Rick ate the pizza rolls like he was in an eating competition. What he really needed was some water. He wasn't feeling all that great, but a few steps before puking to make it better or passing out, so he needed to power through. He'd wanted to go with the Ball Fondlers plan, but his body was unwilling. He couldn't handle another adventure today, so the cable box was the next best thing. At least with this plan he could a) get downstairs and get a nonalcoholic drink, b) watch some weird TV and stop thinking and c) if he did happen to pass out, at least Morty would have Summer and not be alone. He was surprised Morty hadn't balked at the idea since he hadn't wanted to see Summer before, but maybe talking about the shit in his head and getting questions answered had helped it slip from his mind. He at least seemed to be in a better mood.
Rick's mood, on the other hand, was far from positive. He didn't have any distraction from his thoughts just yet and the voucher situation was weighing on him. Distress mounted when he thought about it. Would a good grandfather really replace his grandson after he died? Maybe in the tacky way, like getting a new hobby, but it wasn't like he was going to succeed him with a pet. That would be worse, right? It would be better to have a Morty than a dog named Morty II. That would really be a bad substitution and he'd heard of people doing that. So he couldn't be any worse than those people. Right?
Who the fuck was he kidding, it was worse. It was a poor way of coping. He'd spent a good amount of time convincing Morty things would be different, but a new Morty would be a type of stand-in. A way for him to pretend Morty never died, that he was always with him, even though he'd know that was a conscious lie. Which was pretty fucked up. What was even more fucked up was that he had to convince himself a new Morty would be different. He knew he'd given Morty facts, he hadn't been bullshitting, but he needed a reminder, especially with the other thoughts he was having, thoughts he'd had before in periods of drunkenness or that slot of time before you fell asleep. Thoughts that he was now taking into consideration because of said drunkenness. Thoughts that he loathed himself for having.
There were some things he couldn't tell Morty. One was another reason for the voucher, one that he'd never say out loud, not even under the most severe torture. The worst part about replacing Morty, something Morty would never forgive him for, was the real reason he'd pushed the difference between Mortys so much. Because he'd use the voucher, not just to down the family suicide average if Morty was gone (which was majority Rick-based), but as something far more selfish.
As a ticket to a potential relationship.
If he got a new Morty, a part of him believed it would be ok to act on the feelings he had hidden. Those taboo, more than familial feelings. The ones that caused him to love as well as lust when most would be sickened and appalled at the notion. He knew Morty would be and part of him was too, but not enough to stop the thoughts that came to him. To withstand the desire to hold him close and kiss him, like he wanted to when Morty made him proud and more than once today to make him feel better, although he knew that wouldn't help. To shake the dreams he had, dreams where he did things to his grandson that he drank away memories of during the day. The kind of shit that kept him up at night because he didn't want those nighttime fantasies to come back, but they always did. The only way to keep them at bay was to get black out drunk.
It wasn't the first time he'd had feelings like this, but what he had for Morty was harder to repress.
Regardless of difficulty, Rick Sanchez would never act on those feelings. He would never do anything inappropriate with Morty. Sometimes he got close, like today in the shower, but even though his entire life he'd thrown caution to the wind, believed that he should experience everything, that if it was bad for you it had to be done, it was the one thing he'd never, ever do, no matter how much he wanted to.
Rick didn't give a fuck if he was going to a non-existant hell, if there was anyone who deserved it it was him, but he would never drag Morty down with him.
The free Morty voucher changed things. If he had the voucher, it wouldn't be his real grandson. Technically they'd still be related, but the different realities distorted things, even by just a hair, which was enough of a difference for him, enough for him to argue with. If a different Morty was enough like his Morty...he wouldn't have to worry about burning that bridge. He could wait until he was 18, avoid the incest and pedophilia, and if things worked out he could be happy. And if they didn't he could say, "Fuck it, he's not really Morty anyway" and hope the feelings died or drink them away like he already did, the only change being real rejection.
