Morty had to wear a suit. It was itchy and tight and it took him two hours to fail to tie his tie and then ask Rick to do it for him. He untied it on accident in the car on the way there, and someone yelled at him for it but Morty wasn’t sure if it was his mom or his dad. Rick retied it for him and told him not to worry about it. Everything was a blur after he sat down, and everything said was completely lost on Morty’s ears after he tuned out and just. Sat there. The bench he saw sitting on was hard and uncomfortable, making him shift and squirm the entire time; never sitting still even when Rick caught his hand so he would stop biting himself. He didn’t even notice that, he was just doing it. They left, and his parents yelled at each other, and then they went back a few days later to yell in public. At some point in the loud discussion, Rick tugs Morty out of the room and out into the large main room of the building.
“Hey, M-Morty, what do you think?” He's unusually.. calm? He'd call his grandpa sober, but that never happens.
“About what?” Rick sighs, giving Morty a little smack on the side of his head.
“About which one you want, ‘ya little dummy.” Morty still isn't following, and it must show on his face because his grandfather raises a hand to his face and rests it there for a moment.
“Which one of your parents you wanna go to after all this shit. I’d pick neither too, but they dunno who to stick with you. Neither of ‘em deserve you anyway.” He grumbles that last bit under his breath, glaring off to the side like all his problems were manifested right in that one spot. He pats his grandson’s hair, looking around for whatever’s caught Morty’s eye and distracted him.
“C’mere.” Rick snorts, pulling the kid off down the hall and getting him some caffeine in the form of a soda. Whatever he put in wasn't currency on earth, but the machine took it so it's not really their problem. He uncaps his bottled tea and pours it into what's probably a fake plant, replacing it with the contents of his flask and flashing a wink in his grandson’s direction. Morty would never tell.
They went back and forth before Morty was finally stuck with his mum, with protests from both her and Rick but oddly not his father. Of course his mum had her arguments, and his grandfather grumbled about ‘the court favouring the mother's’ but she makes the money and he'd get to stay in the same house and school so things could still be as normal as possible for him. Summer got her shit together and left, first just the house and then town completely; leaving Morty alone. She yelled and cried, and on more than a few occasions she saw it fit to punish Morty for whatever he'd apparently done to her. He saw his mother drink more than even Rick on some days, and on bad days like those ones he didn't even make it to school; and on ‘good’ days he was consistently late.
Things didn't get to get ‘normal’ again before they moved him to his dad, out of the house and away from his mother. And from Rick. His dad had moved into a little apartment that could be called cozy if you're the size of a grade schooler or blind. He didn't get his own room and he didn't know anyone at the new school, not that he actually made it there more than twice. Morty had been with his mother for about two months, but he stayed with Jerry for barely two weeks before they were back at the big stupid room again. He didn't have to wear a suit this time. Rick took him straight there from school, still in his regular clothes and his backpack on his shoulders.
“R-Rick, I think I'm out of-I think I'm out of patents.” Morty tries to laugh but it sounds just as forced as it is, but he's trying. He receives a pat on the shoulder for the effort, the hand guiding him back into the room but this time to the front where his parents usually stand and currently are now.
“We are his parents, you can't just-” Beth is silenced by the sharp rap of a little hammer hitting a desk; but the tension in the air doesn't thin. Morty wishes that he'd been paying attention all the other times they were here. What's even going on? Rick pulls him closer to his side, planting a hand firmly on the boy's hip to secure his hold. His mother is crying. Everything is a blurb of syllables that blend together, the grip on his waist growing tighter. This is so important but everything is so distracting, Morty can't keep his attention when he's never seen the room from his angle and everything looks different. His head falls over onto Rick, sending up a little cloud of the distinct smell of whiskey. The woman that's been talking the whole time is looking at him now, taking in his relaxed stature beside Rick and hitting her little hammer again. That's such an awful, piercing sound. They're so close to the yelling, Morty wants to cover his ears but hands are already clapping over them before he can do it himself. He can hear, but it's muffled. Something about him, something about Rick. His grandfather's hands are so cold, is he always so freezing? Said hands retreat away from him, standing him up again and giving him a little push forward. Morty feels his stomach drop and his mouth go dry. Was he supposed to say something? He was about to, but his impending self embarrassment is interrupted by the woman's loud voice booming around the room and announcing the case over.
