Archive of Our Own ^beta

Morty wakes up gasping. The air claws at his throat—thick, metallic, and foreboding. He tries to focus, but the world around him refuses to settle. Everything shifts, like smoke unraveling into the wind, shapes forming only to dissolve into nothing again. He pushes himself up, hands sinking into the ground below. It throbs beneath his hands, like something living, like a heartbeat thumping beneath his clammy palms. “Wh-Where am I?...” He rasps, throat dry and scratchy from disuse.

He looks around, finding Rick nowhere to be found. Only the swirling blackness greets his eyes… Morty can feel it in his bones—the way the air here presses against his skin, heavy like thick fog, but colder than anything natural. The sky—if it even is a sky—stretches endlessly above him, a swirling mass of black and muted blues, shifting like liquid shadows. There is no sun, no stars, no distant galaxies. Just a suffocating vastness that has no beginning and no end. And all Morty feels is the feeling of something heavy. Cold. Like regret dragging nails down his spine.

The void is alive.

Not in the way planets teem with strange creatures or ecosystems thrive in the dark corners of the universe. This is different. This is sentient. Watching... Waiting…

He stands up, eyebrows drawn down in a weary arch, fear coating his insides as his eyes flicker around, hoping to glimpse a white lab coat and a stalk of wild blue spikey hair.

The ground beneath him isn’t solid. At first glance, it seems like stone, but when he steps forward, it moves. Not like sand shifting underfoot, but as if the entire landscape is breathing. Every footstep sends ripples outward, the surface undulating like the skin of something deep beneath an ocean. The texture is smooth, yet resistant, like trying to walk on the surface of thick ink.

How did he and Rick end up here again? Everything in Morty’s head is fuzzy, as if he’s in a dream he can’t awaken from, no matter how much he desperately wants to… There is nothing but fog surrounding him. It coils around his ankles, climbing, creeping, and invasive. He can feel it wrapping around his limbs like fingers, tugging, pulling—not physically, but mentally. Each tendril feels like a whisper in his mind, dredging up uneasiness.

His breathing grows erratic, his lungs seemingly forgetting to inhale as the air pulses around him, thick with the weight of something unseen. The fog slithers forward, curling at his feet like filaments spreading—strands of silver twisting through the darkness, more like a living nightmare. Then—without warning—a tear appears in the fog; it peels open, revealing a memory so vivid, it feels as though he’s living it all over again.

“That’s a beautiful thought, Morty, but, uh, no. There were definitely consequences.”

His eyes widen at hearing Rick’s voice so clearly… Morty doesn’t want to see this—doesn’t want to remember all the pain that comes from this memory.

But the void doesn’t care what he wants…

Morty grimaces at the way the version of him pales in the memory as he stutters out. “What’re-What-What are you talking about?”

His insides twist all over again as the memory enhances Rick’s cruel features, the way Rick wears that fucking smug smirk so damn proud, his eyes bright with sadistic delight. “I mean. You did everything you did. It all happened.”

Morty wants to close his eyes—to look away—but he can’t find it in himself to pull his gaze away from the scene. He bites his bottom lip to stop its trembling as his whole body shakes on the spot as he continues to watch, his stomach relentlessly twisting with dread at hearing how small and scared the memory version of his voice sounds.

“No. But the... The respawn button.” He fumbles out pathetically; he just stands there looking so confused. “The... The do-over…”

Rick shakes his head, his demented grin still locked into place on his face. “It’s not a do-over.” He adds gleefully. “You just did it. Over and over.”

The memory version of him looks at Rick with so much hurt as he asks fearfully. “What are you saying? W-What did you do?

The memory version of Rick places a hand on the workbench and leans his weight onto it and says, still painfully smug. “I think it’s more appropriate to ask, what did you do?”

Morty zones out, only half listening to Memory Rick’s long and complicated explanation… Morty had thought it was just harmless fun. Had believed it was a way to cheat fate, to undo mistakes, and to live consequence-free. But the reality was brutal—he hadn’t been rewinding his life. He had been replacing himself every time, erasing an entire Morty’s existence, taking their place without a second thought.

