Work Text:
"A cocky Morty could lead to some problems."
It's an odd saying. To assume that someone is "cocky", just because they're more confident, more capable than the average Morty. He knows C137 wasn't just reffering to the eyepatch one. He knows, but he isn't sure if C137 did it subconsciously.
Truly a shame. Though, he guesses he shouldn't've expected more from a Rick of all people. They're cocky, they think they're gods, and Mortys are mere playthings. Such a poor thought process, really.
He wondered how many Mortys had died from such poor thought processes.
How many had been deemed "evil" all because their only sin was being smarter than their Ricks. How many had to crumble, to wither, to shrivel up and die before they could bloom. How many had been forced to lay in a pool of their own blood, just because a smart Morty is an "evil" one.
He wondered how many had survived.
Not that many, probably. Ricks are too "careful" to let it slip.
He realized that was too similar to what and evil Morty might say, so he pulled the roots out before it could blossom.
---
[8]
"Aim it slowly. Slowly... That's it Mijo, just relax," Rick had told him, guiding his arm to point at a target, "Being tense makes you focus on one thing only, you need to pay attention to your surroundings too."
Morty nods, listening closely. He had always had so much fun on these adventures, despite how morally gray that may seem. Rick had taught him a lot. He was even patient with Morty too.
Rick makes things easier to understand. He taught him how to disarm a bomb, basic lines of code, how to hack into systems, the functions of his portal gun... It was such a long list!
Morty was still pretty bad at school, but he felt a sense of achievement knowing how easily he could understand what Rick is saying. He likes how patient Rick is with him, how he makes things so easy to understand.
Mom and Dad and his teachers don't really try to teach him stuff. They just give up, thinking he's a lost cause. Morty wishes he could prove them wrong, but he'd always been bad at school.
Rick kneeled down in front of him after he pulled the trigger, landing only a few inches off from the bullseye. He was improving.
"Listen poptart," Rick put his hands on his shoulders, "If another Rick ever comes here, that isn't me. He'll look, act, and sound like me, but that isn't me, okay? They'll pretend to care, they'll say they're me. They're not me."
Morty nodded.
"Remember what I told you?"
Another nod, "Only we can protect each other. We do what we have to do. This is how we stick together"
"That's right; and another thing," Rick said, "Don't trust anyone, Poptart, not even me."
He'd engraved it into his soul by then.
---
"Woah... Dead wife?"
He hadn't been sure what he was expecting. Or maybe he had, deep down, knowing how very possible it was.
He had a couple theories, maybe a few thoughts, pushed to the back of his-
Oh, who was he even lying to? Himself? He wasn't as much as a pussy as a Rick, he could handle the truth, no matter how ugly. He had known the moment C137 had crashed into their garage that there was no way he was his grandfather.
He had even compiled a full list of differences. Their haircuts are different, one with shorter, more well-kept hair, while the other had longer and messier hair. One looked 30, while one was 70.
It wasn't even physical differences too. Their personalities were so opposite. One being a grumpy, old man, who would never admit he cared, saying the opposite out loud, while the other was cheerful in a manipulative manner, saying words of affection, yet would kill without mercy.
He wondered if he was still out there.
Who was he kidding? Of course he is, a Rick would never-
C137 put him down, "Yes, now everyone can shut up about it."
"Wow Rick, I feel a lot better after seeing all that," the lie fell smoothly out of his lips.
---
[6]
"U- uhm.... Hello...?" Morty asked quietly, staring at the man in the garage. He wasn't supposed to be awake at this hour, but he couldn't sleep. He wished Summer was awake, but she was asleep too.
The man turned around, raising the left side of his unibrow. Morty knows that face, it's the confused face someone makes when they ask a silent question!
The man's face shifts from confusion to understanding, crouching down to Morty's height, one knee on the ground. Morty stays hiding behind the garage door, scared.
"Hey buddy, you're Morty, right?" The man asks, smiling softly, "I'm your grampa, Rick. Nice to meet you."
Is that how he knew his name? Because he's Mom's dad? Morty thinks he saw him in a couple of Mom's pictures, along with a lady with blonde hair. Was that lady his granny?
Rick looks around the garage, "So uh, have you seen someone who looks a bit like me before? Or am I the first?"
"L- L- Like a tw- t- twi- twin? Uhm...." Morty looks up, furrowing his brows and tries to remember. He shakes his head.
"Good, good," Rick looks around, rubbing the back of his neck.
A few minutes of awkward silent passes, and Rick stands up, "Well uh, see you around, huh?"
Before he could leave, Morty leaves the safety of the door, closes it, then tugs on Rick's jacket, "Puh- Pl- Please... St- sta- stay."
Rick tilts his head to the side, "Why?"
He was so lonely. This man, Rick, his grampa, was so nice! He wasn't mean to Morty when he stuttered, and he waited for him to finish. He understood! He didn't judge, or finish his sentences for him, he waited. He didn't tell him to be quiet, he didn't mind when he was quiet. He was nice! He was understanding!
But all those words are too long to say, and Rick will probably leave by then. Instead, he mumbles an incoherent, "'m luh- l- lone- lonely...."
After a few minutes, Rick goes silent. Morty is afraid he messed up, and now, since he asked Rick to stay, he was annoyed by how clingy he got. Morty frowned. Now he'd be alone again...
