#also the bulk of this was written pre 6x09

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

He’s Like Me

This is an autistic Morty oneshot I’ve been sitting on for a while because I didn’t know where to go with it. I’m still not too happy with the ending but I think this is the best I’m gonna get it lol.

Summary: Morty is keeping a secret from Rick and Rick wants to know what it is. Hurt/comfort. ~3k words

Warnings for mentions of ableism (including internalised ableism).

Rick suddenly snaps back into reality after being absorbed in his latest project to find that his bladder is full and his stomach is rumbling. A glance at the clock tells him it’s been at least four hours of uninterrupted work. It’s not unusual for Rick to get so into something that he can spend hours at a time on it without a break, and four hours is fairly mild for him. Still, now that he’s aware of his body’s needs, he can no longer ignore them.

Standing up from his desk, he stretches his back and arms, hearing the former crack in a way that’s half-satisfying, half-concerning. The joys of ageing, he thinks wryly. He lets out a groan and makes his way to the bathroom.

Once his most pressing need has been satisfied, he directs his attention towards food and drink. He makes his way down the stairs, the usual family hubbub sounding from the kitchen. As he approaches, he can begin to make out details that indicate that it, in fact, isn’t the usual family hubbub. The raised voices, while not uncommon in the Smith household, are laced with strong emotions that betray a deeper conflict at hand. Rick pauses outside the kitchen, trying to decide whether it’s worth getting involved or if it would be easier to simply travel off-planet for some dinner instead.

“Mom, p-please don’t tell Rick!” he hears Morty cry out, a note of fear in his voice. Rick frowns, wondering what secret Morty wants to keep from him and why.

“Now, sweetie, come on, I think it would be good for him to know. It’s not anything definite yet, anyway, and if he knows, maybe he can help you.” Beth speaks as if trying not to frighten a wild animal, a tone Rick remembers using himself when she was little.

“No! Y-you don’t get it, Mom! It’s alright for you, you’re not the one being told there’s something wrong with you! You’re smart, like him! Rick already thinks I’m dumb, what is he going to think if he hears about this?” 

OK, now Rick’s really starting to get worried. He takes a moment to set his face into a mask of disinterest before entering the kitchen.

“What am I going to think if I hear about what?” he asks, trying to keep his tone casual and unbothered.

“N-nothing!” Morty blurts out, too quickly to appear innocent even if Rick hadn’t overheard the conversation.

Beth takes a deep breath. “Dad, Morty’s got a new teacher, and she thinks-”

“No! I told you not to tell him! Why do you never listen to me?” Morty shouts, tears running down his cheeks, and storms out of the room. The family hears his footsteps stomping up the stairs and the door to his room slam.

“Geez, wh-what’s with him?” Rick asks, quirking a thumb in the direction of the door, disguising his concern with an air of annoyed detachment. Beth opens her mouth to respond, but Jerry jumps in.

“Morty’s just a little upset about something his new teacher said in our meeting with her. I’m sure he’ll come down when he’s feeling better.” 

Something in his tone is unusually protective and harsh, directed at both Beth and Rick, his eyes flicking between them both. While Rick usually isn’t fond of Jerry’s behaviour, he feels a grudging respect for the man’s ability to actually grow a spine and stick up for Morty for once.

“Jerry, don’t you think we should tell him?” Beth stage whispers to Jerry.

“Beth, don’t you think we should respect Morty’s privacy?”

Rick tunes out the conversation, not interested in their usual bickering, and instead makes for the fridge. He roots around inside, grabbing a drink, then reaches for the cupboard door. Beth breaks the argument to turn to him. 

“Oh, Dad, dinner’s almost ready. Don’t spoil your appetite.” her tone changes seamlessly from angry to bright as she shifts her attention from Jerry to Rick. Rick drops his hand from the pack of wafers he was reaching for and sits down at the table, sprawling out in his chair as he waits.

“Morty, Summer, dinner!” Beth shouts to the kids and begins plating food. One bedroom door swings open and Summer comes down to join them, scrolling idly on her phone. 

Beth turns around to see only one of her children present and sighs. “Summer, get Morty.”

“Morty!” Summer shouts, not looking up from her phone. Rick has to give it to her, the volume is deafening. There’s no way Morty could have missed it.

“Ugh, that’s not what I meant.” Beth pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “You know what, fuck it, if he doesn’t want to eat, that’s his problem.”

Four-fifths of the Smith family eat in relative silence, Rick taking advantage of the quiet to try to figure out what’s going on. Morty still hasn’t appeared by the time they’ve finished.

“Do you think I should go check on him? Take some dinner up to his room?” Jerry suggests.

“What? Jerry, no, it’s just a tantrum. He’s at that age. If he’s old enough to be a moody teenager, he’s old enough to heat up his own food when he misses dinner.” Beth replies dismissively.

“I’ll go.” Rick offers, trying to sound bored. Beth seems surprised, but doesn’t question her father. Rick takes the untouched plate of food and heads upstairs to Morty’s room. 

“Morty?” he calls, knocking on the door. No response. 

“Morty?” he calls again, slightly louder, continuing to drum his knuckles. Still getting no response, he barges his way in.

