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Cold as hell

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There was something strange about Morty. He knew it because fucked up shit was kind of okay now, things like just not looking back when they visited cities with slavery or barbaric civilizations. It was strange to realize that he kind of began to see these things as normal too. What could he do or say about those planets eons away who had lived like that forever ? Who was he to decide that their ways weren’t good, weren’t normal ? Normal was fucked up because it didn’t exist. Not when you knew that there were hundreds, millions of realities where every event happened slightly differently or where everything including morals was the opposite of what he knew, that or it was so unknown it couldn’t be imagined. He was beginning to see where his grandpa was coming from when he said society was shit, a fucking prison. So he was beginning to understand that and it kind of frightened him. It wasn’t because it made him feel powerless. He knew powerlessness since he was old enough to get what was said around him. When he could understand that what his parents were screaming about was him, his “slowness”, the fact that he was “special”. As if he didn’t know what they meant, as if he hadn’t already heard the word “stupid” thrown from time to time when his father got particularly desperate or his mother drunk. No feeling powerless wasn’t knew, wasn’t frightening, it was almost all he knew before, what with getting bullied and the rest. No, the adventures his grandpa took him on since he came back weren’t what made Morty think himself strange. What he had seen he could deal with, well he still had some fucked up nightmares but that was kind of part the package right? You couldn’t live what he lived without thinking about it after, at least a little, and since his days were pretty occupied well … nightmares it was. That and he had lived enough with Rick already to understand that some things just couldn’t be avoided or at least not to torture himself over it. But that was okay. What wasn’t okay was what had made Morty feel powerful, what he had done. These trips were the greatest thing to ever happen to him. But he was discovering things about himself he wasn’t comfortable with. He wasn’t as stupid as people made him to, he knew very well what he was slowly gliding into.
He wondered if that was why his grandpa was always so rough with him. Could he see ? Could he glimpse behind Morty’s face what he could become ?
Sometimes his nightmares weren’t about lives he couldn’t save or horrifying explosions but just about him alone somewhere he didn’t know, looking calmly over the edge of cliff. He would look at the horizon, feel the breeze and be totally at ease. But when he looked below he could see his hands dripping red and something mangled somewhere on the ground, far away, a glimpse of white.
He wondered with a brisk little laugh if another Morty knew what he was going through, if any other universe had a Morty a little too bloodthirsty, a little too angry with the world sometimes. Because that’s what he was. He had to see it, after all you couldn’t put your head in the sand when you had as much blood as him on his hands, even less when in a fit of anger, you shot your grandfather in the head thinking all along what you had in hand was a functioning gun. So he was fucked up and it kind of looked like it wouldn’t get better. Not with Rick as moral compass when the man could barely hide the fact that he was wanted for so many crimes they almost couldn’t get around without meeting people or governments with grudges the size of the sun. He knew he was fucked up because when he thought of that, of his grandpa as a murderer, the author of apocalypses and genocides, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Rick was the first being to care for him. It wasn’t easy, it was often painful but it was the best thing he ever got. Oh he was stupid to Rick, but hey the man was a genius absolutely everyone was an idiot to him. And wasn’t that the best thing, to be the least stupid being in the man mind, to be seen as useful to the genius who couldn’t show he cared but did it anyway ?
Well he hoped he cared because sometimes it looked like the only things Rick was capable of feelings was despair (which he drowned in alcohol), boredom, anger, possessiveness and superiority. But he could do with possessiveness, he was beginning to think he was kind of possessive too because sometimes when Summer was with them and was too close to him or just rude he could feel his hands clench and his neck tense. Yeah, definitely fucked up. If was going to think about when his sister angered him enough to consider hurting her it was time to do something else. Follow the new catchphrase Rick was throwing along lately : “Don’t think about it Morty !”.
Yeah he was going to go outside and … and what ? He didn’t have any friend and the only thing he could do in his garden recently was sit on the other him grave’s and think. It sounded kind of counterproductive with his current situation.
God he was feeling so distant he couldn’t even angst properly. Maybe he would just go and sit on the cold floor of the garage and sleep in the corner. That sounded good. Rick had this bag/bean/thing (?) you could sit against and it was one of the most soothing material Morty had ever encountered. Add to that his strangely nightmareless nights in the garage. Yeah definitely doing that.
He hoped Rick would come back soon. The man had gone alone on an adventure, saying it wouldn’t take long and he wouldn’t need a clumsy shield coming along to ruin things. In Rick speech Morty was almost certain it meant “I’m going somewhere or to do something a little too fucked to feel comfortable taking you”.
He put himself in the corner against the desk, felt himself be almost smothered by the encompassing pillow and close his eyes with a little sigh. It had been what ? Three days ? Maybe when he would wake up, it would be to the familiar sound of a portal or to the smell of booze, of kerosene and unknown elements and the deep voice of his grandpa.