"M-Morty, pass me that. Yes, y-yes, that. Hurry, for fuck's sake."
Rick coughed into his fist, making a sort of disgruntled noise when his grandson made the gesture of wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't fight against it, though; Morty's been taking care of him ever since he woke up feeling sick, and in doing so put up with all of Rick's shit: the constant demands, coughing fits and jabbing remarks. He was a good kid, Rick would admit that. Better than he was.
"Drink your water, Rick," Morty reminded him by pushing the bottle into his hands. It was lukewarm, just how the older man asked for it. He took a sip with hesitance, careful not to end up choking on it (again.) He wasn't letting him have any alcohol, and lectured him the few times he caught Rick trying. He felt jittery, more alert than he usually was. It wasn't an entirely welcome feeling.
He glanced at Morty as he drank, and almost laughed at the expression on his face. He looked sort of bothered, but sated in some other, weird way. He looked like he did when Rick had told him how the "Rickiest Rick would have the Mortiest Morty." He bit back a smile with another gulp of his water and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve, passing the bottle back to him.
"Are you cold? Y-Y-You're kind of shivering," Morty frowned, looking uncharacteristically worried for a brief moment; there was something deeper under it that scared Rick so he just cleared his throat, shifting on the couch next to him. This wasn't something he thought he'd be doing absolutely anytime soon.
He's dealt with worse illnesses- illnesses from other planets, other galaxies, ones that made him throw up glowing liquid that melted anything it touched like lava- but apparently he was completely stumped when it came to the common fucking cold. He rolled his eyes just thinking about it.
"I-I'm fucking freezing, thanks for noticing dip-dipshit."
The insult didn't faze Morty, who leaned forwards to fix the blanket for him. They were close enough to have the eldest scooting slightly into his warmth, grimacing. Morty flinched, concerned he'd done something but smiled upon realizing; "You okay?"
"No, Morty, I-I'm perfectly fucking fine, so great. So great, i-i-in fact, that I feel like doing goddamn jumping jacks. W-Wanna see me do-do that shit? Watch I'll even d-do a fucking cartwheel, or maybe chug an en-entire bottle of vodka and we can go on a fucking adventure, Morty. Our best adventure yet, the best,"
"Just- Shut up, R-Rick," Morty cut him off mumbling, leaving Rick to wrap his arm gingerly over his right side and hold onto his left bicep. It was a weird position, Rick's legs drawn up to his left side with Morty leaning against them and his chest; Rick didn't stop him from it, and even though he wouldn't say out loud how welcome the warmth was, his shivering form told otherwise.
Laying his head against the top of the couch above Morty's, he sniffled, coughing out a weak "Thanks, kid" that had Morty turn his head to look at him.
"Huh, Rick? Wh-What was that?"
"Oh my God, shut- shut it, Morty."
"No-No, I wanna know what you s-said-"
"I'm just gonna leave, I swear-"
"Oh c'mon-"
"I-I-I said thanks, you fucking moron, sh-shut up."
Morty cooed something Rick couldn't hear- mostly because he was covering his face, groaning and tightening his grip on the kid; "You're terrible."
Smiling contently, he manages "I know," without missing a beat.
Rick closes his eyes and listens to the quiet sound of the television talk about something he doesn't care about.
