Morty couldn't decide whether to keep his shirt on or not. He'd been out in the backyard for over half an hour. Originally, he'd poured himself a glass of juice from the fridge, grabbed his sunglasses and intended to lay out in the sun. Even though, Rick Prime administered to Morty's needs more these days, there was still an underlying dissatisfaction caused by boredom and loneliness. They spent more time together in the garage, Rick explaining, Morty following. Thereby, Morty was almost done building a handgun. The prospect of finishing something that he'd made himself excited the boy. When he sat during those long periods of mental stagnancy, he imagined the faces his family would make if he showed them what he himself built. The face Rick would make after years of telling him he was useless. The teen would then shake the thoughts out of his head and remind himself that his success would only exist in this vacuum. And what was excitement worth with nobody to share it with?

A light gust of air crawled over Morty's skin and goose bumps rose where the air touched him. He sat up on the sun lounger and grabbed his shirt that he had discarded in the grass beside him. Pulling it over his head he sighed as the scoop neckline got caught on his sunglasses, pulling them from his scrunched up face. It really had looked warmer from the inside. As he had arranged his clothing and glasses once more, he glanced at the glass on the small table beside him. The cold liquid had made water on the outside of the glass condensate. If this was earth's sun, he would now be thirsting for something cold though here, wherever "here" was, the warmth of the sun was different. Even after weeks, it still felt foreign to Morty.

"Hey, Morty, wanna join me?" Rick stood in the open slide door that led to the living room.

"Join you doing what?"

"Need to go on a little supply run." Morty perked up at that. He hadn't left since the day he'd come.

"R-Really?" The boy pulled his sunglasses down as he got up.

"Sure, why not? I heard you guys are made for it."

"Us guys?" Morty was almost in the house.

"Mortys, I mean." The seeming lack of his individual significance let Morty deflate as he followed Prime to the garage.

"Here." Rick tossed him a small laser gun.

The boy caught it with a puzzled expression.

"You're gonna need to be able to defend yourself."

Morty remained silent as he tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans as he had many times before.

"Let's go." The boy saw Rick adjusting his portal gun and aiming.

—

The first thing Morty did as the pair emerged from the location changing swirl was gasp. It wasn't a place colourful with rainbow clouds and pink oceans. Neither were there strange creatures he'd never seen before, wandering the streets. There were no fantastic ice cream flavours, no mega seeds, no Ballfondlers — The Movie, nothing on the cob. Neither were there grimy bars and dark corners and weird noises and strange smells. No. It was a place that Morty was eerily familiar with, even though he'd never been there.

As the portal closed, Morty looked down the street in awe. A shocked fascination on his gaping mouth and wide open eyes. Whether it was the overstimulation after two months of boredom or the fact that it was tough for Morty to wrap his mind around seeing what he was seeing, he didn't know. Being where he was being. After years of traveling through every corner of space, all kinds of dimensions, after gaping mindblownly at every thing that had previously seemed unimaginable to the human mind, what he was seeing now was well and truly beyond his comprehension.

HAMBURGERS — We have sold over 1 million! McDonald's

Light up a Lucky! It's light-up time!

Don't worry, darling. You didn't burn the beer! Schlitz

You can taste the fruit! Rowntree's Fruit Gums

$1.00 value accurate, heat-resistant cooking thermometer! Yours only for ¢25!

Washing machine owners in their thousands prove: OMO adds brightness!

There were women smiling in polka-dotted dresses and curled hair. Men in suits and slicked back hair coming home from conducting business. Aproned house wives inviting to a freshly cooked meal or pulling out sparkling white laundry from their washing machine. People smoking, drinking Budwiser, having this new thing called a Coke. All of them were in popping color, painted, it seemed like, as there was less sharpness and clarity than what Morty was used to. The cars that passed him were bulky and colourful and seemed more noble. There were fewer of them, too, more space on the streets.

The questions of where they were died on the boy's lips as it dawned on him. It seemed like it didn't matter where but rather when.

"You like milkshakes?"

Morty's head snapped over to Prime, who began chuckling. "C'mon."

Prime lightly pulled Morty along into a shop close to them. The teen felt like stumbling from one film set into another. Prime showed him to a booth by a huge window looking out on the busy boulevard. Morty tensely sunk down onto the bright red upholstery. All he could do was stare.

"Th-This is amazing!"

Prime chuckled again, then exclaimed "I thought you have seen the universe!"

