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Burying the Broken

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It was around the time  Morty had buried himself in his backyard. Shovel in hand, shaking and sucking in snot and tears as he shoveled dirt over his lifeless body. Rick had already made quick work of his corpse, with the air of a man that had done this countless times in the past. 

Morty patted the last of the dirt over the makeshift grave and collapsed to his knees. Seconds later he was dry heaving and vomiting bitter bile into the green grass. Still trembling, he wiped his mouth and sighed shakily, brain still trying to process what had happened. 

“Aw geez…”

In an uncharacteristic move of kindness and perhaps some sympathy, he felt Rick place a hand on his shoulder. No words were needed to communicate this moment of strange grief, loss and revulsion. 

“Ready, kiddo?” 

“Y-yeah…r-ready as I’ll ever be, I g-guess.”  Morty stood up slowly, using the shovel for support. He looked at the twin mounds of dirt and knew that even though the bodies were dead, they would haunt him forever. 

Morty wants to feel ashamed for being so dependent on Rick, but Rick just has that effect on everyone.

That was the first time and last time he thought that he’d ever have to bury his own body. Boy, was he wrong. 

When Rick had shown him ‘possibility’, he didn’t get it at first. He didn’t really comprehend what it meant. That you could literally do anything and get away with it. Start over, start fresh. The violence, risk and adrenaline rush that had coursed through his brain left him feeling high and conflicted. But addicted nonetheless as he found himself somewhat willingly strapping himself into the ship time and time again. Mostly willingly because he had a feeling Rick wouldn’t take no for an answer in any case. 

After blasting and exploding a whole planet full of sentient life forms (due to his own mistaken stance on justice as usual…) Morty was surprised to find out he wasn’t as bothered as he thought he would be. He still felt awful of course, but it didn’t help that Rick was flippantly explaining how he could just portal them to a different dimension where the planet wouldn’t have exploded or some other alternative. 

Maybe he was just numbing himself to the pain, too afraid to really deal with the consequences of death and murder, two concepts that seemed to go in hand in hand whenever he was with Rick.

“How-- how do you do it?” He once asked Rick.

“Do what?” 

“Move on-- like do you not-- feel bad about-- about the you and me we-- we buried in the backyard?” Morty had to stifle a retch when he thought about his rotting, decaying body laying not more than 15 meters where he was standing in the garage. 

“Don’t think about it.” 

That was Rick’s solution to everything.

So Morty tried not to think about it.

 


 

“What is wrong with the both of you?” Beth asked, exasperated, looking around at the table. “Morty, you said you loved meatloaf last week, so I made it again like you asked.”

Morty said nothing, pushing the mashed potatoes around and poking at the slab of grey meatloaf on his plate. 

“S-sorry, mom. I-I don’t know, I’m not hungry.” She’s not your mom, she’s not your mom. Morty felt like gagging again.

Rick just shrugged and took another sip of his flask, as if to say kids these days.

 


 

“Goddammit, Morty! You got five minutes to pack your shit-- dammit, you f-fucked with squirrels!” Rick yelled, tossing a duffel bag at his chest. “Everyone knows-- you-- you can’t fuck with squirrels!” 

“F-Fuck, Rick! What do we do now!” Morty clutched the bag to his chest, panic rising in his throat.

“We-- We gotta hop to another reality! I--I-- told you we could only do this a few times! Dammit, Mort! You really screwed the pooch on this one!” 

“I--I--!” Morty can only stammer as he stood there watching Rick shove a bunch of things into another duffel bag. 

“Come on!

 


 

The house is identical but there are small differences. Different scratches, the hall carpet is a different shade of green and the pictures on the wall are in a different order. The same but not really.

Morty shivered as he slipped into ‘his’ bed. The same covers, just a different pattern but the same smell of home. It was unnerving. He hated to think about the Morty buried in the yard that he could see from his bedroom window. He couldn’t help but think about his alternate self. Did he sit at the window and look at the birds, wait for the sunrise? Stay up until the sky turned pink? Did he sit at the desk and draw or was he a writer? None of these things mattered, according to Rick.They were just iterations of himself and he himself was an iteration of infinite Morties before and after him. None of it mattered and mattered at the same. 

