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totallyexhausted · 9 months

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Sick Morty with Caring Rick....

Just small notes on one of the ff’s in case my computer deletes the files again (so I have like a triple backup)...

(Just random-ass notes for right now to have a back-up back-up for myself) - feel free to comment or motivate me lol jk brb crying....

Title:

This wasn’t part of the plan. Not that they had much of one to begin with, but this was definitely not part of the plan. Fuck, he didn’t like the plan to begin with, but it’d been Morty’s idea. That’s why Rick never had plans; that’s why he never made them. Because they always ended badly. Because they were stupid and most of the time, they didn’t fucking matter. But this? This was definitely not part of the plan.

Light filtered in from a small crack between one of the bricks, and the lanterns nailed against the walls, flickered, going dark momentarily before roaring back to life. Rick swallowed as he glanced around, squinting through the darkness as he thought over the past few days, the actions that brought him here, and how long he’d been here exactly. Honestly, it was hard to tell, but he was willing to estimate several days, or weeks… however time worked on this god-forsaken planet.

Dust hung thickly in the air, cradled in his lungs as Rick coughed, pulling his hand to wipe at the spit sliding down his chin before remembering he was chained, tied against the wall, unable to move. His left arm hurt, the wrist raw and bloody as he’d been trying to wrench it from imprisonment for awhile now with no avail.

“Oh wow. And the one time I- the one time I forget to bring the salt, am I right ladies and gentlemen?”

“Tell me, Mr. Sanchez, how are you liking my dungeon?”

“If by dungeon, you mean this dimly lit sex dungeon because that would explain all the dildos dressed in black leather and the hooks, the chains, the weak and pathetic torture-”

“SILENCE!”

“Oh wo-wow. Look, you pink loogy, I know you look like a giant-giant piece of shit but that doesn’t mean your breath has to smell like one.”

“What? You don’t like my form? Perhaps this one will better suit your needs…”

Rick scoffed, the chains jingling slightly as his hands moved. He rolled his eyes, “That’s cute. Tell me, did you learn that at Hogwarts, or did you just-did you just come from magic class?”

“Bring him in.”

Rick arched an eyebrow as Pink turned slightly; her eyes meeting the confusion and curiosity in his as she smirked. The doors opened slowly, creaking as they were forced open by two other mirages of human flesh, complete down to the male anatomy and overkilled muscles. Rick clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as the light flickered, the men entering the room, dragging another being harshly.

Pink chuckled slightly, and Rick lunged forward, the chains restraining his movements as he realized the third figure was Morty. His feet dragging slightly on the cement as the teenager struggled to gain any type of consciousness or strength in order to stand against the two men holding him up. His face bruised and bleeding, a cut tearing through his upper and bottom lip, across the bridge of his nose as blood still fell on his dirty yellow shirt.

The 17-year-old lifted his head slightly, his pale blue eyes meeting Rick’s momentarily as he tried to find his footing on legs that refused to stand. He whimpered lightly, realizing his lanky body wasn’t willing to cooperate. His vision wavering harshly as he tried to focus on the dimly lit room, on the flames dancing off the walls, on the wet feeling pained in his left side, or the dizzying fog invading his mind.

Rick growled as the men let Morty go, throwing him forward as the teenager collapsed against the cold ground, his face smacking loudly against the floor. Pink laughed as she dug a hand through his grandson’s hair, yanking his face from the floor so his eyes once again met Rick’s; pain, trust… disappointment surrounding his pupils before the 17-year-old groaned slightly.

“YOU BITCH!” Rick yelled, lunging forward again and gritting his teeth once more as the metal clasped around his wrists ate at the flesh. Pink snorted, letting the teenager’s hair go as he smacked once more against the cement. She turned, smirking, “Ah ah ahh, now. Is that really any way to talk to a lady? It seems as though your pet had better manners than you.”

Rick let out a breath, his eyes fixed on her. Anger rising in his chest as he connected with the unmoving form of his grandson. Blood was beginning to stain against the floor, spreading from a wound on his side as the teenager failed to move, failed to show any indication that he was still hanging onto consciousness. Rick cleared his throat, “Morty! M-Morty, listen, I’m goin-going to get us out of here! I’ll fix this!”

Pink laughed again, her voice echoing around the room as it bounced from the darkest corners in the chamber. She met Rick’s eyes, a grin forming on her face as she slammed her foot against one of the teenager’s hands. Morty screamed loudly. The cries emanating, covering any other sound in the room, and Rick flinched. He swallowed, tears pricking his eyes, and Rick grit his teeth as the teenager screamed again, pulling his hand closer to himself as Pink raised an eyebrow. The sound of bones breaking under force echoing in Rick’s ears as the teenager drew in a strained breath.

Rick took a slow breath as he calmed himself, “I’m going to-to fucking kill you!”

Pink shook her head, amusement masking her features as she took a step towards Rick; her arms crossed, “Oh really? You and what Army? See, I know you, Rick Sanchez. I know everything there is to know about all the other Ricks. After all, you’re not the first Rick or Morty to come stumbling into my territory… But… I must say… you smell much different than the others before you…”

She took a deep breath causing the older man to grimace slightly, “Thanks. It’s the lack of bathing and alcoholism.”

“Hm. All that wit. Hiding the enemy lurking in the shadows- the true Rick Sanchez. Such a pity, such a disappointment society must be to you as you are to it. Tell me, Rick, do you know what I am?” Pink asked, stepping around Morty. She took a few steps forward, wiping her hand over the dust, grime and blood covering the walls; letting the black dirt fall from her hand slowly.