Instead, Rick sighed, and smiled down at Morty, kneeling on one knee again, "Well, what d'you wanna do?" (1)
---
He had never really understood the concept of an "Evil" Morty. All Mortys are creatures of empathy, kindness, and loyalty. It was in their very being. Literally bred for it.
Now, as screams echoed across the room, blood filling up the tubes as Ricks and Mortys were shredded to pieces, Morty could understand.
He could understand many things, often hard to grasp. How the Eyepatched Morty had longed for freedom, for escape, to destroy the wall seperating corruption and power, from freedom and peace. How one could see his wants as selfish, disgusting even.
Morty understood. Better than anyone could ever, as they were one person, yet two separate entities. Eyepatch Morty merely cared for himself more than he cared for others.
Morty understood how it felt. Being crushed as though he was merely a pesky bug, ignored without a second thought, toyed with. He understood the boiling, hot rage one would feel against the perpetrators. He understood how driven one would be on the path of vengeance, if that was what their motive is.
Eyepatch Morty and Morty had similarities, but Morty won't deny the obvious differences.
(He tried to ignore how he refused to call him evil. How he felt repulsed at the idea of even thinking a Morty could be evil, no matter what. Eyepatch Morty did what he did for a reason.
He failed.)
---
[7]
"P- Poppy...?" Morty looks around the garage, looking for Rick's blue hair. Poppy is sitting at the workbench, working on his portal gun.
He spins around on his chair, "Yeah, Mijo?"
"U- uhm..." His eyes flit about nervously, "I- I had a b- bad dream... Can you ple- puh- please che- check under my bed...?"
"..." Rick hesitates, for only a second, before picking Morty up, "let's get you to bed, Poptart."
Morty wraps his arms around Rick's neck, and nuzzles his head closer.
Morty does his best to suppress a giggle.
He's so fun to play with.
It's wrong, Morty knows that. Mom and Dad are so boring, and Summer is one he actually likes. Mom and Dad used to be his favorite to toy, but they've gotten so predictable. Summer is too smart for her own good, and she's his sister, he doesn't need to pretend for her to like him.
Rick seems to think he's good at lying. He's really bad at it, actually. He keeps saying he doesn't care, that Morty is a tool, but Morty knows otherwise.
He knows this is what the teachers call "bad mentality" but Morty doesn't give a... An eff. He does what he wants.
(He knows he just wants affection, and if manipulation is the only way to receive it, then he might as well.)
---
Rick had been haunting C137, obviously always on his mind 24/7. He wasn't sure why he knew, he just did.
His grandfather had obviously been some sort of... "terroRick", as they liked to call it. He didn't understand. Rick created portal travel, he was the creator of the curve, without him, the concept of Rick would've been impossible to achive. Did people not know how hard it was to find, sort, and isolate a single universe? For it to be on a multiversal scale was crazy.
He knew that he would've been pissed too, that's for sure. He'd just created something that took months, years even, to create. He'd kill the counterparts who'd deny such a luxury too.
Imagine you worked so hard on a project, only for some petty Rick to deny it, thinking he was better than you. How annoying would that be? Of course he'd take revenge!
Well... Sure... It would be considerably petty, but he deserved it. It was his invention!
Speaking of inventions...
The green portal fluid glowed brightly, as Morty opened the casing with careful precision. He sat at the garage chair, carefully analyzing his surroundings.
Usually, he'd deem it too dangerous to crack open one of C137's invention and try to understand it, maybe even write it down to replicate it later on. This was one of those very few moments where C137 wouldn't be able to interrupt. He passed out on the couch, and, for safety measures, Morty had dragged the old man to his cot. He didn't want to risk one of his very few moments of freedom. God knows what C137 might do if he finds Morty.
Could you imagine that? Think of the questions, geez.
As he absorbed the parts and their purposes, he realizes something off.
It doesn't look like Rick's portal gun.
Ugh, of course it doesn't, dumbass. Rick had mentioned before that the "lesser" Ricks would have a lesser model, and therefore, work worse.
"Lesser Ricks would have two processors to run smoother, but that's only because they have a bad model. You see, Mijo, my portal gun only has one; It's because the processor is more advanced than lesser Ricks."
He isn't quite sure how he remembered it so clearly. He knows C137 would've probably erased anything relating to Rick by now, so it's a surprise to find out he still has that memory.
He finishes writing the basic blueprint and functions of C137's portal gun, closing his notebook and C137's portal gun casing. He absent mindedly notes that he's on the last few pages of the book, and he should probably buy another one soon.
(He ignores how he's becoming more like Rick.
It fails, as expected.)
---
[10]
"I have a request, Mijo, and it's alright if you say no, okay?" Rick asks, kneeling on one knee to match his height.
Morty nods in confirmation, curious.
"I need you to attack me."
Instead of saying otherwise like how Rick expected, Morty merely tilts his head to the side.
"Well, it's part of the training, Poptart," he chuckles, looking mildly amused at Morty's lack of denial, "I need to see if you can defeat me in a fight."
Morty knows that's probably not the only reason he wants to fight. He probably just wants to have fun. It would be very beneficial to both of them if they fought. Rick would have his entertainment, and Morty would know where and what to improve.
He nods, determined.
. . .
They faced each other on opposite ends, each holding a basic knife. Morty held the knife close to his face, and ran his finger on the blade. It was dull, impossible to make actual wounds, but still able to deal blunt hits.