The room is dark except for the light Rick is letting in from the hallway. Morty is curled up on his bed, facing the wall and clutching a pillow to his chest.

“Morty?” he allows his voice to soften slightly.

“Go away, Rick.” Morty’s voice, already quiet and strained, is muffled from speaking into the pillow.

Rick sits gently on the edge of Morty’s bed.

“Look, wh-whatever this is, I’m gonna find out eventually, so you might as well just tell me now and get it over with.”

Morty turns to face Rick, seeming surprised. His eyes are red and swollen, and Rick feels a pang of hurt at the idea that Morty is this upset at the idea of Rick finding out… whatever it is he’s hiding.

“M-Mom and Dad didn’t tell you?” he asks hopefully.

“Nope. I just came here to give you this since, y’know, you didn’t bother to come down for dinner.” he keeps his gruff facade in place as he holds out the plate of food.

Morty sits up and takes the plate from him, setting it on his lap but making no move to eat it. He hesitates in the way Rick has come to know means he’s building himself up to ask something. Rick reels in an impatient urge to demand that Morty just spit it out.

“R-Rick?” Morty stammers. “You, um, w-would it be OK if… there was something wrong with me?”

Rick snorts to hide the concern he’s feeling. “Buddy, there’s already plenty of stuff wrong with you. Wh-wh-what’s one more thing?”

Morty winces at this comment, and Rick knows he’s fucked it up. “Yeah, but what if it was something… something actually wrong with me? Like, medically.”

OK, now Rick’s really confused. What is medically wrong with Morty that could be picked up by a school teacher?

“Morty, I can take you to any number of super advanced alien hospitals. Hell, I could probably fix it myself, if you just tell me what it is.”

Morty withdraws into himself even more. “I, um, I don’t think it’s something that can be fixed.”

“For cry-for God’s sake, Morty, what is it?” Rick demands. Morty refuses to answer, refuses to even look at him. Rick waits for as long as his patience can take, but Morty doesn’t yield. Feeling frustrated and defeated, Rick gets up and leaves to find an answer elsewhere.

He hears the rest of the family in the kitchen, and decides to ask them, when he’s distracted by an envelope on the couch with the distinct look of a letter from school. He reaches inside and pulls out Morty’s report card, scanning past the grades, which don’t interest him at the best of times, let alone now. He’s about to give up when he notices another sheet of paper inside the envelope. Unfolding it, he reads,

‘We recommend Morty for ASD assessment. If you wish to proceed or learn more, please contact-’ 

Rick stops reading. ASD? Autism? That’s it? The kid was acting like he had terminal cancer or something. Besides, Rick could’ve told Morty he was autistic within minutes of meeting him.

However, his indignation fades as stronger emotions take its place. He remembers the way he was treated as a child, the way adults talked about him like he couldn’t hear them, like there was something wrong with him. Like he was evil, or stupid, or something to be pitied. He remembers the way other children reacted to him, able to tell that he was different even at their young age. He remembers conversations between his parents late at night when they thought he was asleep, not quite hushed enough to avoid him overhearing. 

Rick swallows hard and pushes the memories away. Instead, a sinking feeling sets in as he realises that not only is Morty now experiencing these exact same thoughts and emotions, but that Morty thinks Rick will treat him like this. The feeling is some sort of sickening mix of shame and anger that curdles uncomfortably in his stomach. 

Rick turns to go back upstairs and speak to Morty, only to be met with Jerry.

“Did you read it?” Jerry asks.

“N-not now, Jerry.” Rick tries to brush past him, but Jerry catches his wrist to stop him. 

“Rick, wait.” 

Rick yanks his arm out of Jerry’s grasp, fighting the urge to rub away the residual feeling of touch. 

“You know I don’t like you taking Morty out on these adventures. If I had my way, you wouldn’t see him at all. But whatever you do, don’t you dare start treating him differently because of this, got it?” 

Jerry’s tone is surprisingly defensive in a way Rick never expected from the man. Sure, his voice is shaky and he’s clearly on edge, but he’s actually standing up for Morty. Still, Rick resents the implication that he’s the same as the people who made his own childhood hell.

“Jesus, Jerry, wh-wh-what do you think I am, some sort of monster? Why do you think I don’t like Morty going to that school in the first place? Why do you think I dropped out? It’s not a place for smart people, Jerry!” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Rick knows he’s given too much away. Just the reminder of his own childhood has regressed him into a weak little kid who can’t hide his feelings. Thankfully, Jerry’s too shocked to respond, so Rick takes the opportunity to slip past him and make his way up to Morty’s room.

He doesn’t bother to knock this time, barging right in. Morty is lying on his front with his face buried in his pillow, his body shaking, the plate of food untouched on his desk. Rick sits on the bed again and rests a hand gently between Morty’s shoulders, feeling the boy trembling.

“Morty, it’s OK. I know.” he forces the words out, his voice toneless. Morty turns and lifts his head, looking at Rick through fearful, teary eyes. Rick takes a breath before continuing.

“It’s OK, Morty. M-m-me too.”

“You’re…?”

“Autistic, yeah.”