Morty, tearing his gaze away from the big window, looked straight at him.

"I-I-I have! But this is…" His eyes were big and round, glistening with the colours around him as he lost the rest of his sentence. Indescribable.

Morty's eyes followed an orange Chevrolet Bel Air driving past slowly. As the car disappeared from his view, he looked down to where his hand clutched at the plasticy fabric of the upholstery next to his leg. Within the stitched crevices, there were crumbs and something silver. Morty poked at it and pulled it from the ridge. He struggled to open the wrapper up and read the writing. Rowntree's Fruit Gums. His eyes flicked back outside to where he'd seen the billboards — they were everywhere!

"I-I-I've seen an ad for these!" Morty looked at Rick excitedly while tilting the shiny silver packaging in the light.

"Well, yeah. Also, that's disgusting, don't touch that."

Morty was taken aback by the statement, though dropped the wrapper. He opened his mouth to say something, though Prime would never find out what as the waitress put down a large milkshake in front of Morty and the boy's mouth closed. Rick must have ordered for him.

Morty breathed a Thank you. The soft pink shade of the shake led Morty to believe it was strawberry-flavoured. He pulled the plastic straw toward him immediately and started sucking greedily.

"There's milkshakes now, too, you know?"

Morty looked up over the top of the whipped cream. Prime cocked his head at Morty and the boy thought that — for a short moment — he could see something soft in his eyes. Not the usual smug or indifferent look but something that actually resembled something…real. A second later, it was gone. As the milkshake melted on Morty's tongue and the sweetness almost gave him a sugar high, he couldn't help but feel something bitter rise at the back of his throat. The underlying tension — no matter how comfortable he'd grown around Prime — had never entirely disappeared. Morty wouldn't let it. Sure, the two of them had spent time together, talked, eaten, chilled, built stuff in the garage. Though Morty could've done that with any stranger who wasn't hellbent on murdering him in his sleep. There were no deeper conversations. No talk about the past —

You kidnapped me!

You trapped me here!

and no talks about the future —

I wanna leave, Rick!

I can't stay here forever!

I'm lonely!

One could even say that Morty had done an A+ job at ignoring pretty much every one of the herd of elephants that seemed to be following Prime around. It helped that Morty was spectacularly lost himself. It helped that he didn't know what his own future was going to be like, whether it could be better than this. It helped that the past years of his life had set the bar for his happiness so low that he was unsure of what even happiness was. Who even he was. All of it helped to make it bearable, helped to make him selectively blind, though none of it could make it entirely okay.

Morty might have his differences with Rick C-137 but he believed him. He believed him what Prime had done. That alone, was enough for Morty to know that this was not okay. Before Morty had gone out to lay in the sun that day, he had looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

The same bathroom mirror he had looked into when he was eight years old and had been craning his neck to even be able to see himself. He'd seen just his own eyes and the top of his head. His hair had been a lighter brown then, and slightly longer. He hadn't cared what he looked like back then, hands clutching on the lip of the sink to just get that extra inch. He had looked into that mirror more out of boredom than anything else. What was there to do when your parents fought other that flee to somewhere you couldn't hear?

It was also the same bathroom mirror he had looked into after Cronenberging his home and jumping dimensions. He had scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands, unseeingly, trying to get the dirt from the yard out from beneath his nails. He hadn't been sure he was breathing, then.

It was the same bathroom mirror he had looked into after arriving back on earth. With his family. Without Rick. He pulled the tattered and stained suit jacket off his shoulders when he couldn't stand the pressure anymore. He had ripped the dress shirt off of himself in a frenzy, brows furrowed, screaming, buttons flying. He threw the items of clothing to the floor one for one until he was rid of his tux. Then, he had sunk down with his back against the bathtub, almost entirely undressed and sobbed. Was he ever going to see Rick again?

So as Morty stood in front of that mirror a couple of hours prior, he remembered. And those memories hurt. Not more than the usual hurt, of course, though a memory that had never quite taken his breath as way as much as now, the memory that had given Morty and unexpected stab was —

Was he ever going to see Rick again?

It wasn't long ago that Morty felt like his grandpa, his only real friend, the only one on his side, his purpose to keep living, had been ripped away from him. He remembered lying awake for days and weeks and months thinking about whether his grandpa was alive somewhere. Or whether the robot sleeping with him under the same roof — Conroy — feeding him unidentifiable pills and offering a fun family time was indeed on the same side as the people who had taken the life of his only friend. His grandpa. The heart of his family.

