Bolt. Screwdriver. Fixing. Laser.
Again, from the beginning.
Bolt. Screwdriver. Fixing. Laser.
He had forgotten how boring and repetitive it was to change items and look for objects every time he needed something . Morty usually passed hings to him when he asked, but Beth had been crystal clear this time: he was risking at school ,he had to brought his grades back from the brink of death. Suspended adventures.
Rick sighed, his eyelids at half mast, his mouth stretched in an intolerant expressionof arrogant sufficiency. He could bring Summer. But it wasn't the same. He had tried.
He stared at the worktop with his screwdriver in his hand. If he wanted, he could also have invented something that could pass the tools to him Actually, he had it, the little butter robot.
He had tried.
But it wasn't the same.
He belched, releasing his grip on the object.
Morty startled rom his sleep as he heard the recreation bell.
"Oh, finally awake. Whether there you are or not the lessons changes very little, actually," said Mr. Goldenfold.
"Yeah, sorry ..." piped Morty, visibly uncomfortable, his cheeks burning a bright red from embarrassment. The class stood up, laughing and going outside. Morty looked at Jessica, who returned his awkard stare She wasn't laughing. Small consolation.
Lunch was made up of fish sticks with a side of mashed potatoes, which Morty was eating alone: Rick often teased him, telling him that even if he had eaten all the ocean fauna it still wouldn't have made a difference to his stupid ass. There was no amount of selenium that could save him from his own idiocy. Morty discovered the insult association on the internet and from then on began eating more fish. You never knew: Rick was always too pessimistic.
Something cold and slimy gripped Morty's face in a mellow embrace. His breathing ceased, oxygen getting caught in his lungs as he struggled to see. He tried to move away from the table, pounding his fists against the wood: he wasn't breathing anymore, he couldn't move, he didn't ...
Finally he felt the grip in his hair, that he had hardly noticed before, give way, breathing in a huge breath: in his mouth he tasted the prepackaged purée, spread all over his face. Behind him, Tony, surrounded by a small group laughing with him. Morty removed the mash from his eyes to see better.
"Smith, how come you spend all this time at school? Is the old fool dead?" So much laughter, from everyone. Morty was completely impasted, but he still managed to see in the back of the cafeteria, behind Tony. Summer was staring at the scene.
"N-no, I ... w-what d..."
"W-w-w-what d-d-do you want?" Tony said to him, exasperating his stutter.
Morty turned, trying to get up, but the bully crushed him against the table, taking his breath away.
"Come on, tell the truth, it's cracked in one of those holes made of green shit, isn't it? Or did he give you up too?"Morty also saw Jessica, who was watching and frowning. The boy took courage, and pushed him away, or at least he tried. A punch caught him in the face, forcing him to the ground. Tears stung his eyes from the pain, as well as the laughter from everyone that surrounded him.
"Uh, you have to have too many bumps on your head..."
"Y-you, who wouldn't last a minute in those portals." The laughter quieted, uncertain, and the students turned their eyes to Tony.
The bully gritted his teeth, taking him by the shirt and lifting him from the ground, ready for another punch. Morty covered himself with his hands, narrowing his eyes.
The blow didn't come. Summer had locked Tony's arm, right at the sound of the class bell. The two stared at each other. Morty's sister had a hard look, very clear and unmistakable: that was enough.
Tony stared , looking her up and down and struggling, dropping Morty to collapse on the floor: "Family of losers..." Summer had an imperceptible look of hurt at the insult, which contained the word she most feared and hated
The crowd disappeared, each spectator headed for his respective classroom. Morty rose from the ground, rubbing his struck cheek, smiling at his sister: "T-thanks Sum..."
"You should stop making people pity you, Morty." That point-blank phrase was worse than Tony's punch. Morty was astonished, motionless. Summer turned to him and could see contempt in her eyes: "Do you want to be like daddy? Do you want to keep others close to you just because they pity you?"
Summer didn't say anything else, turning on her heels, leaving him there on the floor and watching her leave. The silence of the cafeteria made that phrase ring out, which he would have gladly exchanged with another punch.
...
Rick was finishing up the last sip of his faithful flask; shit, he had to make one that re-filled itself every time he emptied it.
Well, why not do it now?
"Hey, Rick"
Rick didn't turn around, engaged in a calculation to see if it was possible to apply a teleporter to the bottom of the flask, connected directly to his favorite whiskey factory.
"Hey, M-Morty. Have you already taken a six or a seven so we can doooOoOO away with this interdimensional curfew antics? I already beeeurroke my balls of being segregated in this garage because of your failures, l-lil' dipshit ."
Morty didn't answer. He hadn't even entered the garage completely.
"Rick... Is there an alternate dimension where I'm -I'm not ... like this?"
"Mh?" Rick wasn't sure he understood what his grandson had told him. And Rick hated not being sure he understood things. "What the fuck are y-you talking about, Morty?" Rick finally turned to look at him, noticing a beginning of black eye. His eyes narrowed; his stomach twisted just like it had with King Jellybean, when Morty had finally left the bathroom.
