Yay! New Chapter! Sorry for the long wait! My computer died, I lost internet for a month, and then college bitch slapped me into the sun. It was really hard to get back into this after so long, but I had a ton of supportive comments to help! So thank you everyone!

This chapter is dedicated to saccharinepeccadillo, who did some amazing fanart for this fic on tumblr! Seriously! Go check it out!

A big thanks to my beta Theforeverknight and theamazingjoker!

WARNING: Harsh, triggering content in this chapter! so beware!

Xax'ic, Misery, and Understanding

"The constant reminders, the constant regrets"

-This is Ivy League

Pain was a constant in his life. One of the only things that he could count on to maintain structure and stability. Morty knew that being happy wasn't assured; along with places of residents, access to food, and even basic safety. From beatings, to starvation, electric shocks, and field injuries… The list never seemed to end. Everything was always so unstable. Many nights were spent on other worlds, questioning what awaited him in the morning. Would he eat today? Would Rick come back this time? Should he use the money Rick left him for Xax'ic or food?

The last question wasn't ever debated much. He'd always use the alien cash for shady deals behind buildings. Morty's need for the substance his grandfather forced on him always outweighed hunger. Besides, food could be pilfered from shops or found in garbage cans. There were times he slept in boxes or doorways when he ran out of money, cementing his fear of the dark and what waited for him inside of it.

Since he was six, he had slept with a knife and razor gloves. After living with his Rick, he learned to value the weapons even more.

Searing heat flowed through his veins, his insides screaming in agony. Morty snorted through the blood pouring from his nose, sending himself into a weak coughing fit. He could vaguely taste copper in the back of his throat, as his head filled with white noise and cotton. Morty was being carried, to where, he had no clue. He tried to open his eyes as his head flopped uselessly, blurs of colors flashing so vibrantly that he had to snap them shut again.

Morty wasn't sure if he was conscious or not, but as before, consistency remained a distant dream in a sea of uncertainty.

Someone was talking to him, though he couldn't make out the words. Whoever's voice it was sounded concerned and inconvenienced at the same time, making him even more confused. It didn't really matter, the pain was too numbing for him to care. No one ever bothered to care about him, so why should he even try when there was so much fire… So much hurt, burning him alive.

Time was an allusion that sent him sprawling back into another untapped memory. It was just as clogged and warped compared to his reality, flushing to multiple scenarios that he remembered with little clarity.

Morty recalled times when his grandfather would leave him alone on other planets for days. He always left money or drugs with Morty, but they were never enough to last him until the man's return. The longest period he was abandoned lasted over two weeks, and was probably the most desperate. From the first incident where his Rick had left him, he had taught himself how to stretch the money out as far as he could. Unrelated images of empty cupboards and bare fridges flowed through his hazy mind.

Morty remembered running out of money on the sixth day, as Rick had only left a few crumpled notes on the hotel's bed. The only thing that helped to sate the hunger pains was the generous amount of Xax'ic Rick had supplied him with. He wasn't sure why he was recalling such a horrible memory, but it kept replaying, even as he was lowered onto cold linoleum.

He was kicked out of the hotel after the first week, left without money and food. Things weren't so awful at first, considering that he had a duffel full of needles and the alien city had a generous supply of full dumpsters to forage from. The problems arose during the long, sleepless nights.

Morty's first night in a stairwell scarred him, as it was his first, and only sexual encounter. He'd escaped relatively unscathed, violently ripping apart his attacker less than a minute after he had been grabbed. But it still shook him to the point of slashing anyone who dared to touch him from that day forward.

The next few days passed in a blur of drugs and food poisoning, up until he finally ran out of Xax'ic.

The last two days were the closest he had ever come to full withdrawals. The cravings had almost driven him to do shameful things in exchange for any type of relief from the pain. The assault in the stairwell had completely traumatized him, but it had also spurred the realization that he could sell himself if Rick never came back. Luckily, Rick had returned, though without explanation. No apologies were exchanged, but the drugs Morty was gifted with upon his arrival made up for it.

Now, he was slipping into the agonizing withdrawal he had fought so hard to repress in previous times. That he had almost prostituted himself to prevent. His Rick's warnings against foregoing the drugs played out like a movie on repeat, sparking terror amongst the searing pain. But why now? He asked himself. After all these years of struggling to feed the habit, why did he feel like doing this to himself now?

Morty wasn't sure of the answer.

