A/N: I hope you all realize that the really fast update pace is because I'm just copying over what I have on AO3, and once the fic is caught up you'll realize I'm actually a garden snail trying to pass as a human

(speaking of which if there are any big formatting errors feel free to let me know)

anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 4

The events afterward passed by in somewhat of a haze.

The portal took them directly back to the bunker. It took longer than usual for Rick to realize they had stepped out into the room they had merely passed through earlier, the larger one that was connected to the hallway and kitchen as well as being cluttered with boxes, shelves, and supplies.

The first thing Morty did was take off and start unloading his backpack. Rick felt a pull prompting him to act similarly by depositing his plasma gun and backpack on the floor, but unlike the boy he didn't immediately retrieve anything from his bag. The strap had been rubbing painfully against his bite wound, anyway, so it was somewhat of a relief that he no longer had to carry it around.

Rick found himself spacing out for a minute or two while Morty was taking stuff out of the bag, before catching himself. Fuck, he was really out of it, wasn't he? Maybe the effects of the venom were still lingering, or his fall from the fucking sky still had his body in recovery mode. He tried not to think about the fact that it was far more likely to be residual shock from his brain getting practically fried.

Despite his exhaustion and disorientation, Rick still paid attention to the room's layout, now that he had the opportunity to do so. It honestly looked like Morty kept over half of all the bunker's supplies in this single room, because while there seemed to be a vague organization scheme it was following, it still looked ridiculously cramped and overcrowded. At least it was still somewhat navigable. Most of the boxes, crates, and shelves seemed to be packed together in the center and corners, so there was a semi-clear path around the edges of the room.

In addition, several complex, hand-drawn blueprints were hung up along the open spaces on the walls. Rick knew he could determine what they were for if he was allowed to study them closer, even with his reduced brainpower, but considering his situation that seemed almost laughable.

Morty had almost completed unloaded his backpack when he finally withdrew the venom vials. He walked over to a small fridge under a desk in the corner of the room, bending down and cracking it open. Rick caught a glimpse of multiple chemical-filled containers stored inside, organized on shelves and labeled. Morty inserted the vials into a rack and promptly shut the door. It didn't surprise Rick that the venom needed to be put into cold storage, since like most organic substances it probably wouldn't preserve well until it was distilled.

Things went by a little quicker after that. The kid's next priority seemed to be further injury treatment, although he didn't bother helping Rick out this time around. Now that the man was no longer incapacitated, he was forced to attend his own wounds, while the kid retreated to a corner of the room to do the same. It was a more complex command than most, but Rick's body seemed to know how to execute it well enough, using strange gels from a medical kit Morty had laid out for him and rubbing them into the cuts and bruises. Rick vaguely wondered if he was drawing from his subconscious knowledge on what each medication did, or if he was drawing from Morty's.

After they were both done bandaging up any residual injuries, Morty started putting away the contents of the two backpacks. Rick stood back and watched as the boy went back and forth, organizing everything away into various places of the room. This included the rifle and gun- it turned out that there was a whole fucking weapons locker against one wall, what the hell- while almost everything else went in boxes or on the shelves. It was tedious as hell, predictably.

Unexpectedly, Morty didn't force Rick to help him out. Considering the fact that kid had been ordering Rick around like a slave for the past several hours, this took Rick by complete surprise. Not that he was complaining, it just… didn't make any sense. Morty definitely would benefit from the extra muscle in this situation, and he had more than enough control over Rick to enforce it, just like every other command before now. What, did he no longer trust Rick to behave himself?

… Shit. That's what this was, wasn't it?

Despite that uncomfortable deduction, Rick could do nothing but wait until the kid was finished. At least he could try studying the room a bit further, but even that was gradually losing his interest. God, he was tired. He briefly considered spacing out again, if only to pass time.

Although it turned out it wasn't completely uneventful. A few minutes later, Rick inadvertently learned how him taking piss breaks was going to work. Without warning, Morty gave a sudden twitch of discomfort. Rick later realized it must have been a mental notification of some kind, because the kid promptly dismissed him to the bathroom. Which was definitely needed, considering that upon receiving the order, it registered with Rick just how badly he had been suppressing the urge to leak this whole time.

