It's been a long time coming, but heres chapter 1 of my new Rick and Morty fic! I'd like to thank my wonderful beta theforeverknight, without their support, this wouldn't have been written, and the AmazingJoker; my co-creator. I don't know what happened to you, but I hope you are alright. I also want to thank all of the reviewers of Iridescent, who inspired me to continue writing after my first fic. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT! 8,000 words of hell later... its a story.

Warnings: Abuse, self harm, angst, past character death, blood (Mostly non graphic), drugs, alcohol (Duh), language, so much angst, PTSD, and basically everything under the sun. Probably going to be changed to an M rating in a few chapters.

Enjoy!

This is All There is

"Most of us are bitter over someone"

Youth

It had been one month since Rick Sanchez from dimension B-12 lost his Morty.

Rick liked to tell himself that the only thing holding him back from going through with his suicide, was the fact that it would most likely kill Beth too. What a fucking lie. Rick took a pull from his flask, the dark labyrinth setting off his nerves. He capped it, hesitating before tucking the container back into his coat. The truth is you're a damn coward, you sick bastard.

His eyes trailed the blackened walls, a blue light casting the rows of hallways in bleakness. Rick kept pace with the other two pairs of footsteps on either side of him, as they passed dozens of empty cells tucked away in the catacombs. Apart from themselves, there were no other signs of anyone ever coming down there.

Rick felt increasing unease at the sheer... emptiness of the place. He had never even heard of this hidden prison before today. Something didn't feel right. He let his hands travel to his coat pockets; the gesture seemed nonchalant, but in reality he was messing with a gun situated in the fabric. Now would be a perfect time for them to try and murder me or imprison me or-

Rick shook his head eyeing the guards walking at his side. He abruptly stopped, the Guard Ricks continuing on a few steps before turning to face him. "I-I'm not taking another step till you tell me where we're going," Rick stated, narrowing his eyes. They didn't call him the 'Paranoid Rick' for nothing.

The Guard Ricks glanced at each other, one pulling a manilla folder from his leather satchel. Rick B-12 watched as he flipped through a rather extensive file, pulling up a few records. The Guard Rick cleared his throat. "Rick from dimension B-12; also known as the most paranoid and suspicious of Ricks."

There was a brief pause in his little speech, B-12 taking the moment to cross his arms and gesture with a flick of his wrist for him to continue. "Approximately one week ago, you applied for another Morty. The request was accepted upon consideration of your previous partnership with the Council on numerous occasions." He went down the file.

"You, Rick B-12, have helped to develop the systematic dimensional transporter that allows the Citadel to teleport from place to place every few days, and you have installed the infrastructure of security cameras placed across the Citadel and multiple dimensions," Guard Rick prattled on. Rick B-12 rubbed his eyes as he continued. "Assisted in breakthroughs regarding-"

"OKAY, I get it," Rick B-12 interrupted. "I saved your asses on multiple occasions," He pulled his flask back out of his coat, intent on drowning the oncoming headache. "Wasn't even for your stupid Council's benefit anyways," pointing at them with the flask in his hand. The other Ricks gave him an incredulous stare as he took a long swig.

B-12 rolled his eyes when none of them picked up on the answer. "I did it for myself. If one Rick gets exposed by the Galactic Federation, there's a good chance that we'll all go down," Rick reasoned, walking past the silent guards and further to their destination. "They get their dirty, money grubbing hands on a portal gun..." he switched out his flask to wave his dimension gun around for emphasis. "They can access all our realities," he explained.

Rick stared at them behind his shoulder, now following him. "They call me the fucking paranoid one, but maybe it's 'cause all of you are too sloppy. Maybe I'm the only one with common sense." He shoved his portal gun in one of his many pockets. "Now what does any of this have to do with where we're going, or who I'm being assigned?" Rick asked as they rounded another corner.

He was startled at the sudden hand on his shoulder, immediately going to his laser pistol and pulling it halfway out of his coat. One of the Guard Ricks stopped him to hand over another thin folder. B-12 growled as he let the gun fall back into position and tried to take the file from the guard. He didn't let go, giving him a serious look instead.

"Unfortunately there are no Mortys in your direct finite curve that match," Guard Rick stated. "So we cross analyzed your brain waves, behavior, and overall rank to determine what we could offer you."

He let go of the file, and Rick didn't try to open it. "What's that supposed to mean? You brought me to your dramatic, medieval-ripoff of a jail to tell me this?!" B-12 hissed.

