Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7385140.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rick_and_Morty, Pocket_Mortys
  Relationship:
      Rick_Sanchez/Morty_Smith
  Character:
      Rick_Sanchez, Morty_Smith, The_Council_of_Ricks_(mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      Shadow_Morty, Flashbacks, Explicit_descriptions_of_noncon/rape, A_bad
      Rick_molests/rapes_his_Morty_but_I_promise_it_ends_really_happily, You
      gotta_believe_me, Suicide, Self-Harm, GRAPHIC_DESCRIPTIONS_OF:_RAPE.
      SELF-HARM._SUICIDE._ABUSE_BOTH_MENTAL_AND_PHYSICAL.
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-04 Words: 6563
****** Where is my body, what is my story? ******
by mortysmithh
Summary
     There was this one Shadow Morty. His past was unknown, though some
     whispered of theories in back alleys and in the bathrooms of shady
     stripclubs for Ricks.
     Here is his story.
     || Trigger warnings: Extremely explicit descriptions of nonconsensual
     sex/rape, an abusive Rick raping his Morty, semi-explicit
     descriptions of gore, extremely explicit descriptions of suicide,
     extremely explicit descriptions of self-harm
     PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE READING THE FIC!! ||
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
There was this one Shadow Morty that refused to simply be another part of the
games. Always drifting around aimlessly, asking quiet, soft-spoken questions.
“Where is my body? I know I’m not solid. What is my story? I know my memories
must be around here somewhere…” His stutter’s gone, but what would be an
intimidating monotone is made into something not even a regular Morty could be
scared by, due to his sheer hopelessness, the waves of uncertainty that radiate
off of him and the aura of confusion that makes everybody within his general
peripheral uneasy and, for some of the more sensitive Mortys, even outright
upset.
Ricks have tried to tag this Morty, of course. A wild Shadow Morty, drifting
around in the wild and seemingly unmarked before? It’s a prize to be caught,
and cherished!
But bad things have happened to the Ricks that tried to catch him by force. If
his Mortys can’t beat or tag this Shadow Morty, then surely he can beat this
creature one on one, right?
A bad sort of vibe seems to follow this specific Shadow Morty around, however.
Bad rumours, bad ideas, bad things spoken in hushed tones after the Shadow
Morty’s passed through.
He remains blissfully unaware, or perhaps he’d stopped caring; intimidating
others is fine, to be sure, he just wants to know where his body is.
===============================================================================
 One time, he asks a Rick if he knows where his corpse is, or if he knows where
Morty’s been buried.
“Look, kid, I-I don’t fucking care, alright? You- ...wait, you’re…” He blinks,
eyes wide in shock and the bit of drool on his chin seeming to almost glisten
with shocked curiosity. He reaches out, touching Shadow Morty’s shoulder almost
as if to test whether he’s real or not, and that’s his final mistake. His fatal
mistake. “Woah, y-you feel like- like a warm cloud or some shit!” He says with
a laugh, eyes still wide but this time in amused awe, and despite his wide eyes
he misses the darkness around Shadow Morty getting darker, he misses the way
the ghost-like apparition’s breath hitches and the way he scowls, terrified but
also furious.
And then he can’t breathe, and he removes his hand but by now Shadow Morty’s
entire body is surrounding his head, and he feels exactly as he had back when
he was a young, stupid Rick, when he’d portaled directly into space and had
only barely managed to portal back to Earth before inflating past recognition.
An endless vacuum of freezing air and boiling spit, and the slightest breeze of
burning hot air, though he knows the breeze is something new.
With a howl so loud it echoes throughout the entire open plain that they’re
standing on, Shadow Morty finally seems to realize what he’s doing and tries to
back away. Instead, this results in Rick’s body ceasing to inflate any further
and his head being yanked off with an audible ‘KRRRK!’ and a disgusting
squishing sound.
Hyperventilating and looking around wildly to make sure that nobody else saw
that, he brushes himself off, grateful at the very least that solid objects can
pass through him if he pleases. All the while, he’s vowing to himself to never
let that happen again.
‘Why did I even react that way? He was just...touching me.’
The thinking makes his stomach feel squirmy and unpleasant and his head hurt,
the same thing that happens whenever he tries to bring up his memories by force
or simply by thinking too hard about his corpse or where he might be buried.
===============================================================================
Finally, after years and years of searching (he knows so because he’ll sneak
into public places in the dead of the night and check the clock, and calendar
if there is one), he starts to feel the indistinct tugging pull him in a
specific direction.
