Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Friday, October 20th; Smith Residence]

“He’ll just be staying for a bit, it’s not like he’s never gonna leave.” The voice of Beth could be heard throughout the house no matter what room you were in. The walls are thin and the woman is loud; especially when arguing with her husband.

“Beth, I’m just saying: he didn’t really give a good reason for why he needs to stay with us. It’s just kinda sketchy is all.” Jerry, his voice quieter but raised enough to be audible downstairs. He sounds more frustrated than his wife’s stubborn mad. “Who are you to call my dad sketchy? He doesn’t need a reason to want to see his family!”

”Do you think he-he’ll be cool?”

”Huh?”

Downstairs, in the living room, sits Summer and Morty on opposite sides of the couch.

“Our grandpa, Mom’s dad—do you think he’ll be cool?” Morty asks again, his voice nervous and his hands shaken despite only talking to his sister.

“Morty,” Summer sighs and looks up from her phone. She’s irritated, Morty can tell. He can hear it in her voice, see it in her face, and…

”Can you not?” Summer rolls her eyes. “Do you seriously think I care about some old man I don’t want in my house?”

Morty pauses. He looks away, down at his lap. “I-I-I dunno, maybe..?” he offers weakly.

Summer rolls her eyes. She stands, not sparing Morty a second glance before heading to the kitchen. Not upstairs—not while their parents are fighting.

Morty slumps on the couch. “Fuck you too,” he murmurs.

He loves his sister, but they don’t get along all that well—haven’t since Summer started high school. This is Morty’s first year of high school. He thought maybe they’d become close again but… no. Summer avoids him like the plague at school. He honestly doesn’t blame her.

Not long after, just as the episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit is ending, down the stairs comes Beth. She’s pissed. She doesn’t stop to talk to Morty on the couch—she just goes straight out the door.

Morty sighs. He gets up, looks out the window to see his mom driving off.

She’ll be home eventually; she just needs time to cool off. At least, that’s what she tells Morty and Summer.

——————

Saturday.

“Mom, I have plans!” Summer exclaims, throwing her arms up. “I’m not canceling my plans to help clean out the stupid attic. Ask Morty.”

Beth sighs and runs an irritated hand through her hair. “You know Morty, he’s…” she trails off. She always does that. Instead of just calling him stupid like she wants to, she just leaves it implied—leaves it to someone else to fill in the blank.

“He’s got make-up work to do,” she offers instead.

“Well if you made him go to school like you do me, maybe he wouldn’t be failing. I’m not canceling my plans, especially when Morty isn’t doing anything! Ask him—I doubt he wants to do make-up work anyway,” Summer rants.

Beth has had enough. She’s not arguing with her daughter in her house.

“Summer, I asked you to help, but now I am telling you.”

Before things can get too out of hand—“Mom,” Morty’s soft, shaky voice intervenes.

It earns an irritated sigh from Summer and Beth.

“What?” the women say in unison.

“Sorry,” is the first thing Morty says. “I-I was just…” He pauses; his eyes find the floor. “I’m fine with helping c-clean out the attic. I finished my work already…”

Summer smiles. “Well, problem solved.” She turns on her heels and retreats back to her room to get ready, leaving Morty and Beth.

“Morty,” Beth pinches the bridge of her nose, “I appreciate the offer but… well, I’d rather get this whole thing done without too much trouble, yeah?”

Silence.

“Oh, um, okay,” is all Morty manages to say. He doesn’t know what else to say—doesn’t know how to react. His mom would rather do the work alone than accept his help.

———————

Sunday.

Dinner. The last meal of the day for most. For the Smiths, it’s that—and a place to argue. They’re usually arguing about one thing or another.

“Dad, she obviously doesn’t care about anything you say, so can you just quit it?” Summer announces with a roll of her eyes. “Y’all have been arguing about this for days now. Give it a break!”

Both Jerry and Beth pause their bickering, turning from each other to their daughter.

