"I'll be the guard dog." Rick said softly, pulling Morty back into his side by his shoulder. Once the two were settled, an arm around the teen and his laser pistol in one hand, the elder male rest his head back against the cement behind them.
“Wh-what does that--” Morty’s yawn was loud and obvious, and Rick winced slightly. This planet’s harsh conditions were no place for a kid like Morty. The running, the hiding from zombified humans and aliens alike, the fact that he was quaking despite being very clearly exhausted was enough to prove that. They’d been on foot practically all day, trying not to get caught and eaten after their ship had crashed and the portal gun had been trashed. Zombies had no respect for technology beyond their comprehension, truly. “What doe-does that m-mean, Rick?”
“It means, Morty, that you need to get some sleep, Mo-OURGHT-Morty, and I need to try and wo--urp--work on a new portal gun, Morty. We need to get home, Morty.” Rick said, finally, smiling a little bit as he rested his cheek against the other’s head of wild, auburn curls.
“I-- I can he-help, Rick. Let me--” Another yawn broke his lips and he was already curling up closer to his grandfather, getting comfortable and tugging his legs up. Almost as if on an afterthought, Rick tugged off his lab coat and wrapped it around the shaking teen’s arms.
“Shut up, M--urp--Morty. You need to fucking sleep.” There was no room for argument in his tone, and those brown eyes found themselves falling shut, obeying without question. Hopefully he’d be able to get some good, solid sleep. They both would need it, later.