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The sound of ringing seemed adamant on tormenting Morty's eardrums. The familiar headache that settled behind his eyes was arguably worse, though.
Morty stepped out of the ship and into the garage, his lips still quivering as he tried to fight off the tears Rick had scolded him for. He was doing his best to tune out his grandpa as he shuffled toward the door to the house, but Rick wasn't planning on letting him squirm out of the scolding that easily.
"Morty! Would you ju-ust listen to me! You can't just almost get me killed and give me the silent treatment right after! At least let me fix that fu-ucking gash so your mom doesn't bitch at me!"
Rick stomped over when Morty stayed silent, trying yet again to head back inside. The frustration of the scientist was definitely starting to grow now. He understood that Morty had a sensitive nature, relatively low IQ, and the emotional competence of a fucking walnut...
He guessed maybe something else was supposed to come out of that thought, but right now he was just plain pissed.
And too sober to deal with all this shit.
"You understand that I had to use you as bait, Morty? What, y-you think that you could've dealt with that situation if I were the bait, Morty?"
He burped between sentences, pulling Morty over to his workbench by the collar of his shirt. He rummaged through drawers as he waited for the answer that Morty didn't want to give.
"No. The- the answer is fucking no, Morty! Not in a thousand fucking years."
Rick quickly spat out, poking him square in the chest with his gaze fixed on the gun he was holding. He toggled a setting on it before haphazardly lifting Morty's shirt, shooting a ray at the long gash that had practically covered Morty's abdomen. He tossed the gun into a drawer afterward, letting Morty run off to his room.
"Yeah, don't let a fucking- a fucking 'thank you' hit you on the way out! You little shit!"
Rick shouts after him, slamming the door shut.
The feeling of hot tears starting to roll down Morty's cheeks was humiliating. He was quick to slam his door shut behind him, shuffling over to the desk in the corner of his room. He pulled the chair out, climbing into the space underneath it to curl up. It was dark, he was alone, maybe if Rick tried busting his door down in the middle of the night he'd just give up when he didn't see Morty in his bed. The last thing he needed was another stupid adventure after this.
The last thing he needed was another reminder of how stupid he was. He was tired of hearing it. He was tired of being the dumb one, or the sensitive one, or the disposable one. Rick thinks he has the right to be frustrated? When Morty was the one bearing every single insult and sacrifice every time he had the audacity to be near his own grandfather?
"I didn't ask for this- I didn't ask to be the stupid little disposable worm just— squirming around every time he tells me to- to- fucking squirm!"
He gripped at his hair, starting to tug before escalating to hitting at his head. His head felt cloudy with all the thoughts going through it at once. All the emotions he'd been shoving down adventure after adventure emerged all at once.
"If I have to be the fucking worm— I'm doing- I'm- I'm doing my own squirming!"
He climbed out from underneath his desk, trying to find his pencil sharpener in one of his drawers. His hands rummaged shakily, his body trying to keep up despite his erratic state and the current anxiety attack..? panic attack...? Whatever it was that he was having. He clumsily managed to unscrew the small blade, prying it out before abandoning the rest of the sharpener atop the desk.
"Morty. I know I'm still pi-issed at you, and you're probably, well, you're— oh for shit's sake."
Rick groaned, rubbing his temples. He'd been looking over the supplies laid out on his desk ever since Morty had scrambled out like some little pussy. The only issue was the fact that he was missing some crystals that he thought he'd already had. Crystals that just so happened to be really fucking difficult to get on a solo run. Yeah, he totally could do it on his own, but he had a Morty for a reason. Maybe the trip would help said Morty get over himself, too.
"Ugh. Fuck it."
He took a long drink from his flask before tucking it back into his coat pocket. If Morty tried being a pain in the ass about it, he'd just go on his own. There was no use wasting time trying to convince someone who'd probably just make the trip more complicated than it needed to be.
After he'd made it up the stairs, he swung open the door to Morty's room, letting out a loud burp and tugging the sheet away.
"M-Morty, come on, there was something else I forgot to get. We have to go, Morty. Now-"
He stared at the empty mattress before raising a brow, doing a quick scan around the room. He almost missed it. Not only had he hardly seen Morty occupy any space in the room other than his bed, but for some reason he'd chosen to sit underneath his desk in the fucking dark.
"Morty, what the hell-"
"G-get out, Rick! I don't want to go on another stupid adventure, so- so just get- get the fuck out of my room!"
