A/N Since there are hundreds? Thousands? Maybe even millions of versions of Morty I thought it would be fun to write about my own version of Morty. I hope you enjoy Baker Morty. His appearance is slightly different in that he wears a blue shirt with a red stripe across the center instead of the traditional yellow shirt that most morties wear.
Warnings: This story will have some offensive jokes/insults, verbal abuse and physical abuse (so basically like the show) so if any of these are triggers to you proceed with caution.
Morty had just gotten home from school, it was a typical day of him getting bullied and made fun of. But now he was home, and he could bake and take his mind off the stressful day. After he discarded his backpack in his room, he decided to bake some muffins for his family. He was using a recipe he made up and he hoped they enjoyed them. First, he put a black apron on. He preheated the oven to four hundred degrees. Then he got a big bowl out and mixed two cups of flour, two teaspoons of baking powder, one cup of sugar, and a half teaspoon of salt together as his dry ingredients. In a separate bowl he whisked together two eggs, a half cup of milk, a half cup of melted butter, and one teaspoon of vanilla as his wet ingredients. He slowly combined the dry ingredients with the wet ingredients until they were well mixed. Then he added two cups of semi-sweet chocolate chips until they were mixed in. Then he lined a muffin tray with cupcake liners. And carefully poured the muffin batter in until the liners were a little over half full. Then he put the tray in the oven for thirteen minutes.
Once he was sure they were done he pulled a hot and fresh tray of chocolate chip muffins out of the oven filling the air with a delicious aroma. He carefully placed the tray on the counter and admired his work. He wiped his flour covered hands on his flour covered apron. From as early as he could remember he'd always loved baking. Maybe he would open his own bakery someday, or work as a pastry chef in some fancy restaurant. Either way he got to do what he loved so he'd be happy. Suddenly his tray of muffins went sliding off the counter and onto the floor. He turned to see his grandfather standing there with a smirk on his face.
"My muffins! W-Why would you do that!?" he had a hurt expression on his face.
"Honestly Morty you sound like a whiny little kid; besides I was saving your dignity, everyone knows only little girls bake" his grandfather said. Just then his parents came into the kitchen.
"What was that noise? Oh god was Morty baking again" his mom rolled her eyes. Rick simply nodded in response.
"Morty we've asked you not to do that" his mom gave him a stern look.
"But, I-I love it, it's fun, t-there's something satisfying about baking your own sweets, instead of buying it from the store, you can honestly say I made that, also fresh baked goods make anyone's day brighter " Morty sighed dreamily.
"It's nothing personal son, it's just…it makes you look like a loser" his dad said.
"And an embarrassment" his mom added. Morty was stung by their words.
"Also clean this mess up, there's flour and muffins everywhere" she said.
"O-ok mom…." Morty gathered up his now ruined muffins and threw them in the trash. Tears stung his eyes as he had to throw his hard work in the trash. He really wanted his family to try them. After he cleaned up his mess he went to his room. He curled up on his bed and cried. He had hoped his parents would chastise his grandfather for being mean to him. But instead they berated him. He sobbed. Why couldn't his family understand that he loved baking. If they would just try his baked goods he knows they would enjoy them. Did it really make him a loser and an embarrassment? He supposed he was teased by anyone who knew that he enjoyed baking, he always heard the same thing. Only girls bake. Just then his grandfather came in, he figured it's wishful thinking to hope he was here to apologize.
"Are you really in here crying? God you are such a baby" his grandfather rolled his eyes.
"W-why do you have to be so mean to me?" Morty said through tears.
"Why do you have to stutter? It makes you sound retarded, if the shoe fits I suppose" Rick mocked him. Morty didn't know why he stuttered, he just always has, no matter how many times he tries to stop and speak clearly he just can't. It was something everyone including his own family teased him for.
"J-just leave me alone please" he pulled his knees to his chest and cried harder.
"You're pathetic, come on we're going to do something manly to toughen you up, and I know just the thing" his grandfather smirked. Morty gulped this usually meant he was going to be harmed in some way. Rick grabbed his arm and pulled him to the garage. They got in the car and drove downtown. They finally stopped at a bar.
"This is where all the manly men go" Rick said.
"Um, I-I don't think I'm old enough to be here" Morty looked about anxiously.
"Come on! Stop being such a sissy, maybe you should lose your virginity, you know get a little coochie, maybe then you'd stop being such a wuss" his grandfather crossed his arms.
"That's it! We'll find a nice hot lady for you to stick your-
"Grandpa! D-Do you have to be so graphic" he cut him off.
"Besides I-I will lose my virginity someday, w-with my wife on our wedding night" Morty said.
"Ugh, you are such a goody two shoes, it makes me sick" Rick scoffed in disgust.
"Anyways, let's go" Rick led him to the bar.