“Summer, you do not talk to us that way!” Beth reprimands.

“Yeah, stay in a child’s place,” Jerry adds.

Summer just huffs. “See, this is why I hate this fucking family.” She abruptly stands up, her chair screeching against the floor; she storms off—up to her room.

“I cannot believe she just said that,” Jerry says, almost in a ‘clutching pearls’ kind of way. “Jerry,” Beth warns—and like that, the anger has been transferred from each other to their rebellious daughter.

Morty just sits at the table, invisible as ever.

His family doesn’t really know what to do with him, so they ignore him. They don’t want to have to deal with him or his… “difficulties.”

Morty is an outcast in his own house. His family doesn’t understand him; they don’t even try to. They ignore him more often than not, don’t push him to try new things, barely include him in others. It’s like he’s not even there. They treat him like he’s five—not fourteen.

Summer is the only one that doesn’t sugarcoat things for him. She tells him straight. Tells him how annoying he is, how stupid, how… useless.

She’s not always mean, though. Sometimes when she comes home from hanging out with her friends, she’ll buy him gummy bears or chips of some kind. She’ll force him to watch horror movies with her and then let him sleep on the floor of her room when he’s too scared.

This is his life. It’s not perfect—but it’s his.

All of this, all of the bickering and familial dynamic Morty is used to, will soon be changed due to the addition of one person. Rick Sanchez.

Chapter Text

[Monday, October 23rd; Smith Residence]

Morty didn’t sleep much; he was filled with anticipation. He was excited to meet his mysterious grandfather. He remembers the night before, after dinner:

“Mom, do you th-th-think grandpa will like me?” He asked his mom when helping her with the dishes. 

“Morty,” he remembered her sighing before her answer, “he’s your grandfather- he loves you.” 

Right. The whole love, not like thing. You can love someone without liking them- Morty’s parents often reminded him when he was younger, when he’d ask why they fought so much. 

He’s confident that his family loves him, but he’s also positive that they don’t like him.

“I know,” he glanced off to the side. “I just…” 

Morty put the last dry dish away. “You said he’s a scientist, right? I wouldn’t mind….helping with his experiments.” 

Beth sighed as she dried her hands.

”Morty, sweetie,” she placed the hand towel down next to the sink. She cupped her son’s plump, freckled cheeks. “I’m sure he’ll like you. You’re a good kid.” 

She stroked his cheek.  “Don’t make yourself sick over it. Now go get ready for bed.”

It’s still on his mind when he’s getting ready come Monday. So much so that he asks his mom if he can stay home- tells her he’s feeling nauseous, too fuzzy- and she lets him stay.

She usually does when he asks to stay home, mostly because she doesn’t want to deal with his whining or a call home from school. Morty tends to take advantage of that tendency. He doesn’t like school-the people, the subjects, the atmosphere; it all unsettles him. He feels out of place, even more so than at home. At least he can understand home. It's familiar. But school; high school specifically, isn’t.

Morty spends most of the morning pacing around the house. He starts on the couch, curled under a blanket with the TV on low—then ends up standing by the window, peeking through the curtains every five minutes like he’s waiting for Santa Claus. 

Except this Santa could be weird. Or mean. Or just… another adult who doesn’t know what to do with him.

He checks the time again. 10:43 a.m. Too early?

Maybe his grandfather changed his mind. Maybe he’s not coming after all.

He hates that the thought stings.

Morty wanders into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of juice-just to have something to do. The cup shakes in his hand. He tries not to think about how stupid he must look—this awkward, anxious kid trying to prepare for a conversation that might not even happen.

He nearly dropped his glass when the garage door swung open. He swiftly turns to see a man he’s never seen before-yet looks familiar. The man doesn’t even spare Morty a glance. He simply walks right past him, like he’s a piece of furniture.

“Beth!” the man yells, voice hoarse but sharp, like it’s been unused for too long.

Before Morty can even turn toward the hallway, Beth is already there—coming down the stairs fast, like she’s been waiting for that voice.