No more irritating ‘I know my body’s out there somewhere’ feelings, no more
‘where am I buried?’, no more frustrations or sobbing fits because he’s just so
tired of not knowing or remembering anything from his past life. Finally, the
tugging from behind his bellybutton and (most powerfully) the center of his
chest is leading him somewhere, pulling him to a place that brings him back to
a memory.
“N-No Rick, please, I-I-I- I really don’t- I don’t like this, okay?! Jus- just
stop it, Rick! Y-Y-You’re drunk!”
It’s with a semi-panicked but mostly exasperated whimper that Morty tries to
push an absolutely sloshed Rick off of his back, that he tries to pull the too-
strong arms away from touching at his privates.
And then the same words he spews out every night float into his ear once more,
like a rotten wine; sickeningly sweet and smooth but with a distinctly
unsettling tone to them, almost as if he’s offering praise but also a threat, a
dare, even, for Morty to deny him this nightly...session...that they seem to
have going on as a pattern.
“Ohhh, but- bEURGH- but Mortyyy, yer- you’re sshh- such a g-goooood- good boy,
MmmOURGHty, Morty Morty Morty Mortyyyy…” He slurs out the words with a giggle
and a hiccup, a bit of alcohol-reeking spit spraying onto the back of Morty’s
neck as he burps out the kid’s name again, like a chant or a taunt, or some odd
mixture of both.
He freezes, frowning at these words. He should really just scream out for help,
maybe this time someone can come help him, instead of a disgusted-looking
Summer standing in the doorway before doing absolutely nothing at all…
He shakes himself out of the memory, though it’s more of a harsh jerk back to
reality as Rick cups his horribly rough hand over Morty’s flaccid dick.
“Sh- sooo, wh-whaddaya say, Mortyyyy? Want- want gREUGH- grandpa to- t- to take
you on an- a riiiide? Y-You’ll never fer- forget thish- this ride, Morty!” He
gropes harder, making the kid wince before trailing a second, equally sloppy
and awful hand up Morty’s loose nightshirt.
With a heavy sigh and a nod of sickened pride from Rick’s interest in him, he
nods, turning and trying so hard not to gag from the sight he’s seen so many
times before being violated in ways that make his stomach turn and wring itself
for weeks afterwards. “Y-Yeah, Rick, okay...jus- just, please, b-be a little
quieter this time, okay?”
It lasts for what feels like hours, but by the time he comes back it seems as
though only a split second has passed. He collapses to the ground, nearly
sinking through it as he screams into the sky in fury and terror and confusion,
more than he’s ever known in his life before getting to this damned Rick
neighbourhood.
The shriek causes no Ricks to come out, because they’re Ricks and they live
amongst other Ricks; there are strange noises from every house at every time of
the day, and they mind their own businesses as is the common etiquette amongst
Ricks.
Except for one.
Rick Sanchez of dimension J7-7H walks out of his house, stepping onto the front
porch and searching wildly with a deadly-looking laser gun held in front of
him. “Who’s there?” He barks out, brow furrowed in anger and a deep worry that
only shows in the slight downturn of the corner of his mouth.
And then the gun drops with an audible clatter, because no . It can’t possibly
be this Morty. Not that Morty, he died years ago, under...mysterious
circumstances, is what his shithead of a Rick had told everybody.
But then he sees the slender frame, and when that darkened shadow stands up, it
has the same uncomfortable slouch, like he knows something awful and he can’t
stand being the only one that knows, and the shape has the same body that the
Rick next door just couldn’t shut up about being ‘so sexy and bangable, too bad
we’re related, huh? Haha!’, and before he knows it he’s running to the kid,
planting both hands onto the Morty’s shoulders and trying desperately to look
him in the eye because he has to know.
“Morty? M-Morty of- ...babycakes?” He wouldn’t dare use that nickname, but it’s
all coming back to him and his heart feels heavier and heavier because how dare
the universe curse him to remain as a ghost and how fucking dare the universe
demand that he bear an attraction to his corpse like he’s seen so many
unfortunate, damned bastards, failing to find their bodies and yet maybe living
in an ‘ignorance is bliss’ state, because at least they can’t remember the bad
things in their lives.
When Shadow Morty of dimension 8-48Y stands up, he’s still wiping at the wisps
of black smoke that’re leaking from his eyes.