“On account of both parents unfit to care for a child, and the blatant neglect to care for his needs, the court deems to place the child under the sole care of his grandfather.”
“S-so..” Morty doesn't know what to say. Rick hasn't said a word to him since they left; not when they got his stuff from Jerry’s, or when he stopped off and got him a milkshake, or when they pulled up in the driveway of the house where they're still sitting now.
“No, sit tight in the car; we aren't sticking around here. I just need to blow the place off the face of the earth so there's no evidence I was ever here.” Rick waits for him to laugh.
“Kid that was a joke, lighten the fuck up.” He taps Morty with a flashlight, waiting for the guy to at least crack a smile before hopping out of the car and returning within the minute portal gun in hand. The garage door creaks down agonisingly slowly, making Morty squirm in anticipation for what he doesn't even know what's going to happen next. Rick shoots a port onto the door, jumps in the car, and floors it. Morty isn't phased, though he does knock against the glass beside him going from resting to top speed. They're deposited out of another garage door, right onto a driveway facing out towards the street. Nothing around them is overly unfamiliar, but at the same time everything is completely different. The grass is a shade greener, and Morty can see flowering bushes lined along a little sidewalk connecting the driveway to the wooden steps of an adequately shaded porch.
“H-how did you-”
“I know a guy Morty; get out of the ship.” Rick gives him a little shove, sliding out his own side and waiting around by the bushes. He relents, if only to just explore. The brunette isn't sure he trusts this yet, are they still in their same dimension? The viburnum bushes are suspect to his inspection first, subjected to Morty’s poking and prodding before he finally gives them a smell. They seem to be in order.
“Hey, Morty!” He jumps, falling against the bush and just barely putting up his hand to wave at the blur of whoever was biking past. No one talks to him.
“He-hey, Rick! Where, where did you take me?” He scrambles up the sidewalk and trips on the porch stairs, catching himself on a post just before he would've smacked against the beautiful Purple Heart decking. He's already got some unmarked bottle of alcohol, which Morty can identify both by the smell and colour to be bourbon, and downing it like his life depends on it. It was unsettling when his mum did it, but.. that's just part of Rick.
“Relax M-Morty, we're still in the same dimension.” Right, okay, good. What dimension is theirs again? C-137? No, that one got overrun by mutants. C-125. Something like that. Morty considers the spot on the swing beside Rick, admiring the matching stain on the Purple Heart and the sturdy looking supports attaching it to the awning but of the porch, but decides to pass. He appreciates that the smell of liquor goes well on Rick, but doesn't like having it all over himself. The front door is a parabola, with navy paint differentiating it from the powder blue exterior of the house and the purple deck. The brass knob twists easily in his hand, the key already sticking out of the hole even though his grandfather hasn't gone inside. He steps straight into the living room, with the open space directly in front of him and stairs directly to his right; covered with the same plush grey carpet that's laid out across the living area, save for the few squares of tile he's standing on. Morty pulls off his shoes and lines them up with the left side doorframe and the edge of the tile before he'll step out onto the soft polyester fibers, venturing out to touch the red leather couch and matching recliner chairs that are arranged symmetrically in front of a tv that's already hooked up to the best Interdimensional Cable available. It's.. nice. The kitchen tile matches what's at the front door; white with a black swirling pattern that's matched up perfectly on the floor and compliments the gorgeous black quartz countertops. The subway tile backsplash is navy, standing out sharply next to the slightly off White of the walls. There's already pictures hung up on walls, not in rows but in patterns that mirror on perpendicular lines so Morty can get behind it. Except one frame. It's a picture of himself and Rick, and it's one of the better ones, but it's crooked so he has to fix it immediately. Every shot is conveniently missing his parents, like Rick thought seeing them would make him upset. No, he gets it. Who doesn't return damaged goods? Both of them were already broken, they didn't need him making it worse. Whatever. Why couldn't they have just sucked it up and dealt with each other? Nothing is ever going to be remotely the same again, and that isn't okay. Morty wants to go home and hate his family and let them hate him and just be there like everything has always been. He feels dizzy, like he's going to fall down. The feeling of needing to throw up is back, and the room is spinning around him; some unknown buzzing fills Morty’s ears, cancelling out any other noise around him including the breaking of glass. He doesn't even feel the sharp jab of pain, or the warmth of blood. Even the sight of it is lost on the brunette, eyes now unfocused and not really seeing what he's looking at.