He saw the horror play out again and again as every Morty incinerated into nothing more than a puddle of goo. His stomach rolls with waves of nausea—and Rick had let it happen. He knowingly let Morty take the device all because of that stupid fucking vat of acid!—it was still a stupid idea, but Rick had made Morty pay and suffer the consequences for questioning his so-called ‘genius.’

Rick had been so… So…

Smug. Unbothered. As he mentally traumatized Morty just because Morty didn’t praise his grandpa on a stupid, fucking, shitty idea!

Like the pain was just part of the lesson. Like Morty’s pain was funny to him…

The fog pulses, yanking Morty into the next betrayal.

He sees himself standing in the wreckage of their mistake. The failed reset of the portal system had thrown them all into chaos, separating them, scattering them back to the places they came from.

And Morty?

Morty had gone home.

His home.

The Cronenberg universe.

The dead, ruined wasteland where his family had been left behind years ago, where nothing had survived except the grotesque remnants of a world Rick had given up on.

He sees himself walking through the broken remains of his house, staring at the remnants of his old life.

And then—Rick finds him, and he learns the truth… That Rick isn’t his actual grandpa that had come back years later—or even that he had wanted to come back at all!

Rick didn’t want a family—he never had… Morty was just bait for Rick to lure his original grandfather back—Rick had cared more about finding Prime than he had ever cared about Morty…

Morty watches it unfold again—the moment Rick dismisses him, barely sparing him a glance, too consumed by his own hatred for another version of himself to care.

The reality of Rick’s betrayal hit him like a truck all over again… He really never mattered to Rick...

Watching it now—trapped in this void, unable to escape the truth—is worse than it had been in real life...

Morty had never been the goal.

He had just been there.

The void doesn’t even so much as give Morty a moment to compose himself mentally as the fog pulses again, this time rather violently, dragging Morty deeper into yet another memory.

This one cuts deep… The Crows…

“Behold my Wheel of Better Things Than Morty.” Memory Rick cries eagerly.

It hurts worse now, forced to see it all over again…

“Wh-What are you, eight? I-Is this macaroni art? You expect me to believe you built this because you don’t care?” The memory version of him scoffs incredulously.

Memory Rick, sadistic as ever, grins wider. “No, I built this because I don’t expect shit from you.” He turns back to the wheel, chanting while crossing his fingers. “Come on, anything! Anything but Morty, let’s go! Come on, baby, no whammies!”

For Morty, it’s watching in slow motion the worst moment of his life play out in a long-ended nightmare that refuses to end… The wheel spins until it lands on the crows section of the wheel, and his torment continues.

“Duh-duh-duh-duh, stop! Okay, that’s it. Two crows. You’re fired!”

He watches how angry he was back then, and that same anger swells up in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“You know what? Eat shit. You’re just trying to make me feel worthless.”

Memory Rick laughs. “I never said you’re worthless. In fact, I’ve given you a very clear metric of your worth: two crows. Note I didn’t say three!”

Rick tossed him aside like garbage, trading him for crows. Morty lives through it all again—him, desperate for a shred of acknowledgement from Rick—this was the moment Morty knew; knew just how little he actually meant to Rick, how easy it was for Rick to replace him in a heartbeat, knew Rick wasn’t joking, wasn’t bluffing…

And he had just stood there and let it happen...

Morty’s breaths come out shallowly, tears blurring his vision the longer he stands there, the weight of the void, the suffocating presence of it, coiling tighter around Morty’s chest. Something about this place makes it impossible to ignore the past. The regrets. The wounds. Morty tries to push it down, tries to focus on logic—where are they? How did they get here? He thinks once more—but none of it matters when the void keeps forcing him to look.

To see.

The environment isn’t just a setting. It’s an entity. A cruel, omnipresent force, dragging him deeper into the worst parts of himself.

His mistakes. His failures. The things Rick had done to him… The abyss whispers to him in the voices of his regrets, his failures, and every bitter word Rick has ever thrown his way. A treacherously menacing voice hisses in an echo all around him, sounding eerily just like Rick’s.

         “He’ll never care about you.”

                                                                “You’re useless! Just a waste of space.”

        “If you died, he’d just get a brand-new Morty—a better Morty.”

                                               “Why should you care about him? He hates you!”