His grandfather pushed open some saloon style doors. Some way too loud music was playing, the lyrics made him blush, he had to resist the urge to cover his ears. There was shouting and drunk patrons carrying on loud conversations. As soon as they noticed that a teen was in the bar all eyes were on them. Morty gulped and tried not to meet anyone's eyes, they all looked like they would jump at the chance to beat him up. They walked right up to the front where a man was busy serving drinks to already hammered men. Morty noticed that there seemed to be no women in this bar. Maybe only men were obnoxious drunks.
"I would like two caramel whiskeys; it's my grandson's first drink so make it extra special" Rick said.
"Grandpa, I-I don't want to drink, c-can we just go home?" Morty was really uncomfortable. Between the explicit music and the men who looked eager to hurt him he was afraid for his safety. The bartender placed two drinks in front of them.
"You know Morty, if you just tried things before you whined and complained you might find you like them" his grandfather took a sip of his drink. "Come on, it's good, just try it" he said.
"I-I really don't want to" the strong smell alone was making him want to throw up.
Just then a man that was at least three times Morty's size came over to him clearly drunk by the way he swayed. Morty tried to pretend he wasn't there, maybe if he ignored him he would go away. He roughly grabbed Morty's arm. His heart lurched in fear and he looked to his grandpa for help, surely he wouldn't let this man put his hands on him. But Rick simply just kept drinking his whiskey. He looked rather interested like he was wondering what this man planned to do to him. He lifted Morty right off of his barstool by his shirt, he let out a squeal of terror. His girlish squeal elicited laughter from the entire bar.
"Wow Morty, that was pathetic" Rick laughed. The man slammed Morty against the wall. And held him there by his shirt. He could hear the fabric starting to tear.
"W-what do you want? Leave me alone! Grandpa help!" he struggled. Which caused the man to press him harder into the wall.
"I don't like you, you're scrawny and weak and wimpy, it's ticking me off" the man spoke in a gruff voice. His face was inches from Morty's. Morty swallowed audibly hard. "Whatchya gunna do little man!" he yelled in Morty's face.
Beat him up already!
Stop messing around!
Splatter him all over the wall!
Hurry up or I'll do it!
Morty heard people shouting. The man let out some kind of drunken battle cry. And started pounding on Morty. Before he could register what happened he just felt fist after fist, then he was on the ground being kicked over and over again. He cried for help and desperately tried to escape, but everywhere he tried to run he was grabbed and beaten by another man. He hoped Rick would save him, but his grandfather merely sat there watching a smirk on his face, he was obviously enjoying it. He feared these men were going to kill him. He was grabbed and pinned to the floor. The man that pinned him drew his fist back getting ready to punch him. Morty closed his eyes and awaited the pain, but the fist never came. He slowly opened his eyes. The man's eyes were wide in horror, then he crumpled to the ground unconscious. Morty saw his grandfather holding some kind of device. He tucked it into the pocket of his coat.
"Get up, we're going" Rick looked down at him, unsympathetically.
"I-I can't" Morty was on the verge of tears. His whole body ached. Rick sighed heavily before heaving Morty up by his shirt. Then they went home. Morty's family was in the living room watching tv. They looked over at him and Rick as they entered the house.
"Morty what happened?" his mom asked.
"Grandpa t-took me to a bar, a-and they beat me up" Morty had managed not to cry at the bar.
But now tears we're sliding down his cheeks. He had hoped to see even just an ounce of sympathy from his mother. She exchanged looks with his father and sister, and they all burst into a wheezing fit of laughter. He ran upstairs to his room ignoring the pain that seared through him with every step. He buried his face into his pillow and cried. Most parents would be appalled, even furious that a grandparent had allowed their kid to be hurt. But his parents not only didn't care but laughed at him. He didn't understand why his parents had him if they hated him so much. When the sobs finally stopped he went to the mirror. His nose and bottom lip were bleeding, his right eye black and swollen. His shirt was ripped, bruises had already started forming where he had been hit. He changed his shirt and iced his eye. He cleaned the blood from his nose and lip. At least the whole ordeal was over and he could go to bed now. He turned the light off and climbed into his bed. He was laying on his side about to doze off when his door slid open, filtering light into his dark room. He could tell by the tall shadow that it was his grandfather. He stood in the doorway for a moment.
"Hey Morty, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about what happened at the bar, I got carried away" he apologized.
"I-It's ok grandpa…" Morty said quietly. He already knew the drill; Rick would be really mean to him then apologize then go right back to being mean to him. It was a vicious cycle that never seemed to end.
"I'll make it up to you, I promise" Rick said.
His definition of make it up to him was usually something even more dangerous than what he was originally trying to make up for. Darkness filled his room once again as his door closed. He let out a shuddering sigh, he had made it through the day. That's what his days consisted of him simply making it through the day, surviving some crazy ordeal his grandfather had gotten him into or smiling through his family's verbal abuse. Baking was his only peace of mind. When he baked all the stress just melted away. As felt his eyelids getting heavier, he could finally have peace for the moment. When he was asleep nobody yelled at him, or made fun of him, or berated him, it was just him and whatever weird dreams his mind conjured up. His eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.