Cracks In The Glass

Rick crashing into the Smith household changed the dynamic of the family. It could be argued whether or not it was a positive change. But one thing was for certain. Morty has never felt more seen in his life.

Before Rick, Morty was an after thought. No one thought about him until he was standing right in front of them. Summer was too busy chasing popularity and boys to bother with her little brother, and Morty couldn’t blame her. She had friends, a life, a place where she belonged—things Morty never even experienced.

But that didn't explain why his parents ignored his very existence. Unless the school called about his grades, Beth and Jerry were too busy trying to rescue their dying marriage to bother remembering they had a son. Morty told himself he was fine, but it still hurt when his mom would ask about Summer's day at school and completely skipped over him.

Rick’s adventures weren’t always fun—in fact, they were often terrifying—but Morty couldn’t bring himself to say no. Not when it felt so good to be wanted. Sometimes Rick even slowed down for him. Letting Morty linger to take in the alien landscapes, or mumbling navigation tips between swigs of his flask. It was the first time someone had sought him out, wanted him around, and even noticed if he was gone. Morty could handle a few traumatic experiences if it meant Rick seeking out his company.

And Rick noticed him. That mattered most. Even if Beth noticed too, but never in the way Morty wanted. He’d catch her glaring from across the room whenever Rick would talk to him. Wineglass in her hand like a prop she had been fused with.

Other times, when Rick was drunk enough, he would let his guard down. He wasn’t nice exactly, but he wasn’t cruel either—and that was something. Morty treasured those moments even if he was the only one who could remember them the next day.

One night Rick and Morty had just gotten back from a rare lighthearted adventure. They’d spent the day eating alien street food while Rick happily explained every bizarre dish in graphic detail. He even let Morty fly the ship home. Granted, Rick had parked himself in the passenger seat with his flask, but he’d been patient with Morty’s anxious fumbling. By the time they landed—scraping the hull but not actually crashing—Morty's face hurt from smiling.

The two had come in from the garage with Morty giggling with glee over parking the ship. He had only barely scrapped the side on the landing and Rick gave him an impressed look. Apparently his grandfather had expected them to crash into the house and he said as much.

“But I’m serious, Morty!” Rick belched and pointed at him with a wavering finger. “I was positive you were gonna smash us into the house. Already had a week of repairs planned out in my head, Morty. But nah—just a scratch! Buff it out. Not that I’ll ever get around to it—got more important shit to handle. Still… proud of you, Morty.”

Rick’s words were slurred, but the rare smile on his face was genuine. Morty froze at the unexpected warmth that flooded his chest. He was so focused on catching every kind word, that he didn’t notice the weight of eyes burning into the back of his neck. Rick was talking to him, about him, and that never happened.

So he hung on to Rick’s every word, focused on the warmth in his voice. Morty ignored the prickling sensation crawling up the back of his neck. If he’d looked, he might have noticed his mother’s eyes fixed on him from across the table. But Morty didn’t dare look away from Rick.

Rick staggered over a couple of steps to ruffle Morty’s hair, still laughing softly. Morty's muscles tensed at the touch. Fourteen years old, and this was the first kind touch he could honestly remember. After years of his parental neglect and bullies, hugs were a foreign concept to Morty. Even this simple gesture from his grandfather felt overwhelming.