“Morty? He-hey Squirt what're ‘ya doin’?”
Morty settled. It took a while for him to stop getting up at five for school, and even longer to stop looking for his parents in the morning; but he settled and it grew on him. Rick was a good teacher, once Morty got used to it, and the hands on environment was better for him than any school ever was. He was hands on and in depth and Morty felt okay asking his grandfather to repeat himself. While he was settling, Rick didn't take him out very much. Probably to help him adjust, but the whole thing just made it worse on him. He just wanted things to be normal. But things got more normal, after a while. A while, as it turned out, was exactly one year, two months, and twelve days. It was exactly that long until Morty felt okay calling the new place his home. He has somewhere to go back to again, but it wouldn't be home without Rick. Morty knows that he isn't smart, and he knows that he isn't useful, and he knows that he isn't quite right. And Rick knows all of that too, but he doesn't.. he still lets Morty help and make himself feel useful to his grandfather. Even if it's only ‘hold this’ or ‘hand me that’, he feels helpful. And that’s just.. Great. Especially everything he gets to do on adventures now, with Rick teaching him all sorts of new ways to help even more. Though, currently he’s just waiting. Whatever Rick was doing today was ‘too dangerous’ for Morty to tag along, so he’s at home doing some work in the lab while his grandfather is gone. Well, work is an objective term. Rick tells him that it's work, but all he's doing is doodling a little something in his sketchbook. It's a depiction of himself artfully done, though mostly in sketch lines, with his head disconnected from his neck and enclosed in a box that's keeping it from the rest of his body. And he adds some flowers on the box, initially so Rick won't worry about him but they end up turning into flowering vines that wrap around his entire body. Just as he’s getting out some of his pencils, a portal opens up on the other side of the room and Rick comes tumbling out.
“Hey-hey Morty, what’re you doing?” he leans over his grandson’s sketchbook, peering at the picture he’s drawn and considers it for a moment before giving Morty’s hair a ruffle.
“That looks nice kiddo.” It's a generic compliment, but Morty appreciates it anyway.
“Tha-thanks Rick, i was just-”
“Yeah, that's nice Morty; come on put that stuff away, we've gotta get going.” Morty flips his sketchbook shut, leaving it on his grandfather's table so he can hop down and start pulling on his shoes.
“Already? But-but you just got back.” His complaints fall on deaf ears, not even reaching Rick to interrupt his preparation for wherever they're going off to this time. Morty tosses him a new battery for his portal gun, that he catches and puts right back down again.
“Go get your gun M-Morty, I want you to do it.” He clicks his own portal gun into its charger, looking expectantly at the brunette still standing in front of him.
“From your room, Morty. Go get your portal gun.” He blinks, jumping to leave the room and do what he's told as he realises that Rick was talking to him. Morty takes the stairs two at a time up to his room, turning the knob and pushing before smacking the thing with his hip to get it to pop open for him.
“Stupid d-door.” He immediately trips over a laundry basket, face hitting the carpet and legs tipping up into the air behind him. That was the closest Morty has ever been to doing a flip of any kind. He gets up and moves the landry Rick must've brought up earlier so it isn't a tripping hazard. He should really put that away before his clothes get all wrinkled.. No, Portal Gun. Said tool is plugged in on Morty’s bedside table just where he left it. He digs out the holster from his sock drawer and puts it on, then takes it off again to do it correctly. Alright, portal gun on his left and laser gun on his right. He grabs one of his necklaces off its hook and throws it around his neck too, just in case; but he tucks it under his shirt.
“W-wow, I really need to-to-to clean my room. My desk is a mess too..”
“Morty! Hurry up, would ‘ya!” He jumps, dropping the book that he'd picked up back onto the desk. Right, he can do that later. Morty goes down the stairs carefully, never letting both his feet be on different steps and keeping a good grip on the railing all the way down to reach his waiting grandfather.
