Chapter Text
“Morty! What the fuck are you doing?” Rick shouted from behind a barrier wall, a large crack running down the side as something heavy slammed into it. He fumbled with the portal gun in his hands, shakily dumping the fluorescent fluid into the small vat at the top of the device. His focus shifted from Morty to the portal gun, trying his best to not spill the stuff on himself.
Morty took a hesitant step toward the pulsating orb, buried in the soil like a precious gemstone held in rock.
Rick needed this orb. He reiterated to Morty on the trip there: “This thing could solve all of my problems.” Of course, Morty wasn't sure if he was being completely serious or not. For all he knew, it could be used to make some sort of gadgetry that duplicates bottles of liquor. Like he doesn't have enough, he thought to himself, taking another cautious step.
But he was willing to take his chances of it being something actually meaningful. He’d fucked up the past three adventures, and he wasn’t about to let it be four.
He was beyond tired of being yelled at—berated—every day for minor mistakes. He stood in the wrong place. He didn’t follow the plan. He didn’t do this or that . . .
“Morty! I swear to fucking god, get back here! It’ll be a pain in my ass to replace you!” Rick snarled, throwing the portal gun to the ground as a piece of shrapnel flew into it, blowing the glass tube of fluid to bits.
Morty moved faster in response, almost to a sprint as the orb started to glow brighter, burning shades of blues and purples into his retinas. He wasn't sure if it was his determination to make things right or Rick’s non-caring words that prompted his endeavor.
Rick couldn’t take it—watching his grandson kill himself over some stupid thing he wanted to make a board-game-winner with. For Christ’s sake, he could probably just have learned to play Sorry! from some jobless piece of shit in their thirties. Someone like Jerry . . .
Rick growled to himself in anger before leaping from behind his cover and darting at Morty.
The boy kept his pace as the orb—basically now a time-bomb—flashed brighter, quicker. Sharp beams of light shot into the sky every second, bouncing off of the pools of blood left behind from the battle they endured and sending shards of luminescence ricocheting off of rubble. Morty knew it was a limited amount of time before—
Piercing, loud noise filled his ears as he fell, weak, to the ground. A wave of warmth rushed over him, the impact from the blast taking his breath and eyesight. Morty felt something hard hit his head, and from then he no longer saw bright white, but instead darkness clouding his vision.
Rick watched it all play out—the ticking, the lights, the explosion. His grandson getting blown apart.
The man fell to his knees and shielded his eyes and head—he was smart enough to know how to not get killed by debris.
After a moment of shock, the world around him fell completely silent. The ambient buzz of the orb—gone. He was the only one alive on that land. The only one who survived.
It was eerie, but all too familiar. He felt this way before—years ago, before he started to purposefully cloud his judgement and let go of everything he cared about. It was a sickening feeling, really. He wanted to vomit as he saw the smoke rise, revealing the limp body of Morty Smith.