"I-I just want to know if we Morties are all like this, or if there is s-someone who is maybe, y'know… a little b-bit different?"
Morty shuffled into the garage, his left hand scraping at his right arm in a nervous tick. He was looking down, as though ashamed to be in Rick's presence. Rick stared at him, beginning to understand: he had a stomach cramp. He was definitely too sober.
"Explain yourself. Formulate better. What do you mean like this?"Rick had no particular inflection in his voice, not annoyed or worried. At most it was a curiosity of a scientist that seemed to move him. Yes, It was scientific curiosity. What else could it be?
Morty swallowed, looking at him: "Well... l-like…this." Morty seemed to define himself, with a self-pity that was pathetic for an underlying helpless awareness. Unarmed, in front of everything. Here was the difference between the two of them: when Morty assumed awareness, he could only be crushed, whether he rebelled, or surrendered. Rick was different. He was perpetually aware and able to decide the fate of the cosmos. So why did that knowledge make him drink so as not to think? Not to think that perhaps he too, after all, was helpless in the face of that awareness. That nothing mattered, nothing was special, everything was random; not significant.
Morty went on, unaware of Rick's thoughts: "Maybe there is s-some Morty that looks less like d-dad and more like mom."
"More like me, you mean." Rick stood up, walking over and crossing his arms. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Morty looked up, unable to look into his eyes because of their height difference and considered that question.
No.
Not like him.
"N-no..." Rick raised his eyebrow inquisitively. "Just less i-insec... pitiful."
The two remained silent. Morty hated that look: he felt like a guinea pig, an experiment to probe at his brain lines. Some Rick must have already done it, after all, to discover what made them a cloak, a human shield . It wasn't that look he wanted ... it was reassurance, an understanding, but he was asking the wrong man: Rick was not able to feel empathy for the feeling of inferiority; he didn't possess it. Perhaps it was the only thing in the universe that he didn't know. It was then that Morty, besides being pitiful, felt stupid, again. That was Rick's look: contempt for a stupid person. The instinct to escape grew in the boy like a weed , before Rick bent over on his knees, looking more closely at that black eye.
"If there is, most likely in that dimension you and I would have nothing to do with each other. That's not how it works between Ricks and the Morties . "
...
What the fuck did he mean? What the fuck was that answer?
Morty wasn't stupid. He was a fucking idiot if he expected something different from Rick, the moment he showed him his side, asking him ...
What? What did he want from him?
Morty stepped back, pursing his lips. He had a look of defiance that Rick had seen only when he had discovered he was a human shield, but more adult, though veiled by tears even now: "Because you need us stupid, right?"
Rick remained silent, narrowing his eyes: an arrogant Morty could be a problem for everyone. He remembered telling him that long ago. He was responding too much lately. He was becoming a little too perceptive.
A little too much like you?
The two were interrupted by Beth, who entered the garage, unaware of the chill between them. Rick immediately concealed, with a smile dedicated to his daughter. He often did this game with Beth; to be a good boy for always having won.
"Dinner is ready, boys!" She said with a radiant smile to his father; it has to be a good day. Or at least that's what Morty believed: "After that Morty immediately go to sleep, so tomorrow you'll have no problem staying awake in class: your professor called me."
A malevolent smile curled the lips of Rick, who was enjoying the scolding. Morty sighed, turning toward the door and past his mother. Rick felt his daughter briefly worry about his nephew's black eye; he pressed the button of the garage door, closing it.
It was an extremely quiet dinner. At least for Rick and Morty. Summer instead spoke all the time: it was because she wanted to avoid focusing attention on her brother's black eye or because she felt guilty about what she had said to Morty, it was not known. Probably the first one. Better. Neither Morty want to talk about it, to tell the truth; he was more voluntarily and deliberately ignoring Rick, who apparently was doing the same. Oh God, not that it was voluntarily, it was natural for the scientist to ignore him; he didn't have to make any effort.
But Rick didn't need to look directly at Morty to see with the corner of his eye the hand of the boy resting on his chubby cheek, his eyes frowning; he saw him share his scallops with a fork, without eating them. He, on his own, was enjoying them fully instead. Screw him, if he wanted his ass to be gnawed, it wasn't his problem. Make the victim, that shit; a common denominator of all Mortys: to be victims, prey, shoulders, assistants.
Slaves.
A small voice in his head suggested that word, powerfully. Rick knew it wasn't bullshit: his subconscious gave birth to it, which had to be just as brilliant.
It was also true that his logical intelligence was superior to anyone in any fucking universe, but his emotional intelligence was ... well, let's say he didn't apply particularly. He and Morty were autistic in two different ways: the idiocy and the deep sensitivity of his nephew left him torn most of the times when they returned from an adventure where the irreparable happened. The mind-blowers were proof of this. He was also too vulnerable, that kid. And Rick hated weakness.