‘At least it’s better than that fucking mess of oil,’he thinks bitterly to
himself as the last of his ‘tears’ dissipate into the light breeze rustling the
grass and plants surrounding him. And as his vision clears, he realizes there’s
a pressure on his shoulders, and his mind finally registers that the pressure
belongs to...hands. Soft hands, with the hints of callouses on the very tips,
from playing guit...guitar? Yes, that’s an instrument.
The memory comes to him alarmingly fast, but this time he’s a little more
prepared for it.
“Yeahhh babyy, come- c-come back anEURGH- any time for a-another bangin’- b-
bangin’ bang!” His Rick calls out from the couch, not even bothering to tuck
his dick away before passing out and staining the living room carpet with yet
another puddle of alien booze.
Sobbing and feeling disgusting, dirtier than he’s ever felt in his life, he has
no choice. He knows he has to seek help, but who the hell else besides
countless others that look exactly like the man that’d just forced him to sit
on a too-thick cock with too-little lubrication?
He wraps a blanket around his shaking shoulders, stops by the bathroom just
briefly (long enough to messily wipe at/smear the blood and drool coating his
neck and shoulders), then he heads out the front door with a practiced skill;
he’s been sneaking out for years, though he always dreads the thought of what
Rick might to do him if he were to ever find out.
He knocks three times on the neighbour Rick’s door. Just one try; he wouldn’t
want to be a bother. It’s exactly what he feels like, of course; nothing but a
fucking bother, but much to his surprise, the door swings open almost
immediately after the third knock is up.
This Rick’s eyes sweep over him just once, lingering for maybe half of a second
longer on the countless hickies and bitemarks covering his barely-concealed
torso (damn Rick for shredding his shirt again), but somehow, it doesn’t give
Morty the same disgusted feeling, like his very being is dirty for being under
such a gaze.
This Rick has kind eyes, laugh lines instead of wrinkles from evil grins and
cackling drunkely, and this Rick doesn’t seem to even think twice before
stepping out of the way and inviting Morty in. “W-Want me to- want some water,
kid? And maybe an Aspirin, y-you look like you got attacked by a fuckin’ dog or
somethin’.”
He cracks the joke with an obviously apprehensive tone, but it draws a crackled
laugh out of Morty, the first genuine smile he’s given anybody in nearly
months, and they both give each other a soft smile that just clicks .
Later, as Morty’s gingerly sipping at the fruit punch Rick’s gotten him (he’d
demanded the kid finish off at least one glass of water, though), this Rick,
nice Rick, Rick Sanchez of dimension J7-7H explains that he’d heard the
shrieks, the thumps, the constant pattern of noise that could only mean one of
two things: someone’s having sex, or…
He trails off, frowning a bit; clearly he’s gotten too jovial too soon with the
kid, and just as he’s about to offer up a hasty apology, Morty lets out a weak
but sincere chuckle. “Y-Yeah, it- I-I’m surprised the whole neighbourhood
doesn’t know about it already, h-honestly…”
Rick has to gulp down bile for the second time that day, internally wishing
this Morty’s ‘original’ Rick the most painful death possible for a Rick before
he gives Morty a smile.
And once again, Morty’s shocked by how this smile makes him feel, because it
isn’t wolfish or predatory at all. It’s genuine, full of happiness and the hope
that he’s happy as well, and it works, it makes him see that maybe not all
Ricks are so horrible as his own.
Too soon, he has to go back. His Rick will...he’s not too sure what will
happen, if he’s honest with both himself and this Kind Rick, but he doesn’t
want to find out the hard way if Rick wakes up and Morty’s not draped over him
like some kind of human ornament, or perhaps decoration.
When he’s walking out the door, feeling much better and feeling much younger
and stress-free from the laughs and casual conversation he’d had with this Kind
Rick, he grabs Morty by the wrist, jerking back almost instantly and gasping
out an apology.
“S-Sorry! Oh, god, sorry, I-I just- I want- I wanted to ask what your dimension
was. Y-Y’know, in case I, uh, I gotta kidnap you from that shithead with my
name,” he says with a soft smile.
He’s lost count of how many surprises this Rick has given him, but most
shocking is when his wrist is grabbed suddenly, by a Rick no less, and yet all
he feels is a very slight burst of alarm.
“Oh, um...I-I’m- I’m from dimension 8-48Y, but, I-I just like to pronounce it
‘baby’, y’know? It- It’s cuter, like that, I think…” He trails off, somewhat
embarrassed, but then Kind Rick gently crooks his chin up with his index
finger, encouraging him to look up.
