Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14095722.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Morty_Smith, Beth_Smith_(Rick_and_Morty), Jerry_Smith, Summer_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Amnesia, Non-Consensual_Kissing, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Somnophilia
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-25 Updated: 2018-03-27 Chapters: 2/? Words: 8840
****** Pailletten ******
by huevoplatano
Summary
     Morty wakes up from an accident he cannot remember to find strange
     things are happening.
Notes
     WHO'S READY FOR ANOTHER FIC i know i am
     i was originally gonna do this as a long oneshot, but then realized
     ain't nobody got time for that. i'll just write this as i go, so that
     i won't rush what i have planned. might put in more than i had
     planned, might not. idk yet. i'll just keep writing till i don't feel
     like it anymore.
     but this was based on a dream i had many months ago. so i figured,
     why not write that dream in fic form. heheh :)
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Morty?”
A familiar voice brought him to his senses. Though he was groggy and having a
hard time coming out of sleep, he still recognized the frantic tone of his
mother. It must’ve been a school day and he’d slept in again, or something like
that. Mom never usually bothered him in the mornings unless it was for
something important, like say--being late for school.
He opened his eyes, and was taken aback to see--not his familiar bedroom
ceiling with all the shitty cracks in the wall and the peeling paint--but
bright lights that made him close his eyes once again. What the hell? The room
was cold, almost too cold, and he felt himself shiver once he became aware of
that feeling, wanting to bundle up under the covers and go back to sleep. But,
even the mattress underneath him felt unfamiliar and too comfortable. Not at
all like his lumpy mattress he was so used to waking up to, moaning and
groaning because of how uncomfortable it was.
“Honey?” Mom’s voice came again, and he willed himself to open his eyes once
more and, once they had adjusted to the harsh lighting above him, could see she
stood mere feet away from him, a worried expression on her face. Dad was right
next to her, mirroring her expression.
“Mom?” He tried to sit up in bed, but found the moment he moved, his head
pounded with a headache unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and it made him
wince in pain, until Mom rushed to his side and pushed him down gently by his
shoulder.
“No, don’t move, honey. You’ve hurt yourself.” She coaxed him back onto the
bed, and he felt the headache subside once he’d rested back onto the pillow.
With his eyes more adjusted to his surroundings, he could make out the weirdly
clean white walls, the bedside table with the vase full of flowers and what he
could only assume was a get-well card lying next to it. A tv rested in the
corner of the room, running some news program he couldn’t really hear, but what
he could hear were indistinct voices buzzing from all around him, like there
were crowds of people moving in and out of the place around him.
He could only assume he was in one place and looked to his mother for
clarification. “A-am I i-i-in a hospital?”
She nodded, smiling at him in a gentle manner, and ran her fingers through his
hair as he settled back down in the bed, now more alert of where he was,
although still confused what was actually going on. “Do you remember what
happened, honey?”
He shook his head, looking off at his Dad who had sat down in one of the chairs
across from the bed as though he would offer some insight on why he was here.
But, Mom continued to talk once he admitted he had no idea what in the fuck had
happened.
“You fell down a staircase at school and hit your head.”
He stared at his mom, clutching at the blanket around him and felt his cheeks
flush with embarrassment. That was...so lame? He thought she was going to tell
him he’d been in some freak accident like a car crash or his school bus caught
on fire or something horrifically dramatic like that. But--falling down the
stairs? The fuck? What a dumb way to end up in the hospital. It must’ve been a
pretty damn long staircase for him to knock himself out like that. He certainly
had a terrible headache as though he’d been bashed in the head really hard, but
he didn’t remember falling or doing anything like that. There was little he
could do but take her word for it.
Still, he blushed with embarrassment at the thought of what the other kids at
school were gonna say when they found out something like that hospitalized him.
He already got made fun of enough as it was, he didn’t need some dude puffing
out his chest at him and calling him weak for hitting his head too hard. God,
what was wrong with him? Like, it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, sitting
there in bed with a killer headache while his parents sat worrying over him,
but surely he thought something like that wouldn’t have put him in the damn
hospital of all places. It wasn’t like he was made of glass, but sheesh.
He thought about ways he could try to talk it up if he got mocked for this
later. Even though he didn’t remember even falling, but if someone gave him
shit for this, he figured he could make out like he was bleeding to death or
something to get them off his back. Although, a nurse came in not long after
he’d woken up and told him he’d be just fine and was good to go, though he
would suffer from his headache for a while afterward.
Ugh, of all the stupid situations he could wind up in, this had to be one of
them. It wasn’t like he’d never been in the hospital before, but at least back
then, Morty had a broken arm or something serious like that. The fuck was he
supposed to say when he got back to school? Oh, he fell down the stairs. Big
deal. People fall down the stairs every day, and they just get up and walk it
off.
