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“Summer! Summer!”
His mom’s frenzied cry clattered through his mind, as it had for hours. No matter how many pillows he closed over his head or white noise playlists he blasted in his ears at deafening decibels, the words rattled his skull.
Why had Rick shown him those stupid memories? More importantly, why had Morty insisted on reliving them? Clearly, he’d wanted them erased for a reason.
The clock read 1:54. His eyes ached with exhaustion, but he was nowhere near sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his memory bled through the darkness. His memory of Mom and Summer and that stupid alien. “Summer! Summer!”
It wasn’t just that she’d chosen Summer. It was the lack of hesitance, the way the words burst from her mouth as quickly and certainly as if she’d considered the question before. Many times before.
It was a hard pill to swallow at fourteen, that your mom loved you less than your sister. That your mom would even consider giving you up to an evil alien lifeform while she and her golden child ran off into the sunset.
Gripping the damp pillow, Morty sobbed quietly. His body shook as he expelled years of pent-up inadequacy. Years of eye-rolls and being talked over, years of feeling like an alien in human skin– even his mom knew he was fundamentally wrong. And if your mom didn’t love you, who did that leave?
He was sick of shrinking in everyone’s presence like a scared chihuahua. Of waiting for his time to jump into conversations and then being ignored. If people didn’t like him, maybe it was damn time he took some initiative.
He rose. Treading lightly so as to not wake his family with his stupid antics, he crept downstairs and slipped into the garage. He retrieved Rick’s keys.
~
“Morty, I know you didn’t fly thousands of miles across the galaxy in the name of redundancy. I told you I don’t do repeats.”
Morty stood in front of the detoxifier, the one he and Rick had visited only months earlier. He exhaled, clenching his fists in annoyance. Of course Rick had to find him here. “Well, why don’t you just erase this from my mind and we can go home? You–you sure don’t mind repeating that.”
“Jeez, Morty, you’re still on that? The mindblower shit?”
“Yes, I’m still on that! What, you thought you could just erase my memories and I-I wouldn’t bat an eye?”
“Oh, like you want those memories? Do you want to remember puking up a giant slug? Or making that guy kill himself? You can’t handle it, Morty. Your tiny little brain would explode if I didn’t wipe it every once in a while.”
“Whatever.” Morty rolled his eyes, stepping toward the detoxifier. “Let me do this, will ya? Then you can tell me how I stupid I am the whole way home.”
“Don’t be like that. Get in the car, Morty. We’re leaving.”
“No! I’m doing this first.” Morty made a break for the detoxifier.
Rick jumped in front of him, grabbing his sleeve. “You’re not getting in there, you little bastard! Come on. We’ve literally done this before, and things didn’t exactly come up roses. I didn’t erase that from your mind.”
“Yeah, and th-that’s not how I remember it, Rick.” Morty shoved him aside. “After I got cleansed, I was happy. I had a girlfriend and an office full of people that liked me. You liked me. And then you forced me to merge with that thing, a-and I’ve been miserable ever since!”
“That thing was you, Morty. So sorry I pieced you back together the way God intended!”
“I’m not arguing with you, Rick. I’m detoxifying myself, and you’re not gonna stop me.”
“God, listen to you! You know, you weren’t that great detoxified. You were a calculating psychopathic little turd.”
“So, what? You don’t like me toxified, you don’t like me detoxified—what are you saying? That I’m an unlovable piece of shit either way? That I’m defective?”
Hopelessness crashed over him like a monsoon. Was it true? Was he just as repugnant without the toxins? He buried his face in his hands, embarrassed to break down in front of Rick for probably the thousandth time.
“Morty, come on. Nobody’s saying that.” Rick grabbed Morty’s arm to drag him away, but Morty’s feet remained planted. “Jeez, you’re really upset about this, huh?”
“Let me go!” Morty wrenched out of his grip. “What’s it gonna take, huh? What’s it gonna take for Mom to love me as much as Summer?”
Rick halted. “ That’s what this is about?”
Morty approached the machine, examining the outside surface. “There’s gotta be something on this thing…if I could only flush half the toxins, maybe that would fix me.”
“Damn it, Morty!” Rick slapped his hand away from the detoxifier. “You don’t need to be fixed.”
“Yes, I do!” Rubbing his hand, Morty glared at him. “Clearly Mom thinks so.”
His voice broke on the last syllable. Turning away from Rick, he pressed his forehead against the machine and let the tears fall unchecked. He was starting to feel very stupid and very hopeless.
Maybe it just wasn’t in the cards. Maybe he was one of the unlucky Mortys, the universe’s designated least favorite child. Somewhere out there, Mom had chewed out the alien for even demanding she pick between her children, whom she loved wholly and equally…
Something settled onto Morty’s shoulder, and he flinched. Rick’s hand.
“Damn it. Damn it, you little moron.” Rick drew out the words in an exasperated sigh. “Listen. Your mom loves you. She’s just…a bit of an asshole.”
“She was gonna let me die!”