The ethical conundrum kept Morty up until late hours of the night, a sweaty nervous wreck.

Sometimes when he did manage to get to sleep, he had nightmares that the Morty hadn’t actually died-- that he was alive in the dirt, clawing his way out to claim his rightful place.

Morty became a light sleeper.

 


 

It was one thing to bury your own body, but it was quite another to have to kill yourself— literally. 

Morty felt nauseated as Rick pushed the spare blaster into his hand. 

“D-do we really have— have to kill them?” He whispered to Rick, horror coating his throat like sticky mucus. They crouched in the bushes, watching their alternate selves move around the garage. Morty would never get used to seeing the exact carbon copy of himself, living and breathing. Soon to be dead. 

“Morty,” Rick sounded irritated. “Do I have to remind you why we have to do this? T-tell me why we’re doing this.”

“B-Because… because I accidentally set off the nuclear b-bomb… in our l-last dimension and started W-World War Th-Three.” He whispered shamefully, head bowed. 

“That’s right. Now we have to relocate because of your dumbass. Okay— looks like they’re about to wrap up. This is our last chance, Morty. Ready?”

Morty’s throat closed up but his finger rested on the trigger, albeit trembling. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

“On three.” Rick muttered, muscles tensed and ready to spring like a mouse trap. 

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

They sprang out of the bushes like a pair of demented Jack in the Boxes and Morty closed his eyes as he fired one shot through the head of his alternate self. One clean, dark red hole right between the eyes. 

The bodies fell to the ground with a sickening crunch and Morty couldn’t help himself as he fell to his knees and puked into the grass, tears silently running down his face. 

 


 

“Puh-please, Rick. Please-- I just wish--”

“Wish that I could erase the memory?” Rick looked amused.

“How-- how did you know I was going to say that?” Morty asked suspiciously.

 


 

“Dad, I’m worried about Morty.” Beth said, twisting the stem of the wine glass around in her fingers, “He’s been so withdrawn lately and his grades at school have been slipping. I mean, they’ve always been-- he’s always been a B+ student but I mean look at this.” She showed Rick the latest report card with four little black Fs mixed in with some Bs and Cs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get an F before, let alone four of them. Do you think you can talk to him? He looks up to you so much and maybe you’ll have some insight on what he can do to improve… I’ve tried to talk to him but he-- he doesn’t even look at me anymore. Maybe it’s a teenager thing…” 

“Mm,” Rick took a sip from his flask, “I-I’ll talk to him, sweetie. D-don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll make sure his-- his grades are up to par.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Beth beamed at him. “You always know what to do.”

Rick watched her leave the garage, closing the door behind her softly. 

 


 

Morty’s eyes snapped open, the taste of dirt in his mouth as he lay awake staring at his ceiling. The previous Morty also decorated his ceiling with glow in the dark stars and Morty counted those stars. Again and again. Swallowing spit that tasted so earthy, reliving the feeling of clammy hands around his neck, dead milky brown eyes that would bore into his accusingly. 

Morty felt his stomach twist and cramp and he leaned over the edge of the bed gasping as he gagged. 

Nothing came out.

Why would it? He hadn’t eaten a decent meal since he’d arrived in this dimension. 

The hunger was there but it settled into a dull ache that he could ignore. 

He tried not to think about it. 

 


 

“Hey, M-Morty. What do you say we go and get some ice cream on that planet we went to a couple months back? The one where they have--”

“I-I’m not hungry.” Morty said softly, eyes staring through the glass of the ship at the glittering void of space, but not really looking at anything. Just this thousand yard stare into the blackness of it all.

“Kid. Look at me.” Rick twisted around in his seat, grabbing the top of Morty’s head and turning it so Morty had no choice but to look him directly in the face. Even then his eyes slid down to the right, seeing but not looking at the corner of the glovebox. 