Turns out the closed door he noticed from last time wasn't a closet, but actually the sole bathroom in the bunker. It was a rather cramped one too, with just barely enough room for a toilet, sink, and shower. Everything seemed designed with reduced water consumption in mind, and he felt a faint memory twinge of similar tech being used on desert planets. Rick had little opportunity to enjoy his privacy, though, as he did his business with mechanical efficiency and was back out the door in less than five minutes.

Coupled with the fact he had to be ordered to eat, it vaguely disturbed him that his body wouldn't even do basic maintenance anymore unless directly told to.

Morty had finished putting everything away, except he also seemed to have grabbed a large blanket out of a nearby crate. Folding it under one arm, he walked over to Rick and roughly grabbed him by the wrist.

Rick wanted to protest against that, mostly due to a sudden mixture of emotions that could best be summed up as don't fucking touch me, but then Morty locked eyes with him and something just… froze. Like his insides calcified on themselves, an imprint of fear passing through his mind and evaporating his will to fight almost instantly. As a result, the opportunity was lost and Morty dragged him over to the corner of the room unopposed.

Fuck. Rick tried to collect himself, if only out of sheer indignation. What the actual hell was wrong with him? He highly doubted Morty actually did anything in that moment- it was an involuntary, instinctive reaction, one that made him practically flinch. Rick knew the reason for it, and that just made him hate himself even more.

Morty led him to a spot a short distance away from the mattress bed, and he spread the blanket out on the ground. Rick was drawing a complete blank as to what the teenager was doing when Morty turned to face him. There was a sharp pull of lie down.

… Oh. Of course Morty was that much of a jackass that he was having Rick sleep on the floor.

Rick immediately followed the command, lying down on his side. Considering his exhaustion, he could almost fool himself into appreciating it. But despite the blanket providing some padding, the hard floor was still digging into his body and his body heat was being slowly leeched into the cold metal tiles. There's no way he'd be able to fall asleep naturally in this position- he'd have to be massively sleep deprived for that. Or blackout drunk. Of course, Morty was probably going to force it, so Rick's objections to the arrangement didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

He once again saw the impassive look on Morty's face as the kid stared down at him for a moment, then walked over to get something from another nearby crate. He wondered if the asshole was enjoying degrading him like this. Surely on some level he was. Aside from the occasional smirk or remark, though, the kid definitely wasn't showing it. Either the kid gave no fucks, or he constantly put on a mask. Probably both, if Rick had to be honest.

Rick knew that the teenager was still subtly pissed off in some way from the alien attack, enough that he was acting more guarded than usual. Acting out was incredibly dangerous at the moment, but Rick mostly ignored that. He felt so damn frustrated with that panicky lizard part of his brain that he wanted to confirm to himself that he could still do it. That he could still take back a little control whenever he wanted to, and any lingering fear from that shockwasn't going to stop him.

So the second Morty's back was turned, Rick prepared to resist again. Only by a small amount, though. He didn't think he had the energy to do more than that, and him lying on the floor really limited how much he could affect, anyway. His insides twisted and iced over once he started, but after a moment of struggling he managed to swallow back the fear and reach that level of manufactured calmness once more.

After a few seconds, he felt his fingers shift ever so slightly. Okay, good. Rick began to slowly relax. That shock to his brain didn't actually… "fix" anything, like his more paranoid thoughts had feared. He could still disrupt the control. He wasn't completely locked in, and he could still affect things if he really wanted to.

Then the relief was promptly shattered when a searing, blinding pain suddenly lanced through his skull.

His body jerked and involuntarily curled up into a ball as the sensory overload blocked out everything else. His blood felt as though it was boiling as it pumped through his veins. And for that one second, it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out.

The pain-filled haze afterward was disturbingly familiar. Shallow and unsteady breaths escaped him. His brain felt scrambled, but in a different way than the recalibration.

