Beth realization/poor chad

Morning settled over the Smith household in that strange, brittle quiet that spoke louder than words

Rick gone, Jerry not even daring to sit at the dining table anymore, too aware of how Morty's eyes had gutted him last time; Summer hunched over her phone, thumbs tapping mindless loops while she ignored everything beyond the screen

And Beth, standing by the sink, rinsing a plate in slow, automatic movements as if routine could scrub away the pulse of tension hanging between her and her son, who sat at the dining table with his breakfast untouched, watching her with a gaze far too calm, far too present for the Morty she thought she knew. He ate in slow bites, deliberate, his fork scraping softly against the plate, every sound too sharp in the quiet house, and when he stood, pushing back his chair with a sound just loud enough to make Summer glance up before dismissing him again, Beth tensed because she felt him before she heard him.

He stepped behind her, slow, measured, closing that careful space a mother and son should never cross, and when his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, hands resting low on her stomach with a steady, unsettling confidence, she froze, shoulders tightening, breath caught between a question and a refusal to believe what her skin was screaming. His face hovered close to her shoulder, almost but not quite touching, his voice a low murmur that carried an undertone she couldn't quite name warm, amused, almost tender if not for the weight of something darker buried beneath. "Just hugging… and enjoying my mother's company," he said softly, the faintest ghost of a smirk in his tone, "since no one else around here seems to care enough to do that."

Beth stood still, knuckles white on the plate, water running over her hands, mind racing between pushing him off and daring to ask if this was some sick joke but something in his grip wasn't playful, wasn't teasing, wasn't her son. She swallowed, voice barely above a whisper as she managed, "Morty… what are you doing?" and the silence after made her wish she hadn't asked because when he answered, it wasn't a retreat it was a tightening, just slight, just enough for her to feel the possession in the gesture, his breath ghosting the edge of her ear.

"You work so hard keeping this family together," he murmured, low and soft like a secret shared between lovers, not mother and son, "maybe it's nice to be appreciated for once… by someone who actually sees you."

Beth's heart hammered a confused, angry beat, but her body refused to move Summer oblivious behind them, Jerry absent, Rick gone and for a terrifying heartbeat, Beth felt like the house wasn't hers anymore. Then, as if nothing had happened, his arms loosened, his hands slid away slow and deliberate, fingertips brushing her hips just a moment longer than they should have, and he stepped back, cool, collected, his footsteps soft as he turned toward the hallway.

Beth stayed frozen at the sink, hands trembling under the stream of water, a hot flush of confusion and something uglier twisting low in her gut as Morty walked away without a glance back, backpack slung over one shoulder, leaving a silence behind him more suffocating than his touch. The front door opened and closed with the softest click, and by the time Summer finally looked up, whatever had passed was gone like it never happened.

But Beth's hands kept shaking.

Outside, the sun hung low and bright, the morning air cool enough to sting. Morty walked with the easy, unhurried steps of someone who had all the time in the world his mind miles ahead of his body, already charting the shape of the day like a hunter pacing his kill. He passed neighbors he didn't see, crossed streets he didn't remember, eyes forward and half-lidded, wearing a calm that wasn't laziness but calculation folded into the mask of a bored teenager.

By the time he reached the school gates, the morning bell hadn't even rung, yet the hallway inside hummed with the low buzz of bodies packed too close locker doors slamming, sneakers squeaking on polished floors, laughter in sharp little bursts that never seemed to last. It smelled like sweat, cheap perfume, and the undercurrent of high school cruelty that never quite washed off.

Morty stepped into it like a ghost slipping through a crowd, every move fluid, unnoticed, until it wasn't.

Chad spotted him first leaning against a locker, flanked by two of his meathead shadows, confidence oozing like spoiled grease. His smirk came easy, like a reflex sharpened by years of picking on kids too weak, too soft, too scared to bite back. Morty saw the flicker of recognition in Chad's eyes not of who he was, but who he used to be.

And who Chad still thought he was.

That flicker sealed it.

Morty let the hallway swallow him whole, every step bringing him closer to the place where Chad's little game would end and Morty's would begin.

__________

I almost feel bad for chad. "Almost"

For those of you who wanted action....his death on you