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Ever since Morty’s rambunctious grandfather had moved in, he’d found that his actions, towards himself at least, began to have little consequence. If he were to obtain a firearm wound whilst in battle, presumably a distant alien race Rick had angered years ago, it could be solved with a sip of a red fluid. Rick kept it in his dresser, the second one down. It was always filled to the brim, easy access for either of the duo in case the other had been injured— although, Morty was sure it was mostly for him.
Regardless, Morty found himself tired of being put back together like nothing. In his eyes, no physical consequences, no scars, nothing to prove his adventures. There was no humanity in perfection, he thought morbidly. And so, just as morbidly, the boy had quickly collected scars up his thighs. Raised, discolored lines scattered across them. Hesitantly, he stared down at his legs, pants discarded beside him as he sat perched on the rim of his bathtub. His hands shook as he contemplated, the silver sat tight in his clammy fists.
Between himself, he didn’t really want to relapse. He knew if he started, he couldn’t stop— and he’d been clean for months now. But in the back of his head, lay a nagging abyss of scattered, frantic thoughts. They reminded him of the emptiness that ate him up at night, the bones pressing through his chest, the way his clothes hung— shirt hanging off his shoulders and pants barely gripping to his waist. And, worst of all, the addiction he’d gained through the whole process. The disturbing satisfaction that came as the red blossomed from his skin, spreading it across his pale legs… he swallowed, not noticing his hand had already made its way to his skin. Just one… he promised himself.
Morty tossed the bloody metal into the sink, breathing shaky as he pressed his head to the faucet. With disappointment, he looked down at his thighs and hips, now littered with pink irritated bumps. It took far too long to get all of the blood to stop, and now even the smallest movement of his torso sent a sharp pain spiking through his sides. His legs weak as well, he took a deep breath, slipping his pants back on as slow as possible as to not irritate them. He wasn’t sure where he’d left his bandages, so there was no protection between his raw skin and the rough texture of his tight jeans. He winced as he moved, forcing himself onward towards his room to switch into sweatpants before dinner.
He came down early, sitting down next to his grandfather to watch a re-ran episode of Ball Fondlers. Rick glanced over at Morty, taking his dark eyes and hunched figure into account. He contemplated taunting him, trying to get a ruse or a laugh out of the boy, but his better self agreed against it. If he wasn’t in a good enough mood to be playful, Rick would then have to apologize for pissing him off further. As much as he loved Morty— he was still far too emotionally immature to apologize, even when he was clearly in the wrong.
“Dinner’s ready!” Beth’s head peaked from behind the wall, both Rick, Morty and Summer (who Morty somehow managed to overlook) perked up at the sound. Jerry was already at the table, tongue poked out as he focused—one would say too intensely at a game that was just popping balloons before they make it off of the screen. Morty rolled his eyes internally and suppressed a whimper as he lowered himself onto his chair. Beth unveiled a steaming plate of meatloaf in the center of the table, and each family member respectively grabbed their fill. Morty poked at his meatloaf, drowning out his family’s chattering with his own thoughts.
“…ty. Morty!” Morty’s head snapped at the sound, making eye contact with his mother. “Morty, what have I told you about playing with your food?” He sighed with exasperation. “I-I-I’m not even hungry, mom.” He emphasized his point by pushing his plate up and slumping back in his chair. Beth’s brows furrowed. “Well that sucks because you’ve barely eaten anything all day. Now eat!” She mimicked Morty, emphasizing her own point by leaning over the table and pushing his plate back towards him. His stomach swirled in discomfort. “Y-yeah Morty,” Rick chimed in. “This- this shit is delicious anyways,” he scarfed down his own food- leaving Beth with a sentimental heart to her chest motion, aww-ing at her father’s indirect compliment. He searched around the table, each family member either nose deep in their food or their devices. He rolled his eyes.
When his plate was cleared (mostly, at least— he’d spread around his last bite so it just seemed like crumbs) he set off to the kitchen to grab water, planning to flush his system of his dinner, but instead was grabbed by Rick. “Ah-ah,” Morty whipped around, plate in hand, paranoid that Rick knew of his intentions. “Ad-adventure time buddy. You said you-you’d come with me to Gandzorpia to get the parts I needed.” Morty blinked frantically for a moment. He muttered out a “Right,” before dropping his plate in the sink and following Rick into the garage.