He was jolted back to awareness by a spray of freezing water. Morty choked, struggling to breathe as hands shook his shoulders. Through doubled vision and obscured goggles, he could see Rick shouting something that couldn't get past the ringing in his ears. Morty was still dazed when a rush of fresh blood came out of his mouth in a gush, mixing with the water in the tub.

Suddenly, his head snapped to the side and clarity rushed back into his mind. The stinging pain in his cheek, the sounds of the shower, Rick's hysteria, and cleared sight. Morty took another gulp of air, raising a shaky hand to his reddening cheek. They looked at each other for a long minute, Rick's panicked expression boring into his mind.

In an instant, Rick had hauled him halfway out of the tub by his shirt, concern melting into barely repressed rage. Morty went slack against his grip, the searing heat returning without freezing water to sooth the pain.

"W-What the fuck did ya take, you little bastard!?" Rick screamed in his face, roughly shaking him.

Morty opened his mouth to speak, but only a startled squeak made it past his lips. He could taste blood, as it started to drip from his nose without the water to wash it away. He shivered against the cold, yet his insides burned in agony. All he could offer the man was a series of sobs. He dropped his head in shame.

Morty couldn't bear to look at Rick anymore. The front of the man's shirt was coated with vomit and smears of blood; both from Morty. He was going to be so angry. He was going to hurt him. Make him suffer. He was so pathetic, so useless, so-

Morty dug his fingers into wet hair, yanking at the strands and curling back under the spray of cold water. He heard the squealing of the tap as Rick leaned over the tub to shut the shower off. The water stopped, and Morty buried his face into the wet fabric covering his knees. Everything hurt, his insides begging for help as they recoiled.

"What did you take, Morty," Rick asked in a low, furious voice.

Morty didn't answer, and Rick started yelling again. The man got up and flipped over anything in the bathroom that hadn't been anchored to the floor, smashing a clear glass against the far wall. After repeatedly kicking a small waste bin into plastic splinters, he balled up his fists and started to shout at Morty.

"What the hell did you take!?" Rick repeated, dropping back to a crouch in front of the tub. "Morty, I need ta know," he stated somewhat desperate in voice. Morty looked up, shaking from the cold.

Rick gripped the edge of the tub glaring down at the boy. "Ya - you know-" he stumbled over his words, pausing to take a few generous gulps from his flask. "You stopped breathing, ya little fuck!" Rick waved his arms wildly. "I need to know what the hell your Rick shot you up with! For fuck's sake Morty you - you're bleeding! You could die!" He stressed, using the soaking sleeve of his ruined lab coat to scrub away some of the blood covering the boy's face.

Morty flinched violently at the contact, pushing Rick's arm away. Another stab of pain shot through his body, sending more blood out of his mouth. "Xax'ic," he rasped, throat dry and scratchy.

There was a long exhale from Rick, as the man lifted the boy up from under his arms and settled him back into the tub. "Okay," Rick said quietly, standing and giving Morty a glimpse of the wet patches covering his knees. He closed his eyes, hearing Rick uncap his flask and take more gulps. "I-I just," he paused with uncertainty lacing his stutters. "Just stay here, I got some shit in the garage that should wash out the withdrawals and get whatever's left outta your system." Morty listened as Rick tried to keep his voice steady, but noticed the slight waver.

With that he withdrew from the bathroom casually, taking two tries to actually grab the door knob. Morty heard how the moderately-slow footsteps immediately dissolved into a full sprint the second he was out of sight. He shakily pushed some of his wet hair out of his face, his fingers now numb. A crashing sound vibrated the house, followed by cursing, and Morty guessed that the Rick had fallen down the stairs in his haste.

He tried to shake the feeling back into his limbs, but the only thing that the movement caused was for black dots to appear in his vision. Morty felt very far away; the pain had completely vanished, which made him more frightened than relieved. He opened and closed his hands, staring between them without feeling anything but the need for a high. Was he going into shock?

He could fix this. Everything was going to be fine, and then he was going to kill this Rick, and… then what? What was he without a Rick? Morty shoved the traitorous thoughts out of his head, bracing himself against the edge of the tub and trying to haul himself up because he could do this. He didn't need anyone. Not a mom, or a dad, or a sister, and definitely not a Rick.

He managed to get to his feet, only to slip and take down the entire shower curtain with him.