“Morty, do you understand the situation we’re in? You fucked us . I didn’t ask for our last dimension to be Cronenberged or overrun by squirrels. I saved your fuckin’ ass. Y-you need to get your shit together. If we-- and by we I mean you -- don’t assimilate then we can’t stay here and we’re gonna be on the run in outer space forever. Beth is on my case about your grades and obviously I’m not gonna tell her why otherwise we’d have to move again .  And I told you we can only do that a few times. Do you understand? We moved dimensions so y-you can have a decent semblance of life and I can catch a fuckin’ break from the Federation. You are fucking it up for both of us if you don’t quit this mopey shit right now.”

“O-okay Rick.” Still in that subdued, muted voice. Tinged with resignation and heaviness. 

Rick felt a small tendril of guilt creep into his gut. When did Morty become so… so hollow? He remembered the wide-eyed stare, fingers splayed across the window of the ship, babbling wonder falling from his lips as he took in the glittering cosmos with amazement. He remembered the yelling, arms crossed and huffing. Arguments on morality, ethics and values that Rick would entertain batting back and forth with Morty like it were a game of tennis. Sure, it annoyed him but he’d rather that than this… dispirited husk that sat beside him. 

“C’mon Mort. You love ice cream.” He tried again. “Get ice cream with me.” A plea. Rick Sanchez never begged anyone for anything. 

“Sure, Rick.” Morty’s head bowed as Rick let go. “I-ice cream it is.”

 


 

Morty felt like he was going through the motions of living. Like his body was stuck on autopilot. A living ghost.  

Get up. 

Go to school. 

Follow Rick into space. 

Rinse and repeat. 

Sometimes he’d find himself forgetting how he got to a certain place or activity. He’d blink back into reality to find his hand moving his toothbrush in his mouth, diligently scraping away filth. It was an odd feeling. 

But sometimes he’d find himself painfully aware of his existence and he didn’t know what was worse. 

Feeling too much or not feeling anything at all. 

 


 

Morty couldn’t even remember what his original dimension was like anymore. It didn’t matter. 

This was what, the fourth or fifth place they’d had to move into? Three times it was Morty’s fault and two times because of Rick. He’s not so sure. His memories are fuzzy. But it didn’t matter. 

The only constant was Rick and Morty clung to him like a baby would a blanket because Morty found relief in knowing that Rick was also cursed to carry the same burden of knowledge. Even though Rick would be the one to put them in the situation in the first place. Morty had no choice but to cling to him. It was that or lose his mind entirely. But it didn’t matter. 

It was all the same and it was all different. 

Same shit, different reality.

Just like Rick had said. 

 


 

Morty always knew but he didn’t really understand why Rick was a chronic drinker until he broke into his mom’s not-so-secret stash of wine hidden under the sink in the kitchen one afternoon while everyone was out. 

He sat there sipping from the neck of the bottle, trying not to grimace at the dry bitter flavor that coated his tongue. What drove people to drink? He tried to understand it. Why did Rick always need booze on hand to get through the day? Why did his mom always seem to have a glass of wine in her hand? Morty knew about alcoholism and why it was bad. So many talks in school about underage drinking and the consequences of it, but no one ever explained why people turned to drink in the first place.

How it made your face tingle, how it made the world seem brighter and blurrier and how it made the pain hurt less. Those are the things people don’t tell you about when it comes to drinking

There are infinite realities where Morty didn’t drink. And there were infinite realities where he did. Did it matter? Did he matter? 

Morty took a brave long pull, feeling the wine burn a warm trail from his throat into his stomach.

It felt nice.

 


 

“Are you ready for’n adventure!” 

Rick looked up from the small robot he was tinkering with as Morty sauntered into the room, swaying a little as he leaned against the garage door, words slurring just enough for Rick to notice. He was giggling a little too, like he was sharing an inside joke with himself.

“Y-you-- are you drunk right now?” Rick crossed his arms. “Th-That’s a rhetorical question-- you’re obviously wasted. What’d you drink-- your mom’s shitty wine or Jerry’s gross light beer?”

“I-I get it, Rick.” Morty laughed, eyes shining. “I finally get it.” He started swaying over to where Rick was sitting at the workbench.