Rick moved a hand, the chains once again jingling, “Really ugly?”

Pink smirked, her fingers once again meshing against the disgusting wall, “My kind, although few thanks to intergalactic terrorism, has the ability to see into one’s mind. To read into their deepest darkest parts of themselves. To learn the things hidden away, buried so deep, locked so tightly in the worst part of a being’s soul.”

“Sounds fun. I can-can accom-omplish the same thing with a few barrier reactors, a screwdriver, and a bicycle- a bicycle helmet,” Rick stared blankly, looking at his left hand as he tried squirming it from the chains gripped around his wrist. The metal digging harshly, blood lining his arm as the chain gave slightly. Pink snorted, moving closer, “You doubt my ability, then?”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Rick rolled his eyes, huffing, “The only thing I doubt, is that you do birthday parties on the weekends in order to maintain a rather clownish and some-somewhat de-demeaning flesh of a-of a wo-woman.”

Silence occupied the room, and Rick paused for a moment; his wrist throbbing as blood coated the chains, making it slippery, making it relatively easier to yank his hand free. Either that or dislocate it in order to try and figure a way out of here. He shivered slightly, freezing for a moment as stillness blanketed the room, and Morty groaned, moving slightly.

Fingers smacked against Rick’s face, pressing his chin and cheeks violently together as the hand pried his eyes away from his grandson. Fingernails digging into his face as Rick’s eyes connected with Pink’s, a crazed grin plastered against skin pulled too tightly across her face; her eyes lifeless and cold, sparkling with what Rick could only assume was the real alien harboring the pound of flesh like a puppet.

“You doubt me, then?” She growled, her teeth chipped and rotting as she smiled. Nails digging harder into his flesh, spit splattering against his face, and Rick grit his teeth as pain rose from his neck, exploding through his head as his vision faded, as the world faded and the pain etched into his skin from sharp red nails, dug deep enough to rip the flesh from his bones…

“Rick, I’ll say it for the last time! This is my house! And you will not plan a rebellion for the space war or whatever in my house!” Jerry yelled, walking down the stairs. He tripped slightly, missing the last two steps and stumbled into the wall with a soft thud. Rick watched amused as the younger man quickly tried to straighten himself; a wavering stern look washed across his face as he once again tried to show a dominance that they both knew wasn’t there. The older man rolled his eyes and turned back towards his project as Jerry repeated the statement.

Rick groaned loudly, “Jesus, Jerry. It’s the Dark Intergalactic Cause. You sound like a fucking moron when you say space an-and war. Look, if you can’t remember, call them the DIC Group.”

Jerry growled slightly, mumbling something under his breath as Beth handed her father a screwdriver. She smiled towards Jerry then her dad, “Well, I think it sounds like fun. Maybe you should lighten up, Jerry.”

Rick snorted, flipping a screw across the table as he turned towards the younger man, crossing his arms, “Y-yeah, maybe you should-should lighten up, Jer-ry…

Pain slicing through his left shoulder as Rick slammed his head against the boulder behind him. Screams heard from the dust clouding the atmosphere, and someone screamed his name as bullets and blasts flew through the air. Rick swallowed, gripping his shoulder, looking momentarily at the blood gushing from the stupid wound, before pushing himself away from the rock; his gun gripped hard in his right hand.

Bird-Person flew above him, dropping an atom bomb in the distance, the explosion sending a horrific gush of copper filled air across the crumbling planet. Rick coughed harshly, stumbling as he grabbed at the portal gun hidden in his lab coat; waiting to use it; waiting for…

“Daddy!”

Rick turned, dropping his coat on the floor as Beth ran to greet him. Her blonde pigtails jumping wildly as she ran across the hall, and Rick bent down, a huge smile radiating from his face. The 5-year-old threw herself at her father, laughing loudly as he swung her around gently.

She pressed her little hands against his face, smiling widely; her two front teeth missing from the other night. A small Power-Rangers Band-Aid plastered against her left cheek from playing outside. She dug her hands in her pockets quickly, pulling out another Band-Aid, placing it on Rick’s forehead as he carried her into the kitchen.

Rick threw a confused look towards his wife before Beth pressed her hands against his face once more, “I missed you, Daddy! We’re playing Doctor! Wanna play with us…

Blood. There was so much fucking blood. Coating his body in a shield as the lifeless body of his grandson laid a few feet away, his eyes fixed on Rick in a dull stare of a dead reminder. God, there was so much fucking blood.

Rick gagged harshly, throwing his body to the left as he vomited. Blood soaked hands wiping at his mouth as he shakily reached a hand towards Morty. There was so much fucking blood…

“Stop,” Rick mumbled weakly as his vision cleared and the pain evaded, nails releasing his face and the older man closed his eyes, glancing down at the floor. He swallowed loudly as Pink stepped away, chuckling softly, “Family. Really, Rick? Oh, honey. But you are nothing more than a poison injected in the blood of those you love. A drug. A fatal toxicity promising adventure. Tell me, are you even the real Rick Sanchez? Or did he die years ago?”

Rick swallowed again, breathing through his nose several times as the memories began to fade from his mind. As the hurt began to fade further in the background, and he cleared his throat as he looked up slowly, “Don’t flatter yourself. You know there isn’t such a thing as a real Rick Sanchez.”