Little plastic rings from the ruined cloth scattered across the linoleum and skipped into the bottom of the bloody tub. Morty didn't let this deter him, lifting himself back up and out of the bath. He sat with his back to the sink after his sight went completely black for a startling minute, catching his labored breath. The bandages on his stomach and around his throat were sopping wet, and began to peel away with the water. Frustrated, he ripped the soggy material away; dumping it on the floor. If he could just get that high, it might counteract the withdrawals.

It was an irrational idea, born from desperation and a deep seated fear. Because he had to try something because he was bleeding out and it hurt and he was gonna die.

For a final time, he gripped the edge of the sink and managed to get to his feet. The need was still burning deep in his veins, even if it was somewhat numbed. There was a shocking moment when he looked into the mirror and Saw. Saw what he had become, what his grandfather had made him. A flushed face surrounded by wet hair, blood dripping from his nostrils and staining his shirt. A too thin, weak boy with wet bandage still clinging to his fingers. Shaking with the habits of a drug addict who would be lucky to make it to his twenty-first birthday.

The kind of kid you find dead in a alley with a needle in his arm.

Because nobody cared about another boy on the streets.

Morty couldn't stop the broken sound that slipped out, or the following sobs that caused his shoulders to shake. He was so, so tired. But he kept going because he didn't want to die, not like this, not in a bathroom covered in blood. Morty shakily opened the bathroom cabinet, snatching different pill bottles off of the shelf and struggling to read the labels with blurred vision.

The white bottles contained boring things that would do nothing for him, the boxes housed useless cold and allergy medication, and finally the orange bottles with their heavy painkillers and alien symbols that surely meant that Rick had nicked them for whatever reasons. If any. He mentally added. Ricks didn't need a reason for doing anything, they just did because they could. That was reason enough.

Morty scoffed at his sudden introspection because now wasn't the time. He tried to work the child-proof caps with clumsy, wet hands, but couldn't get a proper grip with the numbness in his fingers. He gave up quickly, sinking sharpened teeth into the cap instead, popping it off and mutilating the plastic. Morty was just about to down a handful of wet pills, when another sharp pain shot through his abdomen.

He curled into himself, the pills scattering as he dropped to his knees.

Not now! Not when he was so close…

Another searing stab brought him forward, his head now resting on the cold linoleum. The fire returned to light up his blood, before everything went dark.

Morty woke up in a bed, and it only took a moment to realize where he was. He curled into a tight ball, hugging the blankets close. He could hear Rick working on something behind him, the spark of tools lighting up the walls occasionally. He really, really wanted to go back to sleep, or at least pretend he was still unconscious so he wouldn't have to face Rick. Morty couldn't stop his breath from hitching, and he hoped that the man wouldn't notice.

Please, please don't notice. I can't do this, not again, not right now. Just let him have tonight...

When the steady movement of tools paused, Morty knew that Rick realized that he was awake.

"I-I'm sorry," Morty stumbled because he didn't know what else to say. Sometimes placating his old Rick with pathetic words helped.

The Rick stayed silent, and Morty didn't hear the clanking of items that would show he was resuming his work. He squeezed his eyes shut, still feeling awful despite another dose. The spasms, the shaking… it was still here and he didn't know why. His mind was also very clear which wasn't normal either. He sat up to look at Rick, who was bent over his desk. He had his eyes closed, rubbing them with hunched shoulders. Rick's welder sat next to him, still plugged into a shotty socket in the wall.

The man finally dropped his arm, staring into nothing. "And which part are ya sorry for?" Rick growled. "The part where I had to resuscitate you and waste my valuable time keeping your entire lymphatic system from collapsing, or the part where you lied to me?" Rick's leg bounced erratically as he spoke, becoming more heated with each word.

"I don't know," Morty replied weakly. "I-I just," he mumbled, making Rick angrier.

He heard a crash, which he assumed was the welder, as Rick swept it off of his desk. "Just what, Morty!?" Rick yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small room.

Morty wasn't sure if he could take the chance of sliding under the bed or if he could possibly make it to the door before Rick grabbed him, so he stayed still with a death grip on the blanket. He also wasn't sure if Rick wanted an answer, but the drumming of the man's fingers on his desk urged him forward. "P-Please," he said quietly. "Please, don't hurt me."

It was a desperate plea, one that almost never worked with his old Rick, because apologies never meant anything. They were just words that couldn't undo the actions behind them. Rick opened his mouth to respond, but Morty cut him off. "I-I'm sorry I threw up on you, and wasted your time, and broke the shower curtain, and-"

"Okay, okay," Rick waved him off, but he couldn't stop bumbling. "Shut the fuck up, Morty!" He shouted when the boy kept going. Morty quieted, the periodic twitching still rocking his body.