On his laptop, even though Google hadn't worked anymore and he had to use their weird search engine Visma, he had looked for torture methods. After laying in the dark, forcing himself to think that Rick was alive, he couldn't force himself to think that he was well. Too much of a stretch. After imagining every method of torture he could think of or had ever seen in movies and history books, he had started visma-ing. He had broken down in tears, quietly, so no one could hear, before deleting his browser history. Whispering

I hope you're okay

to the stars. The memory made him nauseous considering how hard he'd now fought to get away from that very man.

So Morty stood in front of the mirror, his reserves crashing down like a house of cards, and he had let himself think the truth for the first time since telling himself that this was okay. It was not.

Neither was it okay to sit opposite Rick Prime inside a booth, clearly not on a supply run, and having his gaze bore through him. Morty felt the need to either yell out what he had wanted to say for weeks now, or run. Or both at the same time. Instead, Morty pushed away his milkshake and sat up straighter.

"So you time travel."

"Obviously."

"Rick doesn't." It slipped out before Morty could stop it.

"That so?" Prime cocked a brow.

The boy shrugged. "Says it's dangerous."

"Well, I don't exactly do it for old time's sake either." Prime stated as he eyed Morty intently.

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you and you're in such an awful mood back home." He quipped.

Morty's face fell. Home. "Well, I'm bored."

"I know. Why did you run away?"

Morty raised his gaze at Prime slowly, wary. There it was. He had known something was coming, catching Prime lying and sitting down face to face wasn't exactly a good sign.

"I didn't."

"So C-137 knew you were gonna split?"

Morty's silence was enough for Prime to go on. Morty bit his cheek, eyes downcast.

"I see. I believe we might share a goal, you and me."

The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he sat there, too small against the high back of the booth and an oversized, half-drunk milkshake in front of him, now forgotten.

Prime leaned in. Morty pressed his back into the upholstery.

"I happen to know C-137 pret-ty well."

Morty recoiled slightly, puzzled.

"We were friends, Morty. Pals, back in the day." He smirked. "He ended up betraying me."

Prime leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

There was a moment of silence as Morty tried to make sense of the words. No, that definitely didn't sound right.

"Much like you." Prime continued.

"He didn't betray me." Morty was quick to answer.

Rick's voice was soft. "Oh, I think we both know that's a lie."

Morty pressed his teeth together. "He didn't betray you." The boy forced out.

"How would you know? I think you'd probably agree with me if I said he wasn't that great a guy."

"Neither are you." Morty's eyes bore into the wooden table in front of him.

"Duh, we're the same person." Prime regarded Morty, "So defensive all of a sudden."

"C-Can we — can we go home?" Morty forced the words over his lips.

"Home? Oh, in many senses this is home." One corner of his mouth pulled up.

Morty looked up at that, being caught off guard.

"Let me show you something." Prime got up immediately, there was no room for a debate. Morty, too exited the diner, not knowing whether Prime had bothered to pay.

The teen's muscles were stiff as he followed Prime's confident strides. The stimuli of the street were now more exhausting than fascinating to him. He needed to think. He knew he couldn't get away no matter what Prime was about to show him, though he hated being utterly unprepared. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and he didn't feel like he could ignore them.

Much too late, Morty noticed a noise that was filtering into the cacophony of sounds on the street. The boy was too used to the sound to still give it much attention: the roar of a school break. Following Prime's gaze over to the crooked wire fencing surrounding the property, he saw a pretty new-timey looking schoolyard. Not that different from his.

"Now, we both know who C-137 is but I thought I'd give you some more insight." Morty looked up at Prime, not yet understanding.

"He's not a good person and that had nothing to do with the fact of what I allegedly did to him or he to me or whatever." Prime waved his hand dismissively, "He's always been like this. Taking whatever shit he needs from whoever he fucking wants. No regard for anything else than what he wants, no matter that he's hurting someone. Sound familiar?"

Prime motioned over to the schoolyard with his chin and Morty looked back over the street. He was catching glimpses of the goings-on through the people weaving in front and behind the two on their way from wherever to wherever.

Morty was about to ask about what he was supposed to see, his brain a little slow with his fear, when a thatch of bright blue hair caught his eye. After that, there was no question about what he was seeing and he gasped. Rick, probably somewhere about Morty's own age, stood before another boy, smug, hands on his hips. His hair was shorter, less spiky than C-137's. Also, he was wearing a uniform in a deep blue. His pants ended right over his knees and he was wearing a bright dress shirt with a dark jacket to match the pants.

