A/N#: This is the Prequel to the Fanfic "Broken" by Pseudoricked...So, please make sure to read that wonderfully written and powerful Fic first! You can find it here: s/12404277/1/Broken
A/N #2: There will be a 2nd and a 3rd part to this (the 3rd part is the Epilogue.) Thanks for the inspiration, Pseudoricked! This is not going to be pretty. You may need tissues. Read on (if you dare).
Later on, Rick couldn't recall what had sent the Rickmobile spiraling out of control….perhaps it had been the slightest nudge of an asteroid which sent them hurtling into space, much like a whirling dirvish or the Tazmanian Devil on speed, as Rick tried everything and anything he could possibly think of to try and regain control of the steering wheel, but alas, to no avail.
Beside him, Morty was completely freaking out, more so than Rick had ever seen him panic before-and it was making it hard not to panic himself, because at this point, he wasn't sure what was going to happen….and Rick was the kind of person who had to know what was going to happen.
"Just- for Chrissakes, will you just fucking se-settle the fuck down and shut the fuck UP, Morty!" He didn't care how harsh he sounded, as all the while he was more concerned with struggling to maintain focus on the controls in front of him, searching desperately for the ejector seat button that he'd inserted in case of an emergency such as this one. "You-I can't freaking think with your stupid ass crybaby crap, you, you're gonna get us both killed!"
"Oh God we're gonna die we're gonna die we're gonna-"
"I said SHUT the fuck UP, MORTY!" Rick shouted as he snatched the lapel of his grandson's t-shirt, viciously shaking him so as to bring him back to his senses-but Morty only looked more paranoid and fearful than before, and doubly traumatized by the action of Rick shaking him in such a fury.
"Oooooooooh!" Morty cried out with agony and horror, immediately shielding his face with his arms, and Rick's attention snapped towards the front window, just in time to see what Morty was seeing: a large planet looming suddenly within their vision.
"Ooooh, fuck…." It was all Rick could manage to say before bracing himself for the inevitable impact.
It would be the last thing he'd remember.
The first thing to tickle his consciousness was the undeniable scent of blood.
It was in his nose, and in his mouth; he felt a moistness on his skin.
He looked down, and there was Morty.
Morty's eyes were closed, and he was covered with blood.
Rick blinked. "M...Morty?"
Morty didn't respond.
He also wasn't moving.
His grandson's face was smeared with blood and the sight of it made Rick's mind reel; where was the blood coming from? He managed to lift his arm a little; it felt like dead weight as he moved his hand towards Morty's face, towards where the source of the blood seemed to be….It took carefully brushing aside a few strands of Morty's hair to reveal a large gaping wound out of which fresh bright red blood was still flowing freely. It seemed as though it were a few inches thick, Rick noted; deep enough to possibly even penetrate bone. He had seen wounds that were far, far worse in the war….so why was he feeling so nauseated by the sight of it?
Get fucking ahold of yourself Sanchez. This is a simple head wound, you have treated amputees before without so much a blink of an eye.
For some reason, he couldn't stop staring at the wound and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Fucking stop it! He yelled at himself silently. Looking around wildly he located his emergency flask still sitting in the back pocket of the driver's seat; he snatched it up and drank what little was left from it heavily without stopping to breath. First aid kit….where in the hell is the stupid fucking first aid kit? He rummaged about blindly in the back of the vehicle, searching desperately for the unmistakable white box. At long last he found it, and immediately went about tending to his grandson's wounds, wrapping his head heavily with gauze and applying anesthetic to any other open cuts he found (of which were many).
Throughout the ordeal, Morty did not stir.
"C'mon there Morty." Rick was beginning to get impatient. "C'mon, stop being a nuisance and snap the fuck out of it, Morty." Once done he gently shook his grandson's shoulder. "Lemme...lemme get you some water, okay?" Once again he went rummaging in the back of the vehicle, forgetting all the while about his own wounds, and the fact that his own face and arm was bleeding, and that he couldn't feel some of his toes. He was also pretty sure he probably had a conscussion, but that could be taken care of later. First he had to figure out what to do to help Morty.
He tilted the kid's head back gently as possible, and slowly lifted the water to the rim of Morty's lips. "You, you gotta drink this stuff. It's, it's gonna help you get your strength back Morty." He waited for any sign of swallowing from Morty, watching his throat for any signal of a response; however, he saw nothing; his grasdson remained just as still and as silent as before, and an uneasiness was beginning to settle deep in the pit of Rick's stomach.