“W-what fuckin’ drunk epiphany did you come to? FYI drunk epiphanies don’t mean shit-- they’re-- they’re just overly emotional connections your brain makes to think y-you’ve come to a profound revelation but in reality it doesn't mean diddly-squat unless of course you’re--”

“N-no I get why you drink.” Morty is so close that Rick can smell the wine off of his breath. 

“No d-doy-- I drink so I can actually tolerate the annoying bullshit fed to me on a daily basis from your shitstain excuse of a father--”

Morty flinched but stepped closer, large brown eyes blinking up at him slowly.

“N-no… y-you drink c-cause you… y-you’re hurting too. Y-you can’t stand th-the pain too. I-I used to wonder how-- thought you didn’t c-care but y-you care so much… so m-much that it hurts…” Morty swayed on the spot, almost leaning into Rick’s chest. “Right? I get it… we-- we’re the same now.”

 


 

Rick didn’t tell Beth about Morty’s drunken escapades.

Instead, he wiped the reddish vomit from Morty’s lips and carried him to his room like he would every time. 

He should’ve told her. 

He should’ve said something. Stopped Morty, confiscated the booze. But that would be calling the kettle black. Which Morty had pointed out every time he tried to pull the bottle away from him.

The best thing he could do was just make sure Morty drank in front of him.

They even drank together sometimes, soaking themselves in misery.

In a sick and fucked up way, Morty was coping. It was unhealthy but he was coping. He’d started to eat a little more. Put more effort into school. He weighed out the pros and cons and found the lists were as long as each other. Rick never admitted it to anyone, but he understood what Morty was going through. They were the only ones who knew the true extent of the truth. Secrets that they were forced to bear and lies that they had to live with every single day.

Rick felt guilty but not guilty enough to stop taking him out on adventures. He needed Morty. He needed Morty to understand him. To see how indiscriminate the jaws of the universe were. For as much beauty that existed the opposite was true as well. 

Did the end justify the means?

For once, Rick didn’t know the answer to that.

How do you fix something that wants to stay broken?

 


 

There was a light tap at his door. Rick’s eyes flew open. He’d hardly call it sleep. More like resting his eyes, swimming through his vivid thoughts and walking the fine line between conscious and unconsciousness. It was late. His internal body clock told him that it was close to 3am or so.

“Yeah?” Loud enough to be heard but quiet enough that it wouldn’t wake up the other residents.

Morty slipped into his room wearing nothing but a pair of boxers he went to sleep in.

“Nightmare.”

“Same one?” Rick moved over on the cot and Morty nodded, slipping in beside him. He could smell the wine on Morty’s breath again. 

“H-hey I told you if you were gonna drink then it better be where I can see.”

“Y-you… you’re the only one who gets me.” Morty whispered. “Y-you make me so…” 

Rick’s ears strained to hear the rest, heart pounding in his chest. You make me so… what?

“M-Mort? You make me so what?”

“You make me so…” Morty turned to look up at him, eyes shiny and wet, “You make me so… miserable.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as Rick felt like he was socked in the stomach.

“Morty…” Rick didn’t know what to say next. “I’m…”

Soft lips brushed against his and Rick felt his body freeze. He didn’t know what to do. He should have pushed Morty off. He should’ve done a lot of things. Instead he let Morty kiss his lips gently. He deserved this. If this is what Morty wanted, Rick had no right to refuse him. 

In some sick way, Rick wanted to make it up to Morty. If this is what he wanted, Rick would lie there and take it.

 


 

They didn’t talk about it.

Morty never brought it up.

But every so often after a particularly rough adventure, Morty would get drunk and would slip into his room. Eyes darkened, swaying slightly as he climbed into Rick's bed, breath smelling of cheap wine.

Morty’s lips would brush against his, warm breath ghosting over his skin light as a feather, eyes hooded and unfocussed.

There was never any tongue and Rick would always lie there, incredibly still as Morty delivered soft kisses against his lips-- never responding. 

Eventually, Morty would settle down and turn his back to him as he fell into a deep, drunken sleep. 

