Goodbye to the Good Times

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A//N: This story contains child abuse and implied rape of a minor. Please read at your own risk.

Morty was thrown around, forgotten, ignored, and beat.
Evil Morty threw others around, forgot others, ignored others, and beat them.
He lost everything and in the end, he was the one to survive.
It didn't make sense.

Before he had changed, he was just like every other Morty. He was Morty of dimension F-842, who belonged to Rick of dimension F-831.
He knew the history of that Rick, besides being told not to snoop in his room. He knew that he was not the first replacement Morty, and he wouldn't be the last.  He knew all the others had died in particularly gruesome ways, and that he would be next.
That made him suspicious of Rick. The man with the bags under his eyes and the faded scars across his lips was reckless and cruel.
From the day he appeared in his life, Morty didn't trust Rick. His icy, blue eyes never looked fondly at anyone, not even his own daughter. He belittled his father, ignored his sister and had yet to say thank you to his mother for letting him stay. He ignored Morty completely for a week, until he stumbled in his room, alcohol on his breath.
"C-cmon, Morty. Y-you gotta come with me." The man stuttered. His words were slurred and his eyes we glossed over, and fear bubbled in Morty's throat. He curled up in the bed, facing the wall and pretended to sleep, hoping he would go away.
"I know you're--you're awake, Morty!" The man shouted angrily, belching in between words. "I'm a-- I'm a genius, Morty!"
"I'm not... my name's Mortimer." Morty said quietly, curling up even tighter to himself. He could hear Rick's ragged breathing and harsh steps as he stumbled back and forth around the room.
"Mortimer-- Mortimer is a dumb name. I call my Morty's Morty. All... all of them. Now cmon, we gotta get some... purified... fleeb juice. Somethin'."
"Purified... what? No," Morty began, sitting up in his bed, facing Rick. "I'm not going wherever with you! I think you're crazy, Rick!"
A bony, yet strong hand grabbed onto Morty's arm, and he was pulled up to be eye to eye with Rick.
"Thousands have died because they didn't cooperate, Morty. Thousands! You'll just be another number in that hunch, sooner or--or later, Morty! Do you want that, Morty? Do you?!" The man hissed in his face. Spittle landed on Morty's left cheek and he grimaced, his chocolate eyes staring into Rick's hardened blue ones.
"Alright, f-fine." Morty said, snatching his arm out of Rick's grasp.
"I knew you'd come to y-your senses, Morty." Rick said. He took a giant sip of the beer bottle he was holding, before throwing it on the ground. Morty winced at the fact that there was alcohol on his clean, space carpet, but Rick pulled out something that resembled a small white gun. He turned the dial on it, before aiming at the wall--
"No, Rick, don't shoot that in--" Morty shouted, but Rick pulled the trigger. A small, waxy substance that glowed in the dark flew out of the gun, and grew over seconds until a line-colluded circle illuminated the room.
"W-w-w-what is that?! Rick, what is that?!" Morty shouted, his face pale with panic. He got no response as the man grabbed Morty's arm and dragged him into the waxy green substance. Morty shut his eyes, and when he opened them again-- he was somewhere else.

As time passed, Rick was even more careless and than ever before. He enjoyed hurting and belittling Morty, both physically and mentally. He threatened to leave Morty behind in a dangerous dimension, to die, but he never did.
Morty wanted nothing more than for Rick to leave him behind and let Morty resume a normal life.
One day, that just happened. Rick was nowhere to be seen. His garage was the same, his room was the same, and his portal gun sat in his lab coat, which had been discarded and rested, folded, on his bed. He went missing for a week, and Beth was devastated. She drank wine from every waking hour to the time she passed out drunk on the couch.
His father and his mother fought every night because of their different viewpoints on Rick-- Jerry loved that he was gone, Beth hated it-- and because of that, Summer threatened to leave. Morty hated that his family was falling apart because of Rick, and late at night, around the time that he would usually drag him out of bed for some sci-fi rigmarole, he would find himself pleading, praying to the god that Rick didn't believe in that he would return.
After many nights of that, he did. It was around 3 in the morning, when heavy, angry footsteps approached Morty's bed. They were fast and graceful, something odd for Rick, but it could've have been anyone else. He sat up in his bed, his face glowing from excitement as the spiky-haired silhouette stood inhis doorway.
"Rick! You're back!" Morty said happily. The silhouette lingered silently in the doorway, sending a shiver down Morty's spine. Finally, Rick stepped forward and Morty could see his face.
It was paler than usual, but the trademark bags under his eyes and scar across his lips were still there. His blue eyes were focused instead of glossy, and his focus was right on Morty. "...Rick?"
Suddenly, the man leapt over the end of Morty's bed and landed across from him. He towered over him, breathing hard, but his breath did not have the lingering scent of alcohol as it usually did. He remained silent for only a few moments.
"You--you fucking-- you sold me out!" Rick shouted, infuriated. His steel blue eyes were filled with hatred and anger, and fear bubbled in Morty's throat. Rick had never been like this to Morty-- he feared in an instance that all of his threats would become reality. "You sold me out to the c-council of Ricks!"
"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Morty defended himself, his brown eyes wide with fear.
"Yes-yes you do! Who else would've reported me for abusing a Morty?! I was in jail for a week, Morty! A week, Morty! You know--" Rick cut himself off with a burp. His eyes were crazed and wild now, and Morty pulled his knees up to himself, fear in his eyes. The worst was yet to come, as Rick grabbed Morty by the shirt and pulled him up so that his face was at level with his, and grabbed a knife from his coat. "You know what goes on in Rick jails, Morty?! Like normal jails, but you--you get raped by yourself, Morty! Have you ever been raped by yourself, Morty?!"
"No--no, Rick, no! I haven't, I'm sorry, Rick!" Morty responded, his voice rising in fear. He struggled in Rick's grasp, but his bony hands were a lot stronger than they looked.
"Neither-- neither have I, Morty! But I saw! I saw some terrible t-things there, Morty! You sold me out, Morty!"
"I-I-I didn't sell you out, Rick!" Morty protested.
"Well then, who did?!" Rick shouted. Spittle landed on Morty's face and the boy grimaced. His eyes went back and forth from Rick's crazed face to the knife he was menacingly waving in the air. His heart began to race and his chest begun to heave.
He was terrified of him.
"I--I fucking knew it." Rick said. He was suddenly quiet, sullen, as he lowered the knife. Morty's breathing began to return to normal as his 'grandfather's' face softened. His grandfather let go of him, and sighed, taking a sip from his flask. Suddenly, he jumped forward again, holding the knife to Morty's neck. The boy screamed, tears forming in his eyes. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you, Morty! I'm going to fucking kill you!"
"Rick! No! Rick, please!" Morty screamed. Tears began to fall out of Morty's eyes, and he scooted back away from the knife. The cold metal touched his throat, sending shivers down his soul, and Morty's heart raced uncontrollably. This was it.
He was going to die at the hands of his grandfather.