Any positive outcome was a ridiculous notion. There was no way he'd be happy, a self-sabotaging fuck like himself never would. In the first place, he'd never be as happy as he was with his Morty. If there ever came a time where he had to use that voucher, he didn't think there was any coming back. Regardless of how Morty went, it would all come back to Rick and his negligence and he would never forgive himself. He'd try to fill the hole Morty left, but it would be impossible. He'd make it distinctly different to ensure that wound never healed. It was true, having a new Morty around would surely help, just as it helped countless other Ricks, but it would never be the same, no matter how much he pretended. Every time the kid would laugh he'd hear the difference, every time he talked back without a small moment of hesitation, he'd know. It would be helpful in some ways, but painful in others. And that was exactly how he wanted it.
Even if he did manage to get back to a good place, to start a relationship with a new Morty, and he knew some Rick's did without a guilty conscience, he couldn't get by without regret. How could he look his daughter in the eye after sleeping with her alleged son? How could he eat dinner with the family while Morty tried to hold his hand under the table? To sleep around with hands over mouths praying they didn't get caught? How would he deal with it when Morty decided he wanted to get married, to have a real future with someone else? When Morty realized what a sick fuck he was and cut off all contact with him for the terrible shit he coerced him into? Or worse, what if he screwed with Morty so much that the kid didn't want someone else? What if Morty became obsessed with him and Rick went and died? How would Morty cope? Would he make it through or would he become a new kind of Rick in an endless cycle of fucked up shenanigans?
There was no way for the whole ordeal to go well. He knew it. Life always fucked you over. He hated these stupid fantasies for worming their way into his head, trying to tell him it would all work out. Trying to tell him he could pull through if his grandson ever passed because, hey, at least he'd get a new fuck buddy out of it. These stupid warm and fuzzy fantasies were so far removed from reality, so unattainable, so incredibly wrong, but they never stopped. They never would.
He felt sick, but it wasn't the liquor this time. He didn't want to think about this, not now, not ever. He loved Morty with everything he had. He didn't want to lose him and he'd do everything in his power to keep Morty by his side. Not that he was going to be nice about it, he was too jaded to be nice all the time, but he'd never backed out on Morty and he never planned to. Whatever he needed, whether it was getting him a date and ruining their home planet, leaving his real daughter behind in the process, or watching his pills. He was too far gone over this kid. There was no coming back from these feelings. When it came down to it, the voucher garbage was completely avoidable. He wouldn't use it for a new Morty, he wouldn't use it for a relationship. The truth was, if there ever came a day where Rick could use that voucher, he'd use a gun instead.
God he was drunk. Should he skip the water and go back to the flask? Passing out sounded great right about now.
He couldn't. This was his own mess, his own genius mind screwing him over like it always did, and he couldn't relay that to Morty. He had to stop carrying on about his stupid fantasies and focus on reality, on his grandson right here, right now. That's what the grown up was supposed to do.
He stood swiftly, eyes blacking out at the abrupt moving and causing him to stagger. Morty, who'd been eying his eerily silent and sick-looking grandfather, was on his feet in an instant, hand around his waist. "G-geez, Rick, are you ok? Maybe we-we should sit a bit longer..."
"No way," Rick responded stubbornly, grasping Morty's shoulder platonically because his vision hadn't come back quite yet. "I said we'd watch interdimensional cable and I meant it."
"That doesn't mean we have to do it right now!" Morty insisted, trying to keep Rick steady as he started lumbering toward the door, doing his best to keep pace.
Rick stopped abruptly and turned to Morty, his vision returning, making it seem like the kid was bright at the edges and black further out. A halo effect. It was trippy as shit and made him look like an angel. This was not helping. He licked his lips and looked away. "I need some mindless TV right now, M-Morty. So give grandpa a hand and we'll get this party started!"
Rick was trying to be upbeat but he was making a piss poor show of it. Morty wasn't bright, but it was clear something was up. He wondered if this was his fault. If what he'd done had pushed Rick too far. He was believing the worst right away, though, Rick was like this sometimes. As he'd said himself, he wasn't exactly a stable person; Morty knew that as well as anyone. And it wasn't like Rick gave long explanations about why he acted the way he did, he just acted and left it to be figured out later or not figured out at all, so he couldn't blame himself, it wouldn't be a good path to start back onto.
That wasn't how anxiety worked, though, it wasn't rational, but he did his best to push it back as he helped Rick downstairs. If he was hellbent on fixing the cable box he might as well help him do it so he didn't hurt himself.
