dipsomaniac
Morty was startled awake by the creaking of his bedroom door. That was never a good sign.
Ever since his grandpa Rick had moved in, he'd become a hyper-vigilant sleeper. Partially because he never knew what kind of crazy situation Rick was going to drag him into and at what time, which in turn meant he really couldn't afford to ever be half-aware. The other reason was that a lot of the things he'd seen and done with Rick were so traumatizing, that deep sleep had become like a far-away opportunity, completely out of reach.
As for now, the dim light from the hallway poured in through a thin crack as the door opened to reveal Morty's oldest relative stumbling through, iconic metal flask in one hand as the other was used to steady himself on the door.
Adrenaline was already pumping through Morty's small body like crazy. Finally, he spoke up, but he was shushed quickly as a long old finger pressed itself onto his lips.
"R-rick what are– are you-"
"Shhhhhhhh,"
He was obviously drunk. He reeked of liquor. Not for the first time Morty thought that the best ad for an anti-drinking campaign was his walking talking grandpa.
Compliant, Morty didn't speak, pulling his legs up and hugging them to his chest nervously. He waited for his grandpa to continue, and it took a couple intoxicated moments for him to gather his thoughts, but eventually he did.
"Y-you're a nice – a good kid, Morty, y'know that?"
It wasn't often he received praise from the older man, and of course it would have to be through something like this. His face was burning from embarrassment, but mostly he just wanted Rick to get out of his room. He had school in the morning, and he really just wanted to get some sleep…
"Gee, thanks Rick, but I-I think you should- you should go-"
Rick paused briefly to burp unabashedly before putting a hand on his grandson's shoulder.
"Such a gooooooood- a good-"
He sploshed some rank-smelling alcohol onto Morty's sheets as he made wild hand gestures to try and illustrate his point before passing out right on the bed. How anti-climactic.
Morty sighed, pulling his grandpa up and taking the flask from his hands to set it on his bedside table.
He took his grandpa's shoes off and carefully pushed the old man so that he was resting on the bed against the wall, fast asleep.
With a tired resignation, Morty pulled the blankets up so that they covered both him and Rick, and tried to settle his heart down enough to fall back asleep. It took a couple hours, but the body heat of the other actually was somewhat comforting, and he managed it eventually, his dreams surprisingly filled with no nightmare nonsense for the first time in a long time.
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