Soft, drool-free lips press to his cheek for just a second or three, and then
Rick pulls back, eyes shining dimly. “Dimension babycakes it is then, Morty.
Come over again sometime soon, alright? I-I’ve got plenty of fruit punch.”
This one lasts for a much shorter amount of time, or maybe it just felt that
way because it was so...pleasant? He never thought time with a Rick could be
pleasant, not with how awful most contact with Ricks makes him feel.
And then he’s being shaken by that same, hardly-calloused grip, head bobbling
about slightly as he’s reminded that he lives in the present and not in split-
second memories.
“B-Babycakes, fuck, i-it is you, please, look at me,” and now he’s almost
crying, the break in his voice audible as he fears he’s broken Morty by
touching him too quickly, by reminding him of the nonexistent control he’d had
with his original Rick, his abusive Rick, his awful Rick.
“Wh...I...R...R-Rick? My Rick, a-are you- my Rick?” It takes him a few moments,
eyes still struggling to focus on the blue-haired figure in front of him.
A surge of disgust rises up in him like acidic vomit at the thought; he could
never be the hideous monster that Rick Sanchez of dimension 8-48Y had proven
himself to be! But, the dazed questioning gives him an idea, an idea that seems
better and better the more he thinks about it. Without even pausing to consider
the downsides of what he’s about to do, he gives Morty a soft, relieved smile.
“Y-Yeah, babycakes, I’m- I-I’m your Rick, and you’re my Morty. My babycakes
Morty,” he says, leaning in to kiss his shadowy cheek gently, just as he’d done
so many times before, when his babycakes Morty was alive.
===============================================================================
Life with Rick (he’d insisted upon being called just Rick, because he’s not
‘Kind Rick’, he belongs to Morty) is wonderful.
His boundaries are never overstepped, he gets constant cheek kisses (that he
only gets when he asks for them specifically), Rick loves to hug him, and
squeezes him tight enough to make him remember the love in the action hours
later.
But something still feels off. It’s not right,what about the other Rick, the
one that made him feel like a broken, used piece of garbage?
This Rick tells him, a bad Rick stole him away for a long time ago, and that
he’d tried several times to help Morty escape, but if he stayed out for too
long, this Bad Rick would call his minions to hunt down and defile Morty until
he was a sobbing mess.
“I-I don’t- I didn’t want you to remember- I’m sorry for being the one to tell
you all of this, Morty,” he says, looking away in regret and shame for being
the one to give Morty this horrible knowledge.
But that’s not the only reason he looks away, and Morty knows it, he can feel
it in the center of his chest and just behind his bellybutton, and he never
ignores that feeling. Yet he never denies Rick a hug or a kiss or any requests
to touch him, because he’s sure that this Rick isn’t the bad Rick, but he’s not
telling the full truth.
And one day, he finds that his feeling was right; he catches Rick on the phone,
with whom he doesn’t know, but it must be some kind of authorities because he
can hear Rick frantically whispering, “Please! P-Please, please, take him away!
H-He lives right next to me, near the Morty Arena on 47th Rick Boulevard, I-
I can point him out to you easy! Please, Council, you have to arrest this Rick.
He’s a psychopath, h-he raped his Morty daily and I know for a fact that he
keeps the dead kid’s body in some- some creepy preservative bullshit, a-and
I’ve-” And now his voice gets quieter, but no less frantic. “Listen, I-I’ve got
this Morty’s- his ghost, I-I guess, and he’s not- he doesn’t remember , this is
a good thing, please, I’m begging you, i-incinerate his corpse and take that-
that Morty rapist into prison f-for the life sentence he deserves!”
Shadow Morty doesn’t bother to listen for the rest, concealing a rush of
emotions that he can’t be bothered to decipher and pushing them deep down into
the hollow feeling area in his chest that’s just opened up. Going up to his
room, he takes out a scrap of paper, scribbling down a note and folding it in
half before carefully drawing a heart so that it’s the first thing Rick sees
before opening this note. After he’s sure the note’s left where Rick will see
it, he jumps out the window, landing with a soft ‘floomf’ in the strange
mushroom bushes outside.
===============================================================================
When Rick slams the phone back down onto the receiver, his first thought is to
check on Morty; it’s been nearly an hour and he hasn’t heard from the usually
quite peppy little fellow. First, he goes to the restroom, splashing cold water
onto his face and demanding to his reflection that he keep a normal appearance
and that he doesn’t give away anything.