Fucking piece of... how had Rick forgotten that Morty had a fucking sixth sense installed when it came to him resisting?

Rick's body was slowly uncurling itself against the floor now that the pain shock was over, his breathing slowing down accordingly. His eyes immediately flickered up to Morty, who was holding up that goddamn remote again. Morty had tilted his head in Rick's direction, meeting his gaze directly, and he was giving him the creepiest fucking smile that Rick had ever seen. It was far more sadistic and self-assured than anything that should be on a teenager's face and that sent a cold feeling down his spine.

Then the command of sleep pressed itself into Rick's brain and his concentration started to falter. His deep sense of unease followed him into unconsciousness.

It became clear the following day that something had shifted in Morty's behavior.

Less than a minute after Rick had been woken up, he underwent an unprovoked recalibration. Despite the process still being uncomfortable and a bit of a mindfuck, it wasn't nearly as incapacitating as before. Rick knew that was because he had almost fully adapted to it by this point, and it only took about five or six minutes for the dizziness to fade completely this time around. The process also no longer elicited the same sort of dread that it used to, but considering what he could now compare it with, that wasn't all that surprising.

Morty then proceeded to drag him over to the room with the padded chair and put that bulky helmet on him again. Rick was just coming out of the calibration fugue at this point, so he only had a brief time to register that Morty seemed to be using the computer terminal to upload something into the helmet. The entire process was completed rather quickly, leaving Rick little time to theorize what the hell was being installed into his head. Once everything was finished, Morty examined him for a moment, pulled off the helmet, and made Rick follow him out of the room.

Overall it left Rick feeling more confused and unsettled than anything. Like last time, he felt no different, making it difficult for him to pinpoint what could have changed. At this point it seemed obvious that Morty was using that helmet to interface with whatever technology that was implanted in Rick's skull, as well as to make adjustments when necessary. Rick knew it had to be something like cybernetics in his head, anyway, since he couldn't think of much else that would allow for this degree of control over a person. It was probably responsible for his memory problems, too, although he suspected that was merely a side effect. Morty probably didn't plan out that part, considering he didn't even expect Rick to be conscious in the first place.

Speaking of the kid, he seemed to be almost… tired. There were subtle bags under his eyes indicating a lack of sleep, although his visible eye was still relatively sharp and attentive. It didn't seem to be hindering him in any significant way- in fact, Morty seemed eerily more relaxed than the day before- but still, Rick couldn't help but take note of it. What was that asshole up to the previous night while Rick was asleep?

Admittedly, Rick had no idea how to track time in this place. There weren't any windows in the facility, and the only reference he had was from their venom-gathering expedition, where it had appeared to be the middle of the night. He couldn't even be sure that the nights on this planet were the same length as those on Earth, so even that wasn't all that helpful. It was fucking with his circadian rhythm badly, which was probably one of the reasons why he was still groggy despite sleeping for what had to be several hours.

After a quick breakfast, which consisted mostly of canned beans and some sort of sickly sweet alien fruit, Rick was ordered to redress his wounds from the prior evening. They were still sore, but those healing gels had been quite effective, with even the worst of the wounds being completely scabbed over. They'd probably be completely healed by the following day. Morty didn't bother to check his own wounds, so Rick suspected that either the kid had already done it while Rick was unconscious or that the gash had healed enough to not bother.

Then, they got to work. "Work" being whatever inscrutable shit Morty had planned for today, although it seemed significantly more low-key this time around. They didn't even go outside, instead staying mostly contained to the large, central room. The next hour or so mainly consisted of Morty working at a desk in the corner while Rick was kept occupied with mundane busywork, like sorting electronic components, rearranging supplies in the room, and fetching things for the kid when necessary.

It left Rick with a lot of time to think to himself. For the most part, though, he found himself trying to figure out Morty. Currently the teenager appeared to be multitasking with unnerving efficiency. Sometimes he would work on the drone from before, which was laying out on the table with its interior panels opened up. He seemed to be following a blueprint he had pulled down from the wall, although considering it looked hand-drawn Rick wouldn't be surprised if Morty had designed it himself. Rick was almost grudgingly impressed at the kid's intelligence, although deep down that trait felt wrong in a way that he still didn't fully understand.

