The Hole in My Mind Chapter 1, a rick and morty fanfic

It was a rare occasion for Morty to be left alone in the house. Actually, he couldn't think of a time when it had ever happened.

Beth and Jerry were away for the weekend for another attempt at a couple's weekend. Summer was picked up a few hours ago by a couple of girlfriends. Morty wasn't certain, but she had a bag with her when she left so he assumed she also wouldn't be back.

Rick had been gone two nights, going on the third. Morty wasn't exactly sure where he went, but Rick had muttered something about 'clients' and 'gone for a few days'. Rick was Morty's best friend and he enjoyed his company, but the peace in the house was a welcome change.

He walked around the living room, then the kitchen, then out to the garage. All the while he was soaking up the sound of silence. No yelling, fighting, or explosions. Just calm.

Morty looked around the garage nervously. It wasn't his intention to invade Rick's privacy, he just held a genuine interest in the man's work. He was careful not to touch anything and only allowed his eyes to freely roam around the shelves filled with various alien objects.

But in one moment, something caught Morty's eye near the bottom shelf.

It was quite unremarkable from an outside perspective. In-between the shelves was a black composition notebook wedged behind some boxes. Everything on the shelf belonged to Rick, so this item wouldn't be the exception. What could possibly be the harm in touching a notebook?

Morty debated for another moment before carefully reaching around and plucking the black notebook from its corner. It looked plain enough. There was nothing on the front, but Morty found a sticker on the bottom right corner that read:

Helix Healing and Recovery

San Diego, CA

Still unsure of what he was holding, Morty flipped through the book quickly to realize that the script was handwritten. Morty had seen plenty of Rick's notes before, but they were typically composed of a lot of numbers, shapes, and single letters. So when Morty read the first line of the first page, his heart dropped to his toes.

The Hole in My Mind

Ricardo Andres Sanchez

California, 1982

This was some kind of... journal?

Morty turned the page.

September 19th, 1982

Amelia Jones of the Helix Healing Center, the director I assume by her intensely painful-looking high heels, is giving a lecture today on trauma theory. She draws a black hole on the white board. Great, I love the visuals...

'This is a traumatic event' she says pointing to the black hole. 'It's intrusive, unpredictable, creates a state of helpless-ness, and even disrupts homeostasis'

Wow, big word, lady. Give yourself a fucking metal.

'Trauma effects everything -' she drones on. '-even one's balance. Many people who have been traumatized walk on the outsides of their shoes.'

This makes me think of my mother and how pigeon-toed she was. Did something traumatize her? Was it the drugs? Is that what made her so violent?

I'm looking for some way to redeem the good mother and forgive the bad one.

Still looking.

Morty is completely engrossed in the journal when he's disrupted by a loud rumbling. He recognizes it immediately as Rick's spaceship. It lands next to Morty with a metal thud. Like a coward, he shoves the notebook behind his back, then tucks it into his pants.

"Oh-oh, hey-hey Rick! G-G-Glad you're back!" Morty said with his typical stutter. That was the one advantage of being a nervous, awkward mess sometimes- when Morty really DID have something to hide, it was easy to write off.

Rick strolled up to the workbench, stretching his arms over his head, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeeeah, Morty it was-it was a good run. Wh-where's everyone else?" Rick asked as he walked past Morty into the kitchen. Morty kept his hands behind his back, attempting to further hide the notebook.

"Oh, th-they're all out tonight."

Rick looked at Morty with excitement, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

"Awwww shit, dawg! Ballfondlers Maaarathon! You-You game?" Rick asked with the enthusiasm of a 22 year old frat boy. Morty looked at him through new, concerning eyes. The biggest part of him wanted to say no, lie that he was too tired. He would be able to rip upstairs to dive deeper into this notebook. Deeper into the painful psyche of his Grandfather that he desperately wanted to understand, to see, to help. But seeing the smile on Rick's face was too rare to pass up. It would have to wait.