But when he goes upstairs and knocks twice, then twice again (a little joke
between the two), he hears no response, making his brow crease with worry.
‘Alright, calm down, m-maybe the kid just- he’s taking a nap or something…?’
His thoughts do nothing to soothe his now very frayed nerves, and he opens the
door, immediately starting to apologize but the sound dies on his lips halfway
through at seeing the folded, heart-marked paper sitting too innocently on the
unused bed.
“Dear Rick, I love you so much, and I’m so sorry, but...I just have to know. I
have to remember. Love, Morty.”
He reads it out loud with an increasingly trembly voice, and by the time he
reads ‘love, Morty,’ he has to choke out a cracked “D-Dammit Morty, you don’t
have to remember...y-you can’t remember…”
===============================================================================
He takes a few moments to compose himself, getting ready to meet his original
Rick, the Rick that...had supposedly done all of that terrible stuff to him?
He shakes the thoughts out of his head; of course his original Rick wouldn’t do
that, just look at how sweet the one who’d tried to adopt him was!
He brushes the spores off of his shadowy wisps and limbs, making sure that he
looks as nice as a Shadow Morty can look before knocking at the door of Rick
Sanchez, dimension 8-48Y.
Rick throws open the door, one eye half-lidded and the other just barely open,
seeming to vomit slightly into his mouth as he blinks at the mass of darkness-
no, wait, that’s...that’s a Morty- a Shadow Morty?
“Th-The fuck’re you doing here, kid, I-I don’t- what’re you, collectin’ funds
or something? BEURGH- beat it.” He waves his flask at Shadow Morty, seeming to
be fully expecting the kid to fuck right off as Rick had so rudely demanded.
Morty doesn’t even have time to be upset, he blurts out the question he’d been
holding in his head for the past 10-20 years, despite the worry and nausea and
headache all building up in his body: “A-Are you Rick Sanchez of dimension B-
Baby...cakes…?” Suddenly feeling like he has to throw up his guts, he barely
manages to whisper out the last syllable, though it seems ‘baby’ was plenty for
Rick to suddenly seem interested.
The Rick frowns down at him, glaring in a way that seems very nearly
suspicious. “...dimension Baby, you said?” And after a few more seconds of a
scrutinizing, too-revealing and too-probing stare down at Morty’s body and
face, a wide grin cracks across his vomit-stained lips.
It’s sickening and wolfish, that grin, and as Morty stares up at him with an
increasingly uncomfortable smile, he finds himself starting to wish he’d just
stayed with the other Rick, the Kind Rick, blissfully ignorant of this...scary
(?) Rick.
He shakes himself out of it; hell no this Rick isn’t scary by any means, maybe
he’s just...still a bit shaken up from the whole ‘bad Rick’ memory mess. For
all he knows, it could have been a series of abusive Ricks, right…?
It’s what he keeps telling himself as he gingerly accepts Rick’s hand, his
breathing picking up out of an automatic response to the calloused, rough,
almost prickly skin of the old man’s hand. It’s just like-
‘No. Stop it, of course he isn’t one of those Ricks, he’s your Rick, calm down
and stop thinking such thoughts!’
As soon as he’s in, he can’t help himself; he’s so close, he can feel the
blurred edges of memories threatening to overwhelm him but he’s not near
enough. It’s almost enough to drive him insane, but if he’s patient for this
long then surely he can handle just a little bit more.
But he’s not perfect, and so he blurts out, “D-Do you- where’s- where’s my
corpse?” Then, added onto the end in a soft, embarrassed tone, “...um, i-if- if
you know where I’m buried, that’d be g-great…”
Rick grins that wolfish, predatory grin again, the expression not quite
reaching his eyes and lighting them up in the way that the other Rick’s smiles
always would.
“Yeah, uh, h-hEURGH- hold up. I gotta- gotta go, d-dig it up, if you want it,
right?” He tries to refrain from belching too much, even making a weak attempt
at a comforting smile.
He hates the way Rick phrases it, ‘do you want it?’ It makes his skin crawl for
some reason, a slight frown curling the corners of his lips downwards, but it
only lasts for a few moments as he forces up a light smile. “Um, yeah, o-of
course, Rick! Could you please? I just...it’s difficult to explain, but I
really need to...I-I need to ‘be with’ my, uh, corpse, I guess,” he says,
mumbling out the last part and praying he didn’t sound so weird that Rick felt
the need to keep his body away from him.