The Guard Ricks exchanged glances that irritated B-12 even more. He didn't like when people knew something that he didn't, and he certainly didn't like to be kept in the dark about anything. Rick B-12 wrinkled his nose at them, fingers playing across the file. "If you think I'm gonna live in the Citadel…" He trailed off into angry mumbles, finally flipping the thin folder open.

Rick quirked his brow at the first paper inside. It was a profile for a Morty; but nothing like he'd been expecting. The photo featured a kid in a dirty grey rabbit costume. He stared directly at the camera as the picture was taken, a dark black mask with haunting white lenses obscuring his face. The kid's yellow shirt seemed too big for him, and had a childish bunny drawn on the front with black sharpie.

The thing that caught Rick's attention was the dark stains on the arms of the suit. He couldn't fathom what they were from, but it seemed that they had been scrubbed to no avail. They made him uneasy for several reasons. The sidebar of the file listed his age, height, dimensional number, and all other basic information.

This Morty was fourteen. The same age as his own; although this version of his grandson had survived to live another month. Rick gritted his teeth at the thought, crinkling the end of the folder. It was all he could do to keep from throwing it down, abandoning the entire notion of getting reassigned and going home to drink himself into oblivion.

It didn't list his weight, but he let a breath out that he hadn't realize he'd been holding after glancing at the Morty's height. It wasn't the same, and he took solace in that fact. This Morty was five-foot even, short in terms of Mortys and almost six-inches shorter than his original. Less to remind him of what he had lost.

The margin also didn't list his dimensional number, only a few question marks scrawled on the dotted line with 'Nightmare Dimension?' scribbled farther down. Rick ran his free hand through his hair. That meant the Council had no idea what dimension this Morty was originally from, - so in short, they couldn't send this Morty back to his family after his Rick's death - leaving him stranded at the Citadel until he was reassigned.

The profile left more questions than answers.

Theories rolled in his head as he filtered through the remaining documents; none giving hints to why this kid ended up here. His fingers grazed the edge of a paper, making him hiss when it gave him a small cut. Frustration boiled over and he turned his attention back to the Guards.

"Look, I'm tired of ya giving me the runaround." B-12 closed the file and waved it at them as he spoke. "Would you just fucking tell me what's going on here!?"

Rick felt something slip from the file, photos dropping to the floor and scattering. He quirked his brow and bent to pick them up, noticing the guard's stiff positions. He grabbed the nearest one that had lodged itself under his shoe, flipping it over as he crouched low to the ground.

In that moment, the sharp intake of breath was louder than a galaxy collapsing in on itself.

Blood… There was so much blood.

The picture was that of a crime scene. A Rick laying in a pool of thick blood, completely eviscerated. Throat slashed violently enough that the head was barely attached, body mauled and gutted. Deep bite marks settled in the arms; inflicted by something with razor-sharp teeth. A wolf mask soaked red sat in the corner, probably ripped off during the struggle.

Rick had to take a moment collecting himself. He gathered the rest of the crime scene photos, putting them back into the file. Everything began to click together. Fitting perfectly in place like the pieces of a puzzle. The jail that had never been used, the dark stains on the rabbit suit, the secrecy. This Morty had murdered his Rick.

Rick stumbled over to a crate, sitting down and burying his face in his hands. He heard the guard's footsteps. "Why me? Why are you assigning me a Morty that butchered his Rick?" His voice grew increasingly loud with each word. Rick felt for his flask, not lifting his head to look at the guards. He took a long swig.

"I should've known you guys were gonna fuck me over," he cursed. Rick pointed at them accusingly. "WHY the hell would you think that a Morty that MURDERED his Rick would be my match?" Rick threw the folder on the floor, gesturing wildly. "Not to mention he's from a NIGHTMARE dimension! It's dark there for - what? All but maybe twenty days a year?"

The Guard Rick on the right cleared his throat. "Look I know this isn't the ideal situation-"

"IDEAL? That is the worst fucking understatement in the goddamned universe buddy!" Rick took another long pull, almost emptying the container. He belched before continuing. "Now, before I walk right on out of this bullshit, I would like to know why you idiotic versions of myself, thought that any of this was a remotely good idea." Rick tugged his sleeve back to glance at three different watches, reminding him of how much precious time he'd just wasted.

"We can't keep this Morty here," one of the Guard Ricks stated smoothly. B-12 looked up from his watches, skeptical. "Our job is to recycle Mortys. There already aren't enough to go around. They have a high mortality rate, and we can't afford to put a perfectly good shield out of commission for any reason," he reiterated.

