Chapter Text
Rick Sanchez from dimension A-001 woke up to the sound of his grandson hyperventilating.
Unfortunately, this wasn't unusual. In the past week or so that Prime had had his grandson stay with him, the boy had slept through the night once. The other nights he woke up at odd hours, sometimes going back to sleep, sometimes staying up till morning and stumbling like a zombie into the kitchen for breakfast. Out of the sleepless nights, the boy had cried during two of them, mumbled to himself incoherently for five, and woke up wheezing for four. How did Prime know this? Well, like any good grandfather, he set up an alarm system to wake him if his grandson awoke, or experienced high cortisol levels. Suffice to say, Prime hadn't exactly slept through most nights either (good thing he didn't actually need sleep to function).
Currently, it was 2:31 AM GST (galactic standard time), which was around the time that Morty usually woke up from nightmares. Prime sat up, flicking the hologram of his grandson's room open and stretching his arms. He watched as the boy pushed himself up, and reached for his mouth, as if to check if he was still breathing (a habit of his, maybe from repeated use of Operation Phoenix). Normally, the boy would try to calm himself, wrap his body tightly in a blanket— Prime needed to invest in more compression clothing for him —and stumble to his desk. Then, he'd spend some time drawing or writing things down. Most of what he wrote was nonsense, snippets of dreams or mantras, his drawings were equally uninteresting. Today, however, that wasn't what happened. Instead, the boy's breathing picked up speed. Prime's eyes sharpened.
Panic attacks were common for his little firefly. Prime wasn't entirely sure if Morty was aware of that, but anyone with eyes could tell that's what was happening. Tightness in his chest, hurried breathing, intense panic, all of the signs were there. The boy seemed to have developed ways of coping— mainly holding his breath until he almost passed out, or using pain to ground himself. Currently, neither coping mechanism was working.
The boy gasped, tugging at his mouth and digging his fingers into his chest, as if to alleviate the pain.
“Shit… sh… shit.” His voice was weak, and breathless. Prime tilted his head, slightly.
It was customary for a friend or family member to help when a loved one was experiencing major distress. However, Prime was aware that Morty currently would not find his presence soothing or helpful. Perhaps if his moronic clone hadn't gotten the boy so riled up and defensive, he could have gone in there and tried to calm him down. Instead, all of the careful work that Prime had put into making Morty feel less antsy and jumpy had been violently defenestrated, and now, his precious grandson was back to being just as wary as before. Prime felt his eye twitch with annoyance.
The boy had stood up now, with shaking knees and trembling hands. He was fumbling for something on the wall, a light maybe? But then Prime watched as his hands felt the edge of the doorframe— yes, right. He still hadn't given Morty his enhancements yet. That was supposed to happen yesterday, but because of his lesser duplicate's inadequacy the man had been forced to postpone. He was really considering killing that clone —before shuffling through. Interesting. Sometimes he noticed that Morty liked to walk around after a nightmare, that itself wasn't entirely unusual. What was unusual was that he was still crying, and breathing heavily. Usually the boy hid until his feelings dissipated before venturing outside. And—
Oh. He had stopped in front of Prime's door. Well, somewhat in front of the door, since he couldn't see it, but near the sign that Prime had put up so Morty could generally tell where it was. That was… new.
“‘S stupid… so stupid,” the boy mumbled, choking down another breath. His fingers dug deeper into his shirt, “You shouldn't… shouldn't…”
He coughed, tipping precariously to one side before righting himself. He moved his hand in front of the door, as if to knock, but hesitated before doing so. His fingers trembled.
Did he… Odd. Prime was sure that the boy was mad at him, scared at least. But here he was, in his most frightened and vulnerable state, working up the courage to knock on his door. He hadn't been anticipating this, not so soon anyway, but this was good. This was progress.
Prime stood up, making sure to look mildly disheveled and sleepy, as if he had naturally woken up (his grandson had made it clear that the constant surveillance bothered him. That wasn't going to stop the man, of course, but he could pretend to go along with the request). He could hear his firefly's wheezing even from inside his room, and it made a small part of his mechanical heart tighten.