Rick just nods, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom, vomiting up
his guts and jerking off quickly to the thought of him finally getting to fuck
his Morty, alive and relatively well. Afterwards, he cleans up, chugs the rest
of whatever the hell’s in his flask, then takes a few tabs of something that
melts away his hangover nearly instantly.
“Perfect, n-now to get that sweet- sweet little ass all cleaned up and ready.”
===============================================================================
Several hours later, Rick carefully brings Morty’s corpse in on a hovering
gurney, the lifeless body pale and looking somewhat damp, as though it’s just
been cleaned or washed. There’s not too much to see, the arms neatly at the
sides of its torso and the eyelids closed, mouth parted slightly, and if it
weren’t for the white sheet covering its bottom half and the way its chest
doesn’t rise and fall, it would almost look like just another sleeping Morty.
“Hey, er, s-sorry it took so long, Morty. Took longer than I thought it would
to clean all of the dirt off of you- your, uh, body.” He seems to practically
salivate while saying ‘body’, though he quickly fixes his hungry expression
into one that’s more neutral, almost lacking in emotion if not for the small
grin curling the corner of his mouth upwards in a nasty little curl.
Shadow Morty simply nods, floating over and staring in awe at his corpse. So
this is how he looks, years after being dead. But something keeps nagging at
the back of his head, and (he blames it on the sudden rush of memories begging
to be remembered) he finds himself blurting out yet another question. “Wh-Why
do I look so...fresh…? I-I thought I died years ago, I’ve been searching
for...for this, for my body, f-for at least ten years, I thought…”
Rick’s horrible grin only grows wider, and he shakes his head, managing to
force the grin into something somewhat similar to an expression of grief. “No,
you, uh...you k- er, got into that, a-accident in the lab, really recently.
Maybe being a ghost, o-or whatever you are, kinda fucks with your sense of
time? Anyways, try to enter your corpse, m-maybe you can come live with me in
your body! I can’t cure death, b-but I can cure a living corpse, I’m sure,” he
says with a bark of a laugh, his voice gravelly and sandy and everything Morty
hates about Ricks.
He suppresses a shudder, gives Rick a wavering, unsure smile, then slowly sinks
into the Morty corpse lying still on the hovering gurney. As soon as his legs
and hips are fitted into the corpse, he notices how...used...and slick…?...that
his asshole feels. He’s about to demand Rick tell him why, certain now that
this is one of the bad Ricks, if not the bad Rick, but suddenly his head’s
matched up with the corpse’s and his eyes flash white, the corpse convulsing
against the gurney as he shrieks an ethereal scream.
“C’mooon, Mortyyy, h-hEURGH- happy 15th birthday, h-heard your voice drop a few
days ago, kiddo...m-means yEURHG- you’re a man now, c-c’mere and let grandpa
Rick show you h-how to be a real, proper man,” he says with a grin, his pants
already unzipped and his dick hard and upright.
“No no no stop it stop it stop it stop it STOP IT STOP STOP!” Shadow Morty, now
trapped in his physical form’s corpse, can’t stop shrieking so loudly that even
the ones who can no longer hear sink down to their knees and pray that this
horrible sound ceases soon.
Sniffling and shaking his head as hard as he can, he peels himself away from
Rick’s grasp, limping badly and trying so, so hard to ignore the feeling of
cold cum dripping out of his sore, overstretched ass.
“I-I’m- I’m Morty Smith, I’m 12 years old, a-and I’m a- a disgusting, loathsome
piece of sh- shit,” he hiccups out as he drags the razor over his skin. He has
a tube of scar removal cream that Rick invented, he knows the drunk fuck won’t
notice it’s gone, and if he does, what more can he do to punish Morty?
“STOP IT PLEASE STOP IT RICK I DON’T WANT THIS, HELP ME, PLEASE!”Thrashing and
shaking, he looks as if he’s suffering from a seizure, or perhaps possessed by
a particularly malicious spirit. His eyes are still shining white and the
screams he utters no longer sound human, instead sounding as though Satan
himself were torturing all of the angels and the demons in creation history.
“Take this- th-this maaagical serum, Morty, i-it’ll- it’s gonna make you feel
really fuckin’- fucking nice, Mortyyyy,” says Rick, practically shoving a test
tube down Morty’s throat and not really giving him an option as to whether he
swallows the sugar-sweet liquid or not.
Five seconds later, the aphrodisiacs kick in and Rick introduces him to the
world of orgasm. What should’ve been his first experience touching himself, or
maybe with someone special, ends up being a world of hellish torment and pain
as Rick forces him to ‘cum’ (a new word he’d learned that day) over and over
again until his dick’s aching and flaccid for the last 4 orgasms and he can’t
even move for the next few hours.