He listened as Rick took a long swig from a bottle on his desk, looking him over. "Do ya even know how close you were to dying?" Rick spat. He didn't wait for Morty to answer, as he launched into an explanation. "Xax'ic's the kind of drug that dealers give to hookers so they can't run away. The kind of shit the black market uses in slave rings." Rick's leg stopped bouncing as he leaned back in his chair, focusing on the label of his liquor bottle.

"Why? Outta all the drugs in the universe, did ya want to shoot up with this shit?" Rick asked. "No… Why did your Rick want to get you hooked on this shit?" He rephrased, now glaring at the glass in his hand.

Morty wasn't sure how to respond, so he just picked at a stray thread in the blanket. "I wanted it." He lied. "He didn't make me take it, I wanted it." Years of being told not to tell rang through his head, pushing him back into lazy, half-hearted lies that everyone always believed. Because it was easier to believe a pretty lie, than to face a sad truth. Easier to send him on his way then to help him.

Rick took a long swig from the bottle. "Bullshit," he muttered, looking Morty over with narrowed eyes. "Do you even know what a half-assed drug like that would've done to ya if I hadn't been there to save you?" Rick tried to slide his chair back, briefly forgetting that it didn't have wheels like his swivel chair in the garage. When it scraped across the floor, he grumbled something to himself and got up to dig through a pile of junk in the corner.

Morty watched, mostly simmering from being lectured. The fear seemed to be stripped away from his conscious as he became more aware; replaced with the old hatred and anger at being treated like he was stupid. "I know-"

"Obviously you don't, or ya wouldn't have been a cold shower away from death," Rick interrupted, pulling a small whiteboard from the pile and crouching down to look for a marker.

"But I-"

"Nope," Rick cut him off. "I'm done. I'm not listening to anything ya have to say, because you keep lying to me. You're credibility is shit, so I have no reason to listen to you. It's a waste of my time, which you already pissed away with this drug crap."

Morty twitched at Rick's disregard for him, picking at the damp shirt that still clung to his body. Fine. It was easier like this anyways. He could go back to being seen and not heard, he'd lived with it for a long time. Still, it upset him on a deeper level for some reason. The thought of not having anyone to talk to again hurt in a way he couldn't explain. He'd known this man for a day, and they'd probably had more conversation than in the years he spent with his grandfather.

"Fuck yes," Rick huffed, finding a red marker at the bottom of his mess. Rick collapsed into his chair, using his teeth to pop the cap off of the marker. "Okay, I'm going to show how this shitty drug works, so you can see how close you came to keeling over from your own stupidity."

"I said that I know-"

"Tough." Rick scribbled on the board, flipping it to show Morty a crude drawing. It was a clear drawing of him, but with a larger head, the word 'Idiot' scrawled on his forehead.

"Is that supposed to be me?" Morty growled, crossing his arms.

Rick turned the board back around to continue his depiction, waving his hand dismissively. "A-Any resemblance to living people - uh, likeness? Whatever they play before shitty TV movies to avoid copyright strikes." Morty felt confused, the sounds of the squeaking marker on the whiteboard and Rick's nonsensical grumbles filling the small space.

"Ya know?" Rick rambled. "Like when they swap the names of generic cereals or soda in the movies to something like Frosted O's or - I don't know why am I even trying to explain this shit to you." His brow furrowed as he rubbed out a part of his drawing with the edge of his sleeve, reworking his picture.

Morty guessed that Rick had started to run away with his thoughts, and may or may not have begun to doodle a diagram of network diagraphics to explain whatever point he was trying to make about big corporations or some other related conspiracy. He vaguely wanted to call Rick out on it, but looking at the old track marks on his arm told him that this was not the time to bait the man.

Not when he'd fucked up so bad…

"Look, Morty," Rick sighed, the marker stilling on the board. "I-I've been around the block - no wait - I'm practically a permanent resident in Substance Abuse Town, riding around said block to get to work every day." He gave Morty a thoughtful stare before continuing. "But I never even fucked with the crap you've been pissing with. That should give ya some sort of clue about what this talk is gonna be about," Rick finished.

The Rick turned the board around, a complex mess of ideas splayed around the tiny figure in the middle. Morty doubted that the diagram would be legible to anyone other than Rick, considering how the man tended to throw out random thoughts in an order only perceivable to him. Morty kept his attention on the man, even though he wanted no part of the conversation about things he already knew.

