Chapter Text
Sounds of shattering glass echo's throughout the room, causing the boy to flinch. Morty looks at the cloned bodies of his from the tubes, now on the floor. His hands tremble as he holds an axe from the garage.
He knows if he wants this to work, he needs to kill the clones to be sure, but it feels so unethical. They may have no consciousness, but it looks so much like a human. Just like Morty. But Morty was going to kill himself anyway, so why should it matter? Killing his clones is essentially the same as suicide.
He keeps feeling waves of nerves at every little sound and every little thought, "what if Rick comes back?", even though Rick is going to be on another planet for a while. It was a job Rick didn't want to take Morty on.
Rick was probably working with evil Morty.
Rick probably didn't need Morty anymore.
Rick is probably replacing Morty.
When Morty dies, it doesn't matter. Rick can just get another abandoned Morty, or more specifically, evil Morty.
The axe strikes one of the bodies, blood splattering onto Morty's shirt and face. He gags. Sure, he's killed so many people before, but this feels different. He trembles as the axe hits the same body over and over to make sure it's really dead.
Geez, he still has so many more clones to kill.
The axe pierces bodies again and again and again and again and it feels like it's never ending and it's so nauseating and— Morty vomits, clutching his chest with his bloodied hand, the axe resting on the floor. Old scars on his upper arm itch, the feeling mixed with nausea and the taste of vomit and the smell of metallic blood and the grazing of sweat on his forehead make him dizzy.
Morty looks around. All of the bodies are covered in lacerations and even his own covered with blood. They should be dead.
He drops the axe, stumbling backwards as he stares at the damage he caused. Blood, brain matter, bones, muscle, fat... It's decorating the walls and floor and the clones and Morty... He trembles, tears welling in his eyes.
He runs down the hall to the elevator, clicking the button to ascend to the garage before Rick gets back or any of his family catches him.
The lift dings at the top, and Morty climbs out of the hatch through the ladder. The automatic doors close behind him, and he rushes out the garage and to the stairs, navigating his room without bumping into 'family'. They're not even his original family. He's an imposter.
He enters his room, closing the door quietly behind him. He'd previously stole some of Rick's space crystals to plan this moment. To feel more comfortable, he changes into different clothes. Well... the same clothes, but not the same as what he was wearing before. And this time without trousers. So, really, just the yellow t-shirt. It's 11pm.
Morty sits at his computer desk, crushing the crystals and arranging them into lines. Without much care for an overdose, he covers one nostril with his finger and snorts all 4 of the lines at once. He doesn't know how much that actually is, but the tiny crystal shards burn his nose. For a second, everything is fine. Until Morty is suddenly taken aback by extreme relaxation.
His heart feels so slow and so fast in his chest and his head is fuzzy and light. That took effect so much faster than any drug he's ever used. He rubs his nose, a small bit of fresh blood finding its way onto his hand along with all the dried blood. The crystals probably damaged him.
The wall looks like it's melting in front of him. actually... everything he looks at... it's melting...
It's all sinking.
He feels like he is on a bobbing boat, a spinning park equipment.
But he shouldn't be enjoying this. He is supposed to die. He deserves to die. He is awful. He doesn't deserve anything.
Morty sluggishly puts his hand onto the drawer handle, opening it and taking out a small razor blade. He brainlessly brings the blade to his arm and swipes, making a pathetic cut that barely goes through the epidermis. It was probably an effect of the relaxation.
He attempts to do a few more cuts, going a little deeper this time, before dropping the blade in his lap. Everything is spinning so much that it's starting to get a little nauseating.
"Morty— Morty! We need to—.. what the fuck, Morty!! What- what did you do??"
Rick's voice is sudden but feels almost dreamy to Morty as Rick bursts through the door at around 12am.
Rick is only slightly intoxicated, which is a surprise for this time. Blood drips from Morty's arms into his lap, staining his shirt. His heart is beating faster, but not exactly understanding the full situation.
"St—stay here, Morty."
Rick swiftly leaves the room, soon arriving back with bandages, antispetic wipes, and antiseptic lotion. He closes Morty's door, going on his knees to attend to Morty's wounds, who is currently slumped in his chair.
Looking into Morty's eyes, his pupils are incredibly dilated. He grabs the boys' shoulders.
"What did y— did you take, idiot?? Did you take my fucking space crystals?"
He starts to shake Morty, and Morty is completely out of it. To Morty, it all feels like a dream. He doesn't even process the situation.
"Damnit.." Rick groans, opening the antiseptic wipes and cleaning Morty's arms. He uses the ointment and then gently but quickly wraps bandages around his arms.
"Morty? You here? Down— down to Earth, Morty." Rick flicks his forehead, and Morty is back from being unresponsive, probably a seizure.
"Rick— you never told me these crystals made.. these crystals made everything melting!! What.." Morty speaks rapidly.
"How much did you take?"
"Huh?"
"How much did you take??"
"uhhm.. 4- i think lines? and they were thiiissss long." Morty makes a rough measurement with his fingers.
"That's wayy too much for someone as small as you. What the— the fuck were you thinking??"
"..I was just gonnaa... relax, and.. go— go with the flow.. y'know..??"
Morty's expression drops slightly at his own words, his feet pushing his computer chair away from Rick. His eyes squint at Morty's trembling hands.
Eventually, Rick leaves Morty's room after he made sure Morty sobered up a bit. They were definitely going to talk about that later.