Chapter Text
This rick had brown eyes, good. That made the illusion easier to accept. He sat on the Rick's chest, gripping his throat. Thumbs pressed into his windpipe, even though the other was already dead. His eyes glazed over and dull. The rick had been alone, when he did a scan, he found out this was X-453. No Morty, like most other X dimensions. FT growled as he lifted and slammed the cadavers head into the ground multiple times. He pressed his thumbs into the others eye sockets trying to crush the others orbs. He stood up grabbed the Rick's head like a bowling ball and slammed it into a nearby wall. Screaming as he beat the corpse well beyond recognition.
He had seen both other versions of himself. They were both happy, they had families that loved them. A scream tore from the homeless Morty as he began punching the dead Rick's face. Slamming his fists down into the body before grabbing a blade from his pocket and slicing the body up, wherever he was too much of a coward to slice himself up.
How can they just be happy?! Go on every day and not think about the shit they've done...
He froze and looked at the knife jutting from the Rick's unrecognizable face. Blood was covering the homeless Morty, wetness dripping off his cheek. He was crying. When did he allow himself to cry? He had no reason to cry, he deserved everything that happened to him. He deserved to be homeless, Rickless, family less. He deserved his solitude.
It was never that his other versions shouldn't be able to live with what they did. They haven’t done what he has. They didn’t have guilt hanging around their necks like a noose. They didn’t have blood-soaked hands so often his skin might as well be dyed the colour. They don’t have the same anger issues he had that had been going unchecked for years.
They didn’t kill their Rick's for no reason...
That seemed to break the Morty, and he sat the corpse of the dead Rick up and sat in its lap. He could pretend, that's what he could do. He didn’t deserve it, but he could pretend he did this once. He could pretend what it felt like to be in his Rick's arms before he killed him before his dad took over his life. He had gotten good at pretending.
FT shook silently, his mind drifting off, he didn’t care anymore if he died or not. No one would miss him. His variants had people who cared. Maybe they'd be happy to hear he finally offed himself.
He laughed brokenly into the chest of the dead Rick. He didn’t deserve to die, that was too easy... he had to live with his regrets. He deserved to suffer alone with his mind that constantly reminded him that he was a horrible person who didn’t deserve any good that came his way.
He didn’t even deserve to pretend. He climbed out of the corpses lap and meandered his way deeper into the dark alleys to find a corner to curl up in for the rest of the night. He doubted he'd sleep, but to lie down out of sight would be nice.
I don't deserve nice... was the last thought he had before he collapsed in the middle of the alleyway, his vision going dark as he passed out.