"Now, we can start whenever you're ready, just tell-" Rick barely had time to dodge before Morty lunged at him, knife in hand.
"All right, straight to the point, huh?" He grinned widely, taking a defensive stance.
It went one for a few minutes, he was lucky they were in the holodeck. Presumably, barely a second had passed in the real world. Morty could tell the exact moment Rick focused, the moment he stopped playing and took it seriously.
Each swing of a knife was countered, each kick kept getting dodged. They could go on forever...
...if Morty didn't have a plan.
As soon as Rick was tricked into thinking he'd dodge to the right, away from his knife swing, he suddenly slid under his legs, and turned around with a swish, kicking Rick's legs under.
A beat. Rick turned over on his back, and Morty quickly climbed on his chest, raising the knife up high, and bringing it down. They were both breathing heavily
He pierced the ground next to Rick's head, and sat up straight.
He grinned widely, out of breath, "I.... I won."
Rick smiled in turn, eyes wide with surprise.
A sudden burst of laughter comes from Rick, and suddenly, they were both laying side by side, in a pure white space, laughing like maniacs.
---
Despite his extremely meticulous planning, manipulating, lying, murdering, and overall patience, Morty had a short temper.
He wasn't even sure it could be classified as "temper", as instead of feeling the occasional, boiling, hot rage; he felt annoyance. Bitter, acidic, annoyance.
He couldn't blame the victim when they didn't even know about his problems.
But when Frank Palicky's fist collides with his eye, he suddenly had a burst of the same simmering, acidic urge, only it burned at him.
It curled around his heart, rose up his throat, and left an acidic taste in his mouth. Anger might be what one would call it, but Morty calls it a disgust. The strong urge to erase, to silence, to control. (2)
His eyes darted over Frank's body, looking him up and down, analyzing, deducing, observing. It takes less than a second for plans to run through his mind, registering the threat.
With the position they're in right now, a kick to the the gut and a grip of his head, Morty could easily bash his skull in quickly and effectively. Albeit a little messy, but blood is blood.
He could pinch his eyes, and when he isn't looking, grab his head and twist his neck.
He could knee kick him in the chin, grab his neck, push him against the wall, and slowly choke him.
He could just punch it out. Its the most violent, and unfortunately messy, option, but it will most definitely be satisfactory.
The voices and screams around him muffle, as all he could focus on was the thrill of seeing Frank bleed. Hit after hit, punch after punch.
A smile graces his face as he resists the urge to laugh maniacally.
(He refuses to acknowledge that what it satisfies might be a form of bloodlust.
He doesn't care. It doesn't matter.
That's a lie.)
---
[8]
"I- It's okay, Mijo... I'm right here," Rick carried him through piles of bodies.
They had been adventuring. Summer was supposed to come too, but Rick said otherwise. They were just supposed to have fun and watch the view, but one of Rick's enemies had ambushed them. (3)
Rick managed to escape, but while they were running, Morty tripped, and suddenly, Rick wasn't in front of him anymore.
"...Poppy...?"
"Hm?"
"I- I'm scared.... Am I... D- D- dying?"
"No!" He added more firmly, "No. Don't say that. You're gonna be a-okay."
. . .
The garage was quiet as Rick patched him up, hands shaking. His eyes were pinpricks.
Was he... Scared too? Morty wasn't the only one who's scared?
Grampa Rick can really be scary sometimes. Morty wasn't there when it happened, but when Rick found him injured, Rick seemed to be covered in a blue liquid.
Morty isn't stupid. It's alien blood.
Rick seemed to be afraid. Afraid of what? Morty isn't too sure. He's told Morty before that all Ricks are assholes, but right now, his actions are saying otherwise.
Is he afraid of Morty getting hurt? Probably. Rick has rarely seen Morty hurt, and if he did, it would often just be a minor injury. He'd never seen him bleed before.
Rick wraps his head in bandages with gentle calloused hands. His face is concentrated, but it still has a hint of fear. His hands are shaking, and if Morty focuses hard enough, Rick's breathing is irregular.
He knows it's a bit twisted, but he's glad it gives Rick that reaction. He's glad Rick would care enough to be afraid if Morty dies.
That's a bit effed up, right? Morty's bar can't be that low.
---
"I don't understand how you could just-"
Words melted into noise somewhere between the road and the pounding in his skull. Something about suspension, probably.
He had enjoyed that. Sure, he felt a little guilty, he had almost killed him after all, but Frank deserved it, right? He punched Morty first, it was self defense, right?
He flipped his hand to check his knuckles. Dried blood could be seen on the surface, maybe a few scratches, too. A bit of blood under his fingernails.
He flexed his fingers, one by one. They felt numb, but there was nothing broken, just a little tired. Good.
His hand pressed against the bruise on his eye. It was most likely purple. The skin was loose, wrinkly, rough.
He could probably just let it heal faster with ice instead of healing serum, he didn't want to be near anyone. He'd need to wash and disinfect his knuckles first.
A tug on his shirt brings him back to Earth, and he looks towards his left. Summer's expression told him she was concerned.
Morty raised his brow, Summer looked away, then scooted further from him, "Nothing, sorry."
Mom's voice overlapped with her's. Morty looked away too.
---
[9]
Morty really likes it when people show him affection. He'd ask his mom to play with his hair, hug his dad when he get home from school, and occasionally sit shoulder-to-shoulder with his sister. Though his parents would usually decline.