Pink faltered, turning halfway back to face him, “Such a lie you’ve wrapped yourself in. All hidden by an old white little lab coat…”

“Sorry, next time I’ll be s-sure to wear a fucking tux-tuxedo,” Rick interjected, wincing quietly as he struggled again to pull his left wrist from his imprisonment. He felt the skin pull, sliding somewhat from the thick metal.

“What a simple mind. Filled with so much greatness. So much trust… love for his family. For you. Does he even know the truth? The truth about everything? About you? Does he even know who you are?” Pink stated. Rick felt a shiver run down his spine as he glanced back up, glaring towards the woman standing over his grandson’s limp form.

The older man growled, “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

Silence again. Embracing the dark room in a constant reminder of things and opportunities missed. And Rick felt his heartbeat quicken as he held Pink’s gaze; refusing to look away; refusing to break the threat he held against her. She snorted slightly before turning back towards the teenager, her hand gently tracing a cut on his lip like a mother soothing her child, “Why? What are you going to do about it? All chained and beaten? Besides… I think you’ve done more damage to him than I ever could in an eternity.”

The older man’s expression faltered, and he swallowed, hard. His eyes dancing over the stilled emotion on his grandson’s face; guilt sitting heavily in his stomach, and Rick fought the urge to gag as nausea coursed through his body, pulling his hand harder against the chains.

She was right. Rick knew she was right. Morty had been a kid- hell, he was still a kid. Only 17. Something Rick always seemed to forget. And whether he liked it or not, the kid was his grandson… whatever the hell that meant. He was his blood. Vulnerable. Susceptible. Following blindly as Rick drug him through realities, horrors, nightmares that could kill him- that had killed him. And yet, he trusted Rick with an unending love that he would never receive in return. He trusted Rick because Morty believed so fiercely that his life was nothing compared to a single smidge of his grandfather. And Rick knew- he knew the thoughts that haunted the kid every time, every silence parted between the teenager’s lips, every moment of unfocused emotion fixed on nothingness, the tears heard through paper-thin walls and red stains left unwashed in the bathroom sink- Rick knew. He’d seen the scars. The dark lines tanned against his grandson’s arms- the emotion hidden so damn deep behind a disguise of stupidity, bravery and that goddamn determination to prove himself enough. Rick fucking knew. And he never said anything… he couldn’t.

Morty had grown from the weird kid he’d once been. Fuck, he was still weird and awkward, but he was colder, harder, quieter, and he stopped worrying about everything somewhere along the way. He was devoid of things that phased other kids his age; still concerned with a girl out of his league, but no longer chasing after her like a lovestruck puppy. He’d matured into his own thought, towering over the young and pathetic memories of his youth. He reserved himself to isolation and solitude, creating a demeanor who would rather convey his emotions to himself in peace, and letting the world show their opinions of him. Letting society decide how they viewed him rather than fight against it. Because everything was bullshit, and nothing really mattered. A philosophy he had adopted from Rick, and one he lived by… one he’d die by.

Rick grimaced as he yanked his left hand free, busying himself as he tried freeing his other hand; trying to remember if he had any gadgets that could help him.

“Tell me, Rick,” Pink said softly, still caressing the teenager’s face gently, “Has he even seen the real Rick Sanchez crawling beneath your skin? Such rage. Such destruction. So much blood on your hands that not even the purest Rick or Morty could absolve you of yourself. Has he seen what you’re truly capable of?”

Rick paused, and glanced down at the floor, pressing his lips together as the question reached him. He heard shifting and looked up slowly to see Pink turning towards him, and he slammed his hand back to the chains on his left. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, “A pity, really. What pain it must cause you to look at him. To lock away everything in your past that is their future. How it must feel to hide yourself away from everyone because you’re so afraid they’ll see you for what you really are.”

Rick belched loudly, “A badass fucking sc-scientist?”

“A monster. An evil greater than anything lurking in the depths of the universes, greater than anything hiding among the other realities.”

The older man bit the bottom of his lip. His eyes grasping between Pink then his grandson then Pink.

All of the infinite universes, the infinite families and Ricks, the infinite realities he’d lived… hell, even he’d lost track of the reality he was born into. The reality he’d lost everything. The reality he’d destroyed… the reality he’d destroyed everything… burned, incinerated, broken into so many fucking pieces that not even he could put back together again. The reality he’d fucked so hard he couldn’t fix… the reality that’d seen him; truly seen him, seen his anger, seen his rage, what he could do, what he was capable of. Because he’d lost… himself, everything. The infinite universes all boiling down to that tiny fucking and insignificant reality that he’d destroyed himself; creating the shitshow of everything he was fighting for today. The reality he had killed himself, killed what it meant to be human.

Humanity. Humans. Weak and small. Pathetic and unimportant. The human race was weak and puny compared to the adventures lurking in the skies that he chased so desperately in the voids. Humans were weak. Sloppy. So many fucking emotions all wrapped in a wimpy fleshy suit of goopy matter. They were so easily replaced. Easily forgotten…

Despite everything, despite the Citadel, despite the vast realities and universes, Rick never had the fucking heart to tell Morty the truth… to tell him what really happened; he never had the heart to tell him about the one true Rick and Morty. About Beth. About everything he’d fucked up beyond repair; about the mess he’d created… and the inevitable end that hung over Rick as he haloed countless deaths, tragic and bitter, all his fault… including Morty’s own. Morty’s death… his end; that was something Rick couldn’t bring himself to face, but he couldn’t forget it either. Because it hadn’t happened yet, but Rick had already lived it.