And then… she hugs him.

Beth throws her arms around the man like she hasn’t seen him in years. Maybe she hasn’t. She presses her face into his shoulder, and for the first time in Morty’s memory, she looks soft. Not stern. Not sharp. Just—relieved.

“Jesus, Dad,” she breathes, like the words might crack her. “You look like hell.”

The man—Rick, Morty realizes—lets out a short, dry chuckle. “Yeah, guess so,” is all the man says. Morty can’t take his eyes off of him, Rick is older than he thought he’d be. Taller too. 

For a brief second, Rick’s eyes meet his; Morty immediately tries to shrink. Rick’s hands find Beth's side, and he pushes her away. “I missed you, Dad,” she whispers tears in her eyes. “I’m glad that you’re staying with us.” She sniffles, and Rick nods. He looks unbothered by her tears.

Rick glances back over to Morty, “That Morty?” Morty freezes. The man knows his name. That’s when it hits him- he’s his grandfather, of course, he knows his name. 

Beth looks over; she hadn’t noticed her son standing there. She could’ve sworn he was at school. Didn’t he go?

 “Morty,” she takes a breath and wipes her face. “This is your grandpa Rick.”

Morty gives a small wave and Rick gives a nod of acknowledgment. “Thought you’d be taller.” 

Morty gulps. “Oh, w-well, Mom said I-I-I’m still growing.” He defends softly.

Rick looks over to his daughter with a knowing smirk, and she gives him her own. 

Morty’s fist clenched and unclenched as his sides. “Yeah, bet you are.” Rick shrugs. “Sweetie I’ll be in the garage.” He kissed his daughter on the top of her head before walking off, back where he came from. 

He leaves Beth there smiling like a child. 

Morty can’t help it. 

He needs to know what he’s doing in there- what he’s been doing for the past three hours. He’s been lurking in the kitchen for 30 minutes now. He hasn’t heard anything from the man but he knows he’s in there-in the garage.

He doesn’t knock, he shouldn’t need to. He reaches for the door knob and stops; a pit is forming in his stomach. Like his body knows something he doesn’t. It's almost like a déjà-vu feeling. 

Yet, he can’t help himself. 

He grips the handle with his sweaty, shaky hand and turns. He braces for…something, and he peeks.

Oh. 

Rick is sitting at the work table in the garage, working on some…device. It’s white with a large green bulb on it. He’s messing with some wiring on its underside. Morty is intrigued; he leans in, trying to get a better look. 

Rick closes up the bottom of the device and he and—

Thump

Morty hit the floor. He lost his balance and the door hit the wall of the garage. Before he can even process that he hit the floor, he’s up and retreating.

 He trips over his own feet running up the stairs, but he manages nonetheless. 

He slams his door closed behind him. “Stupid,” he huffs as he tosses himself into his bed.

 He feels stupid. Why couldn’t he just knock and ask to come in like a normal person? Now his grandpa thinks he’s a voyeuristic creep. “Nice going, d-dumbass,” he says to no one but himself. 

He pulls firmly at his hair, trying to calm his nerves. 

When…knock, knock, knock.

“Kid, I know you're in there.” The man on the other side of the door sounds annoyed, almost inconvenienced. 

Morty opens his mouth to say that he’s not but immediately shuts it and scolds himself for thinking something so dumb. 

“Look, I’m not sure what you think you saw, but, well…you best keep it to yourself.” 

It almost sounds like a…threat?

Morty clumsily slides out of bed and scrabbles to the door; he opens it. “I d-didn’t see anything, I-I swear!” He defends pathetically. “Please, d-don’t tell my mom. I-I-I-I won’t do it again.”

Rick looks confused, like he wasn’t expecting that response. Yet-

“d-damn right. I don’t want you snooping around like s-s-some creeper again. Got it? Next time I-I will tell.” 

Morty nods frantically, “Okay.” 

“Good.” Rick nods, and without another word, he turns and retreats down the stairs.