“Al-Alright Morty let's get going, we're already running late- Oh, Oh Morty I-I can't let you leave the house like that. Look at this, your belt is on all wrong.” Rick pulls off his grandson’s belt, removing both guns from it and unwinding the thing until the leather is straight.
“Alright, arms up.” He pulls it through the loops of Morty’s jeans, fastening it tightly and holstering his portal gun on the right and his laser gun on the left; them tucks in the kid's shirt for good measure.
“But Rick, I’m left handed, shouldn't my portal gun be on my l-left?” The older man blinks.
“You're a lefty? Since when?” Morty laughs, switching the guns himself and untucking his shirt in defiance. He's already refused to wear a lab coat several times.
“Alright Rick, where are we going?” He pulls out his portal gun and gives a twirl, then promptly drops it because god forbid Morty ever looks cool.
“Smooth, squirt.” He takes the gun and fiddles with it before giving it back to his grandson so he can make the portal. As per usual, Morty shoots the ground directly below himself so he and Rick both fall straight into the other dimension and onto their asses.
“Morty, Morty why do you like hurting me? Do you have a problem? Is-is this some kink that I don't know about?” Morty smacks him, but that isn't stopping his face From flushing red.
“C-c'mon Rick, wh-what-what're we doin’ here?” He averts his eyes from his grandfather to survey where they landed. Morty is ankle deep in water, though thankfully both he and Rick had landed just to the right of what looks like an ocean of soft pink waves. Gosh, that's just gorgeous.
“Hey M-Morty I wouldn't stand in there.” He swivels, turning his ankle the wrong way and tilting himself off balance; falling back with a splash rather than in Rick’s direction towards the blue grass. Wow, the view of all those rolling cyan hills is just gorgeous from the ground. Morty doesn't even feel like he's getting wet, only a pleasant warmth wrapping itself around him.
“-here.” Something cold takes ahold of him, pulling him up and out of the water straight into his grandfather’s arms.
“Hey Rick, what was wrong with it? It was so-so nice.”
“Yeah Morty, it's real nice until you freeze to death.” Rick pulls off his lab coat to wrap it around the brunette’s shoulders, holding it tightly around his body until Morty can slide his arms through the sleeves. The tips of his fingers are blue, his grip on the cost around him tight but not enough for Morty to feel the fabric between his fingers at all. He's suddenly very, very cold.
“Wh-what the hell Rick! W-what was that?” The scientist doesn't say anything, evidently too busy with bundling up his grandson and lifting him back up into the air to walk with him.
“What's the coldest liquid on Earth, Morty?” He waits a few ticks, not expecting the teen to say anything.
“Liq-Liquid nitrogen can reach temperatures as low as negative three hundred and forty degrees Fahrenheit, Morty. If a human’s core body temperature drops before ninety five, hypothermia starts to set in and, and if it drops down to seventy you're dead. That water that you were soaking in back there is way colder than liquid nitrogen Morty. Lay around in there too long and you'll freeze to death. And the worst part of it is that it messes with your head, makes you think that it isn't cold at all. Very dangerous, Morty.” Rick eases the boy out of his arms to sit on the candy coloured grass, once again overlooking a beautiful body of water; but this one green bubbling softly.
“St-stay there Morty.” He waves with his hand, fumbling to pull a beaker from his coat and dipping it into the mint coloured water.
“Here Morty, hold onto this. But don't fucking drink it.” The glass is warm between Morty’s cold hands, bringing an almost painful tingling sensation to his fingers as they're warmed. It's kind of like.. weird hot chocolate, if it was thin and boiled at normal temperature, and was green.
“If you drink that, your insides will melt and boil inside you until you die.” Maybe it isn't like hot chocolate.
“R-Rick, what are we doing here?” Morty finds his grandfather kneeling beside the hot lake, carefully filling beakers with the liquid and sealing them carefully.