Rick sighed, “…it’s better this way. It’s better he doesn’t know.”

“Why? You think it’ll protect him? How stupid you must be. You really don’t see it, do you?” Pink stepped closer, confusion etched into the tighter corners of her features; her flesh beginning to droop slightly as her form was starting to lose shape. She ran a hand over her face, fixing the wrinkles sagging under her eyes and mouth. She took another breath, stepping forward again, “You can’t see how much you’ve destroyed him. His mind, his thoughts, his emotions. How much hurt you’ve painted on his body; the nightmares and horrors you’ve created in the darkest parts of his mind; a darkness you’ve crafted out of the safe reality he knew, and the twisted pain and hatred you’ve fashioned out of what should have been happiness, love, and joy. Such innocence he once possessed. And yet, you fail to realize that the more you try to protect him, the more you try to save him, the more you destroy him. You fail to realize you’ve killed him… and you’re slowly killing anything that’s left.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Rick grit his teeth, “When I get out of here, I’m-I’m going to rip that stupid flesh from you-your bones, you moronic fucking slug.”

Pink smirked as she turned slightly, “Oh, I don’t doubt that as I know who you really are. But first, I’m going to have some fun with your pet. Don’t look so worried, Rick, I’ll make sure he dies quickly.”

She turned back towards Morty; her skin crawling and shifting as she shed bones and flesh; as she shed humanity, crafting her own form as acidic saliva dripped from her mouth. Rick pulled his left hand free, yanking harshly at his right as he heard bones crack, blood pooling from the pressure on raw busted skin.

A laugh echoed around the room as the lights darkened; the fire dying quickly, and Rick pulled harder, winching as his right hand came free, and he fell forward; his wrist connecting with the cement, breaking fully as the dislocated bone jolted upright. He cursed loudly, pulling himself up as he struggled for the chains wrapped around his ankles, and Pink screamed.

A blast lit the room quickly before disappearing, and Rick froze; his fingers trembling against the cold metal still wrapped against his right ankle, and he glanced up. Darkness covered the room, followed by an eerie silence that sent chills across the room. Something fell against the ground as something much larger smack against the walls, vibrating the chains hanging through the small chamber and crashing through a softer part of the wall, filling the room with dust.

Rick coughed loudly as light filtered weakly through the dungeon, and he squinted as his eyes met the pink glob of the slug monster. He scanned the rest of the room, dust hanging thickly in the air. Rick’s fingers still pressed against the metal chains as he swallowed softly, “M-Morty?”

Something clattered across the room sliding from the dust covered air, stopping at Rick’s feet as retching echoed off the remaining walls. The older man glanced down at the small gun sitting at his feet, the tiny purple blaster was barely anything Rick would consider harmful; but aimed correctly, fired correctly, the small fucker would be able to fire enough to kill something. Rick’s eyes locked onto the blood smeared across the handle as retching once again filled the room, and he looked up again, scanning what little he could see.

“Mo-Morty? Where the fuck are you, you dipshit?” Rick yelled, pressing his hands once again against the metal. His fingernails pulling backwards and ripping as he struggled to pry the chains apart. The rough metal sliced through more flesh on his fingers, and Rick cursed as blood began to drip down his hands.

Something moved, and Rick flinched as warm hands covered his, pushing his shaking hands away from the metal. Rick sucked in a steady breath as he traced over the busted knuckles and dried blood scabbed on the abused flesh; huge black and green bruises covering the left hand from where Pink’s foot broke bones; bitten back winces still audible as fingers were forced to grasp rough metal; and Rick looked up, letting out another long silent breath.

Morty’s face was covered in blood which Rick hoped was mostly from Pink. Blood trailing from the cuts on his face as his eyes, slightly unfocused, concentrated on the stupid metal. Dirt covered the teenager’s neck and shirt as holes tore through the old material. Bruises painted against dirty flesh, dotted with droplets of blood, and a bloody red mess gathering on the 17-year-old’s left side that looked more than painful.

Metal clattered to the ground as Rick’s eyes continued to trace over the damage. He rubbed his own wrist as it throbbed slightly, and Morty met his gaze. Unfocused blue eyes, lifeless and dull, pain hanging in the corners behind fake morality. Morty used to have Beth’s eyes; her bright blue eyes shining with so much wonder and life… but now, now, Rick feared the kid mirrored his own reflection more than anything else. You fail to realize you’ve killed him…

Morty swallowed slightly, choking on the dust surrounding them and blood ran down his chin slowly as he wiped it with his shoulder. He smiled faintly, “You oka-okay, Rick?”

Rick nodded lightly before finding his voice, “Wow. Those fu-fuckers really did a number on you, huh, kid?”

Morty’s eyebrows drew together as he wiped more blood from his chin. He sighed loudly, bending down to grasp the stupid purple blaster between shaky fingers. He swallowed again, “I-I’ll be fine. Let’s just go. I just want to go home.”

His voice was barely audible. Quiet and meek. Making Rick’s skin crawl as he hung onto every syllable. His mind racing as he wondered how Morty’s last few days differed from his own. The torture, the questions, the dimly lit dungeon…

Morty swallowed again, wincing as he turned, grasping the blaster in his hand as he walked towards the door. He grit his teeth as he forced his body to straighten, the wound on his right thigh busting open again and the slick feeling of blood trailing down his leg, meshing against socks that were no longer soft nor white. The last few days, weeks, fuck- months, had been hell. The time spent with Rick, the time at school, with people Morty thought were his friends, and the shitty idea of something bigger in the universes that deserved Morty as he was, all plagued from the twisted crappy mind of a youthful and Disney-inspired child that he had tried to kill.

