Chapter Text
When people said they “saw red” Summer never truly realized what that meant until this moment. It was like a film had covered her eyes, an angry phone filter. Her thoughts ran out. Her hands shook. And so she did the only thing she could to express her anger as a teen: she screamed.
Everyone at the table stopped. The pointless argument between her family ceased.
“Summer, what the hell?” asked Morty, looking at his sister with his usual wide eyes.
“Yeah Summer, are you having an adolescent breakdown? If so, get the fuck out and have it somewhere else,” said Grandpa Rick. “I’m trying to enjoy my fuckin’ alcohol.”
“I will not get the fuck out!” Summer yelled and stood up. The table shook as she slammed her hands down on the wood. “Everyone here forgot my birthday, didn’t they?”
The room became eerily quiet. She distantly hoped she was wrong, but the proof was right there. “Oh my god,” she admitted. “You really did!”
“It’s been a busy time lately,” said her mom, looking at her pleadingly. “Lots of adventures.”
Her father nodded. “Yeah, with Rick derailing our lives, it’s a bit hard to keep up with things, sweetie!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. It was an excuse wrapped in a jab at her grandpa. No, what it was is a pathetic, lame reason to shove aside the issue. Like her dad always does.
Summer pushed her chair in and resisted the urge to scream again. “I don’t want excuses! I spent all day hoping there was a surprise that I just had to wait out. Even just like, a simple happy birthday Summer! would’ve done it. But you all genuinely forgot about it! About me!”
“Well, the whole universe doesn’t revolve around your goddamn birthday, Summer,” Rick said, his voice stuttering with the new intake of alcohol. He stood up and gestured with his new bottle. “There are billions of birthdays happening all the time within the universe, hell, the multiverse! Can’t celebrate them all, can we? Get the fuck over it.”
She looked around the room. No one was willing to say sorry. The one person who was even capable of the word - her little brother - just looked terrified at the fight. His eyes darted from each person in the room, trying to figure out when he could put his two cents in. Whatever. Summer turned to run upstairs, shoulder checking the Grandpa of the year. He didn’t seem to notice.
“I hate you,” she added, just to be petty.
"I feel indifferent,” he responded flatly, which was just like tinder to the fire.
The teenager screamed again as she stormed up the stairs, running to her room and slamming the door shut. They forgot her birthday. The big, legally-an-adult 18. All because of the shit Grandpa Rick always drags them into. Morty was right, but she didn’t quite grasp how right he was until today. Rick Sanchez is like a black hole. A cosmic effect that sucks everything in and dooms it. Summer wished she didn’t love him, didn’t consider him family. It would be a hell of a lot easier to drop him like the unapologetically toxic, absolutely radioactive man he is.
She kicked off her converse and kept the lights off, going towards her closet. It was a tiny, barely walk-in closet built into the wall. She shut the doors and put on her favorite playlist. It didn’t help, but it was something. Summer caught herself in the dark reflection of her full body mirror, the twilight sun filtering in between the shutters of her closet door. She looked pathetic.
The pink tank top and white pants she always wore looked killer. As always. But nothing else was. Her mascara was running, her face was red and puffy, and her hair was coming out of its carefully tied ponytail. She pulled it out, letting her ginger hair fall loose and frame her sad face. It was truly her new all-time low. If she cared about English she could totally write a killer poem about it.
When the silence and the anger passed, Summer could hear her parents fighting downstairs. The loud, usual kind about something or other. It didn’t matter. Suddenly, an idea came to mind.
If nobody cares about me, I can leave. Like Grandpa Rick. Summer practically scrambled out of her closet. I’ll find a new reality where I matter, and they probably will never know. That’s it.
It was an idea born out of pitiful, unfiltered pain, but it was the only solution coming to mind. So she snuck down the stairs and turned into the garage, opening the door as carefully as possible. There, her grandfather had passed out in drunken bliss, down on the floor near his table. She grabbed the portal gun out of his holster and aimed it.
“Summer?”
The girl in question turned around. There standing in the doorway was her little brother. An underdeveloped 14-year-old boy with a bad haircut and even worse fashion sense. His constantly confused expression only increased as he took in the sight. “What are you doing?”
She turned back to the portal of the hell world in front of her. It was a sick-ass zombie apocalypse in there, and Summer just knew that killing zombies was the right move.
“No one is going to miss me, Morty,” she said. A woman desperately fought off an undead creature, screaming for her life. How cool would it be to play savior? “You guys forgot my birthday, didn’t even care to say sorry …”
“I care, Summer,” Morty’s voice said. “Please don’t go. You’re my sister.”
Summer closed her eyes. It was a now or never move; Morty would just keep talking and it would keep working. She shook her head and kept her gaze level to the new reality ahead of her. “I know you care. This isn’t on you, Morty. Steal this and see me sometime, okay? Bring a camera. I’m gonna be so hot.”
She dropped the gun and jumped in. The apocalypse worlds were ironically nicer, anyways.