    “You’re replaceable!”                 “Let the old fuck rot!”

“Shut up, shut up…” Morty whispers, palms pressing hard against his ears in a vain attempt to silence the voice—the fog thickens, pressing against him, weighing him down. He falls to his knees. His heartbeat is louder now, thudding in his ears as the abyss threatens to swallow him whole.

“Shut up!!!” Morty roars, rage and sorrow battling and weaving havoc onto his very being.

Morty grits his teeth. It’s lying! He’s had his fair share of problems with the older man, sure… But that doesn’t change how Morty feels. It doesn’t change how much love he has for Rick…

Rick isn’t just an alcoholic grouch Morty puts up with—he means so much more to Morty than even Rick himself knows.

He’s the man who, despite everything, always comes back for him. The one who doesn’t let Morty disappear into the cracks. Even when Morty’s been reckless, even when he screws up, Rick never leaves him behind.

Morty squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to shut everything out as he focuses on the good memories of all their time together…

Yes, Rick is complicated. Yes, he’s a selfish, arrogant fucking asshole, no shit, Morty’s very fucking aware of it. But despite Rick’s faults, he’s his grandpa—he’s the man who took Morty across the stars. Taught him how to survive. Who, in his own twisted way, does care. Maybe not in the way Morty always wishes he would, not in a way that’s ‘easy,’ but the love is there. It’s always been there. And Morty knows that with all his heart.

The fog still presses, thick and suffocating, but Morty breathes deep, filling his lungs with the only thing stronger than the doubt clawing at him: the belief that Rick does love him.

And that has to be enough. It just has to…

He stands up on shaky legs, and right now he needs to find Rick. He knows deep in his stomach that his grandpa needs him just as Morty needs him right now. And he’s going to get them the fuck out of this hellhole!

He steps forward, then another. The abyss’ whispers rise in pitch, unwilling to let him go so easily. Trying to dissuade him from finding Rick.

But Morty ignores the lies and keeps walking. Each step forward feels like dragging himself through molasses, but Morty refuses to stop. The ground beneath his feet shifts, its voices crackling like static, whispering temptations and threats in the same breath.

                                            “Turn back, Morty.”

                     “He left you. Just like always. Just like he will again.”

Morty clenches his fists. No. He’s done listening. It can fuck off! Then—he sees it. A flicker in the distance. A pulsing glow, dim and erratic, barely breaking through the swirling darkness. But Morty feels it tug at his chest.

He just knows it has to be Rick.

His heart pounds as he forces himself into a staggering run, ignoring the abyss screeching in protest, twisting reality around him, desperate to drag him back. His breath comes in ragged bursts, sweat clinging to his skin despite the biting cold—until suddenly, he’s there. And he stops…

Rick sits slumped on the ground, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around himself. He’s whispering—too low to hear, but Morty knows that voice. It’s trembling, uneven. But it’s all Rick... And Rick looks… Small. So unlike himself…

Morty swallows hard, stepping closer.

“…Rick?”

No response.

And that’s when Morty feels it—an ache in his stomach, deep and twisting with apprehension…

Morty drops to his knees beside Rick, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He reaches out—hesitates—then grips his grandpa’s shoulders, hands shaking.

Rick doesn’t react.

He curls deeper into himself, knees still drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tight like he’s trying to hold himself together, to keep whatever’s breaking inside him from spilling out. His head is bowed, lips moving, whispering—but the words are twisted, lost between breaths too shallow, too unsteady.

Morty leans in, desperate to hear, to understand—

“No, no, no—” Rick’s voice is trembling, raw, barely above a breath. “Please, Morty—don’t leave me. Not you, Morty. Not you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry.” He whispers pleadingly.

Morty shudders, and the void grows colder. Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath as he grips Rick’s arms tighter, shaking him once. Then again. “Rick—hey! Hey! I’m here! Snap out of it, please!” Morty begs desperately yet urgently. They need to get out of here!

Rick jerks, his breath hitching. Slowly—so painfully slowly—his bloodshot eyes lift, unfocused. “…Morty?” His voice is hoarse, like he barely believes what he’s seeing. Like Morty is just another hallucination in this damned place.