Rick would lie there, heart thrumming against his chest painfully aware of how hard his cock was, but he would never make any move to relieve himself. It was confusing and it made him sick with guilt and shame. But as he carried Morty’s limp, heavy body back to his own bed, there was only one thought in his mind. This is what he deserved.

 


 

“Morty! Look at that!” Beth beamed as she touched the A+ marked next to Biology and English Literature. “I knew you could do it! I’m so proud of you, honey.”

Morty smiled modestly, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but his parents didn’t notice. He continued to push the food around on his plate.

“Since you’re sixteen now, I think we can allow one celebratory drink, don’t you?” Jerry smiled, eyes darting over to his wife’s face to confirm he was making a good call. Beth shrugged but smiled all the same.

“How about a glass of wine, Morty?” 

“S-sure.” 

“Uh— sweetheart is that a good idea?” Rick couldn’t help himself as Jerry brought over a wine glass. “He— it’s a school night.”

“C’mon Dad.” Beth rolled her eyes playfully, “It’s not like one glass is really going to do anything. Besides, you're one to talk.” She eyed the flask in his pocket meaningfully. 

Rick bit his tongue as she poured out two fingers of wine into the glass, the red liquid sloshing out audibly. It’s true, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. If only she knew

Morty raised the glass and flicked his eyes over to Rick daring him to say something. There was a strange smile playing around Morty’s mouth as he raised the glass to his lips. 

“Thanks, mom. Cheers.” 

 


 

When Morty woke up, his head was throbbing and the inside of his mouth felt dry and sticky. He reached for the glass of water on his bedside table and gulped it down, feeling the cool liquid parch his throat. He didn’t love the hangovers, but getting drunk helped him get to sleep. When he got wasted, he’d fall into the kind of black, dreamless sleep that he wouldn’t wake from until morning time. The nightmares became less of a thing until a quarter of a bottle of wine didn’t cut it anymore. That’s when he started picking through Rick’s stash of hard liquor. 

It was honestly incredible how his parents never caught on. His sister might’ve if she stayed home for college, but she didn’t. He hadn’t even seen Summer since they came to this reality and in all honesty he dreaded meeting her. He had this fear that she’d take one look at him and say, “Who are you? You’re not my brother.” And she’d be right . Morty felt his anxiety shred his stomach, while his teeth worried at his bottom lip. Winter break was coming up soon and that meant Summer would be coming home. If Morty couldn’t play the role right, would that mean they would have to leave again? Rick told him that they needed to lay low in this dimension for a while. Maybe Rick would do that thing with the memory gun, but there was nothing to erase. What were the effects of using the memory gun so many times on a single mind? He wouldn’t know. It made him sick to think about altering his sister’s memory like that. It just didn’t feel right.

He really needed a drink.

 


 

The silence in the ship was deafening, even more so in the vacuum of space.

Morty sat in his seat, rubbing at his temples and Rick stared straight ahead, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Are you still starving yourself?” 

“W-what?” Morty jerked his head up at Rick’s words. “W-w-what do you mean?” 

“Y-you’re not exactly subtle about it. Your parents might be too self-absorbed in their own shit to-- to really give a shit or notice but I’m not as self-absorbed to not notice how you never finish a plate of food if at all.”

“I-I-I’m just not-- not hungry.” 

“You need to eat.”

“I-I know that! I’m j-just not hungry, okay!” Morty snapped, feeling defensive and attacked. “W-what are you g-gonna do-- f-force feed me?” He let out a huff of humorless laughter.

Maybe I will .” Rick snarled, hands tightening around the wheel. “If that’s w-what it takes. T-try me. See if I’m-- see if I’m bluffing.”

“I don’t want to eat.”

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not! One means your body is getting enough nutrients and the other means y-you’re actively denying yourself nutrients. Doesn’t take-- take a rocket scientist to tell the difference, genius.”

“...”

“C’mon, Mort.” Rick could hear himself pleading again and he hated it, “Just-- just tell me why you’re doing it.”

There was a beat of silence before Morty sighed.

“... B-because… because it’s the only thing I can-- I can control.”