The boy opposite Rick was…cowering, holding his hands up in surrender. Morty could faintly hear him talk.

"I can't. I-I'm sorry. It's my dad's. He's gonna be really mad if he finds it missing."

The boy was smaller than Rick, nervousness in his voice.

"Paul. A friend of ours." Rick Prime supplied from the side though Morty didn't look at him.

"Come on, man! I'm not gonna tell anybody!" Rick pressed.

Paul sighed, unsurely looking off to the side. He didn't want to say no again.

"Listen, I know, we are friends, but-but Rick I really can't. I'm sorry. You know how my old man gets." Paul sighed.

"C'mon you know he won't notice. You know I need it real bad. Like, real, real bad."

Morty watched as Paul jumped from one foot to another, looking more than uncomfortable.

"Rick, you know my dad gets the belt when I- you know." Paul looked up at Rick for the first time. "Please don't ask me to do this. I can't deal with my dad, can't have my parents fighting at home. Can't get thrown out. Come on man, we're friends." Paul looked hopeful.

"Then why bring it here? Why show it off right under my nose?" Rick's tone was cold.

"I-I'm really sorry."

"You piece of shit. Knew I couldn't trust you to do this one simple fucking thing."

Morty, like Paul, could feel the sting of those words. Rick really seemed to have said them all his life. Without any effort, memories of Rick and him on various colourful planets came to mind. An adventure turning sour with these very words. Did Rick, at this point, ever expect to go into space one day? Lead the life he's gonna lead?

"Show me." Rick insisted.

"Man, I can't-" Though Rick's patience had run thin.

Morty saw Rick lunge at the smaller boy, going for his backpack. A struggle ensued. Paul was on the ground, protecting the backpack and himself as best he could while Rick was shoving and hitting, anything to get to the buttons that wold undo the flap of the other boy's backpack.

Eventually, Rick managed to overpower the now crying boy, sitting on top of him while flipping his backpack open. He searched for his object of interest only for a moment before he pulled out something covered in a white cloth. Rick immediately got up and took a couple steps back. Wielding his new possession in the air like a sword. He peeled the white cloth away and revealed — a gun? Morty cocked his head. Why would Rick need a gun? Was Rick already crafting shit and needed it or…Morty couldn't think of another reason why he'd need it. Surely he couldn't have that many enemies at his young age.

"Give it back!" Paul had scrambled to his feet and looked around fearfully for anyone who would see.

"I don't think so." Rick smirked and held the black revolver up to where the shorter boy couldn't reach it. Paul looked around again. As he did, Prime pulled Morty back a few steps by the arm. The teen didn't know any of the rules of time travel but he felt like this was probably one of them. Don't let anyone see you!

When Morty's gaze found the pair of boys again, there was suddenly what looked like a teacher next to them. His gaze was stern as he held the gun in his hand. Rick's and Paul's gazes were directed at the ground, their bodies stiff. The posture of repercussions. Morty couldn't catch everything that was being said, they were too far away now.

"It was him!" He could hear Rick raise his voice while gesturing at the other boy. They both started gesticulating and talking over one another though Morty couldn't catch a word. Eventually, the teacher took both boys by the upper arm and dragged them off toward the building.

"There he is, the one who's never betrayed you." Prime concluded, pulling Morty's gaze away from the school.

Morty stayed quiet. He didn't feel like defending Rick.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I actually have some business I need to attend to. Alone. You stay here. Don't touch anything, don't talk to anyone or I swear I'll murder you myself if you still exist." Morty gulped and suddenly, he was alone.

Alright, so Rick had been a prick in school. Fine. To be expected, even. The condescending words Rick had said to Paul and then, after being caught lying to sell him out? Yep, definitely a Rick move. Paul reminded him of himself. Always shorter, always cowering. Just what Prime wanted him to see.

Morty didn't know how long he stood there, afraid to move, until he saw Rick come out of the school and exit the schoolyard. Morty's legs tingled with the desire to follow him. He could see that the boy was hanging his head, hands in his pockets, slurring his steps. After a few moments, Morty was so far away from him that he could barely still see him. That was enough space to follow safely, right?