“I-I need this stuff for my work Morty, it's good for all sorts of stuff; I'll show you sometime.” He leaves the tubes of green with the brunette, assuring his grandson that he'll be right back and jogging off to the cold water again to collect some of that. Morty places his own beaker with the rest, using both hands to pull Rick’s lab coat around him and inhaling. Yeah, he's going to smell like weed later. The colour and feeling has returned to his fingers now, though when Morty touches his face it still feels cold. Jeez, he must've looked terrible. There's a splash off to his right in the water, dropping his stomach. What could live in water like this? He hears it again, this time accompanied by a flash of movement and before he knows it Morty is shooting at the water; eyes squeezed tightly shut and hands quivering. A hand lands in his shoulder, and Morty almost shoots his grandfather before he opens his eyes to see that it's just Rick.
“M-Morty, Morty what are you doing? Look, look at this, what did the frogs ever do to you Morty?” Oh. He turns, and sure enough several bright orange frogs are now floating on the surface of the water, one of which is still trying to swim towards him; its tongue flicking out weakly in Morty's direction as it makes its last, painful whine of pain.
“That's fine Morty, don't worry about it. I'm sure they didn't have families.” They probably had families.
“Why don't you take us home Morty? Show me your portal skills.”
“O-okay Rick!” He unholsters his portal gun, fiddling with the dial on it. What dimension do they live in? C-125? Sure, he’ll go with that. It takes Morty so much longer to play around with the settings and shoot the gun, he needs to start putting in presets so it goes faster. If this was life or death he would be dead several times. Rick hauls all his beakers through the portal and sweeps everything off his desk to set them down. With all this stuff to do, Morty figures that he'll be busy for a while and slips out of the room and up to his own. He again has to pretty much break down his own door, but doesn't trip this time; his still disorderly laundry safely out of his walking path but not making Morty’s room any less of a disaster. He puts on something loud and starts with the clothes, dumping the basket out onto his unmade bed and folding first pants and then shirts to go into their right spots within his dresser. Everything else gets folded loosely and shoved into the drawer, sans his holster belt which really belongs up on its hook instead. Once all that is all tucked away, Morty returns to his desk to tidy it up; picking up pencils and restacking books so the space is clear and his laptop can go in its rightful place. He doesn't hear the knock on the door, and nearly falls over when the door burst open, in that special way it always opens, announcing Rick’s arrival.
“H-hey Squirt.” He came bearing hot chocolate, one mug in either hand and one overflowing with half melted marshmallows. Morty grabs for the ‘melloless cup but is denied and forced to take the sugary mug instead.
“That’s okay Rick, you can just go, the bonding moment is al-already over. Look at this, what kind of person can enjoy eight marshmallows? Well, n-not me Rick, I’m not that person.” he takes a defiant sip of the cocoa, smearing gluten and sugar on his face simply because he didn’t want to eat it before drinking his beverage.
“Yeah Morty, then do you wanna trade your sugared gluten cocoa for-for my vodka cocoa?” He considers it.
“Everclear?” Rick nods and Morty scrunches his nose in distaste.
“Pass.” His grandfather ruffles up his hair, then clinks their mugs together. Some of the marshmallow globs fall into his cup, turning his nice drink into an alcoholic monstrosity. That much sugar doesn't belong in already awful alcohol.
“What're you doin’ up here all cooped up by yourself? I-I turned around and poof you were gone.” Morty gestures around his bedroom, like the answer is already there for Rick to see. His bedroom is spotless, everything in it’s rightful place and the scent of fresh laundry still hangs in the air.
“You’re okay?” Morty puts down his cup to give Rick a hug. He smells like a fuckboy, which is to say that he’s showered recently and uses Axe. He returns the gesture, letting his hands rest at the small of his grandson’s back and holds onto him tighter.
“You-you’re alright Morty, I’ve got you.”
“A-and I have you, Rick.”
Aaah that bit at the end is just my favourite
I'm having so much fun with this, it's great
Rick leaves all the time, usually only for a few hours but sometimes for the entire day; but Morty is almost always sitting in the lab waiting for him when he portals in, even if he’s already fallen asleep over whatever he’d been trying to do. But today, Morty didn’t wake up in his room. When he pried Open his eyes, his face was still pressed against the open page of his chemistry textbook; right where he’d fallen asleep the night before waiting for Rick to come home.