His embarrassment hung around like an unpleasant storm cloud as he sank into
his seat in the back of his car while his parents chatted aimlessly about
something or other in the front. He wasn’t even sure what to say to them, as
they had probably thought the worst, being his parents and all, when he’d
gotten knocked out from this, only to be told eh, it wasn’t that bad. The blush
stayed well after they’d driven up into the driveway. Even after he climbed out
of the car and walked through the front door, he heard the familiar voice of
his sister as she ran up to him from her spot on the living room couch.
“Morty, oh my god, are you okay?!”
“Y-yeah?” He awkwardly pat her back, not sure why his sister was freaking out
this bad over something like this. If anything, he figured she wouldn’t give
two shits, maybe not tell him that to his face, but definitely not have a
reaction like this. “J-just a little head bump is all, haha…” The blush crept
up to his face when Summer squeezed him tighter, almost pulling the air from
him.
“Someone at school said you broke your legs or something.” She finally released
him, pulling back long enough to give him a concerned look, and he shrugged. It
wasn’t like he even remembered what the hell happened. Everyone had told him he
had fallen, and he had no choice but to believe them when they said that. Morty
didn’t remember falling, but who was he to question them if they said so?
“O-obviously not…” Feeling awkward again, he broke away from his sister to head
up the stairs to his room. He had a weird feeling he was supposed to be doing
something important, like school work, or writing that paper he’d been putting
off for a week now. Maybe he could actually sit down to study or something.
Morty was feeling unusually productive, and didn’t want to waste the energy he
had now. May as well use it.
After he’d sat down at his desk to get to work, he found it was easier to
concentrate then. When normally, he would be getting distracted and stop
himself to play Minecraft, he actually leaned back in his chair at one point,
looking at the clock to see a couple of hours had passed and he had a decent-
looking paper written before him. It was supposed to be a research topic on
something dumb, like the effects of global warming—you know the usual, but he
would’ve much rather done literally anything else than sat down to write
something like that. It was weird, but maybe his fall and getting knocked
unconscious had knocked some sense in him so to say, and gave him more energy
to be productive.
That didn’t really make any sense, but it wasn’t like he was complaining.
“Honey?” Mom opened his bedroom door, speaking in that gentle tone, the same
one she’d used when he’d first woken up in the hospital earlier that day, and
he turned away from his paper. “It’s time for dinner.”
Oh thank god, he was starved. He wasn’t sure when the last time he ate a decent
meal was, but it must’ve been ages ago, as right at the mention of food from
his mother, he could feel that cramping sensation in the pit of his stomach
when he thought about stuffing some mashed potatoes down his throat.
Standing from his chair, he followed his mom downstairs to see the rest of his
family seated at the dinner table, and Summer greeted him once again before he
sat down in his usual spot before he began to devour his mashed potatoes. Oh
cool, he hadn’t known Mom was making this, but it was a coincidence he had
imagined eating some, and now he was. The cramping feeling slowly began to go
away once he’d downed a few mouthfuls, and he never remembered a time when
potatoes tasted so good. His mother wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but there
were times he questioned what exactly was on his plate and it caused him to
lose his appetite nonetheless.
But, everything tasted amazing. It was almost surreal. Maybe his mother had
pulled out the big guns because of the whole hospital thing and was trying to
make him feel better when he knew the inevitable embarrassing day he was going
to have to face tomorrow at school when people asked him what kind of horrible
injury he could have gotten only for him to say—fell down.
It was when he had lost himself in the buzz of the conversation his mother had
with his father then, she was telling him about some horse she’d saved earlier
that week at the clinic, without going into the gruesome details while they
ate—but Morty perked up in that moment when he realized something. Looking
around at the table, his parents chatting back and forth about this and that,
his sister seeming to be engrossed in their conversation as well, it hit him in
that moment someone wasn’t at the table with them.
“Hey, where’s Rick?” Morty spoke up through the conversation, not meaning to
interrupt, but was so taken aback by the missing presence, he just had to say
something.
Mom stopped her story in an instant, looking over at him across the table in
nothing but confusion. “Where’s who?”
Morty felt himself start, as his dad and sister were now staring at him as
though just as confused as his mom, and as though he’d lost his mind. He
nervously darted his eyes back and forth to the empty spot at the table where
he was sure—almost positive someone else used to sit too. “You know...um.” The
name had come to him so naturally before, but the more he thought about it, the
more he realized—he had no fucking idea. He could have sworn he had pictured
someone in his head to go with the name that just spewed from his mouth a
second ago, but now he only had the name, and no face to go with it. “You
know...Rick?” But now he was second guessing himself, because even though he
knew the name, he wasn’t sure if he even remembered who that was either. The
hell, why did that name come so naturally to him, and why was he so sure that
person used to sit at the table with them?
But, Mom only shook her head, still with that lost look on her face as she
looked to be fighting to remember anyone like that. “I don’t know who you’re
talking about, honey. Is that a friend from school?”
