Chapter Text
These issues begin to surface when Morty realizes that, while he knows a lot about his family, he really doesn’t know them at all.
They look like them, but it’s a no-brainer that there’s still numerous differences. At this point, especially with Space Beth around and Jerry’s mixup, the family’s DNA is scattered. Of course, no one’s vocalized having a problem with this–besides Rick–and Morty doesn’t mind, either.
But sometimes, when it gets late, and Morty can’t sleep, and he’s going over every decision he’s ever made in life past the age of six, it does become jarring. He could touch on this subject if asked to for hours, but it’s better to let these things simmer, because it’s not like Morty’s ever been good at putting his thoughts into words without stuttering and fucking it all up.
It’s strange missing someone you’ve never met. The only time Morty’s seen his grandma’s face was through old pictures and, of course, Rick Prime and the Hole. The universe has been generous enough to give Morty at least a few crumbs; what she sounded like and her face.
Besides those two factors, Diane was most likely nothing close to what Morty had pictured her to be in the Hole’s simulations. Rick’s never had a Morty, but he did have a Diane, and Morty thinks he’s a little lucky to have been able to. Jerry’s parents were the closest thing Morty has to understanding what that kind of relationship is like. (Not including Jacob.)
Despite it all, Morty still has his family, and maybe that’s what matters the most. Some Morty’s don’t have these things, and he’d much rather avoid ending up like Evil Morty. The mulitverse-family-no Grandma isn’t his biggest burden.
Everyone knows what it is. But Morty never touches on it, and Rick never addresses it after the first time, so it doesn’t really seem that big of an issue. Morty doesn’t know jack about Prime, other than he’s a selfish asshole with a God complex. (He could say the same thing about Rick, too, but he’s getting better. In the ways that matter.) So it’s easy to say that he doesn’t care. That Prime is just something he can brush under the rug and forget about.
Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Prime’s existence runs on autopilot like a slideshow in the back of his head–and yes, Morty is aware that it was much worse for Rick, considering his obsessive tendencies, but it’s still a touchy subject. Considering all of the conditions Rick has put him through, there is no surprise that Morty’s head is a little jumbled when it comes to his morals.
However, he likes to think of himself a pacifist. Morty does care about people. He wants to help people. He always considered sociology fields, or anything that would remotely change the aspects of people outside of his little world’s lives. But he’s sort of lost the passion for that after seeing how little his faith in humanity matters. If both his grandpa’s can be so cruel and leave behind so much pain, what could Morty possibly do to make up for that?
So instead, Morty decides he can always find a career that supports him financially instead. It’s much easier that way, and he doesn’t have to set any moral expectations for himself. That way, he won’t have the free time to get bored and not know what to do with himself–Morty can stay distracted from all the harsh realities that will be bucketed his way.
He tries not to let himself get stuck in a hole. Nobody likes someone who’s miserable all the time. Morty doesn’t enjoy being around someone who’s miserable all the time; Rick was a prime example. Both him and Beth had obvious struggles with alcohol, and the thought of consuming even a drop of beer made Morty feel sick. He knows it runs in the family, and he isn’t looking to meet it halfway.
Rick’s misery seemed to be contagious, so Morty had tried to stray from it as much as he could. However, that wasn’t possible, because Rick was almost his best friend–as much as their relationship wasn’t the healthiest–and he’s also family. Morty feels strongly about family. Prime did not.
There’s numerous reasons Morty feels comfortable enough to say that, no, he can’t relate to Rick Prime at all. He doesn’t know Prime at all and never did, so it isn’t like he could identify any similarities. Never a day in his life would Morty consider taking a relative or lover’s life. Nor would he take the extra length to travel the multiverse and do the same to his counterparts.
Prime was, in Morty’s eyes, the Devil. Rick wasn’t necessarily close to God, but he wasn’t something Morty shuddered at the thought of. When he’d finally met Prime face to face, Morty felt smaller, much shorter than he knows he is, and while he barely interacted with him, Prime towered over him like a mountain.
And that’s the only way Morty can describe how he feels about Rick Prime without sounding stupid. Prime was above the fray. Morty’s a dish left in the sink that was never soaked so that it could be scrubbed clean. Prime was the fish hook and Morty’s the fish.
Maybe Rick associates with that more than Morty ever could, but it feels the same. Fortunately, the fact that Morty’s related directly to Prime rarely crosses his mind anymore. He’s dead, Rick seems to be getting better emotionally, and Morty’s become a side character in their lives, just the way he likes it.
His anger issues are the problem. That fierce and hot temper that comes so easily when the smallest things tick Morty off–when people push past his shoulder and bark a demeaning name at him. Usually this would never be an issue, as Morty’s a coward, and is familiar with this given behavior at school. Regardless, he finds that by the week and months, it gives him more trouble than it used to.