The other project Morty seemed to be working on was drawing up a completely new blueprint. It wasn't of a machine or drone, though. It looked almost like a building, except it seemed to be dome-shaped and spiky with an almost labyrinthine interior. Rick had no idea what it was for, especially since it seemed to be in early planning stages, but it gave off a moderately intimidating vibe. Although the spikes were definitely a bit tacky.

What was Morty's end goal with all of this? What was his motivation? He was clearly fucked in the head, but even that wasn't enough of an incentive for most people. Everything the teenager was doing felt intensely premeditated, so it was unlikely to be an impulsive spur-of-the-moment thing, either. Morty was using Rick for something, just like he was using the alien venom and drone and whatever else he was working on. The pieces were there, but Rick couldn't connect them together into a cohesive picture. It gave him a headache if he strained to think about it too long.

Rick was also starting to notice that Morty was paying more attention to him than usual. Every five to ten minutes the kid would glance up from whatever he was doing and fix Rick with an unnerving stare. It often interrupted Rick while he was deep in thought, and he couldn't help but snap to attention, freezing in whatever he was doing. But Morty wouldn't say anything, just hold that dissecting gaze for a moment before resuming his work, as well as forcing Rick to do the same.

If this had been yesterday, Rick would be increasingly pissed off by it, and to a degree he still was. What the fuck did the kid want, and why was he wasting Rick's time with these staredowns? It felt like Morty was trying to intimidate him and, normally, Rick would take it as a challenge and stubbornly refuse to back down.

… But now, Rick couldn't help but feel a faint memory of pain flash through his mind, and he would internally wince as his insides clenched. Morty forcing him to break eye contact and go back to mundane, slavish tasks would almost come as a relief.

The hatred and anger Rick had been internalizing from the previous day was starting to seep in, ever so slightly. He knew exactly what Morty was doing with those shocks- inflicting pain was the most simple strategy for conditioning creatures into obedience, after all, and Morty was now using it on him, like he was some dumb fucking dog that would put its tail between its legs and stop barking if it was kicked hard enough.

The worst part was that it was absolutely working.

The pain shock had only happened twice and Rick was already feeling that traitorous part of his brain flinching and shivering away at the mere idea of resisting wasn't like the reasonable caution he already had, despite him not liking to admit that fearing a teenager in any capacity could be considered "reasonable". This new fear was both irrational and cowardly, and it made his self-hatred bubble back up, internally hissing at himself it's just pain, it's just pain, stop being such a fucking wimp.

Rick didn't think it would hinder him for longer than a few days, though. It took far more than pain to break him, especially because it seemed Morty was being very careful to not damage him physically- Rick would be far less useful if injured, after all. The shock had gone directly to his brain but left no marks after it was finished, so that intense pain had just been false alarms firing off in his head. A mere mental construct, nothing else.

Rick just had to be less stupid about resisting from now on. He so desperately wanted to remain petty, to keep interfering with the control whenever possible, but not only did his prior delays not appear to have a significant impact, they weren't… weren't worth it anymore, not with the new punishment method Morty was using. Only situations where he could do some lasting damage were worthwhile now, anything that was enough to create a major setback and make that little shit suffer. That would be enough for Rick to figuratively grit his teeth and endure whatever Morty threw at him in retaliation. He just had to bide his time and wait for another opportunity.

Unfortunately, Morty seemed to be keeping Rick out of any situation where he could make a real mess. Nothing Rick was interacting with seemed to be essential or irreplaceable. He was still being forced to help Morty, sure, but his actions were subtle enough that he wasn't in a position to fuck anything up like before.