B-12 was taken aback for a moment. He had almost forgotten that this was what these kids were to these Ricks. Shields. Nothing less, nothing more. Rick zoned out for a moment, remembering his sole reason for getting another Morty. This one was going to be a shield, and he wouldn't care if he died.

Not like...

Rick snapped himself out of his thoughts, listening back into the conversation. The Guard Rick leaned in, trying to get his point across. "You're the only Rick that can see through a Zigerion simulation within point-six seconds. You're the only Rick to revolutionize camouflaging techniques for the Citadel. You're the only Rick that has the combat skills to rival Rogue C-137."

B-12 stood back up and shoved the other Rick away from him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The Guard Rick groaned. "Everything, you dumbass!" He snatched the file back off of the ground and shoved it into B-12's arms. "You're the only Rick in the central finite curve that has a chance against this kid. You're the Suspicious Rick that's least likely to have his throat slashed in his sleep!" He exclaimed.

B-12 snorted at the guard's outburst, but nonetheless followed as he headed deeper down the hall. "So I'm the scapegoat, huh?" He questioned. The other Ricks didn't answer, but the hotheaded one folded his arms behind his back. B-12 tucked the file into an almost-empty pocket in his lab coat, unable to stop from laughing to himself.

The guards gave him an odd look, and he walked ahead of them. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he sang. "Never thought I'd see the day when a Rick was scared of a Morty."

The others were about to protest, when B-12 frowned. "This kid reeeeeeaally got the Council riled up." He walked a little faster. "But in the end, that's all he is. A kid." A bitter chuckle forced it's way out. "If only you could see that…"

They passed through an automatic door, brighter green light shining from the next room. A small isolation cell could be seen at the end of the hall, electric barrier separating the occupant from the rest of the world. In all honesty, Rick wasn't in the mood to deal with this shit. He slowed his pace to allow the guards to catch up.

The two didn't stop him, so B-12 took it upon himself to peer past the electrified entrance. The green barrier obscured a bit of the clarity, but he was able to see his new Morty crouched in the corner, staring at him through the white lenses of his mask. The only Morty to ever spend time in this prison… His Morty.

He already hated the idea of referring to this Morty as anything; let alone his. A glint of something caught Rick's eyes, and he squinted to get a better look. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out what it was with the barrier.

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, wishing that there was still alcohol in his flask. "So, how's this gonna go down?" He asked squinting at the kid from behind the barrier.

The green shield suddenly fizzled out, electricity fanning out in a burst. B-12 heard the Guard Ricks ready their guns behind him, but didn't dare look away from the murderous kid in the corner. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets - specifically, the ones that held multiple weapons.

"We have a policy," a Guard Rick began behind him. B-12 listened as he eyed up this twisted version of his grandson. "The Council has decided that we need to make sure that you can handle this Morty before transferring custody," he said slowly.

B-12 snorted, crossing his arms. "Why's that?" He asked sardonically. He took in the sight of the kid, not crossing where the barrier had been.

They stared at each other for a few more seconds, before Morty turned his attention to his shoes. The kid started to picking at the muddy bottoms of the soles, hunching over further. It was like he was in his own little world; with no Ricks or prison or jailers. Rick felt himself lowering his guard, until the dark stains on the arms of this Morty's suit drew him back to reality. Blood stains.

He was thin. Thinner than what he expected. He hadn't noticed when looking through the pictures. The collar of the kid's shirt was ragged and well-worn, stretched out to show more grey fur stretching underneath. Rick was just about to repeat his question, when his eyes trailed deep gouges that were inlaid across the floor and walls. They resembled… Claw marks?

B-12 heard the guards shuffle their weapons behind him. "Because we have an obligation to make sure you don't die on our watch," a Guard Rick said. "This Morty not only murdered his Rick, but maimed three others before we could contain him."

Rick B-12 gave a grunt of acknowledgement. They made it sound like this child tore through Ricks like paper. He caught another flash as the Morty dug into the floor beside him, sending up a shower of sparks. Rick backtracked, spinning around and giving a yell of utter frustration.

He waved wildly at the Guard Ricks. "Are you serious!" he gestured to the Morty. "You didn't disarm him? He has fucking razor-blade claws!" Rick shouted in disbelief.

The guards kept their guns trained on the Morty. "Wasn't our job," one huffed out. "Prove that you can handle him," the same guard urged, cocking his weapon. The sound reverberated off of the walls, making Morty stand up and rake his claws down the wall.