He drew a lot of pictures about Rick, and sometimes Mom would find them. She'd asked how he knew that man, and Morty would simply answer that he appeared in the garage when they all fell asleep.
Summer had suddenly told her that Morty probably just imagined him, since he saw Rick in a couple of Mom's pictures. He was confused for a while until Summer and Rick told him that Mom and Dad couldn't know about him.
Morty had simply agreed.
Whenever Mom and Dad were outside the house, or when they were both asleep, Rick would appear in the garage again.
Morty had realized that Summer must've told Rick how much he liked affection, because recently, he'd been doing it much more often.
Ranging from compliments, to hair ruffles and cuddles, Rick never failed to give him the affection his parents didn't.
Morty giggled everytime he thought about it. Summer had called Rick a tsundere sometimes, but Morty disagrees.
Rick is more of a kuudere, or- dorodere maybe? Kuuderes are sometimes seen as cold, and have trouble expressing their feelings, while doroderes act nice and sweet on the outside, while hiding something complex underneath.
Morty thinks Rick has been hurt before. He probably doesn't trust himself to care for anyone, because the last time he cared and genuinely loved someone, something bad happened.
Morty knows, with the way he says it, Rick saying he doesn't care is more to convince himself. Morty won't say anything.
"Smart thinking, Poptart!" Rick chuckles as he ruffles Morty's hair.
Morty smiles. He knows this won't last forever, but maybe he can savor this.
---
He's dead. Rick is dead. Poppy is dead. The only person who ever genuinely loved him is dead.
The bitter, acidic taste comes back, only it's stronger, Morty can't ignore it. C137 had killed Rick. Eyepatch Morty helped.
He wonders if he could've done something. Obviously. He could've killed them a long, long time ago. He doesn't even know why he kept them alive for so long. It would've been easy.
C137 has always wanted to kill Rick, but he had never been close to it, ever. Rick had told him about his many clones and even explained them in scientific detail how they appeared as him on any scanners.
He should've told him about the hole in his plan. How all one needed was to filter for probability stasis, and they'd find him in an instant.
It was supposed to be a joke. He didn't know someone was actually capable of killing him successfully. He didn't think Rick wouldn't find and patch the hole.
C137 had been looking for Rick for years, and the only reason Morty had never bothered to stop him was because he knew C137 could never find him. He was skilled compared to the average Rick, sure, but only Poppy could find himself.
He'd thought about Eyepatch Morty helping C137, but he didn't think he'd actually do it! His whole gimmick was fucking off! He hated Ricks!
That son of a bitch ruined everything! If he had just kept his mouth shut, C137 would never have found Rick!
Maybe... Maybe he's at fault here. Maybe he should've told Rick about the hole in his plan, help him patch it up. If he had, this wouldn't have happened. He would still be alive.
Sure, he'd still be miserable and stuck with C137, but Rick would still be alive!
He's starting to see why Eyepatch Morty is called Evil. He helped C137 find Rick. He helped him pass his traps. He helped him escape. Morty doesn't know how the fuck he did it, but he tricked Rick and paralyzed him. Without him, Rick would still be alive.
"There's our guy!" Evil Morty said, looking behind Morty, presumably at C137.
Morty turned around and met C137's gaze, then looked him up from head to toe. He was covered in blood. Rick's blood. That, on his coat, on his face, on his sweater, on his pants, was Rick's blood.
It took everything in him not to go berserk at the sight, "Rick! Is it over? Is- is he…?" He already knew the answer.
"Not exactly an alive amount of blood," Evil Morty answered for C137. Morty wanted nothing more than to rip his vocal cords right out his throat and step on the wounds, just to shut him up a little. Words repeated in his head like a mantra.
He killed Rick.
He killed Rick.
He killed Rick.
He killed Rick.
He killed Rick.
...
Evil Morty needs to fucking die.
(Morty wonders if any of that was true. Had Rick truly loved and cared for him, or was it all planned and deliberate?
For once, he finds himself not wanting to know the truth.)
---
[10]
Rick seems to be adjusting the settings on his portal gun the next time Morty sees him. Twisting the dial, inputting digits on the screen, probably.
"Poppy?" Morty can't help but enter slowly, the door closing behind him with a click.
He's leaving you.
Rick turned around, a surprised expression on his face, before returning to neutral, "Hey Poptart. I thought you were asleep?"
He's pretending.
"I couldn't sleep..." Morty rubbed his eye, "Where are you going?"
Rick's expression turned solemn, "Somewhere far, far away."
"How long are you going to be away?"
'Forever' goes unsaid. Instead, Rick smiled sadly, "I don't know, but I'll come back. I'm sure of it."
"..." Liar, "m'kay...."
Rick crouched down to his height, then grabbed the folded jacket on the workbench. He gave it to Morty.
Morty unfolded it, and just as he had expected, it was a jacket exactly the same as Rick's, save for the yellow accents in place of the red ones on Rick's.
It was oversized, "Uhm, Poppy? This isn't my size..."
"Meh," he shrugged, "you'll grow into it."
"Oh." Oh.... He's gonna be gone forever. He'll never see him again. This is the last time he'll see him.
But maybe...
Maybe they could play pretend one last time...
Morty beamed up at him, "Thank you!" He lunged at Rick and wrapped his arms around Rick's waist.