“Rick?” Morty peels off of his book to go and look for his grandfather, looking first in the living areas and then peeking into the man’s bedroom with no trace of him to be found. There’s no notes, no sign that he’s even been home yet.
“That-that’s okay. He probably got cau-caught up with something.” He reassures himself, going back into the kitchen to have some cereal so he can take his morning pills. Morty takes a shower and puts on some fresh clothes so he can… well, he can’t really have class without Rick. He goes to the lab anyway and just sits there. He sits and waits, shredding a blank piece of paper he’d found and scratching up both his arms. Morty’d had enough when he started to taste blood when he bit down on his fingers. He cannot just sit here. Doesn’t he have Rick’s cell number? Morty finds the contact and waits for the phone to ring.
“Heyo, this is C-137! How did you get this number? You should know if I want to talk to you; please don’t leave a message.” Damn it.
“He-Hey Rick! Uh, I’m sorry to bother you but I just wanted to know when you’re coming home? I’m-I’m just kind of worried about you, so uh-“ the machine cuts him off. Alright, maybe he’ll call back. Morty wraps a band aid over the bleeding spot on his thumb so he won’t pick at it and starts making himself busy. The entire lab is clean within the hour, and in two he’s well into sorting Rick’s chemicals alphabetically. He checks his phone every three minutes exactly, just in case he didn’t hear it ring. He shouldn’t call again, Rick is probably just busy.
“Heyo, this is C-137! How did you get this number? You should know if I want to talk to you; please don’t leave a message.”
“Hey Ri-Rick, I, uh, just w-wanted to call, call again so you know that I’m okay. I’m-I’m fine here by myself.” Morty leaves it at that and hangs up, making sure to click the volume up on his phone before it gets shoved into his pocket. He kills an hour with Rick’s lesson plan, but his grandfather hadn’t planned anything past two weeks from tomorrow so once he finished all the work there was nothing else for Morty to do there.
“R-right.” He leaves the lab for the kitchen, tying on his apron and digging out the flour. Baking is calming, and his grandfather always appreciates something sweet in the house.
“Let’s see.. butter, sugar, eggs, nuts a-and…” He falters, biting his lip to remember that last ingredient. They don’t really have a recipe for this one, Morty knows it by heart.
“Cinnamon.” He nods, measuring everything out and making the dough to stick in the fridge; just in time for him to make something up for lunch and take a break. Once everything is in the oven, Morty lets himself break out the DS and play some Animal Crossing while he’s waiting. It feels unproductive, but soothing all the same. He’s not even thinking about Rick anymore. Nope, he’s going to glaze the cookies and keep going on by himself; Morty is just fine.
“Heyo, this is C-137! How did you get this number? You should know if I want to talk to you; please don’t leave a message.”
“Hey-Hey Rick! I jus-just wanted to call and tell you that I made cookies; I’m glazing then now, they’re the ki-kind that you always really like.” That one made him feel pathetic. He isn’t going to call again.
Morty didn’t last halfway through the second day, misdialing Rick three times before finally getting his number.
“Heyo, this is C-137! How did you get this number? You should know if I want to talk to you; please don’t leave a message.”
“Ri-Rick, when-when are you coming home? I miss you. A-and I don’t like being here by myself.” He kept his phone at full ringer volume all day and didn’t let it get below half battery, but didn’t get a single call from his grandfather. He tried the space phone several times, but didn’t even get a machine on that one. Where did he say he was going? Of course, he didn’t say at all. Morty does have a Portal gun.. but he’d have no idea where to look. Though, he wouldn’t necessarily have to look for Rick; Morty could do whatever he wanted with no one to stop him. He pulls out his phone again.
“This is C-137, don’t leave a fucking message.” Morty freezes, missing his message window and redialling the number immediately. It’s different.
Morty didn’t get out of bed until noon on the third day. He didn’t take any of his meds or even eat until dinner that day. But he does find his cell phone and try his grandfather again.
“This is C-137, don’t leave a fucking message.”
“..you aren’t coming home, are you? I-I don’t know what to do without you.” He puts down his phone and flops back onto his bed. He’s giving up, then.
“N-No, I shouldn’t give up. What-what if something awful happened to him?” He changed his answering machine though.. but there’s tons of Ricks and they all pretty much sound the same. Morty gets out of bed and swings downstairs, clamouring into the lab and digging through what he’d just organised the other day. It should be..
