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Morty knows that every time he brings up school, Rick’s patience dwindles. If he mentions homework or an upcoming test, Rick immediately reaches for his flask. Sometimes he makes a snide comment or mutters under his breath, but generally after he complains for a couple of minutes, he relents and helps Morty get at least a C.
Morty can tell there’s something different recently, though. Rick seems angrier and a thousand times more irritated when Morty sighs over a science project or scratches his head over a problem set.
He hesitates to pull out his copy of Romeo and Juliet before since Rick’s been moody all night. He has to have it read by tomorrow though, which is why he kept it under the passenger’s seat during their adventure. The ride home always takes at least an hour, so he might be able to get a little bit of it finished. He’s fought his way to the end of act two and thinks he knows what’s happening. Generally.
If he’s lucky he’ll get a D on the quiz tomorrow.
Reluctantly, he pulls it out and starts searching for the page he left off on. It’s a school copy, otherwise he would have just dog-eared it and been done with it. For a little while, Rick’s busy with the controls and getting his music set up how he likes it and doesn’t notice. Morty struggles through four lines.
“And if we meet--But you're already together,” Morty mutters to himself. He tugs at his hair, lightly at first but slowly harsher the longer he tries to parse out the sentence.
“Yo, Morty--” Rick’s eyes flick over to him, and he groans loudly. “Mortyyy! Are you kidding me? You brought your fucking homework along? What the hell, am I boring you? Are drug deals too fucking dull for you now?”
“N-no! Of course not. But I need to have this read by tomorrow, Rick, or else I’ll fail the quiz and fail the class.”
Rick scoffs. “So mail it in, kid. What’s the big deal?”
“Rick, if I mail it in, I’ll fail--”
“Don’t you get the definition of ‘mailing it in’? You do the bare minimum just to pass--.”
“You don’t get it, Rick.” He tugs at his hair again. “You’re smart, you’ve always been smart-- I bet you could waltz in to a test, not know what it’s on, never heard of what it’s on, and at least get a C. Right? You can do that because you’re smart.
“And, well. I can’t. Because I’m not. Even if I work my ass off, it’s anyone’s guess if I’ll pass or not.”
Rick’s oddly silent.
“Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten an A, Rick. And not because I don’t try.”
“It doesn’t matter,” He says after a long, long pause. “School’s a stupid measure of intelligence.”
“But it’s not the only one I fail at!” He chucks the book behind him without looking. Crosses his arms and slides down in the seat, abruptly upset at having to lay it out. “You don’t get it, what it’s like to hear what everyone’s saying, and hear the individual words and get what each word means but when they’re all together it makes no sense. And when someone writes something down, you have to read it anywhere between five and fifty times to actually get what they mean. And everyone is so annoyed when they’re around you because ‘Morty, how many times have I told you--?’”
He stops himself and huffs, curling away from Rick. Again, it’s oddly silent, and Morty mumbles, “You don’t know what it’s like to be so stupid that everyone looks at you like they have no idea how you’re even breathing, because they know you don’t even have enough brains to do that.”
“C’mon, Morty.” Rick cuts the engine and they idle in place. Morty tucks himself into a tighter ball, eyes glued to the cupholder closest to him. “Being smart isn’t everything, you know. You’d still be an annoying shit if you were smarter. Hell, I wouldn’t take you anywhere because you’d be even cockier than you already are if you had a brain to back it up.”
“Why /do/ you take me anywhere?” Morty asks. “I’m not smart, or good at fighting, or good at aiming, or good at anything. I’m pretty much worthless. Summer’d be a better sidekick, she at least is averagely smart. And maybe she’d actually contribute instead of being a useless lump who nearly gets you killed by being so fucking stupid and useless--”
“Whoa whoa whoa.”
Rick is suddenly crawling over into Morty’s space, grabbing his hands and curling them in his own. “Kid, you’re going to get a bald spot bigger than mine if you don’t stop pulling at it. You need to chill out. Do I need to give you some space weed? It’ll mellow you out reeeeeal fast, Morty, reeeeal fucking fast.”