Morty hesitantly started moving. He didn't know what he had expected to happen once he left the spot Prime had left him in, but it was nothing. Obviously, duh. Morty casually walked down the sidewalk, always watching Rick on the other side of the street, and always keeping a safe distance. The blue-haired boy didn't look around once. After a couple minutes of walking, Rick seemed to slow down for no apparent reason. The long strides faltering. Like he is stalling.

Morty got his answer quickly. Three considerably lager guys than Rick were blocking his path. The boy stopped walking though didn't look up. Morty casually positioned himself in an alley that was darker, trying to stay hidden.

"You have it?"

Morty couldn't hear Rick's answer though the boys looked displeased. The gun…?

"Big boy with his big words!" One of the bigger boys laughed at Rick.

"Sure I can get a gun, easiest thing." An impression of what Rick must have said a some time before.

"Fuckin' idiot." A butch guy with short black hair roughly shoved Rick at the shoulder. He stumbled a step back but didn't try to run. He was apparently accepting his impending doom. Morty looked around hectically for anyone who was seeing what he was seeing, for anyone who could help though there didn't seem to be anyone who cared. There wasn't ever anyone who helped him, either.

"Look at me when I talk to you!" The butch guy had grabbed Rick by the hair and pulled upwards until Rick was on his tip toes, face contorted in shame and pain.

Rick then said something though Morty didn't catch it.

"Can you speak up for me, Sanchez? Can barely hear you from down there." A second, blond guy laughed.

"Let go of me." With his raised voice there was defiance in his face.

The guys laughed as the blond one stepped next to the butch guy and squarely and not with little force, punched Rick in the stomach. Rick gasped, wanting to double over, face scrunching up. After a few painful seconds the butch guy let go of Rick's hair and he immediately bent over, holding his stomach.

Morty held his breath. That had looked brutal. He wished he could go over, help —

"That stupid blue hair of yours." The third guy had circled around and was now standing behind Rick. Morty watched him pull back his leg and kick out. Morty forced himself to look away. The startled yell from Rick was hurting him. When he looked back at Rick, he was on his knees. Well, on one knee, the other leg was awkwardly stretched out to the side. One of his arms was still around his stomach while the other was on the sidewalk, balancing his awkward position.

"Don't lie to us again you fucker or we're gonna do things way worse than this." The butch guy laughed as they all started to retreat and walk away.

Rick, still crouching awkwardly, looked at them with a harsh expression. Morty could see him grappling for something beside him though didn't know what it was until he threw it. Of course, Rick had to have thrown a rock after those guys even though he had no way of defending himself. The stone found its mark on the butch guy's back and even though Morty doubted that it had physically hurt him, he still turned back with murderous rage in his eyes. Oh, jeez.

Morty physically flinched when the whole crew, voices raised, circled back around to Rick. Said boy was slowly getting up, keeping eye contact with the butch guy. Rick ended up putting most of his weight on his uninjured knee, though seemed to be able to stand relatively comfortably. As the guys approached, Rick produced a gadget and did a quick step toward the group. The next thing Morty knew was that the butch guy was on the ground, Rick's gadget had zapped him like a taser. The other guys took a step back at the developments, Rick smirking.

"More where that came from." He promised.

The guy from the ground had gotten his baring a back and took the lead of the group.

"Just get the thing from him and then show 'im how it's done." Morty gulped. He'd been bullied, yes, but not like this.

The blond guy pretended to prepare for dealing a punch, Rick focusing on him, as the third guy ripped the device from Rick's left hand. He threw it to the floor instantly, the gadget breaking, before stepping on it to be absolutely sure.

Morty was sure he could see Rick gulping as he took a step back and raised his hands.

"I-I'm so-sorry, I won't lie to-to you again!" Morty almost had to smirk at the familiar stutter.

The butch guy had gotten up and was towering over the smaller boy. He took the lapels of Rick's navy jacket in his fists and pulled him up.

"You listen here you little shit, how dare you throw something after me?" He shook Rick a couple times.

"You think you're something better with your weird stuff that you build or because your hair is fucking blue like a fucking alien?"

"N-No, I-I-I don't." Rick had his hands wrapped around the fists on his lapels.

"Y-Y-Y-You ever l-l-l-l-learn proper English?" The blond haired guy mocked. Rick's gaze flitted around from one to the next. Morty hoped Rick would pull a gadget out of his pocket — something unexpected — and everything would be fine. He was, after all, still Rick.