"Fine." B-12 growled, pulling his laser pistol from his lab coat. He was just about to enter the cell, when the remaining Guard Rick snatched his gun out of his hands. "What the fuck?" He tried to rip it back from the guard's grasp.

"No weapons. If he gets too close to killing you, we'll take him out," the Guard Rick warily informed; obviously tired of this assignment. "Empty your pockets."

"What makes you think I have any more weapons - minus my portal gun?" B-12 said, narrowing his eyes. He winced at the shrieking metal behind him, glancing back at the armed Morty.

The Guard Rick exhaustedly straightened his uniform. "It's policy. Don't try to bullshit us, you're the Suspicious Rick. You never have less than five weapons at any time." The guard pressed a gloved hand to his forehead.

B-12 relented, only because he was ready to go home and get drunk. It had been a long day, and he was much too sober for anymore strain. Rick searched through his many pockets, dropping three more guns to the metal floor and a knife that had been attached to his calf. The last device he pulled out and held over his head.

"I'm keeping this," he said challengingly. It was an injection gun with starry blue liquid swirling in the glass body. "Sedative." B-12 clarified, as he shoved the device back into a pocket.

When the Guard Ricks didn't protest, B-12 turned and took his first steps into the cell.

Morty watched him intensly, immediately ceasing his horrid scratching. The kid curled further into the corner, flexing his claws. His body tensed more as Rick stopped a few feet away from him. Rick shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to keep the situation lowkey and nonchalant.

The Morty had done nothing in his presence that could be considered outwardly aggressive, and he hoped that treating the kid like this wasn't a big deal would help to mellow everything out. He wasn't in the mood for a fight. Rick exhaled through his nose, staring at Morty. Now or never…

B-12 could feel the guard's eyes on his back as he spoke, making him edgy. "Let's get out of here kid, this place is depressing as fuck." The Morty tilted his head, sliding down the wall a bit when he took another step forward.

Rick took the opportunity to get close enough to hold a hand out to him. "Come on, you can take that suit off, right? I just need the razors kid, I don't care about the mask." It started off soft, but became more of a demand towards the end. Rick mentally backhanded himself for coming off so harsh. Red flags began to raise, 'Never back a wild animal into a corner' flashed across his mind.

The kid hugged himself, struggling for a moment. "Go 'way," Morty said in a thick voice.

Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's not an option kid," he muttered. Morty seemed to be done with this conversation, staring past him and at the armed guards. Rick snapped his fingers in an attempt to get Morty's attention, but he wouldn't even look his way. It was beginning to alarm him, how easy it was for this Morty to dissociate.

Rick reached for Morty's arm, continuing his placating. "Now Morty, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You've been reassigned to me," he explained, gently grabbing one of the kid's wrists. Morty's head snapped back to stare at him. "I'm your new Rick-"

Morty jerkily pulled his arm back, Rick tightening his grip. He had barely got the words out before the kid slashed his claws at his face violently. Rick shoved himself away, razors missing him by centimeters. He stumbled, backpedaling as Morty attacked him.

"Okay," Rick growled. "Hard way it is." He dodged another close swipe, snatching one of Morty's arms and twisting it behind his back. Morty howled as Rick shoved him into a wall, immobilizing him.

Morty pressed his forehead against the wall as Rick tried to disarm him. The suit apparently wasn't full body, the arms held up by a clip under the boy's shirt. Rick felt along Morty's clothed shoulders, finally finding it and unbuttoning the thing through his shirt. He pressed Morty's arm into his back harshly, stripping the fabric off both individual arms.

Rick then threw the fabric in the guard's general direction, ignoring Morty's wails. "All right," Rick began. "Imma let that one slide, Morty. Gonna let you go now," he said in advance, adrenaline still rushing through his veins.

Rick slowly uncurled his fingers from Morty's arm, noting bruises that he definitely didn't leave there. The kid let his bare fingers slide down the wall, shaky breaths escaping his lips. All was quiet for a second, before Morty took advantage of their close proximity, headbutting Rick.

Bright light exploded in front of Rick's eyes for a moment, blood gushing out of his nose. Morty pulled something from his belt that Rick had missed, spinning to face him. He only had a moment to react, ignoring his blurred vision and forcing himself to remove the hands cupping his nose.