Morty shook his head, now getting frustrated he had remembered this random name
all of a sudden, but couldn’t place who in the fuck it was. It had just come to
him in that moment, he had just remembered, and he was so sure it was because
someone used to sit next to him at the dinner table, someone used to chat with
them and make jokes, and be loud—but it was failing him. Maybe he was imagining
this whole scenario and nothing like that ever happened. “N-no, I just.” He
felt his face blush with embarrassment at having ever brought it up to begin
with as he looked down at his food and picked at his peas. “I-I thought someone
else used to—used to sit with us.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other, before back at him, and Dad shrugged before
speaking. “Nope. Maybe you had a weird dream while you were in the hospital,
kiddo.”
Morty nodded to himself, still picking at his food. Yeah. Maybe that was it.
Just a weird dream. He’d dreamt of someone with that name and forgot their
face, and maybe in his dream, that person sat with them at the table or
something, but. He couldn’t remember anyone else living with them. Maybe he’d
made it all up after all.
Once dinner was over, Morty went to put his plate away in the dishwasher, but
was shooed away by his mother. “No, no, honey, you’ve had a hard day. Go to
your room and relax.” Before taking the plate away from him, she pat at his
shoulder and led him toward the entrance of the kitchen, pushing at him to go
and leave it all to her.
Morty wasn’t about to argue with his mom if she wasn’t going to make him do
anymore extra chores, but couldn’t help but feel a little guilty all this extra
coddling they were doing to him. Like he’d been in a terrible accident and not
just fallen down the stairs.
For all he knew, he could’ve been in some horrific crash and almost died, and
everyone was just telling him he had fallen down the stairs. It wasn’t like
Morty knew what had happened. The last thing he remembered was being at school
and—well, doing school work. Sitting in class, zoning out as his teacher
lectured about political science and reminded everyone not to forget their
research papers that were definitely due next week—and then next thing he knew,
he was awake in the hospital, confused as all get out with Mom and Dad hanging
over him.
He was probably making a big deal out of this, but it just felt a little odd.
He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a terrible accident and his mom was
downplaying it to keep him safe. Even Summer had freaked out and admitted
people were making out like he’d had broken limbs and whatnot.
Had he really only fallen down the stairs?
Apart from the headache that still plagued the back of his head all day, he
didn’t feel anymore worse for wear than usual. He had no broken bones, nothing
fractured, no pulled muscles, not even sore limbs. Just a headache. He figured
if he had fallen down the stairs enough to knock himself out, surely he would
have broken his arm or something. Gotten a little beat up in the process, but
as he looked down at his arms, slowly moving them around to check himself out,
saw no scratches, not even a bruise, nothing to show he’d had any type of fall
to begin with.
Maybe he was making too big a deal out of it. After all, his parents seemed
relieved he was saved, and even Summer was being a lot nicer to him. Maybe he
should take advantage of it and just soak up the time when they were kissing
his ass.
As he walked past the hallway, he stopped short, right before he passed the
spare room they always kept full of junk. Peeking his head through, he saw it
was full of boxes and assortment of other things like old clothes and some of
Summer’s baby toys and things like that.
But. He had a weird feeling too that something was wrong. Like maybe, this room
wasn’t supposed to be here. Or maybe, that feeling he had earlier like someone
used to live with them, maybe this used to be their bedroom. Had anyone ever
stayed with them before in a guest room? Usually if they had guests who stayed
overnight, he and Summer had to give up their rooms in favor of sleeping on the
couch, but he could’ve sworn a long time ago, this room used to be a bedroom
too.
Maybe he had dreamt that too.
He tried not to worry too hard about it. It was a familiar, yet fleeting
feeling, and the moment he thought about it, realized—of course nobody had ever
stayed in this room. It was a storage room and had always been that. Feeling
stupid, he left without a second thought and climbed the stairs before plopping
himself back down at his desk and went back to revising his paper.
===============================================================================
 
A strange bubbling sound brought him to his senses and he had a sensation as
though there was a prevalent fog surrounding his mind. Morty couldn’t move.
Couldn’t open his eyes as he lay flat on his back, the feeling of a heavy
weight on top of him keeping him flattened to the surface underneath him.
He was cold, that much was obvious, but why, he didn’t know. When he felt the
chill in the air take hold of him, he shivered, trying to will his eyes open,
and only saw a blur of darkness at first. He tried to open his mouth, but it
was like he couldn’t force his muscles to move, no matter how hard he tried to
will it. His eyes were refusing to focus, and all he saw was a blur of blue and
black, but no shapes would come to him.
But, he became aware of something heavy on top of him. A grunting sound. A pair
of hands gripped his arms and it was unmistakable the feeling, although he was
still coming out of this foggy sensation, of someone crawling on top of him,
straddling him.
Again, he tried to open his eyes, but even if he did, could see nothing.
The hands gripping his arms squeezed too hard, and he winced at first, wishing
he could move, wishing he could wake up enough to figure out what the hell was
going on. Someone was on top of him, someone was straddling him, that much had
become apparent to him, but he couldn’t for the life of him bring himself out
of this groggy state that felt as though he were in perpetual half sleep.
He tried to open his mouth again, and whatever words he tried to form a
question only mumbled out in a slur of nonsense.