Morty sighs with relief as he swallows hard, tears welling up in his eyes as he forces a nod. “Yeah, it’s me, Rick. I’m here, Grandpa.” He says tenderly, softly, his voice soothing. His expression is grave as he says. “But we have to go; we have to get out of here. Now!”

Rick swallows, his breath ragged. His gaze flickers over Morty like he’s still unsure if he’s actually real or just his mind playing tricks on him. “Morty…” His voice is hollow, fragile. “Why are you here, kid?… You should just leave me…”

Morty shakes his head, biting down the lump rising in his throat. “No, fuck that! Why the fuck would you say that to me, Rick?!” He yells while shaking Rick’s shoulders—hoping to shake some sense into the old man.

Rick exhales, unsteady, tears streaming down his cheeks. “‘Cause I deserve it. I’m just a fuck-up, and you’ll be better off without me.”

Morty’s face crumples, eyebrows drawn up into a look of pure grief. No. No, no— “No—y-you shut the fuck up, Rick!” His voice cracks, emotion spilling into every syllable, his own tears streaming down his face. “You think I’m just gonna leave you here? Think I’m just gonna let—this fucking place—swallow you whole and take you away from me?! NO!”

Rick flinches, like Morty’s words physically strike him. His fingers twitch against his knees.

“All I ever do is treat you horribly, Morty. I’m a piece of shit that deserves t-to rot… To die alone.” He sniffles as he reaches up to cup Morty’s cheek. “Oh, God, I—I fucking punched you.” He whispers, his voice tinged with horror at his own actions, his thumb brushing back and forth under the eye Rick had bruised so long ago.

Morty flinches—not at Rick’s touch but at the painful reminder… “Rick, this place is fucking with your head! It tricks you, Rick; it makes you relive every single horrible memory on purpose.” Morty explains his expression, pinched in despair… Morty knows just how easy it is to get lost in all the hurt and never want to come back out—but with every bad moment that happens in life, there are always good moments to help balance it all out, and he needs Rick to remember that.

Rick shakes his head. “No, I needed to see this, Morty. God, Morty! I literally laughed every single fucking time I hurt you!” His breath shudders. “I thought it was fucking funny. I’m a shitty grandpa. I replaced you with two crows just for shits and giggles, Morty.”

Morty sighs. “Everybody does things they’re not proud of, Rick.”

Rick looks at him dead serious and says, “That’s the thing, Morty. You wanna know the worst part?”

Rick lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That version of me—the bastard who did all those things—I liked him. I didn’t second-guess. I didn’t care. I barely looked back… Kid, you should fucking hate me.”

Morty tightens his grip on Rick’s arm, his voice rough but urgent. “‘His’ life doesn’t matter! Yours does.”

Rick exhales sharply. “It was my life, Morty. My choices.”

Morty’s gaze is fierce now. “Yeah, but that’s not you anymore, is it? You’re here, feeling this, saying this. That’s gotta mean something.”

Morty’s voice drops, softer now, desperate. “Rick, I don’t hate you—I can never hate you! You think I haven’t done things to you I regret? I’ve used you for my own selfish gain. And I know I’ve hurt your feelings, too.”

Morty groans in frustration. “You—you always do this! Always try to carry every shitty thing on your own like it’s just—your problem.” His throat aches.

“But you’re not alone, Rick. You’ve got me. And you always will.”

Morty grabs Rick’s hand and doesn’t let go.

Rick’s lips part, just slightly. Something flickers in his expression—something breaking, something raw and vulnerable. His eyes, usually so hardened, soften for a moment, and Morty sees a depth of emotion he’s never witnessed before. It's as if a dam has crumbled, revealing the turbulent waters beneath. “…Morty…” he whispers, his voice a hoarse, desperate plea unsure of what else to say.

The abyss trembles around them, the whispers coiling tighter, screeching in protest—angry, desperate. The air thickens, pressing against their skin once more, resisting their escape like a physical barrier. The smell of decay fills their nostrils, choking them as it clings to the back of their throats, but Morty pushes through, driven by a force deeper than fear.

Morty tightens his grip on Rick’s hand—and pulls. His heart pounds in his chest, desperate to get them out of here. He can feel the sweat on his palm and the tremble in his fingers as he holds onto Rick with every ounce of strength he has. “I’ve got you, Rick. I’m not letting go.” Never again, he thinks, his stride steady despite the surrounding turmoil.