He jumped back, Morty wildly slashing with a thick, serrated hunting knife. Rick felt the weapon easily tear through his shirt, grazing his side. Rick snarled, grabbing Morty's forearms and bringing a knee up into his stomach. Morty yelped dropping to the floor like a stone. He let go of the knife, coughing brokenly. Rick kicked it across the floor before he could reclaim it.

"Sonuvabitch!" Rick yelled, grasping the wound. It wasn't dangerously deep, but it bled heavily, staining his shirt and seeping into his white lab coat. He turned his attention to the Guard Ricks, hissing in pain. "You could've told me he had a fucking knife!" B-12 wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve, hoping that it wasn't broken.

Morty managed to get to his knees while Rick was distracted, still dazed and gasping for air. "And you," Rick ground out at Morty. "You stabbed me! You fucking stabbed me, ya little shit!" Rick had to seriously restrain himself, tempted to kick the boy while he was down.

Suddenly, Morty gained enough clarity to launch himself forward and into Rick's legs; screaming incoherently. Rick fell backwards and Morty was on top of him in a second, hands going to Rick's exposed throat. Rick immediately reacted, hearing the guard's guns charging and feeling fingers cut off his air supply.

Rick reached up, digging into Morty's mask and tearing it off of his head in one swift motion. Morty immediately threw himself off of Rick, crying out and covering his face. Rick sat up, heart pounding in his chest. He looked to the guards, now lowering their weapons that still glowed from the charge.

Morty curled into himself, desperately sobbing and shielding his eyes. They'd come so close to dying. Rick glared at the guards, who looked away in - what he assumed was shame. He swallowed thickly, picking up the mask that had been discarded in the fight. So close to losing another Morty. He wasn't a kid to these people, only a tool to be disposed of when necessary.

Rick quirked a brow at Morty, who didn't show any signs of getting back up. But what had caused that response? He certainly hadn't been expecting this when he ripped the mask off. Rick fingered the mask in his hands, popping one of the whitened lenses out and analyzing it. The cogs in his mind began whirring, dots connecting.

Rick's eyes widened in realization, looking up at the puzzled guards. "He's blind," he affirmed. Rick held a lens to the light, observing how it darkened the room. "At least in the light." The Guard Ricks looked at each other.

B-12 got to his feet, brushing his pants off. "In his dimension, it's almost always night. His eyes must be conditioned to the darkness," he concluded. Rick smeared more blood on his sleeve, leaning over Morty with his hands going to his coat. "How could you not know that?" He grumbled at them.

Rick took the sedative gun out of his coat, peeling Morty's limbs away from each other and rolling him onto his back. He loomed over him, and Morty made a startled noise when Rick shoved his head to the side. He quickly injected the drug into Morty's jugular, and almost pitied the kid when he reached up a fisted the lapels of his coat with one hand; the other desperately covering his eyes.

"Come on kid, just let go," he whispered to himself. Morty's body trembled violently for a few seconds before he went limp, breathing evening out. Rick untangled Morty's hand from his coat, putting his gun back into his pocket. He then left the kid to gather up the rest of his weapons that lay outside the cell.

He didn't even look at the Guard Rick's, as they strapped their guns to their backs. B-12 was more than pissed. They should have been a lot more thorough when it came to this boy. They were trigger-happy fucks who didn't care enough to take basic precautions. To know anything about the kid that they were ready to shoot.

Rick opened a portal back to his dimension, strolling over to Morty and dragging him across the smooth floor. He was so fucking done.

"Wait," a Guard Rick stopped him before he was able to get through the portal. Rick groaned, lifting Morty up from under his arms. "We need you to fill out a few forms to verify your position."

Rick shifted Morty under one arm, not sure how to feel about how thin he was. God, he hoped that he hadn't given the kid an overdose. "Go to hell," Rick snapped. He flipped them off as he went through the portal, idly wondering what he had gotten himself into. He was definitely getting drunk tonight.

Consciousness was slow to return, his mind feeling like it was wading through quicksand. Morty kept his eyes closed for a long time, the drugs working against him and blocking out his sense of alarm. He knew that he was supposed to be terrified, but it was slow to return. Morty felt cool metal beneath his fingers, and it took all of his strength to lift up an arm; feeling like they were weighed down.

Morty felt thin bars to his side, and the fear came back to him like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. His eyes snapped open, thoughts still sluggish and blurry. Morty sat up, staring at the dark garage around him.

The first thing that he realized was that he was in a metal cage. Bars were pressing into his back, and he pushed his legs out about halfway before meeting the other end. Something was against one of his feet, but he couldn't tell what it was with the numbness working through his legs. A dim, red light illuminated part of the room, and Morty looked to the source.