Rick seemed to hesitate, before hugging him back. It took everything in Morty to not cry right then and there. He nuzzled closer to Rick's chest, as if letting go would make him leave. Rick hugged back just as tightly.
"Listen, Mijo," Rick rubbed Morty's back, "if anyone comes here while I'm gone, don't trust him, okay? Never trust him."
Morty nodded absentmindedly.
"And never get attached. Attachment means death. Attachments are just chains that bring you down. They make you hesitate in the face of battle. Never get attached."
Morty understood, that in that moment, Rick was saying that more to himself and less towards Morty. Morty let him.
"Never forget what I told you, okay?"
Morty nodded again, "Only we can protect each other. We do what we have to do. This is how we stick together."
"This is how we stick together," Rick repeated.
The next night, Rick wasn't in his garage. Summer didn't remember kicking Rick in the shins, and the only piece Morty had to remember Rick by was the jacket he had given him. (5)
(He knows it was inevitable. He knows Rick was never meant to stay, and that Morty was always destined to be alone. Nothing ever lasts forever.
That night, he cries himself to sleep, hugging the jacket tightly.)
---
[Day 1]
The first time Evil Morty visited, C137 had shot him.
As expected.
Evil Morty's shield had absorbed it without any trouble.
As expected.
"What the fuUUUURGHuuck are- are you doing here?" C137 asked with venom lacing his voice, though it didn't really do anything to intimidate Evil Morty, "I thought you- you- that you'd decided to f- ffff- fuck off for infinity? Even- even threatened me too."
"I needed your Morty's brainwaves," Evil Morty answered cooly. (4)
"The fuck will that do? Find another Rick!"
Evil Morty tensed, "It's a long story."
A long one indeed.
Morty knows a liar when he sees one. Evil Morty had most likely been lonely outside the curve, and went to the only people who he knew wouldn't kill him(excluding Rick). Evil Morty clearly has a distaste for Ricks in general, so him willingly approaching one is a big step for him. People don't just hate someone for no reason, and knowing Ricks... Evil Morty had obviously been through some shit.
He needs to be treated accordingly.
"It- it- it's fine," Morty glared at C137, before smiling back at Evil Morty, "w- wan- wanna hang out? We can- We can play In- Inter- Intergalactic W- Warriors. I- I- uhm, have you... Heard of 'em?"
Evil Morty nodded, and Morty headed towards the door to the house. Evil Morty said nothing but followed him anyways.
They sat down on the living room sofa, fully immersed in the game. Morty had lost every game, but everytime, he'd always ask for another round, only to lose again.
Morty lost again.
He sighed, "Man, you're really- r- really good at- at this," He looked at Evil Morty, "h- how do you- do you do it, Em?"
"Em?" Evil Morty raised a brow.
"U- uhm, Em? Y'know, sh- short for E- Eyepatch Morty?" He almost just said Evil Morty. Whoops, "I- I can stop, if- if um, you'd rather- rather be called some- something else?"
"Em is fine."
"Cool!" Morty beamed.
. . .
Morty waved Evil Morty goodbye, as he went through the yellow portal. He dropped his hand when the portal closed.
Running to his room, he closed and locked the door behind it. C137 would be an ass about locking his door, but privacy is a basic need.
He sat at his chair with an open notebook in front of him before he could realize it. He noted down what he had known so far:
Subtlety flinches at sudden loud noises, contact, and mentions of his name. Despite hating Ricks in general, does nothing to avoid C137, opting to insult him occasionally instead. Adapts to new environments efficiently, changing strategies depending on the context. Tense towards the rest of the family, but no negative comments about them so far.
He hesitated before writing, likes cookies with M&Ms in them. Specifically, the store bought ones loaded with sugar.
. . .
[Week 1]
Evil Morty's visits have been becoming more and more frequent, and, as time goes by, his excuses are getting more and more obviously excuses.
Morty knows it's against his personal rules(i.e, don't become a "cocky" Morty), but it's getting on his nerves. He's had enough of this tsundere bullshit.
Em had portal-ed in his room this time, not an unusual sight if he's being honest, except instead of asking, "wanna hang out?" like a normal person, he simply says, "Do you have any Lay's chips?"
Hilarious. Fucking pathetically hilarious.
"G- geez dude.... Y- y'know you can just- just ask t- to- to hang out, r- right?"
"I'm not here to," Evil Morty air-quoted to emphasize his point, "as you put it, "hang out," I'm just here because I don't have access to Intergalactic Warriors."
"Wh- Whatever dude."
. . .
[Week 2]
Em had been slowly taking up space in the household, albeit slowly. At first, he just hangs out with Morty, maybe play some games, then leaves. Morty was definitely a fan of that. It was repetitive, routinely. It was predictable.
But then Em started hanging out longer, and they were no longer just playing games. At times, Em would just sit with him on the roof, stargazing. Sometimes, he'd just sit there while Morty drew.
Admittedly, they'd been getting closer. Morty had even started showing him some his his artworks. Em hadn't even laughed, he'd just compliment him, and even said that he had talent.
Em had slowly been getting out of his comfort zone, and flinching less often from sudden contact. Em had never said it out loud, or even implied it to be honest, but it was obvious that the p̶o̶o̶r̶ guy was touch-starved. It wasn't really a hassle to show him affection, since Morty liked affection too.
...
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
He wasn't getting attached. He couldn't be getting attached, right?