Instead, the butch guy let go of Rick's jacket and hit him with his fist across the face. Rick's head snapped to the side and he went down immediately. While Rick was recovering and trying to push himself up, the butch guy took him by his hair again and dragged him to his feet forcefully.

Morty's eyes were wide as watched how he pulled a struggling Rick along a few feet until they reached a dumpster.

"Stupid fuck. Look who has the perfect height!" He called out to his friends who gathered around to look. If Rick stood up tall, his head was at the same height as the sharp metal corner of the dumpster. The guy was pushing his head close to the corner. But they couldn't mean…Morty stiffened, looking around for someone to help with renewed urgency.

The butch guy pulled Rick's head a foot or so away from the edge of the dumpster. His cheering friends were leering close by, excited for what came next.

"Maybe you'll be less cocky when we knock the genius out of your head."

"Yeah," The blond one sneered. "Fuckin' retard."

Jesus, Rick apparently hadn't done much for them to like him.

"N-No! Guys, pl-please! I-I-I'll do whatever you want! I'll-I'll get you, I'll help you—" Rick tried.

"I think I'm good with giving you a nice little concussion."

Rick struggled anew, gripping at the hand holding his hair.

"Boys, take his arms."

As the guys moved, Rick's struggle intensified.

"No, no, please! Let me go! Please!" He tried kicking out at their legs.

The butch guy pulled his head a little further away from the corner and — Smack! The sound of the impact on metal was loud, especially so if one knew what had impacted.

Rick's struggles immediately ceased as the boy was disoriented. Morty could see his knees buckle and his shoulders slump. Whether he kept standing because of the guys holding him or due to his own will power, Morty couldn't tell.

They pulled his head back again and Smack! A second time.

And then a third.

Then, they let go. Rick was on the ground immediately. Morty couldn't tell whether he was conscious at first though after being nudged with a foot by the butch guy, he could see Rick stir weakly. Morty released a breath and moved a step to the side. As he did, his hand brushed by the waistband of his pants feeling —

The gun.

He had a gun.

He could defend himself. And Rick. Unless…

Morty did not want to collapse time. He did not want to suddenly not exist anymore. He did not want to cause any unforeseeable hiccups in the fabric of space time. He did not want —

His gaze flickered to Rick. He was still on the ground, curled onto his side. The boys were kicking him while throwing insults. Sometime while Morty had been nervously watching, Rick's feeble movements of protecting himself had stilled. He couldn't watch this a second longer.

Morty ran over the street, barely looking out for cars.

"Get away from him!" The boys looked up towards him.

"Keep walking, this is none of your business, boy."

"I said get away from him." Morty pulled the gun aiming. He thanked the years of training and god and Jesus that he felt secure with the gun.

That seemed to startle the boys. They each took a step back from the small figure on the damp ground and put their hands up.

"Looks…strange." One said, cocking a brow.

"No way that's a real gun."

"Believe me, I-I-it is real." Morty gave a low voltage warning shot into the wall.

The butch guy narrowed his eyes slightly as he heard Morty's stutter though remained quiet.

Morty gave a second shot, closer to them this time and it startled the guys. They ducked before scattering off. Piece of cake. Uncertain whether he should make sure if Rick was okay or not, he liked to exist, after all, he settled on just calling out:

"H-hey there, you ok?" Morty tried to get a glimpse of the boy's face beneath his shielding arms.

Morty got no response. Tucking the gun away back into his waistband, he inched closer.

"Hey man, how're you doing?"

Again, there was no response. Fuck it.

Morty crouched down next to the curled up Rick. His knees were hurting as they touched the gravely pavement. The side of the boy's face that Morty could see was coated in red. There were drops of crimson running into different directions over the pale skin, gravity continually shifting as he was kicked around. There were gashes at his temple that seemed nasty. The boy's arms were loosely draped in front of his face, his fingers tangled in tufts of blue. Morty could tell his eyes were closed, his whole body relaxed.

Morty wished he was in Rick's garage, older-Rick's garage. He wished he could spread some gel on the cuts, give him an injection to make his injuries go away. To make the pain go away. Give the boy a miracle as a present from his future self. Instead, Morty had a feeling that he had already royally fucked up by even inserting himself in the situation at all. Rick surely wouldn't have died, right? If he did, he would've never even met the man. Maybe it was wrong of him, though it felt so right.

Laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, Morty shook him carefully. "Hey, Rick? You gotta wake up."