He loathes every second of that helpless period that Rick takes advantage of.
“PLEASE, PLEASE...PLE...please...please...s-stop- stop it,”he chokes out, and
now he’s laying almost perfectly still, eyes still glowing a bright white and
blinking rapidly, almost like an old film as his fingers and toes jerk
occasionally.
“M-My...my name, is- is, Morty Smith, o-of dim- dimension, B-B- Baby, and- I-
I’m 17 ye- years old, a-and I am fu- fuck- fuhuck- fucking- FUCKING WORTHLESS!”
He shrieks out the last two words before slashing through his arm with the
supersharp blade he’d found in Rick’s lab. It cuts down to the bone easily, a
splash of blood staining his yellow t-shirt for the last time as he feels the
pills he took starting to kick in.
His world darkening quickly, he manages to look out the window and see Kind
Rick, staring openmouthed through the windows right across from each other.
Morty manages to mouth out one last ‘I love you’ before he collapses on the
floor, never to wake up again.
He’s gone silent by the time he stops seeing flickers of his horrible past
life, eyes still shining white but now a much more muted white, like seeing a
lamp through thick fog.
“So, y-you finally- you know who I am, Mortyyy?”He drawls out Morty’s name the
way he’d done so many times to the kid, then to the teen, then to- well, he’d
been planning to molest young adult Morty, he regrets that the kid killed
himself so young.
He flinches, lifting up his arms - his flesh, real, corpse arms - and examining
the gaping, still fresh and pink scars, he can feel the stomachache of corroded
flesh on his insides, and if he focuses hard enough (too hard too much he
doesn’t want to remember), he can still see clearly in his mind’s eye just how
sorry Kind Rick had looked.
And then it all comes rushing back, and suddenly he feels like he can’t
breathe, like he’s holding far too many memories inside of himself, he’s going
to explode oh no oh no oh no he can’t do this he can’t handle this he needs
help he’s going to blow up he’s going to die and disappear for real he can’t
die like this he just found ou-
And suddenly he can’t scream loud enough or for long enough, and when Rick
comes over and makes a grab for his ass, his entire body gets sucked into
Shadow Morty’s body, and now he can feel the intense vibrations of his
shrieking, of the wails of regret and sorrow and agonizing pain that only a
long-dead soul could emit.
His head starts to feel sort of pressured, like when he’d go down deep in his
Mermaid Morty’s tank to fish him out, but usually it’d go away a few seconds
after he got back up to the surface.
This time, however, it doesn’t stop.
Shadow Morty doesn’t even know what he’s doing or how he’s doing it, all he
knows is pain and sorrow and he can only express it through screaming so loudly
that Hades himself would cower under the sound.
And then, five minutes later, it’s all over.
He looks surprised at himself, glancing around himself frantically before
realizing he’s...he’s surrounding Rick. The disgusting Rick. The Bad Rick. And
he floats away hurriedly, only making it ten feet before he falls to the
ground, buries his face in his knees, and starts sobbing.
He cries, just as a Morty with a solid body would, and he laments just as a
‘normal’ Morty would, if not with a much deeper level of sorrow than the
average Morty.
Morty sits, crying and sniffling and desperately trying to avoid looking at Bad
Rick, for a total of 28.23 seconds before Rick of J7-7H kicks the door down and
glares around, aiming his gun towards Rick of 8-48Y as soon as he sees the man
before he seems to notice something.
Morty.
He drops the guns and hurries over, kneeling down so that they’re eye level but
he keeps his distance, sitting a good 4 or 5 feet away as he practically
whispers in that honey-sweet voice of his he reserves just for his favourite
Morty, “Are you okay? What can I do to help you, babycakes?”
And instead of saying or doing anything, all Morty can do is lurch forwards and
hug Rick until both of them are shaking with relief and happiness and the
bittersweet feelings that only such a reunion could garner.
“I-I’m so- so sorry, Rick, I-I did- didn’t- d-didn’t- should’ve l-listened to-
to you,” he hiccups out, shivering violently against his saviour as mild shock
starts to set in.
Rick just shakes his head, whispers sweet nothings as he brushes away the wisps
of black that make up Shadow Morty’s hair. “No, babycakes, y-you- you didn’t do
anything wrong. Do you want to look at him? The bad Rick? Or do you want me to
tell you what I see, and then you can decide if you want to look too? Does that
sound alright, Morty?” When he gets a shaky nod in response, he goes on to say
with the most cautiously pleased and relieved voice, “I-I see a headless Rick.
