Chapter 1: Nightmares

This story is a spin off of PaigeK9's incredible hurt/comfort FanFic 'Iridescent', in which a younger Morty (9 years old) has suffered immensely at the hands of Jerry following Beth's suicide, after which Summer moves away to live with his Grandma (presumably Jerry's mother, not Rick's ex). Rick came looking for Morty to use him as a shield, only to find him locked away beneath the house. Jerry has since fled and Rick has moved his lab into the house. He is struggling to cope with a mute, traumatised Morty who has dog like tendencies.

I highly recommend you read Iridescent – it's amazing! Thank you to PaigeK9 for creating such a unique and heartbreaking alternate reality for the characters we know and love.

This Chapter is a tangent from the opening paragraphs of Iridescent Chapter 10: The Beacon.

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Context: Rick and Morty are home after an adventure gone awry – Morty ran from Rick in an alien world following a flashback to his abuse. After Morty panicked and hit Rick, then tried to run again, Rick was verbally cruel to Morty. Out of guilt, he allowed Morty adopt a dangerous alien puppy on the way back. We open with Morty asleep at Rick's leg as he works on an invention, frightened to leave him in case Rick abandons him after his previous behavior.

Rick turned his attention back to his ray gun, methodically turning a loose screw with quiet care. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Morty and have to endure him playing with the 'puppy' again. Clingy and asleep, but out of his way, was far better than having to constantly check on a naïve time bomb letting a yaught hound gnaw on his fingers.

Rick suddenly felt a series of small twitches and turns at his leg, followed by whimpering and shallow breathing. His heart sank as he peered down at his grandson. Morty's brow was furrowed, sweat beginning to trickle down toward his pursed lips as he periodically cried out against some unknown force, gripping Rick's lab coat as if it were a life raft. He gently rubbed his grandson's head, hoping to calm him as it always did. But the touch seemed to make it worse. Morty was too entrenched in his nightmare, and he let out a sharp cry and flinched away within seconds of Rick's fingertips touching his scalp.

Rick stomach began to bubble with rage, wishing the people who had left his Grandson too haunted to sleep were here now so he could shoot every one of them with his soon to be finished ray gun, obliterating a small part of Morty's trauma.

But he knew the lasting memories of the abuse would never go away. He felt a deep hole in himself, knowing he couldn't shoot away what had happened to his Morty.

Rick took a deep swig from his flask and watched powerlessly as Morty fell on his side, rocking and trying to cover himself from the attack of invisible hands, crying and panting in frustration. Out of the corner of his eye, Rick noticed the green yaught hound curiously wandering toward Morty's sleeping form. He leapt out of his chair, protectively looming over the small boy. The hound stood still but Rick didn't dare turn his back on it. He stepped between Morty and the animal, pointing firmly to the kitchen, instructing the hound to retreat so he could deal with Morty.

The hound cocked its speckled green head to the side before flinching, alarmed, as Morty let out a wail. The puppy whimpered in response.

'Don't you fucking s-start. Jesus.' Rick muttered, rolling his eyes as the dog cowered in tandem with Morty.

Morty cried out again, this time louder as his sweat began to drip onto the carpet. Rick's stomach wrenched at the possibilities Morty might be reacting to. He couldn't imagine the things Morty had endured and he'd been trying hard not to, but the wails were getting more pained. It was impossible to drown out, and it was agony to listen to.

Morty yelped and the puppy let out a sharp bark, startling Morty into consciousness at Rick's feet. Before Rick could get hold of him, Morty's wide, fearful eyes darted up to the hulking figure towering above him and he clambered up to run for the door. The puppy bolted after him and Rick was forced to give it a sharp kick to the side, sending it scurrying off.

It was enough that Morty might be on the street within seconds, let alone a ferocious interplanetary killer.

Morty's drenched, shaking hand fumbled around the handle as Rick lifted him off the ground. Morty screamed and kicked, failing to recognise Rick as his Grandfather, still overwhelmed by whatever horrible memory had crawled it's way into his mind that night.

Morty's little feet managed to land decent blows into Rick's stomach, knees and liver. Rick slowly got a grip on all Morty's limbs, cradling him, pinning his feet and hands together while managing to get a free hand over Morty's mouth. Morty shut his eyes tightly, sobbing and refusing to look at what he still perceived to be an attacker.

Rick steadily moved Morty's shaking form over to the couch, sitting down with the child in his arms and rocking him soothingly.

'Its Grandpa Morty. JURRRst me.' The burping sound and familiar smell of Rick's lab coat washed over Morty as he opened his eyes, blinking confusedly.

After a few moments of blurry light from the work bench, Rick's characteristically neutral face came into focus. Morty's breath slowed, his chest heaving tiredly as he stopped struggling and stared up at Rick.

'That's right Morty. You're at home. It's just me and you. N-no one else. It was just a nightmare. Okay? You calm now M-Moooorty?' Hearing Rick's trademark infliction of annoyance in his name, callous to anyone else, was like home to Morty, and reality sank in.

But he wasn't calm. Morty nodded back to Rick as a few tears started to slide out of the corners of his eyes.