The sound of Morty's chair interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm going to do math," he said colorlessly, turning his heels to go upstairs.
"Ok, Morty. Dad, can't you give him a hand, so he goes to bed earlier? "Beth said, using with pleasure an excuse like so many to communicate with her father.
Rick opened his mouth for a timely vitriolic response, but Morty was faster.
"There is no need, I do it alone."
Rick looked at Beth, shrugging, brazenly uninterested; even the daughter for her part quickly forgot, finishing the bottle of wine that was on the table, hastily babbling that she had to go out. In addition to that, Rick did not miss even the look of Summer that followed Morty down the stairs, serious and inquiring.
Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.
You are as dumb as I am smart.
The numbers on the sheet made no sense. Or maybe it was the only thing that still had it, only he couldn't catch it. Maybe this is why Rick had become a scientist: mathematics does not lie and is concrete. One plus one makes two, end of the story. Or not? Maybe there was a reality where it wasn't like that. Maybe there was also a reality in which he hadn't heard those sentences and was just a normal kid; a loser, yes, a disadvantaged, but fundamentally normal, aware only of the fact that life was life, not an immense spiral without any sense or direction.
He threw his pen against the wall, hitting the lamp and taking his head in his hands.
Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.
That's enough.
Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.
THAT'S ENOUGH.
"What fucking problem do you have?" Rick was leaning against the door frame, staring at him with crossed arms, low eyelids.
"Apart from that I am retarded, useless, interchangeable and of little relevance as everything that exists outside of me? Nothing, it's all fucking perfect, thanks for asking. "Morty didn't even look at him, bent over his desk, refocusing on his homeworks.
Rick rolled his eyes, entering the room.
"Whatever ... but this curfew for me is over, come on, I need something" he took Morty's arm, lifting him from the chair.
"What... n-no!" Morty struggled, sitting back, tearing his arm from his grip.
Rick turned predatory; never take something from his hands that he considered, nay, WAS his. He grabbed him again, raising him to his feet, squeezing the soft flesh so tightly and twisting his arm in a corner that was almost unnatural, close to breaking it. Morty let out a groan of pain, bringing his hand over Rick's, slipping over it in an attempt to get rid of it. Immediately his eyes became clear, his breathing quicker: he looked at him with a prayer in his eyes, angry and imploring at the same time.
"N-no! Rick ... y-you're hurting me! Leave me! P-please! "Morty bit his tongue, closing his eyes in pain. He hated praying to him, it wasn't fair. Why was he always pushing him up to that point ...?
Rick dragged him out of the room and his grip was iron, there was no way to break free; Morty pointed his feet, still trying to lift his clenched fingers around his wrist, which was beginning to throb as it was tight. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
Rick looked straight ahead, regardless of Morty's prayers; he didn't want to look at him anyway. His tears distracted him from the journey he had in his head for hours now. His moans, however, could still be heard, mixed with quick breathing; if he closed his eyes he could almost mistake them for...
He felt his shoulder give way and turned to Morty: the boy had thrown himself to the ground, putting his whole body and weight (scarce) in a stubborn protest. Rick gritted his teeth: he would pay for it. He would have fucking paid for it. He yanked it violently and Morty exploded into another scream, biting his lips; he didn't want to give him satisfaction. Rick, on the other hand, was so close to getting his shoulder out. Morty had to understand him: he was nothing compared to him, he could do nothing. Why the fuck couldn't he just be dominated, submissive, totally helpless in front of him? It was, he just had to take note.
And would you like it anyway?
That was just another Rick and Morty fight. Rick and Morty forever. Should it have been like this forever?
Why couldn't Rick simply understand when he needed to be alone, to be listened to, helped? Why couldn't he even help him when he asked so clearly?
What stupid questions.
Morty stopped beating, crying and shouting: he let himself go, interrupting any resistance and looking empty in front of him.
Rick couldn't help anyone.
The scientist turned to look at him, furious, but he also seemed to be stuck at the sight of Morty.
Rick couldn't even help himself.
The two remained fixed, immobile, looking at each other.
Truce.
"If you stop doing all this mess, I'd like to enjoy my season finale." Summer watched them from her bedroom door, arms crossed. She was Rick's worthy granddaughter; their attitudes were often frighteningly similar. The situation became dramatically comic: they were nailed in the corridor like two idiots, under the bleak gaze of Summer.
Rick was not comfortable in the part of the idiot: he let go of Morty, driving his arm out of his grip.
"Screw you" he muttered, coming down the stairs, probably headed for the garage.
Morty stood up, rubbing his shoulder and turning to Summer, finding a door slammed in his face.
The sound of the spaceship coming out of the garage, directed somewhere, invaded the corridor.
Morty found himself alone, with the muffled sound of Summer's TV that always reminded him of the same phrase that now he wanted to receive instead of saying.
Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, Everybody's gonna die. Come and watch TV.