Morty shifted his body a little bit, pulling the desk chair closer to hide himself from the probably drunk old man in his bedroom. He didn't want to deal with him right now. He was worn out, anxious, his head hurt from crying, his stomach was hurting so bad from all the stress he felt like he might throw up if Rick didn't just screw off already.
"Morty, what the hell are you doing under your desk? Were you seriously trying to hide from me?"
He sounded almost amused, walking over and grabbing the chair, trying to pull it out and away from the desk.
"S-So what if I am?! What? What are you gonna do then? Y-you gonna just laugh at me or- or make fun of me for being tired of putting up with your shit?! You think I'm the pain in the ass?! Y-you try getting dragged through space— and- and teased and berated— and almost killed over and over again! With no control over any of it! I- I can't even choose whether or not I get to go to school every day!"
He shouts, grabbing the legs of the chair and tugging back, refusing to let Rick pull it away from him. His throat felt tight. He was squeezing his eyes shut to try keeping any more tears from forming. He couldn't even camp out in his room to cry alone like a normal teenager. Of course he couldn't. Because why would he ever catch any kind of break if Rick was around? Short answer: He just wouldn't! Long answer: Rick wouldn't let that fucking happen ever.
"Jeez! Morty, get a fucking hold of yourself! I told you, I couldn't be the bait, you fucking idiot! Now you're over here having some mental breakdown over me saving you? Even after you tried throwing me to the damn sharks instead? Just come on, Morty! It's gonna be i-in and out, it's like– it's like a 20 minute in and out kind of adventure, Morty—"
He didn't let up on the chair, determined to get his stubborn grandson out from behind it. Morty didn't know what he needed. Control was the last thing he needed when it came down to most of their adventures. Rick was an easy person to point to when Morty's conscience needed someone to pin responsibility on. Morty was so damn sensitive he wouldn't even be able to cope with the concept of control while they were getting shit done.
"R-Rick! Stop it! I said I don't want to go on your st-stupid fucking adventure with you! Can you just let go?!"
Morty was starting to sound more frantic, which didn't seem to go unnoticed, even if Rick didn't know why the hell it was happening. Despite being the smartest man alive, he still didn't know why the hell Morty was being so difficult all of a sudden. Well, sure, he knew the whole... bait/sacrifice thing had been kind of... a lot for him, but he'd been in situations like that before. And he hadn't been hugging chairs or sitting underneath his desk in the dark then.
If he actually cared, he'd probably start to get a little worried that Morty might be trying to hide something from him.
"Morty, let go of the fucking desk chair."
"Fuck you, Rick! Get out of my room!"
Morty shifted around the limited space he had under the desk. He pushed a leg underneath the chair, kicking his grandpa in the shin to get him to back off.
"G- fuck! Quit it, Morty!"
Rick pulled his leg back after Morty had landed a decent blow on it, his patience wearing much thinner now.
"Y-you quit it! I hate you, Rick! I was hiding in here hoping you'd be drunk enough not- not to find me! So go- go fucking drink or something!"
Morty felt his face grow pale when his struggle came to a quick end. The chair that he'd previously been clinging to like a lifeline vanished right before his eyes. He probably should've guessed that Rick would shoot the thing eventually. He stared at him in shock for a split second before scrambling to curl up on himself, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs.
Despite his initial confusion, Rick wasn't blind. He noticed the shitty half inch blade sitting on the floor beside his grandson, and the remaining plastic bit of his pencil sharpener that had been left carelessly on top of his desk.
"Morty."
He spoke, his tone less frustrated, but a bit more serious now. He crouched down to Morty's level under the desk, reaching a hand out that was quickly slapped away.
"I'm! Not! Coming! Just go away, Rick! God knows I'm- I'm too fucking stupid to help! Right!? Cause I'm the dumbass! Y-you're the smart one! Go be smart while you get whatever the hell you're looking for! Leave me— Rick! R-Rick— stop it! Gr-grandpa Rick!"
Morty's attempts to shoo him away were quickly rendered useless as he was pulled out from under the desk. Rick pried Morty's hands out from the human ball he'd tried forming.
"I'll go! I- I'll go! I'll stop complaining! I'll go, Rick! Stop!"
Morty pleads, trying to tug his hands back toward himself. There wasn't much use in trying to hide it anymore, though. With the grip his grandpa had on his wrists, there was no doubt there'd be blood on his hands whenever he eventually let go. With all the scrambling he'd done, too, he doubted that Rick hadn't noticed the blood on his thighs as well. He hadn't been too worried about those initially, given the fact he usually wore pants. But inevitably, the cat was out of the bag anyway.