Morty started pulling Rick's arms away from his face. He needed to see whether there was something seriously wrong. The boy groaned at that, and stiffened his arms in front of his face and around his head.

"Please…no." Morty could just make out the words and swallowed, "N-No more…I'm hurt."

"I-I-I'm not one of them. I'm not trying to hurt you. I want to help!" Morty exclaimed, giving his shoulder another shake.

For a moment, the boy just breathed. Then, he peaked at Morty between his arms.

Rick's brows furrowed. "Who…Who are you?"

"I-I-I just saw what happened and wanted to help."

That was enough information for Rick's muddled brain and he let his arms fall. He scrunched his eyes closed as he momentarily pressed his forehead into the pavement. Pain.

"You okay?" Morty asked again for a lack of anything else to say. Every piece of information slipping from his mouth could be catastrophic. That, Morty still had at the forefront of his mind.

"I-I don't know." Rick breathed. "Can you help me up?"

Rick reached out an arm and Morty put it around his shoulders and pulled the boy into a sitting position. Looking over to the face that was now right next to his, he saw that Rick's eyes were once again shut.

"Do you — Do you need to see a doctor?" Morty tried. Rick groaned.

As the blue-haired boy opened his eyes and looked at Morty from up close, Morty could see in the midday sun that one of his pupils was blown.

"J-Jeez, man, I think they really hurt you."

"No shit." Rick felt around his ribs and flinched at his own touch. Then, he carefully prodded his temple. He calmly regarded his blood on his fingertips.

The detail in his irises, Morty saw as he continued to regard his face from up close, was sharper. The color was popping, not yet mellowed out by age.

Rick shifted. He held a hand in front of his eyes and groaned. He seemed out of it to Morty. Adventure gone wrong out of it. Rick turned his head then, eyeing the dumpster and carefully scooted a little closer to it. Morty followed, even though they didn't have any physical contact anymore. He watched as Rick leaned his back towards the dumpster and rested the back of his head carefully against the metal, eyes closed.

"You-you gonna be ok?" Morty tried.

No response.

"Hello?" He touched the boy on the shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"You have a-a-a concussion. You-you need to see a doctor."

"'M fine." The boy mumbled.

"C'mon, I'll help you up."

There was no confirmation from Rick as Morty got up and started to lightly pull him by the arm. With a little help from Rick and a lot from Morty, the injured boy made it to his feet. One of his arms was draped over his shoulders for support as Rick stood on one leg, hobbling a small step. He let out an exhausted groan and let his head fall against Morty's head and shoulder. This was not good.

"C-Can you walk?"

Morty started to slowly maneuver them toward the street.

"Wh-Where's the next hospital?"

It wasn't a good sign that the boy wasn't responding. His eyes were barely open.

"Wh-Where do you live? Is there someone I can call?" Morty tried.

As Morty was about to panic, the boy finally answered.

"R-Right d-down there." He motioned down the street with the hand that was next to Morty's neck.

Even though, Morty didn't exactly know what he was referring to — his home or a hospital — he gladly took it.

"Can you walk?" He repeated.

"I-I'll try." His voice was quiet, his words slurred.

Morty closed his eyes for a second. If Prime saw them, he was fucked. If Prime came back and he wasn't there, he was fucked. If he somehow managed to screw up the past with this, he was dead.

Like a three-legged high baby giraffe, the two boys stumbled in the direction Rick had indicated. One of them leaning heavily on the other, they made their way down the sidewalk. Morty didn't push a conversation. He kept his head down so fewer people would see him, though he knew he did it more for his own conscience than anything else. He knew he had already fucked up, no matter how he angled his head.

After a while, both of them were panting. Morty wondered how far they still had to go as his stomach kept sinking. He wanted to look at Rick, really look at him, at the impossible opportunity he had been given. He would've wanted to hang out with him, get to know him. Morty knew he obviously couldn't and it made him sad and a little angry. There was too much going on in his head. All the layered emotions gave him an anxiety induced migraine.

"The gun." Rick suddenly started through their loud breathing. "Where did you get that?"

Morty's mind panicked without his permission. At least Rick seemed a little clearer.

"I-I-I-Someone made it for me."

"How-How does it work? Is it magazine-fed or does it run on a high-charge battery?"

"Uh, it-it's got a magazine."

"No-No offense," Rick panted from pain, "but you don't-you don't really seem like a guy to give a semi-automatic directed energy weapon to."