“Yeah, so what? We’ve all done it.”
“It’s because I’m special,” he spat out the word through gritted teeth. He was painfully aware of the strain the learning disabilities put on his relationship with his parents. He recalled a time when Mom, drunk on her favorite cheap red wine, had caressed his face while he lamented to her about his failing math grade. Oh, if only I hadn’t drank while I was pregnant with you…
“Intelligence isn’t everything, Morty. Trust me,” Rick said gruffly. “Once you understand everything, you realize how little anything matters.”
“Well, w-what am I supposed to do, Rick? Just keep living like a shadow? Just live with the fact that I’m not a priority in anyone’s life?”
Rick rolled his eyes. “You really are an idiot.”
“Yes, I got the message!”
Rick huffed. “There’s a million Mortys out there, and half of them are smarter than you. Most of them probably know how to work a gun without landing in the hospital.”
“Then why don’t you go find a better Morty?”
“Jesus, do I have to spell it out for you? There’s a million Mortys out there, but I still choose to hang out with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my Morty,” he said simply, shrugging as if it were obvious.
For some reason, these words spread warmth through Morty’s skin. He wasn’t just a lonely freak floating on a rock through time and space. He belonged to someone.
Maybe that’s why he kept agreeing to these crazy adventures. Sure, sometimes he hated Rick. Sometimes he walked away from an adventure so shell-shocked he had to skip school the next day. But despite his heart-wrenching cruelty, Rick was the only person who gave Morty the time of day. Rick at least acknowledged Morty when he walked into a room, even if it was to insult him. Rick didn’t mock his stutter or talk about him as if he were too stupid to understand.
“Y-You’re sure you don’t want me to do this?” Morty touched the detoxifier. It held so much allure, so much promise. Despite Rick’s reassurance, fear still flashed at the back of his mind like a subtle hazard light. Maybe Rick didn’t mind hanging out with him today, but what about tomorrow? They’d jumped universes without a second thought, leaving their own family to die horrible deaths. Rick wouldn’t be opposed to letting him die. And Rick had walked out on Morty’s mom. What was stopping him from doing it again?
“Positive. I told you I don’t do repeats,” Rick said crossly. He beckoned Morty away from the machine.
But anxiety kept him immobilized. As pathetic as it sounded, Rick was his only friend. Losing him would be like cutting off a limb. Morty felt as if he were already bleeding, like Rick had already left him for someone better.
Sometimes after an adventure, when Rick was drinking in the garage and Morty was lying awake in bed, panic seized him. Heart racing, he wondered how long he could retain Rick’s attention. He’d fucked up so badly, and so many times. Rick’s insults would echo in his ears as he stared at the ceiling. You’re a fucking moron, Morty. You’re a bleeding heart, Morty. You’re a liability, Morty.
How long before it turned into you’re not worth it, Morty?
After every adventure, he anticipated it. He’d imagined the conversation countless times, as if preparation would lessen the sting. But even the thought of Rick abandoning him for another partner sliced him to the bone.
Because then he wouldn’t be Rick’s Morty. He’d just be Morty: least favorite child. Morty: friend to no one.
“Fucking hell.”
Morty started, looking up from the detoxifier. Rick shook his head, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. When he spoke again, an unusual softness tinged his voice.
“You’re a good kid, Morty. You’re sweet. In several universes of renowned douchebags, it’s refreshing.”
“Really?”
“I’ll give it to you straight, Morty. You were a smarmy asshole when you got detoxified. I’d much rather have you like this, fuck-ups and all.”
“But everyone liked me better that way. I had a girlfriend, and–”
“This again? Morty, those people were just a bunch of smug corporate assholes trying to sell a product. They saw you as a product. Because you weren’t real.”
“Oh…”
“I guess what I’m saying is…” Rick glanced around to ensure they were alone. He put his hand back on Morty’s shoulder. “You don’t need to change. I like you as you are.”
Tears sprung to Morty’s eyes. He blinked, trying to hide them before Rick saw. If his mom’s “Summer!” had broken something inside him, Rick’s words had stitched the wound. Sure, it would scar and he’d carry its mark forever. But now the wound had been tended to, and he could start to heal.
Morty stepped away from the detoxifier. He blinked again to dispel the tears. “T-Thanks, Rick.”
“Don’t mention it. Now, who’s up for an adventure? I need more Venusian foot cream, but I guess we could do a little dimension hopping on the way.”
“That sounds great!”
As they headed back to the car, Rick’s softness evaporated. He’d reverted to the default drunken asshole. He ranted incomprehensibly, calling Morty an idiot three times before he’d even switched on the ignition.
But as they flew through time and space, Morty couldn’t stop smiling. Rick’s words echoed through his mind, replacing his mother’s desperate plea to the alien.
I like you as you are.
Rick would probably forget the entire conversation by next month. But Morty held onto those words as if they were the universe’s most precious crystals. He couldn’t be Summer. He couldn’t be a smarter Morty. He could only be himself.
But to someone, that was enough.