He had been planning on stepping out, asking the boy what he was doing up so late, but Morty beat him to it. The boy toppled forward through the door, and Prime darted forward to catch him.
“Whoa there little buddy,” he said, eyes widening a bit in surprise. He held Morty steady, which was good because without Prime's support he would have fallen over, “You okay?”
His grandson opened his mouth as if to speak, but ended up just gulping down more air, shivering like a wet dog. Incapable of speech, which was to be expected. High heart rate. Darting eyes. He was scared out of his mind, probably from the nightmare.
“Oooooookay,” Prime said, softly (He'd taken note of which tones and speech patterns that his grandson seemed to respond well to, this was one of them). He made sure his movements were slow and methodical, “C'mere. Let's sit down.”
Prime guided Morty to the side of his bed, and the boy practically collapsed next to it, tugging his knees close to his chest. (He was trying to look smaller, hunching his shoulders, ducking his head. He was scared, still hiding). Prime sat down next to him, making sure to give him enough space that he wouldn't feel crowded. The boy was skittish, nervous. He liked to keep his eyes on the most dangerous thing in the room, so Prime obliged, careful to keep himself in view. The boy took in another wheezing breath, and Prime felt something stir in his chest.
“You're going to be alright,” he cooed. He kept his voice low (loud noises would startle the boy). Prime hadn't experienced a panic attack in years, much less tried to comfort someone experiencing one before. He mentally flipped through different kinds of responses, before settling on one, trying to keep his voice comforting and light, “Your amygdala is just misfiring, it's mixing up a chemical smoothie of fear and adrenaline, and heightening your nervous system, that's all.”
That didn't seem to calm the boy. Huh. Probably too logical. His grandson seemed to run mostly on emotions, a trait that he had definitely not inherited from his grandfather. It was probably a Jerry thing. Prime opted for a different approach.
“Let's try and hold our breath, little firefly,” he suggested. That tactic usually worked. A little more panic flashed in his grandson's eyes.
“I— I— I can't—” Tears streamed down Morty's face, body trembling. Hmm. Irrational fear of oxygen deprivation. Prime mentally added that to his list of Morty's panic attack symptoms.
“Yes you can,” the man murmured, encouragingly, “Give it a try for me?”
Hopefully, by implying that he wanted Morty to do it, he could pull on the boy’s innate urge to please people— he hated the origins of that behavoir. A skill developed because he had been tossed aside and berated by others. By classmates. By Jerry. By Beth. By that fucking worthless smear of a Rick who molded Morty into depending on him for every single choice in his life and tearing out the boy's individuality and traits that made him more like his real grandpa and Prime was going to tear that man's throat out for what he had done and rip deep into his chest and pull out his organs and —which would lead to him complying. Unfortunately, Morty still looked nervous and unsure, doubt clouding his gaze. He still didn't fully trust Prime, then. Smart.
“I promise it'll feel better,” Prime said, tilting his head downward as if to try and meet Morty's eyes. Perhaps reassurance was a better motivator, “You've done it before, remember? Just take a deep breath, and hold it.”
Morty’s grip on his arms tightened— he was going to hurt himself soon, Prime would have to find a way to fix that —but after a long moment, he took a deep, deep breath, then covered his mouth and nose. Seconds ticked by, and Prime watched the boy, carefully. He watched as his muscles slowly started to relax, and his eyes began to droop. After a minute or so, just when the boy's head started to lull forward, did Prime step in.
“Okay firefly, that's good enough.” He gently pried off Morty's hands— strong grip —and the boy shakily exhaled. He coughed for a minute, then sucked in some air, but not with the same frantic energy as before. His eyes seemed a little more focused. Morty slumped backward, head hitting a soft mattress.
“You feel better?” Prime asked. Morty's eyes darted to him— icy blue, just like Prime's own, and unlike the other Rick’s who’s eyes were a darker, more stormier blue —and Prime watched as the boy shuffled through several emotions at once. Fear. Hesitance. Surprise. Hope and vulnerability. Before circling all the way back to fear again. He stood up abruptly, limbs stiff.
“I-I, I didn't m-mean to w-w-wake you up,” Morty said (deflecting and minimizing. Trying to de-esculate. Scared), “I shou—”
Morty tried to take a step forward, and his leg buckled. Faster than any animal, Prime darted to his side, and held him steady. The boy flinched from the sudden movement.