A Rick sat at his workbench, lava lamp plugged into an overused socket. He was working on something, and Morty craned his neck to see from the cage. The Rick dipped two lenses in a tub of unknown liquid, grabbing a bottle and then taking a long swig. He couldn't remember what happened before he lost consciousness. Morty shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub his face.

It hit him like a train when he felt bare skin. Where was his mask? Morty searched all around in a panic, memories of the prison flooding back. Reassignment. A new Rick. He took his mask, his costume?! His only measures of defense. Morty gasped, throwing himself against the bars. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The world spinned as he almost passed out again. He needed his suit! There could be anything waiting in the dark. It inevitably looped back to Rick. God, he thought that he killed him! Why couldn't he stay dead? Why were there more? He scrambled to the door of the cage, attempting to unlock it from the inside.

"It's padlocked, kid."

Morty jolted and licked his lips, feeling the lock through the bars. He gazed up at the Rick, back still facing him as he worked on his project.

The Rick grumbled to himself as he rolled up his sleeves, shuffling around his desk for a pair of metal tongs. He leaned forward and removed the lenses from the container, hanging them from a clip suspended on a wire above his head. "You - you're already more trouble than I want right now," Rick remarked, grabbing a screwdriver from his drawer.

Morty watched silently as Rick got up to reach a futuristic gun on a high shelf, wincing and grasping his side where Morty had cut him. He was wearing a clean lab coat, and a white undershirt; his normal blue sweater discarded. "I - I'm still pissed about the fucking crater in my abdomen," he hissed, plopping back into his chair and absentmindedly screwing something on the weapon.

The Rick hunched over, still ranting. "Don't even got any of the good healing shit lying around." He waved the screwdriver around as he spoke. "Another setback, I'm gonna havta make more later. Scrawny ass, furry bastard…" Rick trailed off, taking a swig from a bottle.

Morty jumped when Rick slammed the glass back down on his desk, crumpling up some forgotten plan and throwing it in the direction of the trash. "And now my daughter and her idiot are on my ass," he swirled the chair around and glared at Morty. "They- they're fucking furious, Morty. Went to a hotel for a day or two, granddaughter went to stay with her 'friends'," Rick made quotations with his fingers.

The man sighed, rubbing his eyes. Dark rings were painted under them, a unique feature that Morty hadn't seen on any of the others at the Citadel. "At least that'll give me some time to sort this shit out."

Morty felt the bruises on his arms, scrunching his face up. The Rick noticed, calculating eyes piercing right through him. Morty scowled at him, digging fingers into tender flesh. Oh, how he hated this man. Cruel, cold, sadistic monster. His intelligence never let anything slide. They stared at each other for a while, both unrelenting.

Morty began to notice things about the Rick; subtle differences that were already setting him on edge. How he compulsively bounced his leg, how his eyes flickered every which way, how he was constantly messing with something, - such as the screwdriver in is hand - and even his ranting.

Always moving, always fidgeting, constantly talking. He was the near opposite of his grandfather, but somehow still the same person. Morty blinked hard, shoving the thought out of his mind.

The Rick continued to bounce his leg, leaning over to get a better look at Morty. "You're thin," he stated, squinting his eyes.

Morty growled back at him, fisting the hem of his shirt. "You're old," he retorted.

The Rick didn't respond to his comment, or back off. He just dissected Morty with his eyes, making him feel like something was crawling under his skin. Rick put the screwdriver inside of his coat, leaning back into his swivel chair and looking down his nose at Morty. "Was worried there for a bit, thought I'd given you an overdose of that sedative. How was I supposed to know you're so goddamned skinny."

Morty shuffled, feeling extremely uncomfortable with this conversation. He felt an object bump against his foot again, and he reached for it to keep his attention off of the Rick. Morty brushed the rim of a ceramic cup and picked it up, liquid sloshing around the glass. After an experimental sniff, he gave the Rick a suspicious look.

The Rick took a long swig from his flask before elaborating. "With the amount of sleeping shit I shot you up with, I'm surprised you're conscious at all," he said, pointing at the mug with his flask. "Beth made soup earlier, probably piss warm now, so you'll have to deal. Need to wash that shit out of your system before it knocks you back out."

Morty stared into the cup, weighing his options. It could be drugged, and he could be using the sedative as an excuse. "Or don't," the Rick shrugged. Frankly, I don't give a damn if you lose it again. You're easier to deal with when you're unconscious anyway." He took another pull from his flask, watching Morty out of the corner of his eye.

