Chapter Text
“Y-you- You’re fucking dumb Morty!”
Rick groaned, practically dragging the kid through the portal by his shirt. Dropping him once he confirmed both of them were all the way out of the portal.
“You’re fucking— a moron! How fucking h- *BURPP*-ard could it have been to just- just fucking— kill those guys!”
Morty watched as the taller man stumbled towards a chair, his lab coat torn in the process of getting home, dropping Morty against the cold concrete floor, his eyes falling to the floor, just staring without purpose. Avoiding eye contact with the other man as he spoke.
“I c-couldn’t! Come on Rick! they were just kids w-what did you want m-me to do!”
Morty stuttered through his words, his voice shaking and nervous. Glancing up for a second only to let his eyes drop back down as two briefly made eye contact. Yet even for the moment Morty looked up, the annoyed look in Rick's eyes would play back in his head. Over and over. The annoyance, the belittlement, the disgust.
“Who gives two fucks Morty? All it-it takes is one button to fuckin kill em! You’re so fucking useless Morty! Shit! I should’ve let your ass die and gotten a new Morty!”
Rick grabbed a flask from the table, taking a big gulp of what Morty had always assumed to be some form of alcohol, I mean who keeps orange juice in a metal flask?
“Y-you don’t mean that Rick! Don’t say that stuff man!” Morty whined, his face getting hot as he frowned at the older man who just stared down at the kid with something close to secondhand embarrassment .
“Y-*BUUURRRRRPP* Yes I fucking do! You’re useless! Maybe I would get lucky and not get a fuckin- fucking mentally disable grandson! Dumbass! I mean I'm fucking genius! Where the f-uck did those genes go!”
Morty watched as Rick’s hand went to grab the flask again, letting his eyes away as the man brought the metal to his chapped lips. Rick's voice burned into his mind when he spoke, words that surely not even Rick meant. Right?
“Jeez! I’m not d-disabled Rick! That’s rude man! you g-gotta stop that.”
Morty’s voice shook with uncertainty once more as he stood up, his fists clenched at his sides, though it was more so to keep tears from building in his eyes than out of anger. Rick would call him a cry baby– or something…
“Right Morty, because failing Algebra is so fuckin’ genius of you.” Rick scoffed, his voice practically seeping with agitation.
“I’m failing because you! Yo-you keep taking me out of fucking school to do your busy work stuff! Like jeez rick! Who takes their grandson to kill a planet of orphans!”
“it’s not dangerous if you’re not a pussy!” Rick hissed, giving the kid a glare.
“h-how- How does that even fucking correlate?!” Morty huffed.
“Oh my fucking god. Just fucking go Morty! Holy shit!” Rick groaned, slamming the flask down onto the table harder than he intended. Morty’s eyes had looked away sooner than to see that Rick himself had tensed.
“. . . “
Morty didn’t respond. He just stared, his mouth closing and opening a few useless times, words not escaping his mouth before he turned. His nails digging into the palms of his hands. Stinging as he simply just left. The door slammed with a loud thud as he stormed upstairs. Ignoring the questions from Beth, asking what was going on, ignoring her huff when she got no response, ignoring the glass of wine in her hand, ignoring that lack of his dad.
As his door bedroom slammed behind him, his eyes started to burn with tears, looking down at his hands, blood had drawn in his palms four perfect little crescent shapes. His shoulders slumped as his throat started to tighten oh so familiarly.
He didn’t know why he was crying. These arguments happened all the time. Today just… hurt. He gave up, letting his chest heave with sobs. Walking to plop down onto his bed.
Morty sat there and cried, for longer than he would ever admit. Tears that burned his cheeks and sobs that felt like stabs with each hic. An overbearing weight was all around him. So thick and suffocating. Like trying to run through water.
“F-fuck!”
The quiet sobs were interrupted by his voice, frail. Rick hadn’t ever gotten to him like this. Or… not in a while at least! Morty had been trying harder, so there was no reason for Rick to get mad. But that doesn’t if you fuck up so bad you get stuck on another planet for a week huh?
Morty pushed himself off the bed, just to pace around the room, steps light enough to not make any one else in the house suspicious, not like they'd care no how. But yet frantic, each step in front of himself did nothing but make him think harder. Just repeating the things that were said in his head over and over.
“Mentally disabled? I-i-im not fuck–ing mentally disabled!”
He groaned, taking a few more steps and in the process tripping over some loose clothes in his room, laying throughout his floor from when they left. Then frustrated kicking it as hard as he could just to trip once again, somehow catching himself on the bed. Morty gripped the blankets on the bed and pulled himself to lay back on it. Just lying on his back as he continued to fight tears and sobs of anger. Or sadness. Maybe frustration?
No, Embarrassment.
He just needed it to stop. Just for a moment, for the air to lighten and the repetitive thoughts to go away. Just for a minute. A minute where he could fall asleep. Rick would wake him up in the morning pretending nothing had ever happened and take him to somewhere else. Somewhere new where he wouldn't fuck up. Where he would do everything right so Rick would be mad at him.
Then his eyes locked onto something.
Morty had never tried to hurt himself on purpose before. Well, not like this he supposed.
So then why did his eyes lock onto a pocket knife Rick had given him? Some stupid, janky pocket knife they had found on a planet. Or was it a different universe? Somewhere in a gift shop. It had something written on it that Morty never understood because it was in a different alien language. But rick found it funny. He had never used it, I mean what would he use a knife for? Rick had ray guns and all kinds of stuff. Rick told him what it said once, but Morty didn't remember, he really didn’t even remember picking up the knife. Nor did he remember the first slice.
A straight line, barely deep enough to draw blood, more like a cat scratch with blood beaded on it, straight across his frail forearm. And everything stopped, the noise went quiet and he could finally breathe. Just for a moment his brain went blank. Nothing but his adrenaline to crowd his mind.
But what did he do once he realized it was not going to last? When everything started creeping back and his chest felt heavy again? Morty pressed harder that time.
Morty pressed harder each time. 26 times more.
26 more lines.
All discovering new layers of skin. New amounts of blood
All making it– everything, just slightly quieter.
Morty did not really realize what had happened until he felt the warmth of the liquid trickling down his arm, he then realized his arm, his yellow shirt, jeans and some of his bed was splashed with blood. Stained with no easy way to get it out. And suddenly his heart dropped to his stomach as he blankly stared at the arm, the other hand mindlessly dropping the knife onto the gray sheets. How was he meant to hide this? Meant to not show his family what he had done when he was just upset. His parents would be so mad– they’d blame it on Rick! Then they would not be able to go on adventures anymore, then Rick would be mad–
It was almost like when he would hurt someone on an “adventure”. Just staring blankly at something he knew he had done. Staring at the pain he had caused but couldn’t feel, thinking about what lives he just changed. What lives he would walk away from and never have to deal with. Staring down as if his own arm was simply not his. Something else. An alien, a pest, a monster, a threat. Anything but his own.Anything but consequences he would have to deal with.
He was too lost in his thoughts to hear the footsteps, nor the brief knock. A short knock before a hand went to the door knob.
But when the door opened, light from the hallway spilled across the room, across him. Across the arm. A warm light, his mom always preferred the yellow ones. “It made everything feel more homey” she would always stay.
Morty didn't even have to turn to recognize the oh so familiar shadow in the light. A figure he saw everyday. Yet that figure just stood there, hands dropping to its side.