But, he heard the person on top of him shush him. It was strangely calm, even
in this moment, even as he was starting to feel suffocated under this feeling
of the weight on top of him, like they were pushing their whole body onto him
with every second. He wanted to shove them off, wanted to tell them he couldn’t
breathe, but he couldn’t.
Morty mumbled again, trying to form a sentence, maybe one word, it didn’t
matter what it was, just as long as it was something, but he couldn’t. Once
again, he slurred out nonsense when he tried to form a question.
“Shh.” The person above him shushed him once again, before he felt their weight
shift, and something warm press against his mouth.
It was soft at first, and he could have even considered it pleasant, but then
he became aware of something wet and warm shoving itself into his mouth, and
Morty had only a few seconds of confusion before he realized he was being
kissed. The person on top of him was shoving their tongue into his mouth, and
he felt their hands come to his hair, yanking at his roots, would have caused
him to yelp out in pain had he had the ability to wake himself up, but his
senses were dulled, and he only lay there, moaning into their mouth as they
kissed, until he felt the chill in the air hit the wet surface of his mouth.
They seemed desperate, and were sloppy with their kisses, pulling his hair back
to move his face back up and kiss him again. And again. He felt their body
relax on top of his, until he felt smothered, and he wanted to push against
them, tell them please, he couldn’t breathe, just get off him, he couldn’t
catch his breath.
When they leaned back for another kiss, Morty dared open his eyes once again,
the blur in his vision cleared, the blue glow around him lighting up what
little he could see. He could see a blurry face in front of him, slowly
clearing up, slowly coming to as he saw who was kissing him.
He was still in too groggy a state to protest much when he saw someone he
didn’t recognize straddling him, holding his wrists down. An older man. Way
older than him. Way too old to be doing something like this to someone like
Morty. He felt the horror creep in his stomach when he realized this person was
kissing him—he’d just been kissed multiple times by him—this old man shoved his
tongue in his mouth, but he leaned up once he saw Morty was staring at him, his
vision having cleared enough to give him the view he honestly wished he hadn’t
seen now.
He didn’t recognize him. But, he felt as though he’d stopped breathing as he
lay there, being straddled by this old man, being stared at as though he were
about to be devoured, and he would have screamed had he any energy to do so. He
would have fought, kicked and shoved, had his muscles responded to him, but he
lay there, and could only stare, the horror slowly sinking in with each second
that some old guy he didn’t know was making out with him in his sleep.
The old man looked surprised, and only hissed through his teeth, “Fuck” before
he leaned over Morty to some device that was positioned next to him. He
couldn’t see in the dreary lighting, not that he even had the energy to turn
his head away from the old man’s face, but he couldn’t move even if he wanted
to. He was frozen, and the old man flicked some button next to him, causing a
machine to whir to life, before Morty felt himself grow sleepy in an instant.
The groggy feeling took him within the next few seconds and he saw black in his
vision once more.
===============================================================================
 
Morty shot up in bed, just as his mother walked in through his bedroom door,
and she jumped back at his sudden move, but he felt like his heart was about to
beat straight from his chest. He was sweating in the way he would run for cover
at school from the bullies who would chase him until he hid out in the
bathroom, but he clutched his blanket, feeling himself begin to shake, even as
Mom rushed to his side and grip at his shoulders.
“Morty, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”
Bad dream wasn’t even the half of it. He felt like he was still being
suffocated, being held down by that old man and could still feel the way his
fucking mouth felt on him, but as he looked up at his mom, at her concerned
expression, knew there was no way he could admit he just had a dream he’d been
fondled by some old guy. Jeez, what the hell was wrong with him? The only way
it could’ve been worse was if he’d woken up with morning wood with it. Ugh, he
tried not to imagine that, getting off to a dream like that. That was the
worst. But, he tried to bite down his blush and ignore the look on his mom’s
face in favor of downplaying it for her.
“Y-yeah.” Even though he was still shaking, still trying to get over how vivid
it felt, it wasn’t like he’d never had super vivid dreams before like that—but
holy shit. “Just a-a-a nightmare.” He was trying to forget how suffocated he’d
felt, how hard it was to wake up, only to see the image of an old guy making
out with him. Ugh, gross. What kind of messed up porn had he been jacking it to
lately to dream up something like that?
Mom pat his back, rubbing soothing circles on him. “It was just a dream,
sweetie. I know they’re hard not to think about, but you’ll get over it soon.
Come on, I fixed you breakfast.”
He perked up a little. Breakfast? Mom never made him breakfast. He forgot he
was supposed to be going to school today, and hopped out of bed, surprised his
mother had bothered to fix him breakfast. Or even came up here to wake him up.
She hadn’t done that since he was in middle school, as the older they got, the
more responsibilities they were expected to have, and that included waking
themselves up for school every day.
Was she really coddling him because of the accident? Maybe she felt guilty. He
really didn’t know, but maybe he shouldn’t question it so much. If she wanted
to do extra things for him, he should be grateful for the special treatment and
just accept it.