The plan wasn’t supposed to go this way, that was for damn sure; but, considering Morty hadn’t had much of a plan when Rick convinced him to steal some Draxonen crystals, and the teenager’s own brilliant idea of stealing some weird looking weapon, Morty wasn’t really surprised it went the way it went. Besides, the pain plaguing his ribs, thigh, shit- the majority of his body, felt nice. It made him feel… alive. Something he hadn’t felt since his fight with Jessica’s boyfriend because he found out that her and Morty had slept together… several times in fact.

Needless to say, the plan was screwed to begin with. And Rick’s stupid crystals he’d probably inhale the moment they were home, stabbed through the 17-year-old’s pocket, piercing the wound further on his thigh. Morty swallowed, resisting the urge to puke again as the stale taste of blood filled his mouth; the stupid cut on his lip refusing to stop bleeding.

Rick cleared his throat, and Morty glanced behind him briefly to see the old man watching him. The idea that part of their situation was due to Rick pissed the teenager off… the other part was hidden in his jacket pocket; the small weapon pulsing, and Morty grasped his hand around the object, biting the inside of his cheek as spikes pierced through the globe, eating away at the flesh on his palm.

Rick didn’t give a shit about him. Something the guards had made damn clear even though it’d been obvious for a long time now. And despite his grandfather telling Morty how little he meant to him, the 17-year-old had always managed to pull himself up, to convince himself that somewhere, somehow, deep down, there was something, something riding in his grandfather that cared for the teenager. But that was just childish bullshit. Because Rick didn’t care about anyone except himself.

Morty should have known, and honestly, he should have cared. But he didn’t. It’d been a long time since he cared about something or someone. Jessica had fucked around with him for practice, and Morty had been okay with that because he was sleeping with his middle school crush; his parents calling it quits every few weeks when all the teenager wanted to do was scream for them to separate, to get divorced because he couldn’t take their arguing anymore; and Summer- Summer was moving out next Fall to attend some university a few states over. And Morty… Morty wasn’t really sure there was a point anymore.

The 17-year-old pressed his shoulder against the wooden door as he glanced again towards Rick. The older man’s eyes still transfixed on him, but a small gadget willed between his fingers. Morty rolled his eyes as he inched the door apart to see the hallway better. Black shadows danced across the dusty brick, voices in languages the teenager didn’t recognize several feet away, and the sound of an alarm blaring in the distance.

“Fuck the crystals! M-Morty, do you realize what the hell you- you’re carrying? What it could do- do to you!”

Morty was silent for a long time, and Rick glanced over towards him….

Morty wasn’t stupid. Well, he was, but he wasn’t dumb. What the kid lacked in academics; he’d picked up in street smarts. A quick thinker when it came to action…

imped slightly, trying to hide his gait from Rick, trying to hide the injury but his grandfather knew… he saw. He wasn’t stupid. The idea that those fuckers had tortured Morty, had hurt him… had screwed him up further beyond repair…. Rick couldn’t finish the thought.

“Lubba-dubba-dub-dub-da-dub-da-dub-da-so... the fuck’s the matter wi-with you?

“Hm?”

you’re just going to ignore me the rest of the way home? You gunna be a big man? Huh? A dumbfuck? That it, Morty?

I-I just don’t really feel-feel like talking, Rick… I just want to be left a-alone, okay? So just-so just leave me alone, please.”

“Hey, kid, I-” Rick started, his voice low and gentle. Unfamiliar even to him.

The engine spluttered loudly as the car dropped slightly and Morty flinched, his hand smacking against the window as Rick cursed. The lights flickered, the engine groaning and something broke off to Rick’s left as smoke filled the cabin. Rick grit his teeth, slamming his fingers against some buttons he wasn’t even sure would work as the car dropped again, an asteroid crashing against the side and something else broke.

The steering wheel pulled high as the older man prepared to crash against whatever shitty planet was in front of them. The dusty red globe’s atmosphere hitting hard against the windshield as flames engulfed the silver vehicle. Morty cursed as he pulled up trying to prepare himself for what was about to happen as Rick pressed more buttons, the car falling apart piece-by-piece as small rocks shot through it. Alarms blazing. The windshield cracking. Smoke blocking any visible sight Rick had as he held his breath and the car crashed against something solid.

………………………………………………

Morty tried every damn day to prove he was good enough for Rick. But the truth was… Rick wasn’t good enough for him, for anyone. He wasn’t even the best version of himself… and he wasn’t good enough to be idolized by some kid; he wasn’t even good enough to be a decent father… that’s why he’d left when Beth was 12. Well, that, and the () Wars. There wasn’t time for family during the revolution… no room for emotional crap, for things that didn’t matter. He’d lost what mattered years ago… he’d destroyed it. Thinking he could drown the memories in endless alcohol, drugs, sex, and a fake facade of his family drawn from the similarities he’d come to know. Fighting so damn hard to explore the horrors of the universes in order to prevent what he’d already seen, what he’d already lived- trying so hard to cleanse the realities of anything that could destroy his again. He sacrificed everything in order to protect what little he had left, and in the end, just as Morty believed about himself, he’d finally see; his family, the universe, everything and everyone would finally learn that Rick Sanchez wasn’t worth it. He never ever was.

