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“Get the FUCK off me!” you screamed. The monster had you tight in its grasp, the sharp edges of god knows what appendage digging into your sides and tearing your shirt. You kicked, spit, punched and pulled at whatever you could, but the monster kept barreling down the street and knocking over whatever was in its path. “Rick Sanchez, I swear to god when I get out of here-!”
A loud explosion to your left startled you.
“Yeah, y-y-you’re preaching to the choir, sweeth-urrg-sweetheart,” came Rick’s voice through the speaker in his dinky spaceship. “Now don’t- um, stay still.” Another blast shot off a leg, causing the rampaging monster to stumble and crash into a car. It let out an unholy screech and backed off, trying to swat Rick out of the air. You could see Rick bare his teeth and scoot back. The monster saw its chance, but it’s bum leg prevented it from getting away. Instead, it’s nine eyes turned to you. “Morty, we gotta- we gotta do the-the-the thing , Morty.”
“A-are you sure, Rick?” came Morty’s wavering voice. You screamed as the creature wrenched your mouth open, twisting your jaw painfully. “Oh, fuck, Rick! W-w-what’s it’s doing?!” Its beak-like mouth hovered over yours, and you could hear gurgling.
“Shit, shit, shit, Morty- now!” As a bubbling, sickly-purple liquid shot from its mouth, a bright light knocked the monster away and released you before it seemingly collapsed within itself, a shockwave knocking you away. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
You sputtered and tried to cough up whatever it vomited into you. Rick awkwardly landed his spaceship and they scrambled out. The liquid was grossly sweet, reminding you of whenever you’d eat too much ice cream and end up throwing it back up. “S-spit it out!” Rick barked. You flipped him off, but Rick smacked your hand away and pulled you up into a sitting position, smacking your back to get you to bring it back up.
“W-What was that?” you spit. Rick scowled.
“Con-congrats, sweetheart,” he said sourly. “I-I-I don’t know what it- what it’ll do to- to, urg, you. And-and-and I can’t know because I had to- I killed it!” Your face scrunched up as a head-splitting headache ripped through you.
“Rick, I think we should, uh, focus on this,” Morty stressed, panicking and rubbing your back in comfort.
“Fuck, fine!” Rick snapped. He gripped your jaw and forced your mouth open, and stuck his fingers down your throat. You gagged-
And threw up all over Morty’s pants.
You coughed and scowled at Rick. “What the fuck?! Sorry, Morty.” Morty looked at his pants with a pained look on his face.
“B-best bet- get wh-whatever it put in you, out,” Rick belched. “C’mon. Let’s- let’s get- get back to the g-garage.” He got up and started walking towards the ship. Morty got up next, trying to shake of the muted purple barf off. He hesitated, and waited for you to get up. You rolled your eyes and stumbled up, grabbing Morty’s arm to pull yourself up. Morty quickly walked after Rick, not doubting that he would leave without both of you. You squinted as every light in the vicinity got brighter. You paused. Your hands were shaking.
Shaking.
Shaking.
You clenched your hands to try and stop it, but it kept shaking and your whole frame shook as well. You clutched your head. Another headache. Wave after wave of pain wracked your frame and you tried to call out, but it just came out garbled.
“Rick!” Morty shouted. He ran back to you just as you blacked out.
When you came to, you were strapped down to a… ping pong table? in Rick’s garage. You grimaced as you realized this was the same table that homeless Santa had been strapped to. There was a faint throbbing in your head. Well… two. You had a headache and a different ache on your cheekbone.
“Hello?” you called out.
“Y-you finally awake?” Rick commented, raising an- his brow. You rolled your eyes.
“Why am I strapped to the ping pong table?” you asked, ignoring his question. Rick took a sip from his flask.
“You tried to-to kill Morty after bla-urg-cking out,” he explained. You balked.
“What?”
“Y-yup,” Rick continued, smacking his lips. “Str-strangled the poor kid an-an-an inch of his life.” He got up from his seat and put his flask away. “I ended up- I had to knock you out.”
“You should’ve just fucking killed me when you had the chance,” you said, a wave of depression washing over you, and scrunched your face up. “What the fuck? I didn’t mean to say-” Rick covered your mouth with his sweaty hand.
“You, ugh, begged me t-to kill you earlier,” he said. “S-side effect of the, the monster goo, is my guess. Makes you have- makes you v-violent and shit.” Your lip curled.
“And let me guess- you’re still looking for the cure.” Rick raised one side of his brow and turned back to his workbench. You sighed. “Will you at least let me out?” He lifted up the sleeve of your shirt and injected you with a blue liquid before unstrapping you.
“This should- this will subdue your-your violent outbursts for now,” Rick gruffly explained. “D-don’t know about y-your weird teen-teenage angst, but should work. For now.” You rubbed your wrists and sit up.