Rick tapped the edge of the slate with his marker, his leg bouncing rapidly with barely contained thoughts. "Okay, this is you," he said, pointing to the figure in the center.

"You just said that it wasn't me, and ended up explaining why people get sued by…" Morty paused, thinking. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders as he sat up on the bed. "Actually, I'm not sure about what point you were trying to make."

"Would you quit arguing with me about things that don't even matter?" Rick halfheartedly threw the marker in the direction of his cot, the utensil weakly bouncing off the side of the mattress. "This isn't a joke, kid! You almost died because ya didn't even bother to say 'Hey Rick, maybe you should know, I'm on a drug that causes organ failure if I don't shoot up every seven to ten days!'" He yelled at Morty, tossing the whiteboard down.

"I didn't say it was a joke, you ass! Stop talking down to me!" Morty shouted back angrily, his fingers unconsciously tracing the marks on his arms.

Rick rubbed his face, groaning. "For God's sake, Morty! You have no idea what I went through to save you! I had to repurpose that fucking throw away healing cream into a viable, intravenous infusion. Do you know how hard that was?"

"Well, I didn't ask for your help," Morty hissed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Morty sat quietly as Rick clenched and unclenched his hands, erratically waving his arms about. "If ya weren't so fucking pathetic you wouldn't need my help, you ungrateful little shit! You may think you - you're a big kid Morty; that cause you killed your Rick that you can take care of yourself?"

He got up from his chair, shaking with anger. In a few short steps he was towering over Morty, matching his glare as the boy refused to back down. "Newsflash! You're only fourteen! A baby compared to me, and every other species in the universe," Rick said, punctuating each point with a jab to Morty's chest. "I'm treating ya good right now; like the kid you are. So ya wanna play adult games? Let's play 'What Would Happen to a Lost Kid in Space.'"

"First off - if you're even lucky enough to get dropped off on a planet that's atmospheres not comprised of carbon dioxide or dominated by rat people - You'll aimlessly wander the streets without any way of contacting help because you're a dum-dum who can only speak English." Rick pushed Morty back down on the bed, pacing back and forth with his arms behind his back. "Then, if you aren't kidnapped and sold into slavery or prostitution, you'll probably be picked up by the Galactic Federation's policing unit. They'll scan you for your DNA signature to find out where your parents are, realise that you're MY grandson; Rick Sanchez, number one on their most wanted list! Then they will most likely torture you to figure out my location - which I can guarantee that you won't know - and regardless of what you say or do, they won't believe ya. They won't belive that you killed your Rick, that you were abandoned there, or if you managed to escape me."

"D-Do you honestly think that they'll care that you're only a stupid kid? That an assassin like Micheals is gonna care that you're a kid? T-That anyone's gonna blink when you're thrown into slavery or worse? Earth is the best you've got right now. I'm the best you've got right now! So deal with it!" Rick shook Morty's shoulders, causing him to flinch back. "For fucks sake, at least my grandson's balls dropped. You haven't even hit puberty yet! You're the size of a ten year old, Morty!"

Morty slapped Rick's hands away, stumbling towards the door. He blinked away the burning sensation in his eyes, grateful for the goggles to mask it. "D-Don't try to act like you know me!" He said somewhat desperately.

"I know enough about ya to figure out how long you'd last out there, Morty! You're blind in the sun, you're scared of the dark, and you struggle with drug addiction! You wouldn't last a second out there. What would make you think that you could? Because you - you just can't, Morty," Rick said as he began to wind down. "Y-You're just an abused little boy who doesn't know any better," He sighed, sitting back down.

Morty stopped, gripping the doorknob so tight that his fingers trembled. "I-I can take care of myself…" he insisted. "I've survived out there before; all by myself. Because you left me!" he accused glaring at Rick. "Y-You always left me! A-All alone without any-anything!" Tears began to fill up his goggles.

"I-I had to find my way all on my own! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!" Morty cried, sniffling as he pushed the goggles up so he could wipe his eyes. "W-Why am I crying? I-I don't understand!" Morty sobbed at himself.

"My guess is because I flushed the Xax'ic out of your system," Rick said somewhere behind Morty.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, a solid form was pressed against his back, arms loosely wrapping themselves around his collarbone. Morty couldn't stop the random spasms that wracked his body from the sudden contact, heat seeping into his damp form from Rick. "T-This is a one time thing, kid! So don't get used to it because it'd never, ever happening again. And you're never gonna mention it again either cause I'm only doing this so-so you'll stop cryin' like a fucking baby."