After an immense struggle down the stairs, Rick pushed him away and stumbled through the living room to get to the kitchen. Morty hesitated in the entryway, thinking about going through the dining room instead, both to avoid Summer and because it was the shorter distance. It wasn't much of a question, he had to follow Rick. Just in case he tripped over himself or did something stupid. His grandpa was always drunk, but he was rarely this drunk and he was unpredictable when he was like this. Besides, Summer hadn't said anything to him earlier, so things were probably fine. Maybe she'd forgotten about yesterday? In any case, he had to see her eventually whether it be now or later.
In the brief moment he took to debate, he heard Summer worriedly ask before he walked into the room, "Are you alright, grandpa?" Morty entered in time to see Summer half kneeling, looking over the back of the couch towards the kitchen, phone still in hand. Rick waved her off as he staggered through the opening to the kitchen, not looking at her, "I'm -uuuuurp- just dandy, S-Summer."
Summer turned to get off the couch and found herself facing Morty. Morty was rooted to the spot by her gaze. Forgetting about the silent treatment, she asked with concern and exaggerated despair, "What's he doing getting drunk so early? Why can't there be any normal adults in this family?"
It was a question of commiseration, a 'damn our grandpa is weird and sad and his kooky ass makes us worry about him sometimes' kind of comment, an 'our family is fucking weird how do we live with this?' kind of comment, but Morty felt like it was an accusation. A 'what did you do? Why would you do this to him?' and he felt guilty. He stood silently, staring at his shoes because he was unable to look her in the eye.
Summer quickly grew annoyed at his silence, remembering her earlier anger and allowing it to bubble to the surface, "What, not going to talk to me? Your sister's too much of a nosey bitch?" Morty flinched. She still remembered alright and now she really was accusing him of something; of being a dick. And she was right. She continued in a mocking tone, "Summer doesn't deserve to know anything, just let us run the boys club while you keep your boobs in line, is that it?"
"Oh, for-for Christ's sake, Summer," Rick called from the kitchen. Morty heard a glass clink against the counter and hoped he was filling it with water and not more booze, "It's been a long day, so-so just give it a-a rest, ok? Your damn whining is giving grandpa a headache."
Morty glanced at Summer and she looked like she had more to say, her mouth lingering half open for a space of time, but then it closed. What she really wanted to say was that Rick had a headache because he was a drunk, not because of her, and she had no sympathy for him. That of course he'd pipe up to defend Morty, he always did. Morty was a perfect little angel according to her grandpa, to her parents; Morty could do no wrong. Morty was the favorite. No matter how good her grades were, how responsible she acted, how nice she was, how much she cared, Morty was always going to be the favorite. That was why she didn't bother with all of that anymore, why she worked harder to have friends instead. Might as well be honest if being nice didn't make a difference.
Summer closed her eyes, took a breath, and laid back down on the couch. "Whatever," she responded dully. She was too nice to say all that, even if her family didn't know or appreciate it. There was no point in saying it anyway. What would it do? Not change anything, that's for sure. She held up her phone to check Facebook and planned to tune them out.
"I-I didn't mean it, ya know?" Morty spoke up suddenly. He knew he had to say it and it might as well be now. He didn't like it when people were mad at him, especially his family. And Summer was mean to him sometimes, but it was normal sibling stuff. Nothing worth calling her the b-word over. He'd regretted it the moment he'd said it, he really didn't like that word at all and he'd never intended to call her that.
He also wanted to say this because he knew the conversation was coming, the Morty tried to kill himself pity party, and he wanted her to hear this and hopefully forgive him on her own terms, not because she felt like she had to. Which seemed like a weird thing to be worried about if he thought on it too long. It wasn't a huge issue, just a sibling squabble and a few bad names, it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever done, but he wanted it to be settled the semi-normal way, the one that didn't involve ignoring each other and holding grudges for later.
Summer looked over her phone derisively, not believing him for a second. Morty sat on the arm of the couch, doing his best to look at her even though he really didn't like her expression so his eyes kept switching between her and the floor. "R-really. I-I like it when you ask. I-I was just having a-a-a really bad day and I didn't mean it," he repeated. He thought about what he said, looked at Summer, seeing that she was looking straight back with a stone cold expression, and added, "A-and that's no excuse and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. And I won't do it again. I swear."
She couldn't be mad at him. His voice was so earnest and he clearly meant it. Morty usually meant well. He did his best and, as much as they fought sometimes and as mad as she was, she really didn't like seeing him sad. Any expression was better than sadness, and she'd been seeing a lot of it lately.