“How long until you find a cure?” you asked.
“I don’t know. I, ugh, I have t-to go back and, and, and, find another Floribian,” he sighed. He grabbed your wrist and led you up the stairs. Rick opened Morty’s door, ignoring his outburst, and pushed you towards him. “W-watch her while I’m gone,” he ordered. “I’m going- Don’t, don’t let her ne-ugh-ar anything s-sharp.” Rick turned and left, slamming the door shut behind him as he goes. With that loud bang, you felt a bubble of anger before it’s stamped down, and instead you feel abandoned. Rick was treating this as if it were an annoyance instead of something that he caused with his flippant behavior. You crossed your arms and huffed, tears prickled.
“So, um, wh-what’s up?” Morty asked, pulling his blankets up higher with a red face. You turned around to snap something at him, but you black out again.
Your vision comes to you slowly under the fluorescent light of the bathroom.
You hands shook as you gripped the knife. It was worn and had multi-colored stains and had scratches all over but it was fine it was fine as long as it’s sharp so you can dig it into your wrists and thighs and watch yourself bleed out-
You shook your head and dropped the knife. What the fuck? Your breath came in heaves, hands shaking and sweat dripping down your face. You picked the knife up again and examined it. RS was etched into the handle, so you assumed it was Rick’s. When had you gotten this? You were with Morty, and then- You… you had to.
With a shaky breath, it was like something was guiding your hand to bring the blade to your wrist, and drag it across the skin.
Your initial thought was horror, but as you watched your skin turn red and blood well up into drops, it felt… good. So you brought it again, beneath the first, and sliced, black creeping at the edges of your vision.
It was only when the bathroom door slammed open you realized both of your arms had cuts up to the elbow on the fleshy inside and you were sitting in a pool of your own blood, dizzy with loss and static in your ears and tears running down your face, getting high off the pain.
“W-what the fuck do you-you think you’re doing?” Rick hissed. He grabbed the blade, slick with your blood, and tossed it away. “S-stop crying!”
“I’m not crying,” you bit back. Rick rolled his eyes and dug through the cabinets for the first aid kit, unravelling the bandages and gauze.
“Yeah, right.” He wrenched your arm away from your body and tied the strips of cloth around your arms. You wiped your face, but ended up smearing your blood on your face. “I-I told Morty to-to fucking watch you.”
“I’m not a fucking child!” you snapped. Rick backhands you. You feel hot pain throbbing in your cheek, and you glare at him.
“I-I-I-I apparently have to, to treat you like one,” he yells at you. He motions to your shredded wrists. “I-I leave you alone for not even- barely half a-a-a day and you try and, and kill yourself!” You blink away tears and bite your lip. He resumes tying gauze around your arms to try and stem the bleeding. “A-after this you’re gonna drink something, I don’t care what, and-and I’ll fucking fix you.” Your questions burst out before you can stop yourself, the high of losing so much blood lowering your guard.
“Why do you care so much? What did you find out?” Rick finishes tying off your bandages with a harsh knot and he gets up, palm slipping in the slick blood. He grabs you by the collar and hoists you up. You wince as you knock your forearms against your knees in your scramble up, and he drags you down the hallways and down the stairs, half-supporting you as you trekked down the stairs. He ignores your questions as he kicks the door to the garage open. He sets you down on a chair and starts digging through his cabinets and pulling down vials and tubes. “Rick,” you call out softly. Your voice is hoarse and tired, your body sinking into the worn seat. He keeps digging through and ignoring you, muttering under his breath. “Rick,” you call again, irritated he’s brushing you away. You struggle up, leaning against the table and yell. “Rick!” He slams the empty tube he’s holding down and shatters it.
“It brings the worst out in people,” he says through gritted teeth. “The absolute fucking worst that that person would never reveal under normal circumstances.” He swipes the shards off the table and onto the floor. “And apparently your worst is a violent, homicidal, suicidal asshole!”
You can’t help but try to defend yourself. “And what’s so bad about that?” Rick laughs humorlessly.
“‘What’s so bad about that?’” he repeats. “Y-y-you know what normal people are like? They’re-they’re fucking jealous and possessive or, or, or maybe just a little violent, like, like amplified road rage or they cry and cry and cry, but you? Do you even remember what happened on that planet?” You clench your fists and resist the urge to peel your skin away at his words. He digs through the shelves and pulls out a helmet and connects several cords and wires to a screen. After a few knobs are twisted and buttons pushed, you watch the screen flicker to life.
“Oh, oh jeez, are you okay?” Morty’s voice comes through the darkness. Your eyes flutter open, and you see his panicked face over you. A hot flood of anger rushes through you, and your hands find themselves wrapped around his neck, pushing him away and squeezing. Your nails are digging into his neck, and you watch with satisfaction as his face turns bright red before darkening into a purple, veins bulging on his face and hands scrabbling at yours, eyes rolling into the back of his head-
Rick shoves you away from Morty, hoisting the kid up and shoving him away as you snarl and lunge after him. Rick kicks you back down, and pulls out his blaster.