And despite the “adventures” Rick had brought Morty on; despite the resilience the teenager showed, the harsh criticism and slap-in-the-fucking-face from the world, his parents, his teachers, the kid still fought so hard to prove to everyone that he was better than their versions of him. He tried so hard to show them he was worth something. That he was enough. He tried so hard to prove that. To society. To Jessica. To his parents. His teachers. To Rick…

Red. Red was what Morty woke to. The harsh color filling his vision as his body ached so fiercely, the mere idea of moving hurt. He exhaled loudly as he moved his left hand in front of him. The movement fuzzy and detached as he watched blood slide down the broken blue and black flesh, trying to recall what had happened, and where he was.

He swallowed as his stomach revolted and stared upward, blinking several times before squinting at the red pouring over the broken glass window above him. Red. Red… rain? It was raining. Raining… blood?

Morty watched dazed as red rain splashed against the window, melting between the small cracks in the windshield, plastering against his dirty yellow shirt. He shivered as he forced his neck to turn, his stomach revolting again, and he coughed slightly as the empty cabin of his grandfather’s shitty spaceship met his eyes.

The cabin was barren, littered with small pieces of wires, broken parts, and slightly intact makings of experimental components of a car engine. The 17-year-old moved slightly, wincing as pain shot through his side, and he glanced down to find red stained against his stupid yellow shirt, a small piece of glass impaling his abdomen. Morty grit his teeth as he tried moving again before grasping the small glass, taking a deep breath before pulling it from his side, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out.

Something smacked against the side of the car, and Morty flinched, dropping the glass, his hand pressed firmly against his side as he untangled his legs from the mess of wires. His vision wavered harshly as he shoved the door open with his shoulder, gripping his side as blood oozed from the reopened wound, and Morty stumbled slightly. He fell to his knees, crashing against the red atmosphere surrounding him and breathing deeply as red dust swallowed his lungs; his stomach threatening rebellion again.

The teenager groaned as he wiped his mouth, glancing up and squinting through the thick dust as he tried to make out anything besides the red rain that pounded against the dirt infested world. He choked, expelling what he could only assume was blood from his mouth by the coppery taste and stood on shaky legs that barely held him upright. Wind brushing past him, blowing dust and rain towards him as he stumbled back against the vehicle, his back slamming against the metal, and Morty closed his eyes briefly.

His memories were fuzzy and chaotic. His parents arguing, his sister making out with a guy in her room, and Morty… he’d been with his grandfather. He’d been with Rick. Then an explosion. Pain. Death…

Morty opened his eyes as he glanced around, tears threatening to swell in his eyes as he realized everything around him was dead. The people he’d known, gone. The world, no more. And his family, dead- collecting in the red dust around him. There wasn’t any sign of life on this stupid red planet… and Rick was gone. The car was fucked. That meant that the rest of the world was too… and now, like he always knew, Morty Smith was alone.

He’d seen too many deaths. Witnessed his sister and parents die in one universe and had killed them in another. Death followed him, haloed at his feet as he kicked through a happy life he no longer felt part of. He was alienated by the things he’d seen and the things he’d done… alone. Not even Rick understood. To Rick, it didn’t matter Morty had killed his family in a universe; destroyed himself, destroyed other lifeforms or worlds in other universes, because everything was bullshit and nothing mattered. And that made Morty alone. But now…

The teenager swallowed thickly as he glanced around again. Rain beat against him as he shivered, and smoke rose from the cabin behind him as Morty stepped away from the vehicle. He had buried himself in one universe and disappeared in another; the empty feeling of abandonment and unfamiliarity shrouded by a happiness he tried to force every time he saw his sister smile, or his parents laugh. Letting his soul be anchored by the lives of others as he tried to convince himself that he was normal, that he was good.

Dirt smacked against his sweaty face as Morty stepped further. His foot colliding with some burned wreckage from the vehicle still smoking behind him, and the teenager winced slightly. Red poured around him, drowning him in the sea of blood he had shed. Those who died because of him… those he’d killed. His mother. His father. His sister… himself.

There wasn’t a way back from this. The wrecked car was proof of that. The absence of Rick was proof of that. Rick didn’t care. He never had… and now, everything Morty had come to relive again, to know again, was lost. Taken. Gone. Dead.

The 17-year-old stumbled, his knees falling against the dusty atmosphere as his hands grasped towards a scorched lab coat, blood dotting the cuffs. Morty choked loudly, the material falling through his fingers as his stomach threatened to rebel, and Morty’s hands fell against something hard in the left pocket of Rick’s lab coat. The purple blaster. Blood still smeared against the small device, and the teenager grasped it tightly between shaking fingers; forcing the broken bones in his left hand to shift against the trigger because the pain was better than the emptiness surrounding him. The red.

Something moved to his right, and Morty stood quickly, wiping at the tears falling down his face and holding the purple blaster towards the movement. The gun shook violently between busted fucked up fingers, and the world spun for a second. Red water splashing down his face, dust coating pale tired flesh, and Morty shivered again, glancing down at the torn lab coat before looking back up.