It didn't excuse his behavior, but she'd known from the get-go Morty hadn't been feeling so hot the day before. She'd planned to avoid him after his outburst, but he spared her the trouble by spending the rest of the day in his room. Morty used to always hang out in the garage or follow grandpa around, but he'd been spending more and more time in his room lately. When they had dinner he rarely spoke, not even to try to impress grandpa, which he usually did a lot. It had gotten to the point where she'd told mom she was worried and mom had reminded her of how she acted sometimes and it wasn't fair to single out Morty for being moody, teenagers were just like that sometimes. After that she dropped it.
Something about the mildly begging tone and the desperate approval shining in her brother's eyes right now made her wish she hadn't.
"Better not," she responded, forcing a small mischievous grin, "You'll regret it if you do,"
"I-I know, believe me," Morty said with a nervous laugh, relieved. Summer kicked hard and he wanted to avoid being on the receiving end of that, even though it would undoubtedly happen again. "I won't."
"Then I'll forgive you."
Rick had opened the cabinet to eye his whiskey during the barf-worthy sibling reunion, but opted to be an adult and drink a second glass of water. He was glad they'd gotten over whatever problem that had been, it was good for both of them and he wanted his grandkids to be happy, but forgiveness left a bad taste in his mouth. Everyone has their issues; Rick's seemed to deviate from the standard, yet stood solidly.
He chugged his water. At least this whole situation gave him something else to think about. He wanted Morty to have his peace, but he felt that in the long run it would be best if Summer knew about what had happened. Not that she wouldn't find out at the family meeting, but if they went hours together without bringing it up and sprung it on her later she would be furious. She'd take it as an affront, like they didn't trust her. Rick didn't trust anybody, but if he had to pick names they were in this house. Morty, on the other hand, was a gullible little shit and you could easily ingratiate his trust. Morty wouldn't see the trust issue, he'd told him already that he wanted things to be normal and he wouldn't want to tell his sister. But things weren't going back to normal today and he would just be asking for another fight if he didn't let her know.
"I'm glad you two are over whatever stupid shit you were fighting about," he called from the kitchen, wishing he could see their annoyed faces, "but if you don't wanna deal with another bitchfit, Morty, I'd tell her what's up."
Morty paled as Summer perked up with a raised eyebrow. "What's he talking about, Morty?" she asked darkly, feeling like she'd somehow been duped here.
Morty was on the spot and on edge and livid at his grandfather's careless words, but most of all he was downright scared. He had to tell Summer now. He'd been hoping to put this off until the whole family was home, to chill out and watch TV and have natural family time, as natural as it got watching alien television. But Summer wouldn't ignore this. If he made something up and told her the truth later she'd be super pissed, because she'd know whatever he said now would be a lie.
He didn't want her to know. He'd been either shunned or pitied most of his life, yet in his dysfunctional family he'd never felt the brunt of it like he did elsewhere. They didn't avoid him, they sought him out. They used to think he was stupid, but they'd never pitied him for it and they knew he was getting smarter now. They still treated him the same as always. He wanted to hold on to that as long as he could. He had a feeling this would change things.
A voice in his head bitterly remarked that this wouldn't be a problem if Rick hadn't come bursting in to save the day like he always did at the very last second to fix the problem he caused.
Morty ignored it. He hated this situation, but it was better than the other option.
"I-I thought we were having a family meeting? We can't do that without the-the whole family!" Morty called back, ignoring Summer's question, trying to bide some time to think of how to put this. He knew he could get Rick on an ignorable tangent so he'd have time to mull it over.
Rick stepped into the doorway, glass filled for the third time in his hand and a dour look on his face. Drunk and eager to channel his depressing thoughts into an angry rant, he didn't disappoint.
"Morty, d-don't be such an insolent little shit. Y-you know I wouldn't tell you to do it if I didn't have a damn good reason. M-maybe your sister is a decent human being? Maybe you could tell her stuff without it being uuuurup-forced out of you? Jesus Christ, you-you just wanna sit next to her and ignore the elephant in the room until your parents get home? Because that will go well. She won't hate you for hiding shit from her. P-people love it when that happens. It's as good as lying, Morty. I-I-I know it's been a rough day, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna coddle your ass from fucking reality. I mean, I-"
Rick continued on, Morty tuned him out. It was easy to do when Rick got like this, he just repeated the same thing in different ways. He also looked away from Summer, whose annoyance and curiosity levels increased as Rick spoke.