Rick removed the goggle from Morty's head, slouching over him so he could wipe them off with his lab coat. "Xax'ic's a drug used by slavers, prostitutes, and sometimes in war drafts. It helps repress emotions, pain, and even hunger… basically anything that can inconvenience an operation. The highs not even that great," he added, squinting at the smeared lenses as he rambled.

"It makes people do what you want. Makes you more susceptible to manipulation. Hell, it's a drug of choice because you don't need to inject it every day like other addictive substances. Saves money for the bigwigs in charge. What I'm trying to say, is that people don't take this drug for fun. They take it because someone makes them." Rick handed the goggles back down to Morty, who only sniffled in response.

"S-So I know for a fact that your Rick got you hooked," he concluded, Morty opening his mouth to argue, but Rick cut him off. "And ya don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. The shit is outta your system, so that's all that matters."

"H-How?" Morty asked meekly, twitching a bit.

"Already told ya," Rick said, waving him off. "I flushed it out of your system. You don't think I invented a secret serum to cure drug addiction? I'm a Grade A substance abuser, Morty. I can't go around getting hooked to every sparkly powder I snort at parties."

The man released Morty, flopping back on his bed. Morty rubbed his arm, the lingering warmth tingling his spine as he glanced back at Rick. "The hard part was reverse engeneering that crappy cream to stop your internal bleeding," He admitted, fishing his flask out of his coat. "Xax'ic's a tricky drug. When you stop taking it, the shit left in your system becomes corrosive."

Rick took a long swig from his flask before continuing. "I-It absorbs into your stomach lining and begins to basically rip apart your digestive tract; hence your bloody vomit and abdominal cramps. After that, your immune system starts to panic and attacks itself, causing rapid organ failure and cardiac arrest. You made it to the heart-stopping part, so you were extremely close to keeling over, MoOOUUrty," he belched. "L-Like, if Micheals were late or if we took a detour home - you'd be dead." Rick plainly stated, staring at his flask with an indescribable expression.
Morty bit his lip, mindful of his sharpened teeth as another tear welled up. "What about the…" He wasn't sure how to describe it. The torrent of emotions that rocked him to his very core. Morty hadn't cried in a long time, not before he met this Rick, and definitely not when things were bad with his old one.

Rick grunted, grabbing a bottle from the side of his bed. "Xax'ic helps repress your emotions… what you feel, what you think. So I think you're just not used to what it's like to deal with normal shit." He unscrewed the cap, gulping from the new container. "In layman's terms: you've been on Xax'ic so long that you don't know how to handle your emotions anymore."

"O-Oh," Morty mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes again. "S-So now what?"

Rick hummed, pausing in his drinking. "Get a shower. We got a mission, and you smell like puke and blood."

"I-I meant-" Morty started, but trailed off. He gave one last look at Rick, staring up at the ceiling while taking frequent swigs from his bottle. "Okay…" Morty relented, hurrying out of the room. He shut the door quietly behind him, his fingers resting on the knob and his mind racing as it tried to piece together everything that happened.

He's lying, he's lying, he's LYING! He doesn't care about you! You're just a shield! A pathetic shield that doesn't mean anything! If I die he'll just get another Morty!

But he hugged you…

Morty slammed the door to the spare room, punching the door frame over and over.

He doesn't want you, he just needs your brain waves to mask his!

Morty's fist slammed into the wood again, his knuckles becoming bloody as his shoulders shook with repressed sobs.

Because…

Because I'm nothing…

Morty sunk to the floor, curling up in a tight ball as his insecurities overwhelmed him. He hoped that Rick couldn't hear him crying.

Rick laid back on his bed, his legs hanging off of the side as he emptied the glass in hand, blindly reaching under his bed for another bottle. His fingers grazed cold crystal, and he grabbed the new drink, not bothering to check the alien label. He heard the sniffling from the next room over, cursing the thin walls. Rick nursed the strong alcohol, not surprised at the potency of the foreign whisky.

Rick stared at the ceiling, thinking deeply.

After a few minutes of listening to Morty's sobs, there was an extended silence before he heard the groans of the bathroom pipes as the shower was turned on.

He belched, raising his glass towards the ceiling in a mock toast as drool dripped down his chin.

"Wubba lubba dub dub," Rick slurred drunkenly.

I'm not crying you're crying!

Next chapter we get some answers and a better time than this shit.

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