Morty sits up and throws himself at Rick with such speed and force it takes Rick a second to understand what’s happening. Morty clings to Rick, sobbing into his chest. Rick hesitates before wrapping his arms around the boy, one hand gently stroking his shoulder.

“Sh, Morty, it’s OK.”

Rick remembers his own past and squeezes Morty tighter. When Beth was born, he’d worried about her experiencing what he’d had to, sworn that he would shield her from judgement if she had been like him, but… well, she’d never made it that far. Now, with his grandson shaking in his arms, he feels those protective feelings bubble up all over again.

Gradually, he hears and feels Morty start to calm down and eventually, Morty pulls back, wiping his eyes.

“So is it… OK? That I might be autistic?”

“Kiddo, there’s no ‘might’ about it.” Rick feels Morty tense and quickly scrambles to make him feel better. “I-i-it’s fine, Morty! It’s not something bad. It’s just another variable of humanity, like… like the shape of your nose. You got my nose, dontcha?” 

Morty nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “But… I’m not smart like you.”

“Morty, nobody is smart like me, I’m a genius. Everyone else is dumb to me, even all these other so-called ‘smart people’.”

“So… you’re not smart because of autism? I thought autism made you either like a super-genius or dumb.”

“What? No, Morty, you’ve been watching too much bad TV. A-anyway, you’re focusing on the wrong thing here. Autism is just… your brain works differently to other people. Sometimes it makes you smart, sometimes it doesn’t.” 

Morty is quiet for a second, mulling this over. “My teacher said that’s why I’m struggling in school. You never struggled in school.”

Rick feels a reflexive burst of anger at that assumption, but tries to fight it back. 

“Morty, I struggled in school so much I dropped out. I struggled so much I ran away from home.” 

Again, the truth spills out more than he wants it to, the emotion eroding his filter. Morty looks at him in shock.

“What?”

“N-n-not that I’m saying you should do that, Morty. Y-y-you need to stay here so you can go on adventures with me.”

“What? No, Rick, that’s not what I mean. I-I don’t get it. You’re a genius, how did you struggle?”

Rick shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. 

“I didn’t like the way they treated me, like I was an annoyance, or a pity project, or a problem. They didn’t get me, I didn’t get them. They wanted me to do things the way they wanted, when they wanted. I didn’t like that. If they thought I was too smart to be struggling, they didn’t believe me, thought I was just being difficult. If they just saw me as a problem, they didn’t believe I was smart enough to do things myself or make my own decisions. I-I had to constantly act, just so they’d believe I was competent. It’s tiring, pretending to be someone you’re not all day, everyday, just to be treated like anyone else. I got tired of it, left so I could be with people who didn’t care what I did.”

Somewhere in his story, Rick realises his hands have curled into balls and his leg is bouncing. He pulls out his flask and swigs from it, partially for the enticing numbness promised by the alcohol, but mostly to give himself time to rein in his emotions before continuing.

“Out there in space, Morty, they don’t care. They don’t even know what a human is, let alone how humans should act. I-i-if an alien thinks you’re weird because you breathe oxygen and have hair, they don’t give a shit if you flap your hands o-or don’t know when it’s your turn to speak o-o-or whatever.”

“So I can only be normal to people who already think my species is weird enough that they have no idea what I’m supposed to behave like?” Morty responds despondently.

“No, Morty, I’m saying it doesn’t matter. You can do whatever you want, be whoever you want.”  

Morty doesn’t respond to that, and Rick remains silent. Eventually, Morty speaks up.

“I-I always knew I was different, y’know? I could never make friends or-or understand things as easy as other kids could. But hearing my teacher talk about me like there was something wrong with me… it made it real.”

Morty’s words choke themselves into silence as he ends the sentence. Rick can’t reply, emotions hijacking his brain. He pulls Morty back into a hug instead. After a moment, Morty continues, his voice quiet and muffled against Rick’s shoulder.

“A-and I know I’m not smart like you, or Mom, or Summer, and I thought that if you knew there was something wrong with me… you might not take me on adventures anymore. Or you might get a new Morty instead. One that’s not… broken.”

“Hey, stop that.” Rick scolds Morty, shaking him gently. “You’re not broken, OK? Neither of us are.” 

“Y-you mean it, Rick?”

“Course I do, buddy.”

Morty nestles into him even closer and Rick feels his grip tighten without meaning to.

“Thank you.” he hears Morty mumble, so quietly he almost can’t hear it.

After a while, Morty loosens his grip and Rick responds in kind. Morty pulls back to wipe at his eyes before his stomach growls loudly.

“Oh. I guess I should eat, huh?” he chuckles sheepishly.

Both of their gazes turn simultaneously to the plate of food on Morty’s desk. Rick has to admit, it wasn’t the best even when it was fresh, but after sitting out for a while it looks outright unappetising.

“You wanna go to that place we found on Epsilon 12?” he finds himself offering.

“Really?” Morty asks, finally seeming to perk up.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

Rick rests a hand on Morty’s shoulder as he shoots a portal and guides his grandson through it. It might be too late to shield Morty from discrimination completely, but he resolves to try his best anyway.