Straightening himself out, Morty followed his mother to the kitchen.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Dad drove him to school that morning, which wasn’t all that unusual, but Morty
still felt a little strange popping from his dad’s car once they drove up to
the entrance way of the school. He couldn’t remember the last time Dad of all
people drove him and his sister to school. Most times he encouraged them to
take the bus, or made excuses for Mom to take them. Though, once the building
popped up into view, there they were, climbing out of the car, while Dad told
him to be careful that day, which he supposed was to mean not fall down anymore
stairs.
If that’s even what happened to him.
Summer was unusually clingy with him that morning too. Before they parted ways
once they walked through the front doors, she hugged him again, and he couldn’t
for the life of him figure out why his sister was acting this way. Did she
really think something terrible had happened to him and was just worried for
him because of that? Or, did something even more terrible than he imagined
actually happened to him that his parents weren’t telling him and Summer had
all the right to be worried for him?
Once he was alone at his locker, he let out a sigh as he once again looked down
at his arms. No signs of bruises, no scratches, no indication he had even had
an accident. As far as he knew, he’d just woken up in the hospital with a
headache and that was that. What a weird thing for his family to lie to him
about though, even if he had been in a bad accident—why wouldn’t they tell him
what happened?
“Hey, Morty.”
Whoa shit—he almost tripped over himself as he turned to see Jessica standing
right behind him. He hadn’t even heard her approach him, but she was staring at
him as though worried for some reason, and he instinctually backed up against
his locker, face hot and flushed. Oh jeez, why did Jessica of all people have
to corner him like this? He always got nervous around her—and if her boyfriend
saw her chatting with him, he knew he’d have more than a headache to worry
about later.
But, he tried to play it cool. Seem like he wasn’t nervous as all hell as he
stood there sweating, his back flattened against his locker as he stood staring
at her perfect face, and what he knew was no doubt a dumbass look on his face.
“H-hi-hi, J-Jessica.”
She wasted no time in broaching the subject. “I heard you were in an accident,
are you okay?” And even moved in a little too close to him, so much that he was
sure he started sweating even harder near her.
“Y-yeah, I, um…” His voice started shaking as he explained himself, though it
sounded stupid no matter how he phrased it. “F-fell down th-th-the stairs.
Haha…” And the nervous laugh he made didn’t help any. He tried to turn his gaze
elsewhere, somewhere other than Jessica’s concerned expression, but he couldn’t
seem to bring himself to do that, no matter how much he started sweating and
shaking.
“Really? The ambulance came and—I wasn’t sure how bad you hurt yourself.”
Wait, really? The ambulance? He pulled himself off his locker for a moment,
staring back at Jessica and mirroring her concerned expression. “For real? The
ambulance?” The fuck kind of fall did he really have? There was no way he
just—fell down the stairs and hit his head.
She nodded. “Yeah, they pulled you away on a stretcher and everything.”
It felt like the longer he tried to figure out what in the fuck happened, the
more his headache began to pound, and he reached up to cradle his forehead. “O-
oh boy, that’s—uh. I-I-I don’t even remember falling though?” Plus, he wasn’t
banged up or anything. If Morty really did fall down the stairs, he should’ve
had bruises, scratches, something to show he had actually fallen.
“You poor thing, you don’t even remember? I didn’t see what happened, so I
can’t really say, but all I know is they were saying you’d hurt yourself in the
stairwell and then the ambulance was here.”
“The stairwell…” Morty tried to think back to when he’d even needed to use the
stairwell, other than going down to the basement for science supplies with his
classmates. There wasn’t really a need for the stairwell since they weren’t
even a big school to begin with, but why would he be so clumsy as to trip and
fall enough for the freaking ambulance to come and haul him away?
Ugh, the more he tried to remember, the more it confused him. There wasn’t a
memory there of him climbing the stairs, there was no memory of a fall. He
remembered being in class and then next thing he knew, he was awake in the
hospital, confused. And he was still confused. None of this made any goddamn
sense, and it was frustrating not remembering anything that happened. All he
had to go on were the things people told him, so he really couldn’t afford to
doubt them.
But, he couldn’t help but think something was wrong. If he really had fallen,
then he should have a broken leg, or a sprained ankle or hell, something.
Something to show he had fallen, and not just a headache. He couldn’t imagine
falling down the stairs, those stairs, the concrete ones, and not at least have
some bruises from those. That didn’t make any goddamn sense. And the way his
parents spoke, he was only in the hospital for a couple of hours after he’d
been knocked out. It wasn’t like he’d been there for days or anything.
He looked back up at Jessica, at her concerned face, and couldn’t help but
frown in confusion at her. This was weird, something so weird was going on, and
he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the fuck it was.
“Are you okay?” She tilted her head to the side, like a cat would after eyeing
something curious, and he nodded, although he wasn’t. He lied for her sake.
“Yeah, I-I-just a headache.” All of this sudden attention from her was
overwhelming him. He couldn’t remember the last time Jessica said two words to
him, let alone had a whole conversation with him like this. She was too busy
hanging out with her boyfriend to notice him, but— He couldn’t help but blush
around her and as weird as things were right now, be grateful she’d even
stopped to ask him how he was doing. Jessica was so nice to him. No wonder she
was too perfect, even for him.