“Here it is!” He pulls out Rick’s portal gun charger and hooks it up to his laptop. It’s not as good as using Rick’s but he can’t get into it without his grandfather so his will have to do. A little hacking and two passwords later and he’s in Rick’s history.
“W-wow, he goes to we-weird places..” alright up to the top, where did his last Portal connect to..
“Delta-G12.. where are you, Rick?” He keys in the dimension and waits for Interdimensional Google to load search results for it.
“Ah, Jeez.” What a remote place; all of Morty’s search results link him into the Interdimensional Dark Web to buy drugs, limbs, or hookers. And while he’s tempted, it’s not exactly what he’s looking for. But, the dimension isn’t monitored by the Council of Ricks. Probably because it’s full of drugs and hookers.
“Alright…” Morty leaves the computer to get ready in his room; getting both his guns ready and a fresh canister of pepper spray. And a handful of condoms. You never know when you need one of those; Morty doesn’t need an alien STD. He gives his portal gun a little spin before making the portal, stepping through into a completely different reality. It’s always fascinating to Morty to watch his world disappear and turn into something foreign and new. However, dimension Delta-G12 looks a lot like New Jersey. Morty is standing in an alley beside some overflowing overflowing trash cans, the scent of sex and weed coming at him from all directions. The open street isn’t much better, splattered with people walking briskly either alone or in threes, save for the man sauntering down the sidewalk leisurely with some fifteen barely decent people leashed to him. Alien STDs. Morty avoids them, swerving over to the closest establishment that serves alcohol. Bad memories wave off the place, and the brunette reflexively reaches to his left where Rick would usually be standing. Right, he isn’t here. Morty can handle himself, no problem. His knees wobble, and he’s out the door as quickly as he’d run into the building stopping to pant at least three blocks away. Maybe he could ask around? But this is probably a pretty popular place for Ricks. Well, it can’t hurt. Morty takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and let it out slowly.
“H-Hey, excuse me!” He flags down the next person he sees, plastering an uneven smile on his face and waving a little.
“I’m look-looking for my Rick.” The woman looks him up and down for a moment, then ruffles up his hair with one of her hands.
“Sorry sweetheart, I haven’t seen any of them around today. I hope you find him.” Well, that wasn’t so bad. Maybe Morty judges this place too quickly, it might be really nice here. Something touches his shoulder, gripping him even as he whirls around to look up at the tall figure the hand belongs to.
“You lost, little Morty?” He grins, giving his shoulder a squeeze as Morty tries to squirm away.
“It’s not safe to be out here by yourself Yknow. C’mon, let me take care of you.” Morty smacks his hand before it can touch his face, taking a step away and fumbling for his gun. Damn it, He holstered it way too tight.
“Hey kiddo it’s alright, I’ll help you find your Rick.” He pulls Morty closer by the wrist, pressing his smaller frame flush against himself and squeezing the quivering teen tightly; one hand pressed firmly at the small of the brunette’s back and the other sliding down the length of his back to take a handful of his ass. Morty jerks, flipping the leather from over his gun and getting out out and up far enough to press into the man’s abdomen. He’d been preoccupied until the metal touched him, freezing and choking out half a syllable before Morty pulls the trigger. A portal opens, splattering blood and other unidentifiable entrails across the sidewalk. That was the wrong gun. He closes the portal and steps around the pool of insides that are now most definitely on the outside. Morty can feel the warm blood dripping down his face and soaking into his clothes, but he doesn’t have time to go home and clean up. He needs Rick. Now. He finds his phone in his pocket, nearly spraying himself with pepper spray to get the little device. So, if he plugs in what dimension he’s in and what rick he’s looking for the tracking function his grandfather had put on his cell should be able to find him. Nothing.
“What-what-what a piece of shit; what the hell Ri-Rick.” Morty starts backspacing, making a few dots light up on the map. Three blue dots tell him that there are Ricks in this dimension, but none of them are C-137. Well, Morty doesn’t need that noise. Maybe.. Morty keys in a different dimension number and shoots a portal onto the nearest wall.