So he tried to distract himself for the time being. After the first six or so times he was sent to do chores, Rick attempted to pass time by doing stupid shit in his head, like counting how many colors of computer chips were in a box, how many rolls of copper wire were stacked on a nearby shelf, and the exact ratio of textbooks to novels in a small bookshelf against the far wall. That got repetitive rather quickly, so after somehow stretching it out for a half hour, he went back to trying to come up with a plan.

Right now, Rick was being forced to sort through a large crate of mechanical parts, looking for a specific type of processor chip for the drone. Based on all the things he had fetched already, he was starting to piece together that the drone was for utility purposes, not combat. For one thing, it had no weapons whatsoever, nor any spaces where they might be equipped. In addition, most of the parts Rick had delivered so far were better suited for advanced scanning systems than anything violent.

It still didn't give Rick any real idea of what Morty was going to use the drone for. Perhaps it was a mobile, smaller-scale alternative to that scanner at the top of the mountain? If Morty was going to be harvesting any more alien venom in the near future, a function like that could certainly come in handy. Or it could be for some completely different reason. Either way, Rick had no way of knowing for sure until the thing was completed.

Rick finished sorting the entire bin into neatly divided categories, and he was starting to get the impression Morty was ordering him to do things like this specifically to waste his time. After all, this wasn't the first time he had "sorted" something in the room, and it didn't really make finding the requested item significantly easier. After Rick finished delivering the chip- again, he thought grudgingly, like a fucking slave- he was made to turn around and started walking back to a particularly shelf-dense section of the room.

Then there was a sensation like something twisting sharply in his head, and Rick suddenly staggered and tripped.

Rick's body thankfully caught itself and regained its balance before he could smack his face into the floor, but that interruption came completely out of nowhere. Especially after nearly an hour of uneventful labor. His thoughts were scattered into a confused mess as he tried to piece together what just happened. Did he just glitch? What the actual hell?

Morty was completely silent. Rick's stomach twisted slightly upon realizing that the kid almost certainly saw that, even though he couldn't turn around to check. But since Rick didn't actually resist just now, he doubted he'd get punished, so his thoughts were less fearful and more confused overall.

After a brief pause, Rick felt a forceful mental prod, prompting him to continue working like nothing had even happened. And for a short while he wondered if that's all it was- a random, isolated event. But less than five minutes later, when Rick was reaching for a small box on top of a high shelf, there was another sharp twisting sensation. He lost his footing and fell backwards onto his ass, hard.

This time, he heard Morty stifle a laugh behind him.

With the ache of Rick's wounds being reawakened from the impact, it took a moment for it all to click. The bafflement left his mind in an instant, and what replaced it was a dark, burning feeling.

Really? Just… really? Out of all the petty shit the asshole could be doing?

As if to confirm it, the next time Rick turned around to face Morty, he could see the teenager had an infuriatingly relaxed smile on his face. He was giving Rick this look, as though he was daring him to respond. It was like he knew just how much this was pissing Rick off and was thoroughly amused by it.

God damn it, Morty was enjoying this whole thing, wasn't he?

The interruptions continued for the next half hour, and it was almost like a cycle. At complete random, Morty would fuck with whatever Rick was doing in a minor, petty way. It often resulted in Rick toppling over, or veering into a wall, or other physically humiliating shit. It would never cause damage to whatever Rick was interacting with, because of fucking course it wouldn't. Morty was being calculated with this, after all.

Rick really, really wanted to break something right now. Preferably Morty's neck. The control digging into him had never felt stronger, though, and it put his lack of options into stark relief. His hatred was simmering to the point where, right after another forced fuck-up, he couldn't help but mentally glare at Morty as hard as possible, even though he knew his eyes wouldn't actually convey it.

Morty must have suspected his mental state, though, because he raised an eyebrow in feigned curiosity. "What's wrong, Rick?"

If Rick could, his eye would've twitched.

It took all of his self-control to not retaliate. It was blatantly obvious that Morty was doing this to mock him, to get a reaction out of him. Rick hated every second of it, but he needed to deny the fucker the satisfaction of a response. Fighting right now wouldn't accomplish anything- any small movement he was capable of wouldn't be nearly cathartic enough, and he'd just get his brain fried again, anyway.

