Work Text:
Morty’s eyes glazed over the cracks woven throughout the motel ceiling. The bed felt damp, too damp for comfort, and every time he felt that faint lull of sleep, his heart sped up until he was ripped out of the momentary unconsciousness. Sleep was going to be tough tonight, but it usually was after days like these.
They had just gotten off a planet Rick was experimenting on. He was trying to find a cure for a type of skin disease Ricks were getting with increasing frequency, and on this planet, almost 90% of the creatures had it. Except the disease wasn’t really a disease but a manufactured biological virus made to kill Ricks slowly over time, and his ‘cure’ triggered its failsafe, which effectively doomed the citizens. Exhausted from their journey, Rick offered for them to stay overnight at this almost nice (curse Rick's stinginess) rest stop, basically the equivalent of an Earth motel. It housed all the gadgets and amenities a typical visitor here would need, which was a bunch of alien stuff Morty didn't even want to risk touching, including a huge nest-shaped bed covering almost half the room. Apparently, these aliens never slept alone, but at least there were blankets and cylindrical tubes that could function as a pillow. Rick could stock up on alcohol, and Morty could feel a brief sense of safety that was all too fleeting in his daily life. Because even in a galaxy light-years away from the Milky Way, he has less danger coming his way than even on Earth. Sure, they've encountered a vengeful soul or a mobster looking for his payment. It was nothing Rick couldn't deal with.
A whole planet. He watched an entire planet die today, and he couldn't erase the memory of their hands pounding desperately against the ship’s glass. He placed his hands on his face, trying to push the memory away. But, alas, he remained awake as the neon green lights flickered at him, taunting. He propped himself up and looked accusingly at Rick. How was it so easy for him? They had wiped out an entire civilization, yet Rick lay there, sprawled out on the ‘bed,’ snoring peacefully in his sleep. Impossible. He adjusted himself into a crisscross position and gingerly slid out the bottle resting in the crook of Rick’s arm. Recently, it had become a habit to take a drink or two and let the alcohol's warmth wash away the day's anxieties. If he drank enough, the memory he wanted to erase would become fractured, less vivid. His mind immediately jumped to the mindblower, but he shook the thought away as quickly as it came. He wanted to remember. Maybe it was a stubborn way of thinking, but these experiences shaped him. And next time he faced a similar situation, he would know what to do. So, you could know how to help, the Morty in his mind added. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a tentative sip. Finding regular alien whisky, he choked down two gulps before his throat betrayed him, and he spluttered out half a mouthful onto his shirt and the sheet below. Rick started, and Morty thought he had been caught, but he just grumbled and turned over in his sleep. Now facing Morty, he could see the drool running from the side of his mouth.
The alcohol had already hit his system, washing him in a pleasant buzz, and his thoughts took on a lighter tone. He thought about Rick, and his attempted self-effaced callousness and lack of care towards Morty. How could he not admit, maybe couldn't let himself, his genuine love towards Morty in the family. Every time he thought it was it, that he was done for and that Rick wouldn't bother to save him, that Rick's calloused hand extended towards him, and he felt insurmountable relief. It suddenly struck Morty as kind of silly, and he giggled to himself and scooted to look at Rick closer. The reality of his power and capabilities now seemed like a fantasy. He knew that Rick was capable of eradicating solar systems, of beating gods, and shitting on their face. But this man, who would rather chop off his hand than accept happiness, that's peacefully dreaming an arm's length away, seems like just a man. On a followed whim, he poked Rick in the face, just to see what would happen. Or rather, to see that nothing happened. He stirred a bit, and Morty smiled to himself. No matter what Rick said, his actions would always say more than he ever did. He had to remember that.