As Morty didn't respond, Rick continued.

"I can't get it to work. I-I've tried for a while. I like building stuff."

"That-that's cool." Morty cringed at his response.

"I-I'd love to meet the guy who-who made it for you. Would you mind introducing us?"

"I-I-I-I'm not from around here. Neither is he. But I-I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually." Morty tried to sound encouraging.

Rick hummed in exhaustion.

Just when the brown-haired boy considered stopping to catch his breath from basically dragging Rick along, the other boy stopped abruptly.

"W-We're here."

They were standing in front of an unassuming house, upper middle class from the looks of it. Next to the steps leading up to the front door, there was a sign with the name Sanchez.

Wide eyed, Morty regarded the house for a few, long moments. It didn't feel right for Rick to have a childhood home that seemed so…ordinary. It didn't feel right for Rick to have a childhood home at all. He was Rick. The mad scientist. The 70-year-old fuck up. The god.

Morty shook himself out of his stupor as the front door suddenly opened. He felt like bolting — Rick was going to be fine, after all — though seemed frozen in place.

A tall man with tanned skin and a Latino-look about him was revealed by the door. His hair was dark brown, as was his mustache. He had one hand perched on his hip and looked all but pleased.

"Son, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" His voice was deep and gravely. Morty swallowed.

As Rick didn't make a sound, Morty finally said:

"M-M-M-Mr. Sanchez, y-you-your son is really hurt, he was-"

"Nothing." Rick interrupted. "It's fine."

Morty looked at him in surprise as Rick's father narrowed his eyes.

"You don't look fine. How many times-"

"Father, please." Rick's voice was soft in a way Morty had barely ever heard it. The boy was looking towards the ground rather than up at his dad.

The man grumbled something Morty couldn't make out as he motioned for Rick to come inside. The blue-haired boy let go of Morty, though stumbled dangerously at the first step he took.

"I-I'll help him inside." Morty said to Rick's father with more confidence than he felt as he carefully hooked his arm back around Rick's torso.

Mr. Sanchez nodded and stepped inside the house to make way. Morty maneuvered

Rick up the steps and into the foyer of the house.

"And who are you? A friend of my son's? I don't think I've ever seen you around."

Morty let Rick sit down on a bench in the foyer. "Uh, n-no. I just-I saw what happened and wanted to help."

"That's very kind of you. He keeps getting himself in these…pickles." Mr. Sanchez eyed his son with a hard gaze, then turned back to Morty. "Can I offer you something to drink? You could join us for dinner." He offered.

"No. Thank you for the offer, though. I-I really need to get going. But it was nice meeting you both." Morty was flustered.

Mr. Sanchez nodded thoughtfully. "Has Rick thanked you properly, at least?"

"N-no need."

"Thanks." Rick piped in. It did sound sincere, even though short.

"Y-you're welcome."

"Rick? Is that you?" A female voice was approaching from somewhere. Morty turned his head as he heard someone come down the stairs.

"Our boy has gotten himself injured, darling. Quite thoroughly this time."

"Oh Richard, again?"

Morty saw Rick sigh as he hung his bloody head miserably. A woman emerged at the bottom of the stairs. She was beautiful, with a blond updo and bangs. Her features were pulled into a sorrowful grimace as she laid eyes on Rick.

"Dear god, we need to get him to the hospital."

"And who are you, young man?"

"I-I-I just helped him get home, Mrs. Sanchez."

She eyed Morty critically, then her features softened. "Thank you."

"N-no problem."

Morty excused himself and with a last look to Rick and a quick thought that this was probably the last time he'd ever see him like this, Morty left. As soon as the house was out of view, he started sprinting down the street from where he'd come.

Please let Prime still be running errands. Please let him not have noticed his absence. Please—

Morty, heavily panting, eventually reached the spot where Rick had left him. He breathlessly looked left and right for Prime, he even turned around himself a couple times but could spot the man in question. The fleeting thought that Rick might have left without him when he wasn't there came to his mind. So Morty waited. He tried calming his nerves and his breathing.

Me? Oh, I've just been standing here, waiting. Nothing happened.

Morty didn't have to wait long until Prime reappeared suddenly behind him.

"You good? Lookin' a little pale."

"N-n-no. I'm good. Nothing to worry about." Morty gave what he knew was an unconvincing smile. Prime didn't comment on it but rather shot a portal and motioned for Morty to go through. He gladly did.