The tears came back at full force, wracking heavy sobs straight from his chest. Rick hadn't said anything yet. Morty didn't know if that was better or worse than the alternative. He just wished he'd leave him alone.
"M-Morty, Morty, shh. Shh, Morty."
Rick couldn't think of a right way to react to this, just turning his grandson's arms over carefully to see the damage. They were definitely more than some surface level scratches, but they weren't fatal. He doubted the ones on the thighs could be, either. Especially given the fact they were hardly near the arteries he would've needed to hit in order to bleed out. Sometimes it was a good thing that Morty wasn't very smart.
"You don't have to come with me, Morty. Y-You can stay here, and go to school tomorrow."
He spoke, trying to think of some other way to ease the sobbing boy's nerves as he began hyperventilating.
"Hey- hey– I need you to calm down. Grandpa's here, he's sorry. Y-you're his little boopah, okay?"
He looked uneasy as he spoke, but was trying to give Morty some of the words he probably needed to hear right now.
Morty looked at him with those teary eyes of his, about to ask if he really meant it before a sudden thought crossed his mind. He paused, shaking his head as the panic built up again. Rick wouldn't do this kind of thing. He wouldn't just suddenly go easy on him after seeing him do something he considered to be so stupid. Rick would be laughing, or scolding him, or possibly both. The last thing he'd be was nice to him. This wasn't real. This... Rick wasn't real. He wasn't his real Rick, at least. Something must've happened. He must've missed some detail while he was tucked away trying to hurt himself.
Was his Rick hurt? Why would the one in front of him go so far just to trick him? To hold it above his head? To tease him about?
"Okay, shh... so just calm down— C-Gah! Fuck! Fuck, Morty!"
A small coughing fit ensued after Morty kicked him square in the chest, turning over to land on his stomach before scrambling to get up and away from him. He was shaking at this point, his breathing uneven and frantic, his anxiety through the roof as paranoia started to emerge alongside it.
"Y-you're not Rick! I don't know- I- I don't- I don't know who you are, but you're not my Rick!"
Morty started finding things he could use to defend himself, picking up books, socks, shoes, pencils— anything he could use to throw at Rick.
The old man did what he could to dodge some of it, but ultimately ended up cursing up a storm as the objects seemed to get heavier with each throw.
"Grandpa! Rick— Rick!"
"Morty! Fucking— shit! Stop it! St-stop throwing stuff you fucking id– you fucking— just stop it, Morty! I'm right fucking here!"
He tried to be careful with his words as he grew closer, letting out a loud grunt when a hardback of some dungeons and dragons book hit him in the gut. He let out a wheeze before grabbing Morty by the shoulders, trying to figure out what was making him go all tweaker mode all of a sudden. The puzzle seemed to click as Morty continued crying for the Rick that was right in fucking front of him.
He didn't think he was real.
He'd been treating him so shitty lately that he was probably convinced "His Rick" was still in the garage.
His Rick had made jokes literally about making fun of him if he ever did some shit like cutting himself.
The guilt hit him like a brick. Scratch that, actually, it hit him like a whole fucking house. His own grandson was convinced he must be a clone or some alternate version of himself because he'd tried comforting him.
So he did what any sensible grandfather would do to their panicked Morty.
He pinned him to the ground.
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Morty. I just need you to calm down. "
He emphasized, keeping his hands pinned down carefully, trying to avoid irritating the wounds any further despite the thrashing going on underneath him.
"N-No! Fuck you! What did you do to him— where's my Rick‐ y-you aren't drunk enough to be th-th-this nice!"
Rick took the jab but didn't comment on it, instead just staying put on top of him. He knew Morty was smart enough to know that no other Rick would sit here wasting time like this. Morty knew that if they'd wanted him captured, he'd be captured by now. Rick just had to wait until that realization set in. So he didn't budge an inch. Not when Morty demanded answers, not when he was told to get off, not even when Morty started asking for him to just finish him off instead.