“Easy there,” he said soothingly. He made sure his movements were firm, though, “Let's stay sitting for a while. You probably can't hold yourself up for long.”
The boy hesitated, as if he wanted to argue, but then his shoulders slumped, and he nodded. Without a word, he lowered himself back down, arms wrapped around his knees. Prime joined him.
(Scared.)
“I'm not mad,” Prime said, and Morty flinched like he had been struck. He ducked his head, embarrassed probably. Yeah, it could go two ways little buddy. Prime was pretty good at reading emotions too, “I was already up, working on a project.”
Morty opened his mouth as if to ask something, then seemed to think better of it. Interesting. He had said that to pull his grandson's attention towards a more cheerful topic, but he hadn't taken the bait. In fact, he was still trying to squish himself into a Morty-ball. Prime tried for a new angle.
“What was the nightmare about?” He asked. Morty recoiled, and Prime's eyes narrowed a bit— future reference, do not ask about nightmares —before relaxing into the most opening and calming expression he could muster.
“H-how did you know… th-that I had… a nightmare?” Morty asked, voice heavy with suspicion, and slurred, as if he couldn't get his tongue to work correctly— has difficulty speaking after panic attacks —Prime's expression slid into something a little more teasing.
“Kid, you have bags under your eyes darker than the color of my jacket. It wasn't too difficult to put together.”
His grandson's face lit up with embarrassment, and he glanced away.
“O-oh. Yeah.” He coughed. He could probably use some water, “I-I don't remember… N… not anything useful.”
It was hard to tell if he was lying, or just uncomfortable with the subject in question. Either way, the man decided not to press. He did note the word choice of “useful.” That was intriguing. Morty glanced back over at Prime, only meeting his eyes for a second before they darted away.
“It'll be fine sssoon, it… u-usually only lasts an hour,” the boy said, fingers digging into his arms, “I— I can… go sommewhere else.”
Prime tilted his head, slightly. (Purposely putting distance. Reassuring he can take care of himself. Making no move to get up. Weariness and fear in his words. Making the offer seem like his idea so the rejection hurts less.)
A learned behavior, and a frequently used one.
(Prime was going to kill anyone who made his firefly feel this way. He didn't know why, exactly. He didn't fully understand where this new found attachment had come from, and he would have been disgusted by it, but what was the point of that? It was something new, something interesting to explore. And Prime was a scientist after all.)
Prime wasn't entirely sure what to say to his grandson's offer. A couple of different responses floated in his mind, but he also knew that this could be important. So, he did what he so rarely did; he lowered the mask.
“I want to keep an eye on you, until you're fine,” he said honestly, voice lessening its overly comforting overtones, and instead adopting something more serious, an emotion he hardly expressed to anyone. It seemed to have the desired effect. His incredibly perceptive grandson seemed to pick up on the authenticity Prime had allowed to slip through, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers— adorable —He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
He appeared speechless. Prime fought the urge to grin. He was great at this grandpop stuff.
“Oh,” Morty said, finally, “Yeah… okay…”
Morty hesitated for a second, then before Prime could register what happened, the boy had lunged at him, wrapping his arms around his torso. Prime froze, momentarily caught off guard. A second passed, and he felt the boy stiffen, so before he could pull away he quickly returned the embrace, arms wrapping protectively around him.
Huh. He was hugging someone. He hadn't done that… well, in a very, very long time. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.
“Sorry— I'm sorry, I—” Morty tried to pull away but Prime just tightened his grip.
“It's alright,” Prime murmured. His grandson was a fan of affection (being starved of something can do that to you), and he'd known that the boy enjoyed physical affection, he just… hadn't been expecting it so soon. Prime almost grinned. A lot of milestones had been cleared tonight! Perhaps his clone had been onto something about forcing an emotional response… annoying. But, well, he was always right.
For a moment his grandson was stiff and tense, as if unsure what to do, but then it was as if something inside of him snapped, and he leaned into the embrace, melting into a pile of mush. He cried, shoulders trembling a little, clearly still scared, but it was as if instead of trying to hide under a bed or in a corner, he wanted to hide inside of the man's arms. An incredibly smart choice, in Prime's opinion. He wouldn't let anything hurt his firefly, especially not now.