Morty was really tired. He was tired of adventures, he was tired of second guessing Rick, he was tired of the constant reminders of being tortured in his own home, he was tired of knowing there was nowhere he could feel safe.

Morty didn't sob, he couldn't. Instead he looked away from his Grandfather, fixating on the floor defeatedly as the realisation that while it was a nightmare, the assault he'd remembered had happened. He could still feel those filthy hands all over him, even through the nice new clothes Rick had brought, even through his comforting hold and kind words.

Rick grew concerned. He'd seen his grandson frightened, angry, hysterical, confused, ashamed but never depressed. Depression had a unique look of futility and bleakness, one a small child should never know. But it was written all over Morty's big brown lidded eyes as he contemplated the futility of trying to get past everything that had happened to him in his incredibly short and so far, unrelentingly cruel life.

'M-Morty.' Rick said, shifting his Grandson's weight slightly so he could get a free hand toward his flask. He didn't know if he'd be able to cope with any conversation Morty could muster.

'Morty.' Rick repeated, taking a small swig as Morty remained silent.

'I-it's okay Morty. G-grandpa's not goOOOOHing anywhere. Morty. We'll get through this. It will take a while. But we will. Okay?'

Rick wasn't prepared for how deafening the silence would be as Morty turned both his tear filled eyes toward him, staring right through any alcoholic barrier Rick had and connecting deeply with his own misery. The reflective gaze of himself in Grandson's pained eyes was too much for Rick. He instinctively pulled Morty as tightly into his arms as he could, fearful to let him know he was the one panicking now.

Most of all, he was scared that the familiar little skip his heart had done just now meant he was beginning to feel real love for Morty, which means Morty could be taken away, and it would hurt. He pushed that firmly aside for now, taking a long guzzle at his flask and letting his mind numb. He had to be in control for Morty.

Rick wished Morty would sob or cry - even bite him in anger. But he didn't. Morty just lay limply in Rick's arms as Rick desperately tried to emotionally resuscitate the boy by resting his chin atop Morty's fluffy head and telling him it was going to be okay. Rick carefully pulled his Grandson away from him to observe any change. There wasn't any- just Morty, staring emptily into his blue under shirt with tear stained cheeks.

Rick felt an unbearable guilt eating away at him. He needed to help his Grandson, he couldn't stand this. It worried him, he'd seen this behaviour moments before some of his closest friends had taken their own lives. This is how he felt when he'd considered doing the same.

Beth.

The thought of Beth stabbed at his throat, throbbing in his chest. He needed do say something, do something. It had been so long, what would help? He'd forgotten, he'd pushed it all out but now he needed to remember. Rick closed his eyes as he numbly stroked his grandson's back. He thought back to Beth as a child. She had been having a nightmare. A ghost of himself, now unrecognisable, even in his mind's eye, had held his daughter, kissed her worried forehead and told her he loved her.

Rick opened his eyes.

Morty felt his Grandpa straighten him up, and expected to be carried upstairs and put to bed. He wasn't prepared when he felt the wet touch of being kissed on his forehead. Automatically, fear shot through Morty's extremities. Kissing was bad. Kissing meant pain, the worst kind of pain. After all this time, was Rick going to start this now?

It was the jolt Rick had expected. Morty's eyes, now fearful again, peered at him- paralysed, waiting for the abuse he knew all too well. Rick softly rested his forehead against Morty's, careful to be very gentle. He felt Morty shudder and give a small whimper at the uncharacteristic closeness.

'I love you Morty. I'm never going hurt you because I love you.' He then pulled away, placing Morty safely on the couch. Rick was sure to let his palm linger on Morty's head, running his fingers through Morty's hair a few times, a touch he knew to be safe, to reassure him before returning to his gadget. He hoped desperately it had worked, nervously watching Morty in the reflection of the window.

It took a few moments for Morty to understand what had been said, and that nothing more than that was going to be done to him. That this was good. He blinked dumbfoundedly for a good minute, wanting to be sure he had judged correctly before getting his hopes up. At that moment, his puppy placed its head next to his leg, lapping at his hand comfortingly.

Rick had allowed this dog to make itself a home here. Rick had rescued him from the basement, Rick had taken care of him, fed him, clothed him, bandaged his feet, held him when he was frightened.

Rick had lost his temper sometimes too. He had hurt Morty.

But his Grandfather had just told him he loved him. Morty's head was spinning as he turned to look out the window and caught sight of Rick looking worriedly at him.

Rick was so worried.

No one ever looked at him that way before – it had to mean something good.

Morty's heart swelled in his chest- he felt brave and for the first time in so long, he felt okay. The happiness was exhausting and dizzying. Morty wandered over to Rick's table and threw his arms around his Grandfather, who he felt sink comfortably at the touch.

'Je-Jesus Morty, throw yourself a parUUURade why don't you.' Rick teased, gingerly patting his Grandson's back before Morty turned to leave Rick in peace, playing with his puppy.

But secretly, relief was washing over Rick, a relief more powerful than his flask. He never wanted to see Morty that way again, and he realised he had to try harder. And that, surprisingly, he wanted to.