His skull seems to have caved in on itself, I heard the boom of the implosion
all the way from my house. You did it, babycakes, you’re free now. You’re free
for real.”
And then Shadow Morty lets out a small gasp, and he forces up enough courage so
that he can lift his head from the crook of Rick’s neck and he can glance over
at his Rick. Or rather, his Rick’s corpse, because it seems that he has,
indeed, imploded his old Rick’s head.
“Bad Rick is dead.”
His stuffy-nose, crackly, starting to bubble up with laughter voice echoes
throughout the relatively empty garage, and soon they both start repeating it,
laughing and attacking each other with cheek kisses.
===============================================================================
“Y-You sure you’re up for the challenge, y’little peanut?” He noogies Morty’s
hair as they stroll (or rather, he strolls and Morty floats) out to the pier on
the rather large private lake he owns.
It was a long travel to get here from his Pocket Mortys home, but when Shadow
Morty told him that he’d never once been on a road trip, he just knew he had to
take the kid sightseeing.
“Of- of course I am, Rick! Jeez, I-I’m like 30 times older than you, have some
respect for your elders,” Morty responds with a cheeky giggle, even going so
far as to float a few feet higher than Rick’s head.
Rick just laughs and gives Morty’s shadow ‘tail’ a quick tug. “C’mooon, they
only feed for about half an hour, w-we gotta get the timing juuuuust right,
babycakes.”
They both take a (somewhat) vicious pleasure in hacking up his abusive Rick’s
body, feeding the semi-bloody chunks of meat to the absolutely voracious wild
Reverse Mermaid Mortys that live in the lake.
Rick gets sprayed in the face with Morty drool and Rick blood several times,
and Morty has to resist giving in to the temptation to laugh, for fear of how
badly Rick will tickle him on the way back home.
He leans in to give Rick’s face a big, long, sloppy lick, leaving a light trail
of smoky grey spit on the old man’s face as he turns to spit out the blood and
drool. “Th-There you go, I- I cleaned you up, Rick!” A little giggle escapes
him despite his best efforts, and before he can escape, Rick’s long, gentle
fingers are back to tickling him until he’s breathless with laughter and his
cheeks are glowing with the faintest shade of reddish-pink.
===============================================================================
“You ready?” His questioning’s much more sure than when they’d fed Rick’s
corpse to the Reverse Mermaid Mortys; clearly, he believes in his Morty much
more now than he had back then, or maybe he’s simply stopped being such a
worrywart all the time.
Either way, Morty gives him a thumbs-up and a big grin, though it’s not very
visible since it’s dark outside and he’s only just able to be seen by Rick as
an outline and two glowing orbs for eyes.
“O-On the count of three, Rick?”
“On three. One,” he grunts, carefully gripping Morty’s corpse by the ankles.
“T-Two,” he manages to grit out, gripping his dead body by the shoulders.
“Three!” They both shout the number out as his flammable liquid-soaked body is
tossed into the (frankly enormous) fire that Rick had decided to build in
honour of Morty’s official cremation.
And at first, he thinks he’s just giddy with joy; who wouldn’t be, to escape
such a horrible life as he’d had, only to find out that maybe not all Ricks are
so horrible?
But he realizes something; the more his body burns away, the less he feels he
weighs. He feels less like it’s all his fault, he feels less guilt, less
responsibility for all of the things Bad Rick had done to him, and he feels so
much more free.
Rick seems to realize the difference, and he laughs, running over to Morty,
hugging him tightly around the waist, then pulling him in for a kiss right on
the shadowy mouth.
Both of them pull away with wide eyes, Rick touching his lips with one hand and
Morty touching his lips with one of his own hands, and they stare at each other
for what feels like minutes before Morty laughs and pulls Rick in for another
kiss, full of love for his newfound Rick, his saviour, and hope for the future,
a future where they’ll live together and all of this that’s happened can be
forgotten, turned into a bad dream that doesn’t have any significance unless
either lets it have such.
End Notes
     Hey so this is REALLY DARK
     If you got to this point, congratulations!!
     My Tumblr's mortysmithh and I promise I don't usually write such dark
     things
     Send me fic prompts and maybe an art request!! <33
     Leave Kudos and/or a comment if you liked it, or maybe some
     criticism!!
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