The boy felt conflicted. There were too many emotions going through him right now. At this point, he wouldn't even be able to narrow down which one he was feeling the most. He just continued to cry and struggle, trying and failing to kick at him from where he lay on the ground. What made it all even worse was the fact that Rick was pinning down his hands. Not only was it humiliating that he was able to do it so easily, but it was also terrifying due to the fact that he could no longer deny the cuts that littered his wrists. He noticed each time Rick looked them over, his shame growing stronger with each guilty look his grandpa cast down to the floor. The crying wouldn't stop. He hated this. He wanted to run, hide, do anything other than have to be pinned down like some psych ward patient.
"Rick—"
"Shh... it's fine, Morty."
"But- you're—"
"Shh."
Rick stayed put for a few long minutes, looking Morty over when he'd calmed down enough... then letting out a heavy sigh. He took out his flask and drank, his eyes staying off of his grandson for a little while.
Morty was grateful for that, sitting up beside him and fidgeting with his hands. He went back to awkwardly trying to hide his wrists despite his secret being out. He knew he had bandages in a desk drawer...
Rick quickly shot him a look when he tried to stand. The one that silently said "If you run, I will pin you on the floor again". Morty ignored it, going over to his desk to get the bandage wrap. After retrieving it, he merely went over to his bed. He looked tired. Shameful, guilty, embarrassed, disgusted... the whirlwind of emotions had died down a little bit, but it hadn't entirely dissipated just yet. He clumsily tried wrapping the wounds, but his work was interrupted by a hand getting in the way.
Rick's hand. Again.
"Come here. It's- it's hard to wrap something like that yourself. I'm- I'm kinda, I even have a robot do it for me, Morty."
He mutters out, taking the roll of bandage tape before shuffling through one of his coat pockets. He managed to pull out some minor first aid. The ones he'd planned on using if Morty had needed it while they were out earlier today. He screwed the cap of his flask open before taking another swig. Morty watches with an anticipatory wince as Rick contemplates pouring some of the rest onto Morty's wounds, but decides not to.
"Y-You shouldn't– urp- actually use this stuff on broken skin, Morty. I-It really just fucks up your cells."
He burps out, wiping down the areas around the cuts before getting to work. The much faster alternative of just getting his ray gun downstairs to do the work for him didn't exactly feel like the best idea right now. Morty didn't seem like he should be left alone. Even if Rick had important things to get done that really could've used his attention right now— he... couldn't help seeing this as far more important.
Once he'd finished, he stood and set the remaining bandages on the table, his back staying turned.
"I-I didn't... I wasn't... trying to be so- urp- hard on you, Morty. You're not stupid. That's why I better not catch you doing thi-is kind of shit again, Morty."
He turned back to face him, watching as he climbed into bed, curling up in the fetal position like some beaten dog. Rick bit the inside of his cheek, fighting an inside battle as he tried to balance his own inability to comfort the people around him, and his current need to make sure his grandson was alright.
He internally groaned, slipping off his lab coat before climbing into bed after him.
"S-Sorry, Morty. M'just too tired to- urp– head back downstairs."
He stretched out on the mattress before letting out a yawn, laying on his side and facing Morty's back.
Morty stayed put, curled up and silent on his current portion of the bed. A bit of the feelings from earlier had left, but he still couldn't bring himself to feel okay. He still wanted to be taken seriously. He still wanted to be smarter... but at the very least, even if he couldn't say it, he knew Rick loved him. That could be enough for now.
He waited silently, picking at his bedsheet and curling up a bit more. After a few minutes, though, he heard what he'd been waiting for. Snoring.
He slowly glanced back over to Rick, still facing him, but seemingly pretty deep in sleep already. It was a pretty rare sight, even for Morty. But it meant he could do something he usually wasn't able to.
He shuffled over carefully, listening for any change in the way he snored, and keeping an eye out for so much as a slight twitch of movement. When none of that happened, though, he gathered the courage to commit. He curled up against him, his cheek pressed against his grandpa's shirt as he slowly started to relax. Part of him did wish that this didn't just have to happen whenever Rick was heavily intoxicated or sleeping, but he figured this was probably better for the both of them. After only a few minutes, Morty managed to doze off himself. His body gradually relaxed, his tension fading and his anxieties forgotten as he drifted into sleep. Only then was Rick able to let out the sigh he'd been holding.
He couldn't help frowning as he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him a bit closer before starting to rub his back as he slept. Usually he only actually held Morty like this when the two of them were about to die or something like that.
It was difficult. Not the holding, but the vulnerability on his end.
It's why he had to get wasted or fake being asleep just to hold his own grandson... before sneaking away and replacing himself with a pillow in the early morning.
Maybe one morning he'd build up the courage to stay.