He glanced around the new planet, the grass field they stood in was tall and blue and the trees a bright fluorescent, fuzzy pink. He giggled to himself. “Truf-trufulla trees.”
Rick belched in the background, catching up to Morty who’d wandered ahead a bit to take in the scenery. “Yu-yup.” Morty turned to face his grandpa in awe. “Re-really?” His eyes wandered back to the tall thin trees, then to the floor. He picked up a lost tuft of hair, rubbing it against his face. It was unbelievably soft. “Morty, you’ve been to thousand of universes, and you’re te-telling me a truffulla tree is the thing that has you in awe?” Morty turned to his grandpa’s voice again, noticing his was now a few paces ahead of him. He turned to follow him, careful not to move too fast and tear a wound. He was sure they were only sealed together with dried blood, and any sudden movements would not only rip the blood but it’d for sure send new blood rushing to fill it’s place. Morty shrugged in response before humming as he realized his grandpa couldn’t see him.
After a few minutes of silent, after they reached the edge of the city, Rick spoke up. “Al-alright Morty, quick adventure, in and out.”
Contrary to Rick’s words, it was not a “quick adventure,” nor was it “in and out.” Rick and Morty were now running (Morty falling a bit behind,) as gunshots sounded behind them, because as per usual Rick couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The man whom Rick had been trading with was a scammer— according to Rick, at least. Rather than backing down, the older man argued for “his rights,” and rather than being arrested in peace he’d pulled a gun on the planet’s officers. Morty stayed quiet throughout the unpleasant exchange, offering the creatures a tense, remorseful smile as a sore attempt at an apology. Regardless, they had still landed here. The parts jingled, quite boisterously in Rick’s bag, and Morty willed his adrenaline to keep the pain of his cuts brushing back and forth numbed as he ran.
As they rounded a corner, Morty cried out. His small body skidded to the ground as he wailed. “R-Rick!” He grabbed his leg with heed, attempting to stop the bleeding. “Damn it!” He skidded on his heels to turn back to Morty. His head was misted with sweat. He dropped to his knees, failing to find his healing serums on his person. “F-fuck!” He shouted, opting to pick Morty up beneath his neck and knees. He shoved down how light he was, he didn’t have time to focus on that at the moment. Instinctively, Morty wrapped his arms around Rick’s neck as he ran, looking over his shoulder to see the blue creatures halting at the border of the town. Rick sat Morty into the ship, jumping across the hood to get into the driver's seat before blasting away. Both sat back, panting.
“Ship, au-autopilot mode.”
“Autopilot mode engaged.” The elder man took another deep breath before looking back at his wounded grandson. Morty gritted his teeth, and it was painfully obvious he was only keeping quiet to avoid Rick’s complaints of his whining. “Al-alright, Morty. Let me see your leg.” Morty’s eyes shot open. “Wh-what?”
“You heard me, let me see.” The color drained from Morty’s face and he wasn’t sure if it was from blood loss or anxiety. “Wh-why? Can-can’t you just heal it at home?” Rick sighed, rolling his eyes. Why does Morty always have to make things complicated? “No, Morty. I’m obviously out, otherwise I would have healed it already.”
“Out? H-how are we out— we’re never out!”
“I don’t fucking know Morty! Why are you being a little bitch about it? Just let me check it before y-y-you fucking bleed out or get infected or some shit!” Morty cowered away from his grandpa’s voice. Rick’s eyes fell, sighing as an apology. He started again. “Morty, can you pretty please let grandpa see your leg so I can patch you up until I have the time to get more healing syrum?”
“Ca-can’t we at least wait until we get home?” Morty perked up at the sliver of softness in his grandfather’s tone.
“Fi-fine,” Rick whined. “But if you pass out by the time we get there, that’s on you.”
Morty, the little trooper, did in fact not pass out on the ride back. Although it didn’t take the pair too long to realize that the gunshot, had also been laced with some sort of Gandzorpian poison. As if the gunshot wasn’t already enough. Most of the effects so far had just been a mild fever, sweating, and a bit of swelling around the wound. Rick carried him out of the ship, “Garage, I need a medical bed.” Rick’s desk flipped into a semi-cushioned bed and he placed Morty down gingerly. He scoured the garage for things he’d need, pushing everything else out the way and onto the floor and dropping them next to Morty’s head.