It's fine. This is all just a ploy. A manipulation tactic, to make him trust Morty enough to go to a secluded area and kill him. Then Morty would kill C137 next. Probably tell Mom and Dad, and maybe Summer, that they went on an adventure that ended up in them dying. It's fine. All going according to plan. (7)
But the next time they're watching a movie, with C137 sitting in the armchair, Morty falls asleep on Em's shoulder, and Em doesn't push Morty away.
Morty finds himself nuzzling closer.
---
Morty hated when C137 ruffled his hair. Or patted his back in praise. Or give him any form of affection.
Don't get him wrong, Morty loves affection. He'd consume any form of attention he'd get.
But it just felt wrong when C137 does it. When he ruffles his hair, pats his back, or hugs him when Morty almost dies. It felt wrong. Disgusting, even. Like wearing an exact copy of your favorite shirt, only you know it's not yours.
He hated it.
He can't help but see Poppy when he does that.
Affection isn't rare for C137, as much as the latter says otherwise. He'd always be giving Morty head pats or ruffles his hair when Morty had done something praiseworthy. Or when he'd get bored.
He wouldn't even do it like a normal person, too. He'd say it with an insult about how ugly his hair looked, how his shirt was wrinkly, how there was something on his head.
It was pathetic, how C137 was so desperate to pretend he didn't care. It was laughable.
...
Rick used to do that.
Rick used to play with his hair, pat his head, rub his back. He'd do it while saying some pathetically obvious excuse, and Morty would internally giggle at how obvious he was being.
...
He hates it.
He hates how similar they are.
But...
As much as Morty hates it, denys it, ignores it, C137 is still a Rick. He shares similar characteristics too.
C137 shouldn't. He shouldn't act similar to Rick. He doesn't deserve to even touch Morty, not after taking Rick's place, not after killing him.
He doesn't deserve to act like that. Like he actually gives a shit.
Because Morty knows he does. Morty knows and he hates it and how C137 tells the same lies as Rick had.
He hates it. He hates how they both care so much. He hates how C137 reminds him so much of Poppy.
He hates it. He hates how he patches him up with shaky hands, covered head to toe in blood. How he mutters words of reassurance but mostly mutters it for himself and not for Morty.
He hates it. He hates how he teaches how to shoot a gun with all the patience in the world. How he smiles proudly when Morty hits the bullseye, ruffling his hair.
He hates it. He hates how he wordlessly comforts Morty by just awkwardly standing there, listening to him ramble about his feelings. How he hugs Morty tightly after he finishes, like letting go would end the world.
He hates it. He fucking hates how Poppy used to patch him up with shaky hands. He hates how Poppy used to look at him when he does something praiseworthy. He hates how Poppy used to be there for him when nobody else was. He hates how much C137 reminds him of Rick.
...
He hates that he's starting to hate it less and less. (5)
---
[Week 3]
They're sitting on the couch when Morty finally decides that Em won't be suspicious of him anymore.
Morty controls his expression to make it seem like he's hesitating. The time has come. He's sure Em trusts him enough for him to follow him.
He fiddles with the hem of his shirt in mock nervousness, hoping that Em will just catch on already.
Beside him, Em sighs, "Yes, Morty?"
Morty bites his lip, "U- uhm... I..."
"Spill already."
Morty takes a deep breath, turning his head to look at the boy beside him, "I n- need to show y- you some- something..."
Morty stands up, slowly heading to his room. He glances behind him without turning his head, seeing that Em is indeed following him.
'You can do this Morty... You've been planning this for 3 weeks now.'
With newfound resolution, Morty locks the door behind him once Em and him are inside. He turns to face him.
"Em.. I.." Morty looks away, "Rick, he- he..."
"Did he hit you?" Em raises his brow, tense.
"No! No. N- nothing like- like that."
"Than what?" He visibly relaxes.
"Just-" sigh, "T- take a look at- at this."
Morty opens his closet and takes one of his notebooks out. It was thicker with a leather cover instead of his preferred composition notebook. "Thick leather notebook" didn't exactly scream normal.
Morty hands him the book, and Em hesitantly takes it. He begins opening the first page, and while he isn't looking, Morty slowly walks behind him, pretending to read the book as well.
Em's shield can only block projectiles outside of it. If he gets shot and the gun is set directly to his head, it wouldn't be able to activate.
Morty is currently in that blindspot.
Morty slowly pulls out a gun from under his bed, and quickly aims the gun to Em's head. Em's shield only blocks projectiles within a 12 inch radius, and Morty's gun is 5 inches away from his head.
...
He finds his hand shaking.
'What the fuck are you doing Morty?! Shoot!'
...
He finds himself hesitating.
'Shoot! Hurry! Before he realizes!'
...
He finds himself not wanting to hurt Em.
...
Em's looks of concern slowly shifts to confusion as he reads the content of the book.
'Fuck.'
Em seems to catch on that it was a trap and quickly turns around to meet Morty's eyes. Said eyes have turned to pinpricks.
Em jumps away, and Morty shoots, but it's too late, Em is too far. The bullet gets absorbed and Morty's cover is blown.
'Fuuuuuuuckkk!'
Rick's voice echoed in his head, "Attachment means death, Mijo."
He shouldn't have gotten attached. He shouldn't have gotten attached. He shouldn't have gotten ATTACHED!
"...Cool shield," Morty slowly lowers his gun.
"Thank you," Em glares.