Exhaling air he didn't realize he was holding in, he took another small sip of the bottle, already feeling sleep tugging at his body. He was going to try to fall asleep, but Rick, beside him, jerked violently. His eyebrows were furrowed, and sweat beaded at his temple. Must be having a nightmare, Morty thought. He didn't even realize Rick had those, but he guessed Rick wouldn't let him have that knowledge unless absolutely necessary. Rick twitched again, and he could feel small vibrations coming from him. He wondered what could torture Rick this much, as Morty's worst memories were like a walk in the park for Rick. But he should have figured there was something; he was still human after all. Still just a man. Ricks' shaking grew stronger, and he felt his breathing quicken. It was just getting worse, and Morty felt a tug of worry push him to action. He shook Rick's shoulder lightly, then a little harder. Like an android, Rick's eyes shot open, and he bolted upright on the bed with a gasp. His eyes were wide in fear until he noticed Morty looking at him, and he schooled his face back to the detached expression he typically wore.
“What?” He looked at Morty as if he were bothering him, as if he were disrupting him from his sweet dreams.
“I-I..” Morty suddenly felt flustered. Was Rick really going to try to play this off? Typical.
“You w-were shaking in your sleep.” Rick rolled his eyes, drawling,
“So what?” Morty is getting a little peeved, feeling this was going to be another time his altruism blew back on him.
He spoke carefully, “I thought you were having a nightmare, so I woke you." And?” Rick guffawed, “ Morty, I-im made of 90% cybernetics, f-for all you know, I could have been recalibrating my g-gyrosensors”.
Morty huffed, “Seriously, Rick, gyrosensors? I've been around you long enough to know when you're making something up. It's just me here, you don't have to do your whole routine where you pretend you're some unfeeling, unshakable man, Ok?”
Rick paused, his face shrouded in darkness, and Morty felt as if he had made a serious mistake. Rick laughed, a mocking, cruel laugh, “Routine? Wow, everyone look. Mortys got me allll figured out.” Rick gestured wildly at him, as if announcing Morty on a stage, eyes alight with a new kind of rage.
“R-rick, I-” Rick just kept going, but his voice was a little softer. “R-really, you got me morty, just a sad old man who hides his insecurities with a strong front.” Morty stared, bewildered. Memories of the place-saving remote went through his head. But he looked… genuinely dejected. Head down, staring at the covers. Slouched over as if the world was sitting on his back. “I was just... Embarrassed, you know. I'm a scientist, and I have terrible nightmares. It's pathetic.”
“R-rick.” A small, hesitant smile bloomed over Morty's face. Was this finally it? Rick opens up, and they can talk, and Morty can know what's going on in that crazy head of his, without double, triple, and quadruple guessing? Morty could see it already. He reached his hands out for a hug, even feeling a little tear brimming at the corner of his eye. BOOM. His face blossomed with pain, and instantly, he could feel hot blood gushing down his face.
Rick shot up and hollered, jeering with a vicious grin on his face. “OOOOOH, did you predict that? Did you predict that, Morty? I thought you were the-the predicting master. The r-rick Sanchez expert. Said you could predict me, but now you're on the grouuuuund.” He delivered the word like a rapper as Morty's shock wore off. Worn off to... anger. So much. Anger. Are you fucking kidding me? he thought. And he had to think it again, just for good measure. Rick... Rick was such an idiot! He would seriously rather punch me in the fucking face than admit he's not all-powerful. The more he thought, lying on the ground while Rick rambled on, Rick made eye contact with Morty, and Morty could see glee all over Rick's face, yet another victory. It was sickening. It was infuriating! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! Before Morty could think about it too much, his body surged into action, and he grabbed Rick by the throat and started punching. Each blow sent tears cascading onto Rick's face, one in his mouth. He didn't even realize he was crying. The force was throwing Rick's face side to side, and he could barely see through his tears. In his mind, the only thing he was thinking about was bringing Rick as much pain as possible. Guilt, hesitation, and shame didn't exist right now. Each hit, he made sure it was harder and more forceful than the last. After a solid round, Rick clenched his teeth and grabbed Morty’s now bloodied incoming hand to wrestle him off and reverse their positions. Now Rick was on top, grabbing both of Morty’s hands and starting,
“Alright, you little-,” but before he could finish, Morty kicked Rick straight in the balls. “Auuuuuugh,” he groaned and wheezed, weakening his hold on Morty’s hand. “I need those...” And Morty used this chance to flip them over once again, kicking out Rick’s knees from under him to continue his assault. Every bone in his body felt like it was on fire, and a sick satisfaction curled in his stomach as he thought about how he had the upper hand on Rick. Sick satisfaction, and some other kind he couldn’t put his finger on. All he knew was that it only encouraged him, so it didn’t matter.