Mind-altering drugs have always felt like they have a giant “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH” sign on them, especially with the substance abuse that runs in both sides of his family. The last thing Morty needs is to get hooked on something that makes him dumber than he already is. But for once, Morty doesn’t immediately reject the offer. He thinks for a minute how nice it’d be to not care, not worry, not think--
He sighs, wriggles his hands out of Rick’s grip. “No thanks. Just--Forget all of this, I didn’t mean to--I’m just tired. I’ll quit whining. It’s fine.”
“Morty--” Rick starts. He scrubs a hand over his face, eyes weary, and Morty abruptly feels guilty for putting that look there. He makes that face often enough with his own demons and doesn’t need Morty’s shit on top of everything else. He drums a finger against his chin before continuing, “Look, Morty. First things first: Every single goddamn government in every single goddamn universe perpetuates the idea that if you’re not ‘contributing to society’ then you’re worthless. Which is a load of horse shit. A big, fucking load of horse shit.”
He cups a hand around the back of Morty’s head and rubs his thumb in small, gentle circles. He doesn’t look at Morty, eyes stubbornly facing forward, but it doesn’t detract from the softness of the moment. He says, “People don’t have to be useful to matter. You don’t have to invent something and help society or save lives or do anything to matter. You don’t have to be smart or useful to matter. Just by existing you’re worth something.”
Morty squeezes his eyes shut. Stays as still as possible, afraid to lose this weird-but-really-really-nice-comforting version of Rick.
“Hell, I could get at least a couple grand selling your organs, so at the very least you’re worth something materially just by living.” Rick snorts, and Morty grins a little. “Point is: You’re not worthless and next time you think you are I’m drugging you so I don’t have to deal with your teen angst. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Alrighty. Now, second of all--Why I take you adventuring. Little bit harder to answer.” Morty feels him shift around. Probably rearranging his legs so they don’t fall asleep, or something like that. “Practical standpoint first, I guess. Beth’s too much like me and would just do everything I’d already be doing. We’d just get in each other’s way. Summer’d be way less stable than you are. More freaked out, more affected by everything, you know? She’s changeable, which’ll be better when she has more of a handle on her personality staples. I don’t want to be changing her core, you get me? That’s starting to settle in so that’s why we’ve been letting her tag along more.
“Anyway, that’s why-- You three are all I got, so process of elimination--I chose you to be my little helper when I first came here.
“But also,” He continues, voice softer. “I don’t need someone smart or competent to travel with me. I need company I give a shit about and I need someone who isn’t afraid to tell me if they think I’m being an asshole and I need someone who’s more human but also won’t hate me for making the shitty decisions even if they get mad at me and most of all--” He cuts himself off. Takes a deep breath, mutters, “Can’t believe you’re making be such a pussy, you’re fucking lucky I give a shit about you and don’t want to deal with you freaking. I’m saying this once and never again, dipshit, okay?
“Most of all, I want you here with me, Morty. Not for any particular reason. Not because you’re useful or fun or entertaining or anything. I just do. Can’t explain it, can’t say why, exactly, and maybe it’s some sort of ‘Rick’ thing and that’s why every version of me has or wants a Morty, but I fucking do.”
It’s silent around them. Space is a cloak around them, around this moment, keeping it private and still.
“Is that enough validation for you, peanut?”
Morty swipes at his eyes and nods. “Thanks Rick. No one’s--Well. Thanks.” He bites his lip. Quietly says, “You know, at first I came for the adventures. But I’m not still here for that.”
Rick says, “Heh. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaay,” and scrambles back into his seat. “Now! Let’s get home because we’ve gone waaaaay too fucking long without a Ball Fondlers marathon. You hear me? Fuck school, fuck that quiz, fuck Shakespeare, you can take a makeup for it--We’re watching every episode they got without stopping--Yes that includes bathroom breaks, we’re going to piss in beer bottles like real men, Morty--”
“Rick, that’s disgusting--!”
“One stop for wafer cookies and then nothing else for the next seventy-two hours! Rick and Morty’s most epic adventure--Every episode of Ball Fondlers in one sitting--Hell, let’s see if any dimension has the movie out yet and we’ll watch that too!”