“Aw, I’m sorry. Do you think you should go home for the day?”
“N-nah, I-I-I gotta test and-and some stuff to worry about.” He shrugged,
trying to appear cool and nonchalant for her. “Y-yeah…”
Tugging a piece of her hair behind her ear, Jessica gave him a soft smile
before turning on her heels and away from him, and Morty thought his heart was
going to thump from his chest. Hoooooly shit, did that just happen? Did Jessica
really stop by his locker and talk to him like that? Did he really have a
normal conversation with her—well, as normal as that could have gone, but
whatever. It was good enough for him.
Christ, he felt his knees go wobbly, even as he turned to gather the rest of
his books from his locker, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. As weird
as this was, he wasn’t about to complain if Jessica wanted to worry about him.
Hell, he might even fall down the stairs on purpose if it meant she would
cradle his head in her lap. Actually, that was kind of psychotic, he would
never do that, but he still fantasized about her in that way nonetheless.
Even during class, when he sat daydreaming about it, about how Jessica looked
so worried about him and even took time out of her morning routine to simply
talk to him, let alone think him worthy of her attention, he heard not one word
his teacher said the entire time he lectured.
Until he mentioned their research papers. Morty jumped from his daydreams,
scrambling through his notebook to produce his paper he worked on last night.
This was going to be one of the rare moments he actually worked hard on one of
his papers, but just as he pulled out the sloppily stabled papers, the teacher
suddenly appeared next to him before placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, don’t worry about that.”
He looked up, blinking in confusion. “Huh?”
The teacher pat at his shoulder again. “You were in the hospital yesterday,
right? They said you had an accident, so don’t worry about the paper for now.”
But...he actually finished it last night. Even though it was kind of halfassed
and stuff, he still actually did his homework for once.
The teacher kept talking. “Don’t worry, I’ll cut you a little slack. Don’t
worry about it.” And he walked back to the front of the room, leaving Morty
behind at his desk, still clutching at the edge of his papers and staring.
What...the hell? The teacher was just gonna let him slide by without turning in
his paper? Morty looked back down at his research paper, that—even though he’d
typed it out—had random errors in it and common misspellings and stuff he could
easily go back and fix if he took the time to sit down and work on it hard
enough. But, he didn’t think the teacher was going to give him a break and let
him get away with this. Even though he’d put off doing this paper for like,
what was it, a week now? He deserved to get a failing grade on it the way he
rushed it last night.
But, he sat back in his chair, sliding down and feeling a little guilty he was
getting this type of special treatment. Everyone kept talking about this
horrific accident he’d been in, but what was so terrible about a fall that
knocked him out that everyone basically had to lick his ass for it? Morty
didn’t know if his ‘accident’ was all that terrible, considering he didn’t even
remember it. But Jesus, he barely had a scratch on him. He was fine.
It was stupid, because any other time he’d be jumping for joy at the fact the
teacher was giving him extra time on an assignment, but now he just—he felt
undeserving. Even after the whole class was given no homework for that evening,
which gave him more time to fix his paper, he felt he shouldn’t be the one to
get this type of special treatment.
After all, how bad could that fall have been really?
As he gathered his books (or rather put them away) for that evening, another
familiar voice spoke behind him at the lockers that afternoon. “Hey, Morty.”
He turned to see Jessica’s current boyfriend looming behind him, and felt like
he may as well shove himself inside his own locker at that point. He knew he
wasn’t going to take kindly to him chatting with her that morning, but it
wasn’t like Morty initiated that.
Immediately, he began to think of an excuse and stuttered as a response, but
Brad cut him off.
“Hey, come on, I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just wanted to say Jessica was
worried about you and stuff. It’s no big deal.” He shrugged.
Morty just stared. Okay, something was really, really wrong here. Something was
very wrong. Brad should’ve been shoving him inside a locker, or pushing him up
against the wall, or knocking his teeth out. Or at the very least, threatening
him until Morty pissed his pants. What the fuck was going on. “Y-you’re not
gonna kick my ass?”
Brad stared back, now looking confused. “Why would I kick your ass?”
Morty only continued to stare, so confused, he wanted to swear out in
frustration. Why was everyone acting like this? Why wasn’t the bully bullying
him? Why was his crush who never noticed him suddenly being nice to him? Why
was the teacher letting him off the hook with homework when he never got that
kind of treatment before?
Why wouldn’t his parents tell him the truth about his accident? Maybe something
very horrible actually did happen, and they couldn’t bring themselves to tell
him, because they were worried about him and wanted to protect him.
But, Morty wanted answers. This was driving him insane. Everyone was acting
weird and this weird coddling thing was creeping him out.
He grabbed his books, slung his backpack over his shoulder and tore himself
from the building. His parents were going to tell him what actually happened
whether they wanted to or not. He was going to yank the truth out of them one
way or another.
===============================================================================
 
“Mom?”