When Morty’s throat began to close, and exhaustion leaked out of him, he screamed between heavy breaths, “Your... such... an... ASSHOLE!” Morty leaned off, feeling he had reached his limit, and looked at Rick’s disheveled, now very bloody face with a black eye, while Rick looked back with an unreadable expression. Both were panting, void of the anger that had previously coursed through their veins. Morty suddenly realized Rick never activated his cybernetics. He could have flicked Morty off like a fly, but he didn’t. Why? Why did he just let me punch him? He was smart enough to think of the question, but not smart enough to answer it. He didn’t feel his own body settle onto Rick’s, eyes boring into his face, searching for answers. He could ask, but he shouldn’t. Hell never get a straight answer, and Rick would just throw it back in his face. But then again, he should. Doesn’t Rick owe him an answer? He turned his gaze ahead and turned it over in his head for a second before returning to Rick's face.
He murmured, “Why?” Rick would know what he meant. Rick instantly broke eye contact, abashed, and stuttered his next words, “Because...” He exhaled. “I-I-” He frowned and continued, “I'm sorry.” Morty's breath hitched a little, and he let out a soft, “oh” One of the few times Rick ever says sorry. Why? Morty doesn't need an answer to that question, but what was he going to say at first? What was he thinking? It didn't matter. This was like the second time this had ever happened, and Morty instinctively searched Rick's face for any sign of deceit or condescension. He found none of that. Rather, Rick refused to make eye contact and stared blankly into the distance. Morty thought he was imagining things, subconsciously leaning closer to reassure himself that yes, Rick was serious.
At that, Rick's gaze snapped back to his, and Morty finally took a second to analyze his situation. He was on top of Rick, saddling him while staring intently into Rick's face. Rick's face, infact not a blank wall, but attached to a conscious being. It should have been nothing, but when he met Rick's unflinching gaze, he could feel his heart beat like a rabbit, and a tratirous blush blooming at his neck. Suddenly, figuring Rick out seemed less appealing than somehow awkwardly getting out of this precarious situation. Rick coughed, and Morty realized he had been hesitating far too long. He scrambled off Rick while he attempted to play off his embarrassment. Hopefully, the dark was concealing how red his face was. He hated it when he got inexplicably embarrassed around Rick. Morty averted his gaze and stammered, “s-s-s-sorry,” the word trickling into a self-conscious laugh. Without another word, Rick got up to slip back under the covers, but before he could reach them, he felt a tug at the bottom of his lab coat.
Morty spoke, his voice carrying a certainty he didn’t realize it could have, “Thank you.”Rick met his gaze with a steady look, as if measuring him, and simply continued to the bed to get under the covers. He positioned himself facing away from where Morty would have been. He felt his mood dampen a bit, but he wouldn’t let it ruin the moment. He wouldn’t let the bundle of warmth and the feeling of revelation and serenity escape him. Because maybe he never needed Rick to be less shitty. He just needed Rick to acknowledge the shittiness, like Morty acknowledges his own mistakes and flaws. Morty pulled himself under the warm sheets, exhaustion instantly pulling him into sleep. But he fought it off, because when he felt Rick's breath steady into slow, even breaths, he scooched slowly to not jostle Rick, so that when he leaned his head forward, he could hear Rick's heartbeat.