How long had it been since he'd last eaten? A day before he killed his Rick, and then he was at the prison for… two, three days maybe? He shook his head, unsure of the answer. He wasn't really worried about food, but he was starting to feel hungry. Which meant that he would need another hit soon. His fingers itched. He needed more Xax'ic, not food.

"Is it drugged?" Morty asked seriously, mentally reprimanding himself after the words spilled from his mouth. Of course he wouldn't tell you if it was spiked, you idiot! What the hell is wrong with you? Asking a Rick such a dumb question. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The Rick crossed him arms and scoffed at him, leg still bouncing uncontrollably. "Why the fuck would I bother drugging you?" He rolled his eyes, gearing up for another long rant. "You're currently in a dog crate with a massive amount of sedative in your system, and even if you escape - by some miniscule chance - I'm in a lab full of weapons, and all I have to do to completely incapacitate you, is flick on the fucking light switch."

When Morty stared blankly at him, he ran a hand down his face, making an exasperated noise. "No, it's not drugged," he groaned.

Morty's face heated with a mix of rage and embarrassment, his grip tightening around the cup. He reared back and threw the liquid out of the cage, splattering before it could reach the man's shoes. He was also tempted to shatter the mug against the bars, but that would leave him sitting in glass shards for an undisclosed amount of time.

The Rick didn't get angry at him like he expected, only looking through him. No expression or emotion. He just emptied his flask, his leg finally settling. There was another extended silence between him. Morty wrapped his arms around himself, feeling naked and exposed without his suit. He needed it back. Now.

The Rick capped his flask, tucking it into his lab coat. "You wanna tell me how you got the burns on your neck?"

Morty's entire body stiffened, ice cold blood pumping through his veins. His hand immediately went to the healing burns around his throat, soreness radiating off of them in pulses. He pushed down the shock, trying to will himself to calm down before the man noticed. But it was much too late, wide eyes tracked how the Rick's mind whirred to life, putting pieces together in that infuriating way.

Morty gritted his teeth. HOW HE HATED THIS MAN. He wanted him to die. He wanted to make him hurt, to make him suffer. Like how he did. He wanted to feel the life drain from his body as he gutted him in the most painful, gruesome way imaginable.

"G-give me my s-suit back! NOW!" Morty screamed in a shrill, demanding voice. He shook the bars, world blurring as the sedative caught up to him.

"AND there's the stutter," the Rick voiced, opening his arms wide. He seemed amused but bored at the same time, and it made Morty more desperate. He snarled at him as blackness began to form at the edge of his vision.

"Wait," Rick paused. Something interesting had caught his attention, and he slipped off of his chair to kneel in front of the crate. He tilted his head as Morty hissed and spat at him, unperturbed by the outburst. After a solid minute, Morty quieted, panting from exertion and the struggle to stay conscious. The Rick continued to peer in at him with an intrigued expression, and Morty scooted back with a hateful look.

"You're teeth," he mused, rubbing his chin. "They're sharpened?" he questioned, not really wanting an answer that he already knew. He had said it for himself.

Morty felt himself falling asleep, and he ran his tongue over sharp teeth. He nodded at the Rick, crouched low to the ground with his hands on his knees. His clarity was fading, along with his reservations. He guessed that the Rick had gotten what he wanted because he got up and began to pace, while mumbling incoherently to himself.

Morty watched with blurred vision as the Rick sat back down back at his desk, working quickly as he settled the dry lenses into some leather. He must have blacked out for a few moments because when he opened his eyes again, the Rick was unlocking the cage and sliding something over his face. He fought weakly as the Rick picked him up, trying to remove the strap twisting behind his head. Morty was too uncoordinated to do anything but get his fingers caught in greasy hair, tugging out strands by accident.

Rick shouldered open the garage door, flipping a light switch on. When Morty didn't scream in agony, he made a satisfied sound. "Good. The goggles are working," he huffed, carrying Morty up the stairs. Morty got a good grip on the lenses, yanking them.

Rick immediately batted his hands away, shifting him a bit. "Do - Don't fucking do that, dipshit. Those are the only thing protecting your weak ass eyes from the scary hall lights." Morty stopped messing with the goggles to fist Rick's coat, frustrated cries escaping his mouth.

"They're better than the shitty lenses you had in that creepy mask. These adjust to light and should let you see colors pretty well. You're Rick must've been incompetent as hell if he couldn't rig something like this up," Rick spoke casually.