(Protective urges weren't entirely unheard of for him. Them being directed towards another human was new.)
“Oh god… ah jeez… nnone of this… n-nothing makes any sense…” the boy mumbled.
An expected reaction. His grandson had a highly specific attention to detail that rivaled most people, the issue however, seemed to be that he never knew what to do with that information. It just sort of floated around in his brain instead of building a bigger picture. He also seemed to have a habit of avoiding things that didn't make sense to him, or that bothered him— probably because a worthless shit-for-brains iteration of him had drilled in obedience instead of understanding, because that was too difficult for him to try and teach something. Pathetic sack of flesh he was going to kill him —added onto the fact that he was clearly emotionally driven instead logically. Prime wasn't surprised that his grandson had absolutely no idea what to do when provided with comfort instead of annoyance. He didn't mind waiting for the boy to slowly figure it out. These things take time, after all.
“It's okay,” Prime hummed, rubbing circles into Morty's back— apparently that was an indicator of comfort —“You'll figure it out.”
More tears, more sniffling and hiding his face as if to hide the evidence. They stayed like that for a moment, but eventually Morty's death grip slackened, and he pulled away, wiping his face. Despite the odd urge inside of Prime to keep the boy incredibly close to his chest and never let go, he allowed it, returning to a sitting position. The boy sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He finally looked up, meeting his grandfather's eyes. Aww, he was doing that adorable little searching-through-Prime's-expression-to-try-and-figure-what-the-fuck-was-going-on thing. Eventually, the boy’s eyebrows tugged down in thought.
“You're… you're weird,” he said, finally. The man blinked, then barked out a surprised laugh.
“Ha! Oh, you don’t even know the half of it kid,” he said, flashing a toothy grin. That just made the boy look even more confused, so he added, “You're pretty weird yourself.”
“What!” His grandson frowned, looking indignant, “Hey, n-no I'm not.”
Prime had to fight himself from lighting up. Yes! Banter! This is what he wanted from his grandson, not flinching and meek comments. He knew how much of a smartass his kid was, it was one of his more interesting features!
“Earlier you said you weren't trying to wake me up,” Prime recounted “but you were coming into my room. So what? You were just gonna watch me sleep? Seems pretty weird to me, firefly.”
Morty puffed his cheeks out, eyes flicking away from his grandfather's smug face.
“N-no! What! I wasn't gonna do that!”
Oh he absolutely was. Jesus, this kid was a riot.
“Ahuh.”
Morty huffed, looking away. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying, but he was shaking noticeably less, and that terrified cornered animal look in his gaze had faded away. He stopped gripping his arms so tight as well. Prime allowed himself a fond smile. It was interesting that he felt better after the boy had calmed down. Probably a weird emotion thing.
“Hey, firefly, you up for a little field trip?” He found himself asking. Morty's head shot up, and to Prime's absolute delight, excitement and intrigue shown in his eyes.
“W-w-what? Like— like now? Like outside?” The boy gestured wildly, and Prime's grin widened.
“Pff, wow, we're gonna have to raise the bar if that’s how excited you get for going outside,” he teased. Morty frowned.
“Yeah well, I've sort of been kidnapped and held in a weird spaceship for a week,” he muttered.
“Details,” Prime said, with a hand wave, “And yes I mean outside, but obviously somewhere interesting outside. Not just wide open space. C'mon, have a little more faith in me than that.”
“Where are we going then?”
“Somewhere fun.” Prime stood up, reaching his hands over his head in a stretch, “Unless you had other plans?”
The boy hesitated, fiddling with his thumbs. Clearly he seemed to be weighing the options of going on a fun trip with his grandpop or going back to his dark room to deal with nightmares. Prime held a hand to his chest.
“Oof. You wound me grandson,” he said, full of faux hurt. He rolled his eyes with a smile, “Trust me, this'll be fun. No danger. No high stakes. You’ll like it.”
The boy shifted, but eventually found himself nodding.
“Okay, yeah, okay. Let's go!”