At first, it’s like dragging a corpse through water—Rick is heavy, almost unmoving. The abyss latches onto him, clinging to every regret, every ounce of guilt embedded in his bones. Morty can feel the pull, the relentless tug of the darkness trying to keep Rick trapped within its grasp, but he refuses to let go. He leans into the resistance, his muscles burning with effort.

Morty grits his teeth, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Come on, R-Rick.” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t stop. The ground beneath them twists, shifting like a living thing, trying to swallow them back down. The whispers surge into an enraged chorus, their voices hollow, accusing, echoing through the void like a haunting melody, but Morty doesn’t falter—he can’t! He can feel the desperation in Rick’s touch, the silent plea for help. And so he pulls harder, his resolve unwavering.

Step.

Another step.

Rick stumbles, gasping like he’s surfacing from deep water. His fingers twitch in Morty’s grasp—like maybe, just maybe, he’s holding on, too. The abyss shrieks, a sound so piercing it cuts through their souls, but Morty pushes on and feels something—light? A shift? The void fractures at the edges, thinning out like ink washed away by a sudden downpour. He lunges forward, forcing momentum, his body aching with the effort. The taste of freedom is on his lips, a sweet relief from the oppressive darkness. Soon they’ll be home in no time!

And then—

They break free.

The weight vanishes. The whispers cut off, severed like strings, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. Morty nearly falls forward from the sudden lack of resistance, stumbling onto solid ground—real ground. The sensation is overwhelming: the feel of grass and dirt beneath his fingers and the cool breeze against his skin. It’s a stark contrast to the nothingness they just escaped, and he takes a moment to savor the feeling of being alive. Of being free…

He barely has a second to process before he turns—Rick is hunched over, panting like he’s been fighting something inside his own head. His chest heaves, his breath ragged and uneven. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He looks shattered, broken open in a way Morty has never seen before, and Morty’s heart aches for him.

Morty crawls in front of him, his own breath still shaky. “Rick,” he whispers. He reaches out, tentatively touching Rick’s hand before he grips Rick’s hand firmly, feeling the tension coiling in his muscles, tiredness radiating off of him in waves. “I’m here, Rick. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his thumb gently rubbing Rick’s skin in a soothing gesture.

Rick shudders, his body convulsing with the effort of holding back emotions. His eyes are unfocused, distant, and lost in the aftermath of their escape. Then, after what feels like forever, his gaze lifts—searching, seeking something solid to hold on to. And when his eyes meet Morty’s, Morty sees a world of emotion behind them—grief, regret, but also something softer, something that makes Morty’s heart skip a beat.

And he sees Morty, really sees him, and in that moment, Morty knows that they’ve both changed, that their bond has deepened—not fully healed just yet—but definitely on the mend.

This whole situation drew them closer in a way that can never be broken. And despite everything, Morty is thankful for it…

“…Morty… Thank you…” Rick exhales his name like it’s the first steady breath he’s taken in years. It’s a whisper, a plea, a confession, and gratitude all rolled into one. The silence stretches between them, thick with everything unsaid, a tapestry of shared pain and unspoken emotions, but also of love, of hope, of a future that they can face together.

And then Morty does what he’s always done, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s a choice—his choice. He grabs Rick’s hand—this time, without force, without desperation. Just steady. Just there. A silent promise, a lifeline in the storm, a vow to stand by Rick’s side, no matter what. He looks into Rick’s eyes and only says, “I love you, Rick.” It’s simple, it’s small, but it’s more than impactful on the older man.

Rick doesn’t pull away. Instead, he squeezes back, a subtle acknowledgment, a silent thank you, a return of the unspoken vow. He leans in, his forehead resting against Morty’s, and for a moment, they just breathe together, their bond stronger than ever.

The abyss is behind them now, somewhere far and collapsing under its own weight, a fading memory of darkness and despair.

Morty keeps holding on, his grip steady and sure and warm. And as they sit there, hand in hand, taking in the quiet moment of peace they’ve earned—no, they deserve—they know they can face anything as long as they have each other to lean on.