Work Text:
Rick came in drunk, maybe high, his clothes stained and dried in blood of fights he'd rather not remember, he couldn't go around it.
He slowly took his clothes off and threw them into the washing machine, throwing in some softener and powdered soap, he'd check on them later.
His legs dragged him slowly through the cold wooden stairs, his feet barely making a noise as he approached Morty's room, hearing his soft breaths from behind the thin walls, he opened the door and looked inside.
The mirror on the side of the room making him aware of how perverse this whole thing was, Rick dragged himself in underwear to Morty's room for no other reason than comfort.
The washing machine hummed into the night's whispers, the sounds mixing almost unnoticeable, his skin still tainted in blood, his face and hair especially, not an “alive” amount of blood, Morty would probably question it.
He looked for his flask around himself, when he didn't find it he sighed and walked up to Morty's bed, trying to get a hold of how his body was positioned, where his legs were, where his lower back rested, how he was even comfortable in such a position.
He burped out a few curses before simply laying wherever he could, which ended up being on his back in Morty's lap, the weight waking him up calmly.
The boy recognized that smell, the cheap booze and chemicals, the sweat and drugs, who else could it be?, Rick was the only one who could actually enter Morty's room without him noticing
“R- Rick?, y- you okay?” The boy asked sleepy, he didn't even sit up, he just allowed Rick to lay down on him, maybe the weight was comforting for Morty, maybe he had grown accustomed to whatever Rick did when drunk, did it matter?
In the dimly lit room, insects creaked outside the house, the breeze ruffling leaves of the only tree close enough to Morty's window, the moon full of light and mercy, allowing limited vision through the always open window.
The boy noticed what seemed to be half-fresh blood on Rick, it was sticky, but not runny or actually liquid. Rick twitched in his lap, the breaths of tiredness causing Morty to sit up, looking down at Rick.
He looked like a mess, he had a bloody nose, though Morty wasn't sure if the blood was only his or mixed with someone else's, his hair messier than usual, slightly bloody along with this disheveled appearance, his eyes red and puffy, so far from the usual smug and relaxed look on his face.
He looked like had been crying, or perhaps doing drugs, maybe both, did any of Morty's theories ever matter?
Morty's hands slowly came up to rest on Rick's head, playing with his hair gently as Rick turned to his side, his cheek resting on Morty's small thighs, he sighed one more time.
“R- Rick?” A sheepish voice, sleepy at best
“I- I've done s- so much bad shit in m- my life, Morty.” is all Rick said for a while, he didn't sound guilty, not at all, not remorseful or ashamed, not even proud or smug, he sounded numb, it wasn't a question, or a plea of mercy, it was a fact.
A fact that Rick had come to terms with.
A shy “..it's okay.” Is all Morty could mutter out, he yawned as his hands slowed their movements on Rick's hair, he'd usually be more alert when Rick was like this, but he seemed.. docile enough, maybe not entirely submissive but vulnerable.
Half naked, tainted in blood, filthy and sinful, this was as vulnerable as Rick could get, and he wouldn't mess it up, the words applied to both of them.
The boy's hands resumed their fidgeting, like he was counting the locks on his grandpa's head, he sighed softly before humming a melody, one Rick didn't care for.
The sound mixed with the crickets, the humming washing machine, a lullaby for the man.
“I- I don't expect forgiveness, or understanding for th- the- my sins, but, Morty, don't leave.”— me, that's what he wanted to ask out of the boy, because Rick didn't need to feel guilt or remorse, he didn't need to atone for his sins.
He didn't need anything, he only wanted things, and he took and took until there was nothing left to take, out of Jerry, out of Beth, out of anyone, but Beth's last offering to the drunk shitty God that Rick used to be, was right there.
She was smart, she knew how to keep a man around, which not only applied to Jerry, but also Rick.
Her last offering before being done with him was Morty, and perhaps she still cared, she didn't want him dead, and she didn't fully trust Rick with him, but Rick was the one basically raising him.
Feeding him, teaching him, guiding him, loving him.
abusing him.
And whatever he was making out of the boy, it was beautiful.
“I- I won't, Rick, I- I won't leave, okay?” The boy's voice young, his stutter purely genetic, Beth didn't have it, but Rick did, he noticed that.
Rick's eyes bored into Morty's face, he didn't seem confused or worried, just sleepy, perhaps a bit affectionate, he was warm.
The washing machine stopped humming, the crickets silent for a second, all he could hear now was Morty's soft breaths above him, he felt the boy's hands gentle in his hair, untangling it, the blue locks tainted a dark red.
The blood of a vein.
He laid on his back again, looking up at Morty directly in the eyes, something he hadn't done before. Eye contact was normal for some, but not for Rick, and even if Morty didn't know it, this meant something.
His hand cold and unforgiving, rough with years of age, with decades of fighting, it reached up for the boy's warmth, holding his cheek softly, his thumb caressing him softly.
Morty grabbed his hand and kissed it awkwardly, “Were- w- did you get in a- a fight, Rick?” He asked softly, noticing the bruised knuckles
“... a fight would imply they were a- an enemy to me, and they weren't, Morty.” Grandpa said rather annoyedly, how rude.
Rick's eyes fluttered softly, Morty was warm, a warmth like no other.
Mortymortymortymorty.
The boy yawned, laying back down in bed, trying to fall back asleep as the bed creaked with weight and movement, Rick accommodated himself, he sighed, feeling Morty's body as he took soft breaths.
Whatever Morty had become because of Rick, it was beautiful.