But then… Morty was winning either way. If Rick lashed out to try to get back at the asshole, he'd get shocked. And if he didn't do anything, he'd essentially be sitting down and taking the humiliation quietly. Morty had forced Rick into a situation without any exits, and it was making him increasingly desperate, no matter how hard he tried to push the emotions down.

It had reached the point where, when Rick was later searching through a pile of scrap metal, he couldn't even bother to give a damn about the reason behind it. The scraps were all different shapes, sizes, and materials, and none of them looked like they would fit on the now-completed drone, so for all he knew it was just another random fucking activity Morty was making him do for shits and giggles.

When Rick picked up a dangerously jagged piece of plating, though, he felt a sudden pull in his mind, and his grip tightened around it. Before he could even think, he flipped the razor-sharp end towards himself and plunged it towards his chest, stopping it just a hair's width away from his sternum.

Everything inside of Rick froze.

He stared at the scrap metal, unable to take his eyes off of it. If that went forward another inch or two, he'd be dead. Either by the tip going straight through his heart, or it piercing through a major artery and making him bleed to death. Both seemed possible from this position. And if he tried to resist or jerk his hand away, there's no guarantee that wouldn't just accidentally stab it into his chest anyway.

If he was in control of himself he was sure his breathing would have stopped, or at least become rather shallow. But, firm grip on the dagger-like object aside, Rick's body was acting eerily calm, like his self-preservation instinct was completely suppressed.

Rick looked up slightly and saw Morty casually resting his head in the palm of his hand. He was still smiling, but this time there was a distinct lack of humor in his expression.

It was almost impressive how fast Rick's anger shriveled away.

Once again, Morty didn't say anything. He didn't need to say anything. So far, he rarely seemed to ever speak to Rick except to mock or intimidate him, and yet there was definitely communication going on in the meantime- disturbing, antagonistic, and one-sided communication, but communication nonetheless.

And what was being said here, clear as day, was make one move and you die.

A hint of familiar frustration flared up in Rick, before fizzling away like a dead spark. He already knew how vulnerable his position was, but this was the first time he'd actually been physically threatened. Threatened with forced suicide, no less. But that wasn't right. Morty still needed him alive, that much was clear. This had to be an empty threat. He wouldn't go through with it.

"How do you know I wouldn't?"

Rick's stomach dropped even further.

There was something very knowing about Morty's smirk right now. And with the exact timing of that response...

Rick remembered that program installed with the helmet earlier, Morty's relaxed behavior in contrast with yesterday, and how the kid seemed to be enjoying provoking him a bit too much. Like he somehow knew what Rick was feeling in a way that was too precise to be entirely guesswork. The realization hit like a cold wave.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"I mean, you're right." Morty shrugged, and Rick's arm started to relax and lower. "I don't have a reason to kill you yet. But it was kind of funny how you believed it for a moment."

With that, the pressure in Rick's head released somewhat, his grip loosened, and he dropped the scrap metal back onto the floor.

It was at that point Rick's self-control finally snapped.

He lunged at Morty, or at least he instinctively tried to. But unsurprisingly, his blinding fury wasn't enough to override the control, and all he managed was a sharp twitch in Morty's direction, a sort of halting movement like his muscles froze mid-step.

His murderous intent drained away the instant he realized what he just did. Panic returned like a punch to the gut, along with a deep sense of dread. Morty didn't look that surprised by the attempted attack- in fact, the expression on his face had become almost triumphant.

The kid's hand moved. There was a sound of a button press, and the excruciating pain nearly knocked Rick to the floor.

As the pain slowly faded for the third time, Rick wanted to grind his teeth in sheer frustration, an explosive barrage of fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you punctuating through his head. He struggled to suppress his helpless rage and fear, which were blending together into something resembling hysteria, but he couldn't help it. It was too damn overwhelming. With that new algorithm installed, Morty was probably fully aware of it and enjoying every moment, the fucking sociopath.

God, Rick hoped he had enough patience to survive the rest of this ordeal.