewed for ten minutes in the garage, angrily poking at a microchip like it had personally wronged him. Then he stomped outside.
“What the hell is this, Morty?”
The fuck this bullshit? Why? How, for God’s sake? — Rick didn’t go into details. He just hurled a ‘snowball’ of all the questions straight into Morty’s face. Game on, bitch.
RickBot shuffled forward, brushing snow off Morty with an overly delicate hand. And he didn’t move his fucking claw off the Morty’s shoulder, not even after.
Rick’s face twisted into something between a sneer and a gag, like someone had dared him to lick Jerry’s armpit for science.
Morty said nothing, wiping melted snow off his face. Rick said nothing, arms crossed. The Bot just stood there… saying nothing.
Finally, the robot broke first. “Look, I—”
“What do you want, Rick?” Morty cut him off, shoving wet hair out of his face and glaring back at the old man, his gaze sharp with a challenge.
Rick narrowed his icy eyes, voice low. “I got what I needed.” They’d been hunting for those damn red crystals for several days, and today he’d finally completed the project they were needed for.
“Good for you,” Morty snapped, brushing past him.
“Morty.” Rick didn’t move.
“What, Rick?”
“You fixed him.” Rick motioned toward the robot without looking.
Morty shrugged. “Yeah, well, uh, got some help. Guess you were too busy being a-a dick to notice. Or it was exactly what you wanted, right? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a snowball fight to finish.”
Rick stood there, watching Morty turn his back on him without hesitation, joining RickBot like the old man wasn’t even there. The robot crouched to pack another snowball, glancing up at Morty with a small, mechanical nod, like they were in sync. Partners.
Rick hated it. Hated how it made his chest tighten, hated the bitter taste in his mouth that wasn’t from last night’s alco-trip.
“Morty,” he called again, quieter this time.
Morty didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.
“Morty.”
Finally, Morty turned, arms crossed. His breath fogged in the winter air, his eyes, once pools of warm chocolate, now hard and tired. “What now, Rick? Another insult? Gonna remind me again how everything’s my fault? Or maybe you’re here to trash RickBot some more. Whatever it is, make it quick. I’m busy.”
Rick’s lips twitched, but for once, no sarcasm came. No sharp comeback. Just a pause, heavy and awkward, like the snow pressing on the bare branches overhead.
“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to leave you with nothing,” Rick muttered, barely audible.
Morty blinked. “What?”
Rick exhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt to push out. “Last year. Christmas. I didn’t mean to—” He gestured vaguely toward the robot. “I just… I thought you’d scrap him. Forget it.”
Morty’s jaw clenched. He turned away again, his voice cold. “Yeah, well, you’re real good at giving me nothing, Rick. Guess I just got used to it.”
That hit like a punch to the gut. Rick opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced at his robo-version, who was staring blankly back — one eye red like those crystal balls he’d been collecting with Morty — snowball in hand.
The old man shoved his hands into his labcoat pockets, suddenly feeling the cold seep into his bones. “For what it’s worth…” He hesitated, his voice soft and rough. “He’s not a bad replacement.”
Morty didn’t look at him. “Yeah, I figured. He doesn’t yell at me. Doesn’t make me feel like shit. And at least when he’s here, Rick, he doesn’t make me wish he wasn’t.”
Rick’s heart skipped, and for a second, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He didn’t know what to say — maybe because Morty was right.
So he just turned around, crunching through the snow, and walked back toward the house without another word.
Behind him, Morty sighed, watching his grandpa’s retreating figure. The snowball in his hand hung limply before he finally dropped it, shoulders slumping.
RickBot cocked his head, breaking the silence. “Morty, are you—”
“Don’t,” Morty cut him off, shaking his head. His voice cracked, just a little. “Let’s just keep playing, okay?”
And so they did.