Em, kicks the gun away, and tries punching Morty in the chest. Morty blocks with his right hand, and kicks up, aiming for Em's head.
Em ducks and manages to kick Morty away, taking a defensive stance.
Morty catches himself with his hands on his desk, and turns around, fists up, legs apart.
Em is taken by surprise before focusing on the matter at hand. Em lunges towards Morty, and Morty slides under Em. Morty kicks his back, and Em takes his chair.
Em throws the chair below him, and Morty jumps to dodge and lunges towards him. He tries punching Em's head, but Em catches Morty's hands, leaving both of them unable to hit each other.
"Just stop fighting me!" Em shouts
Morty kicks Em's face and somersaults backwards, landing on his feet, "I can't!"
Morty kicks Em backwards and Em lands his back on the window. Morty tries punching Em but he dodges to the right, making Morty crack the window instead.
Em goes behind Morty and grabs both of his arms, but Morty puts his legs on the wall and pushes up, somersaults behind Em, and takes hold of his head.
Em struggles in his grip, scratching at Morty, but Morty can't focus on the pain. Em rips his sleeve and cuts his face, but all Morty can think about is- "This... is how... we stick,"- crack -"together!"
Thud.
Em's body drops on the ground.
Morty pants, trying to catch his breath. He nudges Em with his foot, "Uhm... Em...?"
Em didn't move.
The next thing Morty realized is that he can't really breath so he tries to breath by breathing really fast and holy shit he just killed Evil Morty he just killed Evil Morty he just killed Evil Morty-
"This is how we stick together this is how we stick together this is how we stick together this is how we stick together..." Words repeated under his breath like a mantra, a prayer. To whom, he didn't know.
Morty quickly ran towards the door, fumbling with the lock before booking it to the garage. He vaguely heard C137 yell after bumping into him, but Morty couldn't care less.
He opened the door to his parent's car. Ri- C137's spaceship would be better but he can't think under pressure so he'll just have to go where the wind takes him. He fumbled for the keys and quickly stepped on the pedal the moment he heard it whirr.
---
Rick grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. Ignoring Morty, he headed upstairs. Em had obviously upset the kid.
The door creaked open under his hand, and he looked around the room.
'Jesus, did a tornado come in here or what?'
There had obviously been a struggle. A cracked window, broken chair pieces, the desk on the floor and a book open on the ground. Rick approached the book, but Rick's foot caught on something.
When he looked down, he'd expected Em, sure, but what he wasn't expecting was his neck twisted.
'What the fuck!?'
Rick quickly pulled a screwdriver out of his coat and started fixing Eyepatch Morty's neck, praying to god that it would work.
Crack.
Rick twisted Em's neck backwards and Em's sat upright with a gasp.
"Welcome back," Rick stood up and offered Em his hand, which the latter ignored and stood up by himself, "you're lucky you have a robot spine."
"Noted," Em crossed his arms, "where's Morty?"
"I was gonna ask you that," Rick glared, and gestured to their surroundings, "the fuck happened here?"
"Pretty obvious if you ask me," Em answered, picking the book off of the floor before heading to Morty's closet, "Morty tried to kill me."
"The fuck?! What the hell did you-!"
"Let me finish," Em gritted his teeth, "he's been hiding more than you thought, and what I expected. We need to find him before he kills himself or something."
"Got a plan?"
Em picked up two other books, one with a leather casing and one composition notebook. He flipped through the pages.
"'Course I do, old man."
---
"I- I had to do it. I had to do it for Rick. Rick is dead. Evil Morty killed him. Simple as that. I had no choice. I shouldn't have gotten attached. Shouldn't have hesitated. Attachment means death. I had to do it," Morty rambled, drifting the car right, "this is how we stick together. This is how we stick together!"
The sound of a spaceship brings him out of his spiralling, and he looks at the rearview mirror. Sure enough, C137 is driving the ship, tailing behind him.
Morty looked around for something to throw. Unfortunately, the only thing in the car was a day old Spudsy's cola. Fortunately however, Morty had good aim. (6)
He grabbed the drink, opened the window, and threw it with all his might. The drink flew in the air momentarily, before landing on the ship's window, completely blocking their view.
"Damn, good arm," Rick complimented, slightly surprised. He turned the windshield wipers on, before continuing to chase him.
Morty drifted to the left, and accidentally hit a sign. He couldn't care less, merely focusing on the road in front of him.
'There's no where to go. This will keep going until I either run out of gas, or.....
... Fall off that cliff.'
Morty was already alone, anyway. Rick was the only one who cared. Mom and Dad didn't like how dumb he was, Summer is their favorite. She didn't really care about him that much either, right? So, since Rick is dead, Mom, Dad, and Summer don't care, who's gonna be there for him?
The white fence blocking the road from the green grass broke from the force of the car.
Did it ever really matter in the first place? Rick... Was he just manipulating him? Was he deliberately making it seem like he cared, when all along he knew Morty would think he truly did? Did Morty build his life of off a lie?
No. His brain firmly replied.
If Rick didn't care, he would've left the moment Morty started getting clingy. If Rick didn't care, he wouldn't have bothered comforting him.
Rick cared. 100%. (7)
He stepped on the pedal.
It doesn't matter if Rick cared or not! Either way, Morty is alone! Nobody cares for him!
"Only we can protect each other. We do what we have to do."
"This is how we stick together!"