 


 

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Morty jumped and hit his head on the edge of the workbench he was currently under, rifling through the cabinets where he knew Rick kept a bottle of tequila.

“N-nothing.” He rubbed his throbbing head angrily.

“L-looking for this?” Rick held the bottle up and Morty blushed, looking away.

“Y-you need to fuckin’ chill out dude.” Rick leaned against the edge of the table, watching Morty with what almost looked like concern. Morty scoffed.

“Fuck off. Y-you’re one to talk.” He crossed his arms and glared at the floor, near Rick’s feet. “W-why’s it okay for you to f-fucking drink like-- like a fish b-but when I do it-- I’m in pain, Rick. S-so much fucking p-pain-- wubba lubba dub dub and all that sh-shit. Why won’t y-you let me feel b-better?”

“Because that’s not how you feel better, dipshit.” Rick unscrewed the top and took a cruel sip of the tequila in front of Morty. “I drink because I’m a legal adult and it’s my choice to make stupid decisions if I want to. Y-you on the other hand have the rest of your life to fuck it up. Life is gonna suck, bro. No need to-- to speed up the process.”

“My life already fucking sucks. B-besides if there’s an infinite amount of realities, who-- who c-cares if-- if I die of liver cirrhosis in this one. None-- none of this shit matters, right? Th-that’s what you always tell me.”

Rick was silent, fingers playing with the cap of the bottle absentmindedly as he regarded Morty.

“You’re right.” He said finally. “B-but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Morty scuffed his toe against the concrete, fingernails digging into his arm as he let Rick’s words wash over him. 

 


 

Rick watched Morty climb onto his cot, swaying slightly, rocking back and forth as the wine bottle sloshed around in his hand unsteadily.

“Rick…” Morty was so drunk he didn’t even realize he was crying. “Rick…” 

Rick bit his lip. Morty looked even more wasted than usual as he crawled over him, straddling his pelvis. He could feel Morty’s warmth settle around him as he swayed above him, wine spilling onto the sheets a little. He’d lie there, let Morty do what he needed to do. It was hard to watch as Morty’s head bowed down, tears dripping onto his chest in salty drops. He could feel Morty’s hand dragging up his abdomen, pressing down onto his chest to steady himself.

He felt Morty’s pain so acutely and it hurt him knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it. How could he? He was hurting so badly himself-- he’d just lived with it longer till it became a phantom limb. He had no right to tell Morty how to live his life and ride out the pain. He didn’t even know how to overcome it himself. 

“Rick… Rick…” Morty kept mumbling his name, “You’re the only one… the only one who gets me.”

Rick lay very still as he felt Morty kiss him so lightly on the lips. He could smell the wine all around him.

More soft kisses, each one becoming more and more intense and Rick had to will himself not to react. It was fucking conflicting. He loved Morty so much but not like this. Of all things, he couldn’t bear to take advantage of Morty like this. This was what Morty needed, not him. This is what he deserved for being a selfish asshole. For uprooting their lives and providing instability at every twist and turn. If Morty wanted to be selfish then he deserved to be selfish. That’s what Rick told himself.

Morty never kissed with tongue until tonight when Rick felt a hesitant tongue press against the seam of his lips. He pressed his lips together tightly, preventing access. Rick could hear Morty quietly sob against his mouth, tears falling onto his cheeks and running down his neck, drying in sticky trails.

“Rick…” Morty pulled back just enough to look at him in the eyes, “Rick… why won’t you kiss me back?”

There it was. The question that Rick had been dreading. 

“D-don’t you care about me?” 

“I do.” The words made Rick’s lips brush against Morty’s ever so slightly. “So much.”

“Don’t you love me?”

Rick hissed, tears pricking his eyes.

“Of course I do.”

“Then kiss me… kiss me back.” Morty’s voice was quavering, beseeching. “Kiss me back.”

“It’s not-- not right. You won’t even re-remember this tomorrow. Is this what you want?” 

Morty pressed his lips against his again and again and Rick refused to yield. Morty cried, fingernails digging into his chest, wine spilling out onto the floor forgotten by both of them.