They all sat around the dinner table, and once again, Mom and Dad were having a
pleasant conversation while Summer sat engaged on the opposite end. Everything
was normal, but maybe that was wrong. Something felt really off about this
whole thing, and Morty was confused why his parents weren’t arguing over bills
and money, or arguing in general about their relationship. He couldn’t remember
the last time they weren’t hostile toward one another, and for everything to be
this—calm, was making him tense. Something was wrong.
“Yes, honey?” Mom looked up from her spaghetti to eye him curiously and he
poked at his food with his fork.
But, he wasn’t about to back down from this. Morty wanted some answers
goddammit. “W-w-are you s-sure I just fell down the stairs yesterday?” He
looked up at her face, to see if there was any change in her expression. Any
indication she was lying to him.
But, she only smiled. “That’s what they told us.”
He perked up. “Wh-what who told you? Who’s they?”
“Your teachers. Honey, nobody saw the fall, they only saw you unconscious in
the stairwell and they called the ambulance. They weren’t sure how hurt you
were.”
Morty squeezed his fork, suddenly feeling ill as his mom spoke to him. He
wasn’t the clumsy type, and he couldn’t remember the last time he tripped over
anything, but he had a thought at listening to her story. “D-do you think
someone pushed me? I-I can’t imagine myself tripping down the stairs, Mom.”
Mom laughed. So did Dad. They looked off at each other before back at him and
Dad let out a chortle only a dad could do before he spoke. “Son, do you really
think someone would go so far as to push you down the stairs? I mean, how many
enemies have you made at that school?”
Morty felt his face flush. He knew how absurd the thought was, but he wouldn’t
put it past some the bullies to off and push him if they really wanted to. He
looked back down at his noodles, his face still hot. “B-but. I’m not hurt or
anything. How c-could I-I have only fallen down the s-stairs and gotten away
with a headache?”
“I think you’re thinking way too hard about this, honey.” Mom took a sip from
her glass and Morty brought his head back up to look at her. They were both so
nonchalant, not in the least worried about anything. He couldn’t shake the
feeling how wrong that felt, and how wrong all of this felt. There was
something they weren’t telling him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, and
they only continued to brush him off whenever he’d press the subject.
All he could do for now was go back to his room, try and work on his paper, and
flop onto his bed as he tried to force himself to sleep. Obviously, his parents
weren’t going to give him any answers. He thought maybe he could question his
teachers, maybe one of them would tell him something he wanted to hear—like
that when they found him he was actually bloody and mangled in that stairwell,
but that didn’t explain how he didn’t have a scratch on him. Maybe he didn’t
have a fall at all, and the accident was something different. Maybe he was in a
car crash or something. But, that still didn’t explain how he didn’t have a
scratch on him.
He began to drift off to sleep, frustrated he had no more answers than he
started off with.
===============================================================================
 
He felt cold again. What a strange sensation to feel cold in a dream, but he
definitely felt it. When he tried to open his eyes, he felt that groggy state
that was as though it were covering his entire mind, and he took a moment to
swallow and wet his throat. He was so parched, it was like he hadn’t had
anything to drink in days, and he fought through the initial confusion of
waking up and wanting to beg for water.
Morty opened his eyes, and his vision was clouded with the darkness of the
room. There was the blue glow around him, and he could only assume they were
coming from neon colored lights of some sort. It was all around him. Some sort
of computer sat next to him, blinking with multiple colored lights as well, but
nothing he could make out other than color.
He opened his mouth, and managed to mumble out, “W...water…” in his haze. That
was the only thing on his mind at first. He was so confused, so tired and
wanted to go back to sleep, but also his body seemed to be fighting this and
trying to wake up. But, he wanted water right now. He wanted to wet his dry
throat, and that was all he could think of. “W...water….” Again, he mumbled the
same thing again as though a glass of water would magically appear in front of
him.
But, there was a figure who appeared in his vision then, as much as he tried to
clear his view and make them out, he was so clouded with sleep and confusion,
he didn’t see who it was in the darkness. But their voice, their voice was low
and gruff. “I-I can’t give you water, Morty. You might choke on it.”
The simple dismissal, for some reason, made him reel back on himself, and he
couldn’t control himself when he began to cry. It was just a glass of water,
but some for some reason, being denied that upon waking up, when he was so
thirsty, and felt it was a simple request, made him lose control of his
emotions. He would never have cried over something so stupid had he been
himself. He didn’t even know why he was crying over it, but he could feel the
tears fall from his eyes at being refused water, and he could do nothing but
let them. He just wanted water. He just wanted to wet his dry throat. That felt
like the worst thing in the world for some reason.
“Hey, hey, come on.” The person spoke gently, almost as though they were trying
to soothe a young child, and he heard the sound of footsteps when they came
closer to him, and their face came into his vision.
Morty would have flinched back when he recognized that old man from before,
when he would have freaked out over the realization that this was the same
person who had made out with him in his sleep—but that was a dream, right? And
this was a dream? Right? Morty was just having a super intense dream right now
and he happened to be dreaming about the same person. Sometimes that happened,
but it wasn’t like he could control what happened in his sleep anyway.