Dust swam through the air, heavy and thick through crimson water that pounded against dirt, creating a mushy trail of blood-like matter at the teenager’s feet. The movement shifted, cursing slightly before a small wrench was thrown, beating the ground twice and then landing at Morty’s feet. The 17-year-old swallowed, holding the gun higher, clenching his hand so tightly against it that the teenager could seen the broken bones shifting under busted flesh. Rain fell harder, and Morty stumbled back slightly as the movement morphed into a shadow, a figure; dark and tall, thin and spiny until the dust cleared enough for the teenager to make out the shape of his grandfather through red strings of water.

Morty flinched, firing the gun, causing Rick to duck slightly before throwing his blue towel down. Rick grit his teeth as he stepped closer, and Morty kept the gun aimed towards him. Rick growled, “Morty. The fuck are you- are you doing?”

The teenager shook his head as he stepped backwards again, his aim fixed on Rick. Blood lining his grandfather’s hairline, oil and grease coating his face as red dust plastered against his blue shirt and pants. The 17-year-old’s fingers trembled as the gun drooped slightly before Morty grasped it again, wincing as bones shifted further, “Don-don’t move! Don’t move or-or I’ll shoot!”

Rick faltered. No longer inching closer to Morty but instead plastered against the ugly red ground, the puddle of gooey red mud swallowing pieces of his shoe a small fraction at a time as Rick raised an eyebrow. Curiosity written on his tired features as he smirked, taking another tentative step forward.

“You couldn’t hit me even if- if I had a big red target on my- my ass, dipshit.”

Morty shook his head again, “I’ll do it! I’ll- I’ll-”

Rick laughed slightly before anger crossed his face, “Doub-bt it. But you want to be a- be a tough guy? A big man? Then do it- do it, you stupid little-”

A flash shot off, and Rick ducked as something sliced through his right shoulder. The older man cursed, grabbing the small graze as he glared back towards his grandson. He grit his teeth as blood seeped slowly through grease-covered fingers, “Okay. Okay, you- you little shit. Just take it easy, Morty.”

The 17-year-old swallowed, “I said, don’t move.”

“Okay, buddy, o-okay…” Rick trailed off, his eyebrows coming together as he took in the sight of his grandson. The pale complexion masked against the exhaustion swimming under the teenager’s eyes, in his movements, his hands trembling visibly as he took a step back. Sweat glistening in his messy hair, dripping slightly down his temple; and Rick watched the stale perspiration roll lazily down Morty’s forehead, brow, cheek, forming with others on his chin before the teenager wiped his face harshly. The older man swallowed, taking a slow step forward as a realization hit him. Something was wrong.

“Kid… you’re right. There are other Mortys at the Citadel; plenty of them, all across the universes… but there is only one of you. There’s only one Morty exactly as you are right now, right here, with your thoughts, living the same exact life and being precisely where you are. S-sure, there are- there are similar realities with Ricks and Mortys in similar situations- but- but there is only one Rick and one Morty in this exact situation. There is only one of you, right here, right now, that matters…”

To me. Rick trailed off, biting his bottom lip as he swallowed; his eyes fixed on Morty, the gun shaking in his grandson’s hand slightly. If he only knew. If the damn kid only knew the truth… that there was, that there is only one Morty that mattered to him. If he knew the truth of how everything got so fucked up. How it began. How it ends… if he only knew. He’d finally understand- they all would, if they all knew, they’d all finally understand why Rick was the way he was. Why he hid himself away and busied himself with technological advances; why he wore a mask of disassociation, digging and burying and drowning his emotions, his thoughts, his memories so damn deep in his subconscious that it fucking hurt to look at them- that it hurt to be alive. That it hurt to be himself.

Rick owed Morty his life. But Morty… Morty owed nothing to Rick. Especially his life. Rick would rather kill himself than ask Morty to sacrifice anything, to sacrifice his life on his behalf.

Dad?

Pft, yeah r-right moron, like that-that pathetic piece of human waste could fix an-anything. I really d-don’t under-

Rick paused, feeling a warm hand grasp his and he glanced down, rolling his eyes….

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #morty angst #sick morty

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jingle-jangled · 4 years

Text

Rick is a dick but we all love him, don’t we? There’s something philosophical in there but idk what it is. He’s like 70, I mean come on, us. (Rick Sanchez x Female reader) Pt.2

Summary: Continuation of the previous story, with the least satisfactory ending possible. Also, good relationships need communication, right? Right??

// NSFW, Some angst, make-up sex in the bathroom because that’s not gross and alcohol.

You never recovered from that night and spent the weekend under the covers. No matter how much you tried to bear and grin it through work, you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom several times to cry. It seemed like everything reminded you of Rick. The smell of cheap coffee was an especially hard gut punch and you admitted to holding your breath when passing someone with a cup. At the end of your days, you went home, ordered food on the odd days you felt like eating at all and then went to bed to sleep the day away. They say time heals all wounds but you couldn't sit and wait patiently. You wanted to move on. Now.

After a month of no contact, you were still nervous to sleep, wondering if you'd dream up some scenario where you two makeup and everything goes back to normal. Then you’d wake up and the wounds were freshly ripped. You hadn't heard anything from his family and was too scared to reach out. What if they saw you as an evil monster and hates you now? Because of that nagging thought, you couldn't face even sending a text their way. You had pretty much tried everything to distract yourself, indulging into some of your vices but when nothing worked you decided to try something else. Someone else. After chatting for just a day you set a date with some blonde with a decent sense of humor and a nice smile.