Morty screamed as the car flew into the air and slowly fell downwards. He braced for the impact.
It never came.
The car was suspended mid air with clips. The car was being held by C137's spaceship.
A thud from above breaks Morty out of his momentary shock, and a familiar voice shouts, "Morty! Calm down!"
Morty reached his hand out of the car's window, and grabbed Evil Morty's leg, causing the latter to fall on his back.
Morty pinned Evil Morty down, pushing his forearm on his neck, "You killed my grandfather!"
"He... Never..."- Evil Morty kicked Morty off of him, -"...Cared!"
"You don't know that!"
Morty grabbed onto the edge of the car, and swung his free arm to the left, as Evil Morty tried to grab it.
Morty tried to swing onto the car again by pushing his legs upward, but ended up catching Evil Morty head instead. He swung upwards anyways, climbing onto Evil Morty.
Evil Morty tried to put Morty down, but Morty swung downwards, making Evil Morty fall on his chest, as Morty stood up, "Listen to me!"
Evil Morty pushed himself up, and Morty lunged forward, but missed as Evil Morty dodged to the right, "You broke my neck,"- Morty tried kicking Evil Morty's left side, but the latter just blocked him, " and I still,"- Morty tried punching Evil Morty but Evil Morty blocked it again, -"don't want,"- Morty tried kicking Evil Morty's head but he slid below Morty, -"to hurt you!"
Morty kicked off of one of the clips' metal arms, and used the momentum to lunge towards Evil Morty, but again the latter dodged by sliding under him.
Morty turned around, only to be tackled by Evil Morty. Morty punched at him, and kicked him off, then held onto one of the arms holding them up, swung around, and used the speed to kick Evil Morty off of the car.
Evil Morty yelped as he fell backwards.
The car touched the ground, and Morty frantically stood up. He slipped, but tried again, successfully this time.
Evil Morty raised his hands slightly, to show that he held no weapons and meant no harm.
"Morty, listen to me. Rick Prime is dead-"
"And you killed him!"
"-and there's nothing we can do about it, okay?" Evil Morty spoke slowly, as if talking to a wild animal or a toddle who threw a tantrum, "Listen, Rick Prime didn't care. He was manipulating you into-"
"Shut up...!" Morty panted, but punched aimlessly, missing everytime, "This... This is how we... How we stick...."
He can vaguely feel himself fall into Evil Morty's hands, and he pushed away, falling backwards onto the grass.
He groaned, and pushed himself up. Evil Morty helped him walked closer to the sunlight.
Morty panted, and Evil Morty quietly asked, "...Morty? Are you... Alright?"
Morty's knees hit the ground, as he struggled to catch his breath. In the corner of his eye, he can see that Evil Morty has....
A gun in his holster.
He quickly grabbed the gun and raised it to his head. The stakes grew once more, and Evil Morty panicked slightly at the sight. He raised his hands, "Woah woah!"
He's alone. He's alone. Rick is dead. Rick is dead. Rick was the only one who cared. Rick was the only one who was there for him. He was the only one who understood.
Evil Morty hesitated, unsure whether to approach him or to let him be. Any form of touch may be off the table, as it pressures the victim, but outright ignoring him is more risky than actually saying anything.
Tears started to form in Morty's eyes, "I'm so tired, Em! I,"- hic -"I'm all alone!" Tears fell as he ignored how he's basically revealing all his dirty secrets, "Rick he- he was the only one who cared, and- and now he's,"- hic -"dead. A- and now I- I don't even know if he actually loved me or if it was all an act!
"I just,"- hic -"I just want it all to end... I miss him so much. I just... I want him back... I want him to come back but I know he won't....."
"That's just the way of life, Junebug," C137 approached Morty slowly, trying not to anger him even more.
He kneeled down to Morty's level, "You were all alone, and someone tried to take advantage of that. But you aren't alone anymore, Morty. I wasn't there for you before, but I'm here now, I'm here now, Junebug." (8)
Morty broke down in sobs, and slowly stood up, staggering towards Rick, his hands at his sides. Rick spread his arms wide.
Morty lunged forward, and hugged him back tightly. It felt like letting go would make him wake up. Like if he let go this would all be a dream.
Rick wrapped his arms around him, enveloping him in his warmth. The last time Morty had been hugged was when Prime had left for good.
Suddenly, he felt a prick on his neck, and everything went black.
---
Morty blinked his eyes open slowly, and yawned. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them.
He pushed the covers off of his bed, and stretched, cracking his bones.
Morty headed downstairs for breakfast, not really looking forward to going to school. It's not like he had a choice in the first place, anyway.
Summer, Rick, and Dad all sat at the table. Dad seemed to be playing that stupid balloon popping game of his, while Summer scrolled on her phone.
Morty sat next to Rick, muttering, "Morning...."
"Your head okay?" Rick asked, raising his brow.
That wasn't a normal question to ask. Morty's head hurt like a bitch, but there was no way in hell Rick would know. He just woke up, and anyone who woke up would obviously feel groggy and move slowly, which means...
Eh. If Rick had erased a memory it had probably been for a good reason, or a petty one. Either way, it won't affect Morty in the long run, so he shouldn't worry much.
If it does affect him, he just whip up a quick plan.
"A little," Morty said, remembering that he needed to answer the question and that being quiet would make it seem suspicious.
Rick hummed in acknowledgement.
'I swear, this kid is way too smart for his own good.'