The person touched the side of his face, and he could only note how cold it
was, how fucking cold it was compared to the rest of the room. He shivered
underneath his touch and wanted to cower in fear at what he remembered happened
last time he had a dream like this. The old man made out with him, and he was
too groggy to bring himself up and run away, or fight him off. Who the fuck
even was this person? Why was he having vivid dreams like this of some old guy
touching him? Morty was only confusing himself as he lay there, crying because
he couldn’t drink water, only feeling gross and like a piece of shit because he
was confused what was happening.
He spoke to him once again, his voice still gentle, but oddly, Morty only
shivered at the sound of it, at how strange it sounded to him. “You won’t be
here long, Morty. D-d-don’t think about it too hard, okay? Y-you’re just
dreaming.”
The old man ran his fingers through his hair and Morty shivered again, moving
his head to the side in an attempt to distance himself, no matter how futile.
But, he had to ask. As he stared back at this person, at this familiar room
he’d dreamt of, and this person he kept seeing, he wondered. Was he supposed to
know who this was? Was this a place he was supposed to know? “Wh-who...are
you?” This old man knew him by name, so he obviously knew him somehow. But,
Morty had no idea who the fuck this was.
The old man’s expression glossed over and he looked back at Morty with lidded
eyes. With a dip, he bent over and in one quick motion, gripped the roots of
Morty’s hair before kissing him on the mouth.
Morty was still too groggy to be in the state of mind to actually get up,
scream, run away, but he reached out with both hands, trying to push the old
man off him as he was kissed, as he yanked his head to the opposite side and
pulled himself from the grip. “W-wait! I-I-I don’t even know you! I-I don’t kn-
know…” He trailed off. This was fucked up, because if this was a dream, then
why was he getting so terrified? But, there was no denying that creep of horror
that fell down into the pit of his stomach. He had no idea who the fuck this
was, or why he was kissing him. For all Morty knew, he’d been kidnapped and was
being held prisoner in some underground laboratory. What if this was some
hostage situation or something like that? What if this old man was holding him
hostage?
“D-don’t worry about it.” He continued kissing him, until Morty was frozen
underneath him, having pushed his hands out in front of him to shove the old
man off, but they were now held against him, until he couldn’t move. He felt
suffocated again, as this person pushed his weight onto him, and Morty was
trapped.
The machine next to him whirred up again and the old man spoke out in an
annoyed voice once it did.
“F-fucking finally, Jesus.” Before he leaned off Morty and looked back down at
him. Even though Morty was shaking, terrified, as he did so. He didn’t
understand why this was happening, who this was, or where he was. But, he began
to feel groggy once again, just as the old man bent down and kissed him on the
mouth, but Morty was too far gone to even push at him anymore. He leaned off
only to speak to him in between kisses. “Y-you’re just dreaming, Morty. Th-this
is just a bad dream, okay?”
Morty saw black, still tasting the old man as he dragged his tongue across his
mouth before he awoke in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking. It was
four in the morning as he caught a glance at his digital clock, the sun wasn’t
even out yet, and he was shaking, fully awake from that dream and he covered
his face in his hands.
Why? Why was he having messed up dreams like this? Why did he keep dreaming
about that old guy he didn’t even know? And why was he always touching him and
kissing him in his sleep? Was Morty supposed to know him? If he kept dreaming
about him, and so vividly too, maybe it meant Morty knew him in the past. He
didn’t know. He racked his brain, trying to pluck any memory he could in that
moment and find that guy’s face, but nothing came up.
There was nobody like that he ever remembered knowing. He never existed to
Morty, and the more he thought about it, the more it made him ill. He was
dreaming about some old dude fondling him, some guy who knew him by name, and
it was one thing to have a weird dream like that and forget about it, but this
was the second night in a row he’d dreamt about him.
And it felt so real too. The way he leaned on top of him, and kissed him—Morty
felt as though he was actually being held down onto his bed just then and
forcibly kissed. His face flushed at the idea of being kissed like that. What
the fuck, just what the fuck was going on? He wanted to cry in frustration that
this kept happening, that he kept having these fucked up dreams, but he
couldn’t.
They were just dreams. Even though they felt real, there wasn’t much he could
do to control them.
He leaned back in bed, still coated in sweat as he tried to calm down. What the
fuck was wrong with him? He was safe in bed now, even though it was four in the
morning, and he was freaked out, he touched his blanket, squeezed it between
his fingers, and that was real. He was real. His room was real. Morty pinched
himself and felt the pain from that. He wasn’t dreaming anymore, because he
could feel the pain from that. Moving from bed, he turned his fan on to cool
off the sweat that’d been coating him and felt the cold wash over him. That was
real.
He planted himself on the floor, trying to breathe and calm down. It was okay.
He was okay. Although he didn’t plan to go back to sleep for the rest of the
night, that was okay too.
He swallowed, trying to block out the dream and forget about it. He was going
to be okay, maybe. He just had to try hard and not think about it.
 
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