Obviously he’s learned this from Rick, who would spit on the shoe of anyone who talked down to him. Morty’s course of action, however, feels a little different. It could be anything, and while he doesn’t act on it physically, all Morty can ruminate on is the best way to beat the shit out of them. Not in the brooding and hormonal teenager way, either. Then again, Morty isn’t sure a mentally healthy teenager would fantasize about these kinds of things, and try to figure out which hostile act would be the most desirable.
He has acted on these thoughts very few times, only on adventures with Rick. Places that would leave no consequence legally beside his own health. It freaks him out enough times that he decides to follow Rick around like a lost dog again. Morty’s anger issues aren't something he likes to touch base on, and Rick visibly has no problems with the few incidents they have, so he guesses it shouldn’t be a problem to him either.
Both his mom’s and Summer can be just as violent. It must run in the family. Morty shouldn’t feel as much comfort about this as he does, but it helps in the little ways.
He’s as C-137 as they come, aside from his violent tendencies, and that’s something Morty takes very personally.
He guesses others, not so much.
“What’s that for?”
“Origin scanner.” Rick replies casually, too busy on his phone. The volume is down low, and sounds of wood and dirt being gathered whisper from the phone’s speakers. “It’s just- it’s just some dumb thing they do since the citadel sitch.”
Morty blinks, eyes roaming to the Rick that paces around the bar. His shades conceal his face, despite looking the exact same as all of his counterparts, but while the lights are dim, the badge stuck to the right side of his chest is visible. The device in his hand beeps audibly when pressed to each Morty and Rick’s jaw.
“We’re just here to collect the samples.” Rick reminds him gruffly, not sparing a glance. “So- so don’t wander off.”
“Is this place new?”
“Beats me. Guess Rick’s just can’t stay away from Rick’s.”
Morty frowns. “But it’s not like the citadel…”
Rick scoffs. “Far from it.” The right side of his brow quirks. “They’re just scanning your dimension to- to put us in the system. Which I personally don’t care for.”
A beat. Morty tilts his head. “..It’s not mandatory, right?”
“Who gives a shit? Once Doofus gets here we can blow this joint and get some enchiladas.”
It’s fairly dismissive while conversational, so Morty doesn’t ask any further questions. Rick and him exchange words like they usually do, which are jokes or comments about the interior of the bar. It was clear the bar wasn’t just for drinks and meet-ups. Morty had caught multiple smugglings the second they arrived.
If there was any place to sell illegal multiversal things, this would be the place.
While Rick thinks it’s rick-diculous, Morty finds it entertaining to interact with his counterparts. Aside from Evil Morty, every other conversation with himself has always been inviting. (Ignoring the obvious competition to be the ‘best’ Morty there is–most interactions feel passive aggressive.)
He’s so tuned into his own thoughts that Morty flinches from the cold touch of the Origin Device tucked under his jaw. It tootles twice, and the Rick draws it away to take an unimpressed look. He glances at Rick, who’s already looking back, and then down to Morty.
“You’re Prime?” Device Guy conveys, brow pitching to the left.
Very suddenly, Morty feels self conscious, even if Device Guy has no care in his expression. He opens his mouth a few times to croak, “Um..” but Rick butts in.
“Is that piece of shit accurate?”
“Fuck you. It hasn’t been wrong.”
Rick gives his counterpart a look. Device Rick immediately presses the invention to Rick’s jaw, ignoring the other’s responsive tenseness. He pulls it back, glancing down. “C-137.”
Rick rolls his eyes. "That's not even close." He deadpans, gaze drifting back to his phone. Morty’s eyes dart between them and rest on Device Rick’s irritated glare. They’re left alone shortly after. Rick grunts. “Dick.”
A beat.
“I thought-”
“It’s called lying Morty, you should really- really try it.” Rick cuts him off.
Morty looks away and focuses on the bar instead. He shouldn’t feel as bothered as he is. However, he finds his attention landing on the Rick who’s still wandering around, and his gaze lasts on him for a few moments, thoughtlessly.
His silence is a dog whistle for Rick to chime in. “Don’t let it get to you, Morty.” his grandpa says curtly. “Dimension’s don’t matter.”
“Right.”
“Classification, ya’kno?”
“Yeah.”
“It’d be annoying to have every Rick and Morty look- look at you when you say our names.”
“I get it.” Morty says shortly, picking at the skin around his nails. If Rick has any more comments on the interaction, he doesn’t voice it. Morty tries not to dwell on it either. It’ll blow over, and he doubts any of their counterparts really care about who they are.
Morty’s bit his nails down to skin by the time Doofus arrives. Rick doesn’t pay it any attention, because he’s too busy grappling with his annoyance from Doofus’ poor discreteness when it comes to exchanging things they shouldn’t. Truly, it was all for show, because no Rick or Morty cares about things illegal and desirable.
The feeling goes away eventually, and the rest of the day carries on like it would have any other day. Later, when Morty lays down to go to sleep, his head bugs him on whether he swallowed a part of his nail or not. The kind of things adults envy kids for worrying about.