Morty protested quietly as Rick removed the clothes blocking his path, but of course, they were ignored. Rick needed to fix the problem and soon, because now that his pants were no longer obstructing his path he could see Morty’s veins turning blue starting from the wound. In his peripheral, he noticed Morty’s other leg was bleeding, and he paused. Morty had only gotten shot in one leg, right? Rick haphazardly wiped away the blood with a wet cloth, revealing several scattered cat scratches, new beads of blood already rushing to the table.
Rick blinked. Once, twice, and a third time, slowly, brows furrowing further with each blink— before he processed what they were. His expression was unreadable, mouth slack and brows now completely furrowed. With an accusatory tone, he turned to his grandson. “M-Morty, what is—“
“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry Ri-Rick,” Morty was sobbing, head waving back and forth loosely. He was clearly still under the influence of the poison, which Rick had nearly forgotten about in the heat of the moment. Rick’s face fell sadly, and he brushed Morty’s hair back as he whimpered apologies, now unable to throw his head about. Rick breathed a heavy sigh through his nose, kissing the young boy on his forehead.
“S-stop- quit cry-crying Mort. I’m not mad with you. B-but, when you’re feeling better we’re gonna talk about this, okay?” Morty sniffled, nodding his head as he made a weak attempt to wipe his tears away. Rick offered him a gentle smile.
When Morty came to again, he was in his bed. A pair of crutches was leaned against his desk. He blinked the exhaustion from his eyes, glancing over at his clock. The red lettering blinked a harsh 2:22 am. He yawned, stretching his back, before tossing his legs over the edge. Each leg was bandaged, one with more blood leakage than the other, now exposed since he now spotted a pair of black shorts. He grabbed the crutches and made his way to Rick’s room.
As expected, the light was on. Morty used the crutch to push the door open and found Rick already turned towards him. “Morty,” he cleared his throat. “You’re up.” He jerked his head towards his own bed, motioning for Morty to come and sit. Hesitantly, he obliged to his grandpa’s silent command. He sat the crutches next to him and Rick turned with a familiar jar of red goop in hand. He pulled his chair close and began un-bandaging Morty’s wounds.
“So, wh-when did this start?” Rick looked up at him. Morty looked away, face filled with shame. “A-a-about a year ago.” He muttered. Rick’s face tensed and Morty was sure he’d get a mouthful that would only make him want to return to his silver friend again. “Why.” Rick’s voice was quiet, stern. It was a question, but the tone was flat. Expressionless.
“…S-so much..” Morty’s eyes welled up. “I-I just wanna be normal, Rick. I just wanna be normal, there’s no-nothing, it can all just be erased, like nothing happened…” he looked down at his flesh wound, the skin mounding back together with a nauseating sound. A shiver ran down his spine, watching Rick switch to the next leg. In only a moment, all of Morty’s hard work from the previous night was gone, and only scars that had been there prior remained. Morty let out a pathetic whimper, looking up to Rick, who seemed to be busting himself.
“E-erased, from the body, but the mind never forgets..” Rick mumbled. Morty’s eyes widened at his grandpas remark. He watched as the other shook his head, seemingly disappointed in himself. “Look, Morty.” Rick looked up and Morty attempted to will the tears from his eyes. “I-I get it. I forget, yo-you’re young, sensitive,” Morty’s face fell a bit. “N-not that that’s a bad thing. Just— this life isn’t for everyone, but, Morty. It’s for us. You’d be even more miserable living like the normies, and you know it. It gets hard, li-living like this. But, y’know, as sucky as I am, I’m always here to-to talk, Buddy.”
Finally, Rick and Morty captured each other’s gazes. Morty’s were unsurprisingly filled with tears. He sniffled loudly, and Rick chuckled. “Alright, crybaby, get some sleep.” Rick pulled his blanket up, curling himself up against the wall. His desk light was still on, just barely illuminating his face from the far side of the room. “I-uh. R-Rick?” Silently, Rick moved his arm behind him, pulling the blankets up and inviting Morty in. For a moment, Morty wondered how Rick knew what he was going to ask, but he didn’t question it. His face tore into a bright smile, reaching each end of his face as he dove next to his grandpa. Rick rolled over, leaving Morty curled up against him.
“I love you, you little turd.”
“I-I love you too, Grandpa Rick.”