You met up at a bar where he took the liberty of ordering a few of their specialties with the excuse of wanting to try something new. It wasn't hard to gauge what he was really after. But you didn't have a problem with that. As the liquor buttered you two up you found yourself having a decent time and for a second, Rick wasn't occupying your head. Until the door to the bar swung open and someone took a seat at the bar. It felt like time slowed down when you glanced across the room and spotted the blue mess of hair. He met your eyes before turning to the bartender. You didn’t miss how gaunt and tired they looked.

"You okay?" Your date asked, pulling you out of your trance-like state. It almost hurt to turn away, but you managed to force a painful smile and excuse it as nothing. He droned on about boats as you pretended to be interested so that you wouldn't have to talk. You were sure it would come out as a shaky whimper anyway. Your cheeks burned and your legs tingled. You just wanted to run over and hug him. Kiss him and tell him that you missed him. And you could feel his eyes on you too, never relenting even when you caught him. All this, coupled with the loud music playing over the speakers made your head spin and you had to go to the bathroom to cool down. But you knew what you were hoping for when you locked the door behind you. The only person who could walk through locked doors.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, the dress riding dangerously high on your thighs. You wondered if Rick had watched you walk away. You wondered if he liked what he saw. Of course, he did. He got you this dress. Like phantoms, memories of his hands gliding over your hips made you sigh. He'd let his hand push past the fabric and onto your skin beneath, pushing the dress over your head. And you'd turn around, clawing at his pants as he kissed your neck.

You were so immersed in rolling your hips that you barely noticed the room lighting up in green.

"Y-you weren't taking a shit, good." Rick leaned against the wall on the other side of the bathroom, crossing his arms over his chest. You watched him through the mirror, swallowing roughly.

"Rick... what are you doing here?" You turned to lean back on the sink, not bothering to push the dress back down.

"Always such a tease. You thought I *urp* wouldn't notice you swinging your hips on your way in here? O-or you gonna play stupid and say you didn’t want me to follow you?"

"I mean at this bar." You crossed your arms too, creating a thicker wall between you two.

"Wanted to see what kind of douche you were trying to replace me with. What? Can't a man be curious? By the way, not impressed." He hissed.

"So you were following me?" You felt the heat building in your stomach. So he knew how much pain you were in and didn't do anything until you threatened to fuck someone else? Rick just shrugged before taking an exploratory step forward, and then another when he saw you weren't backing off.

"Rick-" You tried as he lifted you onto the sink, his tounge striping your neck. You gave in embarrassingly fast and carefully wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer so he could get a better angle at your skin. He pushed your knees apart and pushed himself between them, revealing the bulge you hadn't even noticed before. And you let out a whimper, your body reacting to him immediately. With your nose in his neck, you inhaled his scent and it made your heart jump. All the pain was pushed away, so far back you forgot all about it. How could a man have this effect on you?

Before long he had pushed your panties aside and pushed inside, making you shudder around him. He worked hard and fast, almost angry as his thrusts made the sink shake. You bit down into his neck to drown your moans. He grunted when you managed to break the skin, blood staining your bottom lip. The fire inside of you was spitting out of your mouth and you had no mercy on his flesh. And neither did he, his fingers were digging into your frame so hard you were sure it was bruising and his hips slammed hard and deep. Deeper than you had ever felt before. Rick wrapped his bony fingers into your hair and pulled you back by the scalp, staring into your wet eyes.

"You're crying?" He chuckled as you licked the blood of your lips, swallowing loudly.

"Fuck you" you hissed and pushed your hips into his, making him screw his eyes shut.

"Babe-baby, you're so good when you're pissed." He smirked before taking control of your mouth, pulling and chewing at it. "Damn it, I missed you so fucking much-" He slammed his hips into you again, growling against your cheek. And your heart jumped yet another time, so hard it made you choke back a cry. He leaned back and smiled, wiping the tear from your cheek before pushing his tounge back in your mouth.

"Me too, Rick-" You mumbled and you tried to tell him everything your heart was screaming. But, when he began rubbing at your nub all you could do was pull him closer as your muscles began to tighten, making you whimper into his neck as you came. He fucked you through it, holding you in place as your legs jerked.

"That's it, that's my good girl." He praised you as he continued pounding, reaching his own finish line.

"You're so fucking beautiful. Y-you're my girl, mine. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry." He rambled between deep grunts as his nails clawed down your back. His knees gave out, pulling you both to the floor with a loud thud. You landed on him. After managing to roll over with great effort, you pushed your hand under his probably sore head that took the fall. He groaned and began lazily zipping his pants back up. Rick then stood up, checking himself in the mirror before reaching a hand out to you. With shaking knees, you got up and cringed at the feeling of him dripping out of you. He chuckled and handed you a paper towel before shuddering.

"So... how we gonna do this?" He mumbled as you cleaned yourself up and made great effort to look away.

"What do you mean?" You questioned. He sighed deeply before walking up behind you in the mirror. You turned the tap off as he wrapped his hands around your waist.

"I can't fucking- I'm yours if you want me. Alright? No other chicks, just you."

"Okay, Rick. I want you." You smiled at him through the mirror.

"Cool, I'm starving. Let's get something to eat." Rick grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you along, making a final declaration before stepping through the portal.

"If you tell anyone I got mushy, you're dea- I'll burn your apartment down."

END

Thank you for reading this and I’m sorry if you’re not interested in NSFW. If you want me to, I can make a SFW ending too. Just request it ^^

#rick sanchez #rick and morty #rick and morty fanfiction #rick sanchez x reader #Rick Sanchez/reader #rick sanchez writing #rick sanchez ff

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