He didn't care that he was barely able to focus on anything around him, and that his ship was probably broken beyond repair, and perhaps they would be stuck there forever, unless he could figure out a way to fix the machine (and he would find a way, he was Rick fucking Sanchez)….nor did he care that his head was pounding, slowly killing him. All he cared about, in that moment, was getting some kind of response, any kind of response, from his grandson. "M-Morty?" Once again, he leaned in close towards Morty's face, and gave him a little gentle nudge with his hand.
It was then that he noticed something unusual: Morty's chest was still; he could feel no puff of air from Morty's mouth, and a newfound sense of dread, as well as a rising feeling of uncertainty and something that closely resembled terror was beginning to take hold. "Okay Morty...I'm, I'm not gonna hurt you, I, I'm just gonna, gonna feel your pulse for a sec, OK?" Rick placed two of his fingers gently against the nape of Morty's neck. He'd done this a hundred times during the Revolution against the Federation, and most of the time, the skin he'd touched was already cold.
Morty's was warm, but rigid and still….awfully still. There was no signature flutter, and Rick quickly moved the same fingers to Morty's wrist, not caring that it too was covered in his blood. (Was it his blood? Or was it Rick's own blood? He'd never know.) Here too was still, and the feeling in Rick's stomach began to drop very quickly, and he could feel his own pulse beginning to quicken, and a roar like the wind was beginning to pick up in the space between his ears.
No-oh please no-he can't be-this can't be-how can this BE!? In spite of his growing nausea and dizziness Rick lunged for his grandson's other wrist, placing his fingers directly on where the pulse should have been as best he could, but his fingers were still shaking, he was hyperventilating like an idiot and he could barely get them to stay still; even when he did, it was for nought; he could see that Morty's lips were beginning to turn blue.
"Dammit-oh fucking dammit-NO-SHIT MORTY-Just-just FUCKING NO!" He couldn't stop the shout that seemed to rise from the depths of his soul, as he took each of Morty's shoulders by the hands and began violently shaking him. "Wake UP dammit! Wake the fuck UP you fucking MORON! Don't you fucking dare DO this to me!" He spat blood as he screamed in his grandson's face but he didn't care; he kept shaking him and shouting. "You are so goddamn STUPID! You fucking STUPID FUCKING MORON-" He halted as he struggled to resist the urge to slap him in the face, instead continued to shake him as though he were a rag doll; Morty did not respond, and Rick knew then that Morty would not respond then, now or ever again….because he was gone….he'd already been gone, and the entire time Rick had been tending to a corpse. "Don't you DARE fucking do it M-m-MORTY!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, not caring how much of a lunatic he sounded; who would hear him?
Bringing Morty up to a sitting position, Rick brought the boy in close and rocked him. He could feel the blood on Morty's face mixing with his own, blood that was slowly turning cold, and he drew the boy in closer. Feeling his grandson's own blood on his skin, something irrepairable broke suddenly inside of Rick; burying his head deep into the soft fabric Morty's shirt, he began to sob out loud, he couldn't stop it; he held his grandson close and cried like a baby.
Rick had seen a lot of things that would bring most to their knees. He had watched close friends die tragic death. He had witnessed atrocities that could have the potential to drive anyone mad. This was no exception. For a very long time he sat next to the body and watched the sun set. That night it got cold, and he huddled next to his grandson as he nursed what little of his emergency stash he could find. He spoke to his grandson about everything and nothing; it didn't matter what he said, because he wouldn't remember a word of it in the morning.
When the sun rose, Rick located his toolkit and went about the business of burying his grandson's body. It was a motion he had gone through many times, and did not take much thought; he did so swiftly and without fail. There would be no marker on Morty's grave; he would remember where he'd said goodbye, and that was all that Rick needed to know.
The ship did not take long to fix. By midday Rick had climbed back into the pilot's seat. His head was pounding and his vision swam but somehow he managed to get the ship back into the atmosphere, and fly away….without looking back.
It wasn't until he enetered another galaxy's realm that Rick realized his dreadful mistake: he'd buried his grandson without his family's permission. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. He didn't care what Jerry had to say but he knew his daughter was going to raise holy hell, and he would be lucky if he didn't get kicked out of the house, banished, and he couldn't say he would blame her at all if she did so.
After all, she had every reason to hate him.
Her son was dead because of him.