"Sure, R-Rick. Sounds great! L-Let me just go-go use the bathroom f-first." Morty pivoted towards the stairs as Rick followed him into the living room to set up the TV. Once upstairs, Morty quietly slipped into his room and removed the notebook from his pants. He tucked it underneath his mattress, along with a few other private items. It wasn't the most original spot, but he was fine with that.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, Morty made his way downstairs next to Rick on the couch. Rick grinned at him while eating vanilla wafers, producing generic woots and yells to convey his excitement.

Morty always enjoyed time with Rick, however he had a feeling this Ballfondlers marathon would be particularly lengthy.

One passed out Rick and a few hours later, Morty stood up to turn off the TV. Rick ended up taking up the entire couch during the movie, so Morty had moved to the chair to let him enjoy full comfort. He turned off the living room lamp, but return with a red cotton blanket from the hall closet a second later. He carefully laid it out over Rick's slumbering form while he snored softly. He checked to make sure all of the doors in the house were locked before making his way upstairs.

Once in his room, Morty shut the door quickly and practically dove onto his bed. He desperately clawed underneath the bed until he felt the smooth material of the notebook graze his fingers. Morty held it carefully in his hands as he admired it again before opening it.

'Wow... This feels a bit wrong, but... I want to know more about Rick. I…need to know more.'

Morty had already squashed any feelings of guilty by declaring to himself he would use any information gathered to help his grandfather. It wasn't a secret that Rick wasn't the most stable individual. This notebook could possibly give Morty an edge on understand why Rick is the way Rick is. He opened carefully to continue on the first page that was interrupted.

Still looking.

Taking notes helps me avoid eye contact.

"In order to preserve homeostasis, we must be able to screen out certain stimuli."

She draws an arching dotted line over the black hole. "People who have been chronically traumatized are unable to screen out certain noises, smells, movements, and sights. The stimulus barrier has holes." She draws smaller arches over the spaces, between the lines. "These are the defenses of people with trauma. People will do almost anything to avoid the hole in their minds. You need to find a safe place before you can look into the hole."

After therapy, I rush back to my room to check all the soles of my shoes. If anything, my shoes are worn down from the inside, especially the big toe.

Maybe I don't belong here.

R.S.

September 29th, 1982

My favorite time is art therapy. Mostly because I don't have to fucking talk to anyone. All we do is talk here. With Ms. Gathers, we use oils, crayons, and charcoal, with huge slabs of paper.

A blank sheet of paper is comforting, in a strange way.

"The idea of art therapy-" Gathers explains, "-is to draw what you can't talk about yet. The words will follow."

My first drawing is of a black hole. A voice seemed far away.

"Do you have a safe place, Rick?"

I can't answer. My teeth are chattering. Are they breaking? I'm shivering. I shake my head no, my arms and fists clenching. What the hell's happening to me? We're outside in the courtyard. It's at least 85 degrees and I'm fucking shivering. Why can't I talk? Do something, I think, get me out of this fucking body.

"I'm going to count to five." a man named Greg says to me. "And when I get to one, I want you to go to your safe place."

Safe place? What the fuck was he talking about? I thought this was supposed to be a safe place, with all of the locked doors and high brick walls?

"Five-"

Four, three, two, one- fuck off. I want to leave, but my teeth won't stop chattering. I'm not sure what's worse- to feel this fucking out of control and be watching from the inside, or to disappear completely. But I can't seem to leave my body no matter how hard I try.

"Four, I want you to start breathing deeply-"

I take a breath, let it out.

"Three, that's good, take another breath-"

My chatter begins to slow

"Two, you're almost there-"

I open my mouth, inhale.

"One. You're safe, Rick."

I exhale, close my mouth, and begin breathing through my nose.

Is this what it means to be safe?

"I'm going to teach you to count," Greg says.

R.S.

Morty closes the notebook, overwhelmed. The tears started coming somewhere in the middle of the second passage. It took all of Morty's willpower not to march straight down to the couch, wake Rick up and hold him.

Instead, Morty turned the page to continue his journey into the dark pit of Rick's mind.