"P-put me down," Morty moaned weakly, tugging the lapels of Rick's coat as hard as he could. Rick ignored him and attempted to open a door while juggling Morty in his arms. After a few seconds, the hinges creaked open and the Rick carried him into a barren room.

"One rule kid, before you pass out on me," Rick pressed on firmly. Morty was out of it, gazing around the bare room that may have been someone else's before him. All that stood out in the empty place, was the bed with dark blue starry covers and a lone elephant lamp sitting on the nightstand. It had been cleaned out, almost completely.

The Rick dumped him on the bed, throwing the covers over his body. "Don't you dare touch my fucking family. Maybe Jerry, but not my blood relatives," he barked. Morty could barely process the threat, darkness overwhelming him.

"Don't want to hurt them," he muttered as the Rick sat at the foot of the bed. "Only you," he said hatefully. Morty hugged the soft blankets close, noting that they smelt brand new. He felt a spark of fear as the Rick reached out to shut the light off.

"No," he cried out, the Rick's hand pausing. "The monsters…" he trailed off into more muttering. "They come out at night. They'll kill me, I need my suit. The dark," he whimpered, finally slipping into a dreamless sleep.

Rick blinked as the kid's pleas cut off, his mind connecting loose ends. He watched as Morty curled into a tight, protective ball catching the collar of his shirt in his mouth so he could gnaw on it with sharpened teeth. Rick crossed his legs, taking a half-finished project out of his coat and idly rewiring the circuitry.

That explained the ragged collar of the kid's shirt. Rick paused, collecting his thoughts as he pulled his favorite screwdriver from a pocket. He wished that he'd taken this Morty's files so he could compare the bite marks on the Rick's body to the kid's teeth. Who was he kidding? He screwed the back of the invention back together. Of course the kid ripped that Rick apart.

But why?

Now that was the million dollar question. Rick sighed, rolling his shoulders. He looked around the room, feeling a deluded sense of melancholy. The bare walls, the rugless carpet, all the collected souvenirs from their adventures… Gone

Everything that was left of his Morty was gone. He dropped his invention and the screwdriver, noiselessly falling to the carpet. Rick uncrossed his legs and put his head between his knees, sinking into self-hatred. Not the time for pity Rick. His grandson was dead, and he had to focus on what was going on now.

He couldn't afford to look back.

And he couldn't afford to care.

Rick got up from the bed, stretching and giving the new kid a thoughtful once-over. He peeled the covers back enough so that he could see the faded burns on Morty's neck; those paired with the mottled bruises covering his arms, planted seeds of suspicion in Rick's mind. He didn't like not knowing things.

Mortys didn't kill Ricks. It was a fact. But this one did, and he was starting to figure out why.

Of course he'd never force the kid to say anything regarding this, he had some decency about privacy. It was Morty's secret to keep, and he wasn't willing to drag it out of him. The burns, the bruises, the kid's weight, his Rick's death, and just the way he acted, pointed to some underlying abuse.

Rick shook his head, leaving the room without turning the lamp off. It wasn't his problem, or his place to care. This Morty wasn't his real grandson, he was a shield. Nothing more, nothing less. He headed down the stairs, contemplating the boy's fear of the dark. He guessed that it could be because of the nightmare dimension he had lived in, but he wasn't sure.

He'd deal with it tomorrow. Right now he had to hide anything that could be used as a weapon and find some clothes for the kid to wear, since he was sure that the family had thrown out all of his Morty's after the death. They were so adamant about disposing of everything related to his grandson before the funeral could even be held.

Beth had completely disconnected after her son's death, and he was sure that the only reason that he was allowed to stick around was because she couldn't stand to lose anyone else. Jerry and Summer hated him for it, but seemed to take the passing in strides; resuming their lives soon after.

Rick entered the garage, breaking into his stash and drinking heavily for about an hour. All of his thoughts were centered around his Morty, and how he failed at protecting the one good thing in his life.

After another particularly long swig from his bottle, he rocked back in his swivel chair. He emptied the container, smashing it against the concrete and letting the room spin around him. He buried his face in his hands, thinking deeply about many things.

He was so tired. He would give anything to turn back time and save Morty. Rick stared up at the ceiling. It should have been him. He screamed, swiping an arm across his workbench and allowing everything to crash to the floor. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. Rick dropped his head down to the desk, resisting the urge to vomit.

God, he thought to himself.

Is this all there is?

Rick passed out.

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PaigeK9, signing off!