“What-what the fuck?” he questions. He squints down at you. “What the hell is- what’s wrong with, urgh, you?” You snap your eyes away from Morty’s heaving form and at the gun, and your muscles relax. You scoot forward until your forehead leans against the cool metal of his blaster.
“Shoot me,” your voice pleads, the hot rush of anger being tided over by sorrow. Your throat gurgles as purple spit trails down your chin. Rick rolls his eyes.
“Geez, bi-bipolar much?” he gripes. He starts to out the gun away before you tackle Rick and pull the gun under your chin.
“Please,” you sob. “I-I can’t do it. I’m too much of a pussy, so please, please, please end me.” Rick tries to pull his hand back and buck you off at the same time.
“G-get off me!”
“Kill me!”
Rick punches you, right on your cheekbone, and you fall off of him, crying. He gets up, brushes himself off, and fiddles with the blaster as you keep moaning about your sad life.
“I was about to kill myself before I met you,” you eventually mumble, your hands covering your face. “I was so close. But you swept me away in your fucking spaceship and took me on fucking adventures, but I shouldn’t have let myself enjoy them. You’d leave me without a second thought.” Rick halts and looks at you. “I know you would. Maybe you already have. How many of me have you left?” A pause. “How many of me have died?” Rick goes back to fiddling, glancing over at Morty who has been silently watching the whole ordeal with a hand delicately around his neck.
“Don’t be so, so fucking reckless and you won’t die today,” Rick grumbles, he points the blaster back at you. He’s mistaken your question for fear and worry.
“R-Rick!” Morty yelps.
“Don’t- I’m on stun,” Rick yells back. Your laugh stops him.
“Why do you think I’m so reckless on our adventures?” you ask him. “I’m hoping I get killed one day.” Rick’s grip tightens, and the memory ends.
Rick is leaning against his desk when you open your eyes, avoiding eye contact and flask in hand.
“Oh,” is all you can muster. Rick snorts.
“‘Oh’ is right,” he says, and takes a swig. You sit for a moment before taking the helmet off and gingerly putting it back on an empty space on the table. Rick sighs and puts the flask back in his pocket and turns to go back to fiddling with the tubes before he turns around with a syringe. “C’mere.” You offer your upper arm- emptyandfreeofanymarksorcutsandsosososobarren- and he injects you with a clear fluid. You remove the bandages, it sticking to your skin from the dried blood, and you see your cuts knit back together and the scars disappear before your eyes. You frown and feel your fingertips itch.
“Sorry about your lab coat,” you mumble, eyeing the blood on his sleeves.
“I’ve got, urg, about 50 of them,” he replies. A beat.
“... I’m not getting therapy-”
“I never said you were.”
“Is Morty-”
“Fine. He won’t remember.”
And then you can’t help yourself. You start sobbing and curl up on the chair, knees to your chest, your weird… condition amplifying everything. “I-I-I’m so fucking pathetic!” You feel like pulling your hair out and digging into your skin as Rick awkwardly stands there, watching you cry. After a minute, he leaves and you cry even harder.
You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up with a sniffle.
“D-don’t cry,” he mutters, and shoves a glass of water at you. “Drink.” You take the glass and take small, tentative sips. He brushes your hair out of your eyes and you give him a look. “S-shut up,” he says, tips of his ears turning red. “Beth… Beth was a crybaby. T-this helped.” You give him a small smile, and finish your water. Rick takes your glass and puts it away. Your eyes are heavy from exhaustion. With a surprising amount of strength, he picks you up, and puts you on the couch before wrapping you in a blanket. “Go to sleep.”
And you do, feeling a pinch in your arm.
You wake up, neck and back aching. With a yawn, you realize you’ve fallen asleep on the couch of the Smith house. “What the fuck?” you mutter. You scratch your head.
“T-thank god,” Rick gripes, and sits on your feet. You wrench your feet away and scowl at him. “You were, urgh, knocked out as soon as we, we, we left the portal. Had to leave you in the ship.”
“Aw, so I missed it?” you whine. Rick nods and pulls out his flask.
“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “Every bit.” You sit up fully and rub your eyes, feeling drained. “Wan-wanna watch t.v.?” You purse your lips. You feel like you’ve missed more than a day, but you can’t remember much.
“Yeah.”
Later, down in his lab, Rick puts away two vials with red liquid in his memory bank. One says ‘Choking Puke Jeans’, and he puts it in Morty’s section. After some reorganizing, Rick labels another one.
‘Suicidal Crybaby’, and puts it in your ever growing collection of removed memories.