Rick raised an unsure hand and decided to stroke Morty’s heaving back in soothing circles.

“Morty.” He whispered. “Morty, look at me-- listen to me, okay?” 

Morty gulped wetly but he made an effort to quiet himself, waiting for Rick to speak.

“If-if this is something you really want, then kiss me when you’re sober.”

They both stared at each other, blinking for several seconds-- and then Morty slid off his body and left the room.

 


 

It had been a couple of days since that incident. Rick barely saw Morty and there was a part of himself that whispered I told you so , in his ear cruelly. Every part of Rick had wanted to give in and kiss Morty back so hard, that he felt it so deeply in his bones. But Rick stood firm for once, knowing that he did the right thing. For once he did the right thing and it made him clench his teeth until his jaw ached. 

He took a long sip out of his flask, tasting the sharp whiskey against his tongue but he couldn’t forget the taste of Morty’s wine stained saliva. No matter how many times he tried to rinse the taste out of his mouth.

He jabbed at the circuit board in front of him moodily, feeling black and ornery. 

Life fucking sucked and it was weird and unpredictable.

It made him feel like fucking shit to do the right thing.

Why did doing bad things feel so fucking good?

Rick gritted his teeth together again.

“H-hey.” A soft voice sounded from across the garage. Morty stepped in, locking the door behind him as usual. He looked nervous and awkward, hands behind his back no doubt twisting themselves into a knot. “W-what are you working on?”

“Nothing.” Rick pushed the project away from him, turning around to face Morty. “What’s up?”

“I-I have something… something I wanna t-tell y-you.” Morty looked like he was about to cry or shit himself. Rick steeled himself for every possible scenario.

There was a few minutes of tense silence that ticked by as Morty seemed to struggle to find the words he wanted to say.

“Mort?” Rick said gently, reminding Morty to come back to the moment instead of being lost in his head. He watched as Morty’s expression cleared and he coughed slightly before getting to it. 

“I’m sober.” He said quickly. “N-not like-- like I’m over the booze sober b-but, I-I-I’m not drunk now.” 

Rick felt his muscles tense as he forgot how to breathe, staring at Morty, not wanting to assume anything.

“Y-you said I-I wouldn’t re-remember but I do.” He looked down for a brief second. “And… And I th-thought about it and-- and I still want it. Still want you.” He added for clarification. He looked down again, cheeks pink. “S-so…so yeah.”

“Mort--” Rick didn’t finish his sentence because Morty had all but pushed him back into his chair, mouth landing on his sloppily. 

“I-I know th-this isn’t r-right, b-but this is what I want.” Morty mumbled against his lips. 

Rick closed his eyes, feeling the weight of Morty against him and willed himself to breathe. 

“Are you sure?” 

Morty kissed him harder.

“Kiss me back .” A command.

Rick let out a shaky breath as he slowly tangled his hand into the back of Morty’s head, and for the first time ever, he kissed him back. Pouring everything he had into the kiss, every sorry he never said, every part of the pain and anguish they went through together, all the love and care he felt for Morty, he poured into that single kiss. 

He could feel Morty playing with his hair, tugging on strands and stroking through the spikes. 

“No more drunk kisses.” Rick murmured through the warm kisses, “If you want to kiss me, then kiss me. Don’t hide behind the alcohol.”

Morty’s tongue tasted so sweet when it wasn’t marred with shitty wine.

“S-stop making us m-move dimensions.” Morty whispered. “I-I can’t take it anymore.”

“Only if you stop being a dumbass pissing off squirrels n shit.” Rick grinned and winced when Morty punched him on the shoulder. “Ok-ok-- I’m kidding , obviously. I don’t want us to move to another dimension either. We just gotta be smarter.”

Morty hummed and nodded, sucking on his bottom lip, tongue licking against Rick’s.

“I’m hungry.” He kissed the corner of Rick’s mouth softly. 

“Wanna go eat?” 


Art I drew for this fic ><

You can view the full post on tumblr if you want!

https://potetosaradas.tumblr.com/post/702529151620513792/some-doodle-y-art-i-drew-for-my-fic-burying-the