How could he put this? He could just say he had a panic attack, make it less awful, but then Rick would pipe up again. Maybe lead with that and ease up into it? There wasn't really a way to ease into a suicide attempt, though. What if he just said it straight up? Was blunt. It wasn't easy news anyway, so maybe that would make it better.
Worth a shot.
"Ok, fine, geez!" he called to shut Rick up. Rick, disgruntled, took a sip from his glass and walked toward the TV. "Summer," Morty said as confidently as he could, looking at her, "I-" God, he hated Rick. Hated the irritated look on his sister's face when, man, she was not going to expect what he was going to say and he knew she'd feel bad for looking at him like this, but he didn't really have a choice anymore, did he? Morty took a deep breath. "I tried to kill myself."
Summer's face transformed multiple times: shocked, confused, pallid, horrified, then solid. Her face became a blank wall, not worried or comforting, nothing. She'd worried, she'd figured he was upset, but this had never crossed her mind.
"How are you now?"
No outburst of tears or angry words about destroying the family. No 'why did you do it' or 'what the hell is wrong with you'. No embraces, no condescension, no pity. Just a question with her hands in her lap.
It wasn't what Morty had expected and it made him unsure of how to react. This was better than anger, that was for sure, but this wasn't how she really felt. She was putting a brave face on and shoving her feelings aside, which was almost typical of Summer and yet nothing like her. That's what really bothered him, more than her stony expression. Wasn't like he could blame her though.
And, frankly, it was a very good question.
He didn't think on it long, he wanted to be honest, yes, but he also wanted to get this over with. "W-well, uhh, better, I guess? I-I mean, I don't want to, umm, to do it anymore...right now..."
The sentiment wasn't very clear, but it was as much as he could give her. Just like he couldn't make promises to Rick, to say he would never do this again. Summer nodded, gaze steady. "Is there anything I can do?"
Rick leaned back on his hands and looked at his grandkids over his shoulder. The two of them looked like they'd been drained by a rogue Tooby, which was disconcerting. He cut in callously from where he was sitting beside the TV, as he was known to do in the face of uncomfortable situations,. Even if he instigated it. "Geez, Summer, you don't have to act so morbid. He didn't actually die."
"Well he could have!" Summer snapped at her grandpa, her expression overwhelmingly strained and one of her hands instinctively grasping Morty's knee. Her tone elicited one of Rick's rare shocked expressions and he looked away.
Rick had nothing to say, taking another sip of his water and wishing it was whiskey. As much as he chastised Morty for trying to sweep this under the rug, he was doing the same thing, and this family would never let him get by with it. He couldn't let himself get by with it. He'd been too caught up in seeing how things turned out to do so before, so now he pushed himself to his knees and started to look around the TV. This wasn't his conversation.
Morty could feel the guilt engulfing him, even when Summer turned back to him, trying desperately to keep her face neutral. "I'm sorry, Morty. I just-" Summer choked up, her eyes tearing up as she tried to contain it, "I want to help and-and I know freaking out doesn't help and I want to be there for you. I'm sorry," she wiped at her eyes, "I'm fine, I'm-"
Morty instantaneously slid onto the couch and threw his arms around his sister. "Thank you, Summer. Really."
Summer mirrored his action, holding her brother tightly. She should have pestered mom more. She should have talked to Morty. Why hadn't she done those things? Why had she just gone on with her life like she couldn't see her brother struggling? This wouldn't have happened if she wasn't so self-absorbed; if she'd been a better person.
Morty was really touched by Summer's words. Rick was right, this family really did care about him. Even though Summer knew he wasn't her real brother, that he was from a different dimension, she was still reacting like this. She was trying to do what was best, but he liked it better when she let her guard down. Summer always kept things out in the open and that's how he wanted her to stay. That's how he wanted his family to stay.
He'd been worrying about himself. About how his family would treat him. He hadn't quite grasped the reality of how this would truly effect his family. He wanted fair treatment, but he didn't want this much worry either.
He had to fix this.
God, how could he fix this?
