Work Text:
The garage was quiet except for the low hum of idling machines and the occasional metal creak of something cooling down. Everything was familiar, but not quite, because this wasn’t his garage. Rick sat at the workbench, staring blankly at a half-dismantled plasma regulator. Tools were scattered everywhere, but nothing was actually being fixed.
Behind him, Morty stood like he was waiting to be told what to do. He wasn’t touching anything, and he rarely tried anymore. The few times he forgot and reached for something, his fingers passed straight through it like smoke.
“Rick,” Morty said softly. “Are we doing something today?” He watched Rick’s back, waiting for some kind of answer.
Rick didn’t turn around. He hadn’t slept in… who knew how long. Time started blending together when the drinks outnumbered the hours. “We’re always doing something, Morty,” he muttered, although neither of them seemed convinced.
Morty looked down at his hands when they flickered for just a second. Most of the time he looked solid, almost normal, but every now and then he glitched like a bad signal. “Right,” he said. “Okay. Just wondering.”
Rick pushed himself away from the workbench and abruptly stood, abandoning the plasma regulator exactly as it was. He dug his keys out of his coat. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Morty asked, already following him toward the ship.
“Somewhere that’s not here.” Rick opened the door without waiting for an answer, and that was enough for Morty. It usually was.
⸻
The ship touched down on a flat, gray planet, its war-torn landscape long abandoned. Rick scanned the area while Morty followed behind, watching dust swirl around his sneakers even though none of it ever stuck to them. The wind moved through him the same way everything else did.
“We’ve been here before,” Morty said as he looked across the empty landscape. Something about it seemed familiar, although lately that didn’t mean much.
Rick pulled a folded piece of tech from his coat and flipped it open. A red dot blinked on the screen, maybe thirty meters away, and he started walking toward it without acknowledging what Morty had said.
Morty stopped where he was. “Do you remember the last time we came here? You told me not to touch the glowing crystals. I touched them anyway and got sucked into some kind of psychic loop. You said I was an idiot, but you still pulled me out.”
That finally made Rick stop. He turned to look at Morty. “Are your memories coming back to you?”
Morty’s expression changed. He looked back across the planet as if staring at it long enough might make the memory settle into the right place. “No,” he admitted. “I guess I don’t remember.”
Rick turned around again and continued toward the signal. Morty hesitated before following, leaving the question behind with everything else he could no longer be sure belonged to him.
⸻
Later, back on the ship, Rick slumped into the pilot seat and rubbed his face with both hands. Morty sat beside him, staring out at the stars. They didn’t say much anymore. Most of the talking had already been done, and these days whatever was left was mostly noise to fill the space.
“Why do you keep bringing me?” Morty asked quietly. He turned away from the window and watched Rick instead.
Rick kept his eyes down. “Habit.”
Morty nodded, although that answer clearly hadn’t helped. “Do you ever think maybe I’m not supposed to be here?”
Rick turned toward him then and really looked at him. Morty looked exactly like he remembered, right down to the yellow shirt and permanently worried face. That somehow made it worse. “You think I don’t know that?”
Morty opened his mouth like he had something else to say, but nothing came out. He turned back toward the window instead, watching the stars while his hands rested steadily in his lap. At least they weren’t flickering anymore.
They stayed that way until Rick finally reached for the dashboard and typed in another destination. He didn’t tell Morty where they were going. He rarely did anymore, and Morty would follow regardless.
The ship lifted away from the dead planet. Morty remained beside him as they disappeared into the next unknown place Rick had decided was better than sitting still.
⸻
The cabin stood beneath a pale orange sky, tucked into the last ridge before the dead hills surrounding it. Whatever war had flattened the forests hadn’t touched Birdperson’s home. Rick landed the ship just outside without bothering with stealth or protocol. It wasn’t that kind of visit.
He stepped into the dust with his hands buried in his coat pockets. Morty followed close behind, his feet hovering inches above the ground and making no sound at all. He looked around at the untouched cabin. “This place is weirdly peaceful.”
Rick didn’t answer. He walked up to the door and opened it.
Inside, Birdperson was kneeling beside a disassembled drone, sorting tiny parts across a cloth. He glanced up the moment Rick stepped inside. He didn’t smile, but his expression softened enough for Rick to notice.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Birdperson said as he set down the piece he was holding. His attention lingered on Rick long enough to take in the dirty coat, exhausted face, and whatever else Rick had failed to hide. “You look worse than usual.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t know where else to go.” Rick gave a small shrug and stepped inside while Morty hovered near the doorway.
Morty glanced between them. “So he can’t see me, huh?” He waved one hand halfheartedly in Birdperson’s direction, but Birdperson never reacted.
Rick said nothing.
Birdperson looked past him for a moment, almost as though he could tell Rick wasn’t alone even if there was nothing there for him to see. His attention eventually returned to Rick. “What’s going on?”
Rick stepped farther inside, his shoulders hunched. “I need to ask you something. Something I already know the answer to, but I guess I’m hoping you’ll lie to me.”
Birdperson gestured toward the bench beside the window. “Sit down. Whatever it is, I assume you did not travel this far because it was easy to say.”
Rick sat while Morty remained standing nearby with his arms crossed. Birdperson poured something hot and dark into two chipped mugs, handed one to Rick, then took the seat across from him.
“It’s Morty,” Rick said, staring into the mug instead of looking at Birdperson. He waited, but Birdperson’s expression didn’t change. “He’s… here. With me. Sort of.”
Birdperson didn’t interrupt. He’d always been good at letting Rick unravel at his own pace, which was probably why Rick had come here in the first place.
“I rebuilt a fragment. Thought I could bring him back, maybe.” Rick rubbed his thumb along a chip in the mug. “I didn’t clone him. Couldn’t bring myself to do that. Didn’t copy him either. I just took what was left and… gave it enough to hold itself together. He talks. He remembers some things. He looks like Morty, but he can’t touch anything, and nobody can see him except me.”
Birdperson slowly set down his cup. “Rick, you told me he died. You told me there was no coming back.”
“There wasn’t.” Rick leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “But I couldn’t just… be done.”
Birdperson glanced around the room once more before looking at Rick again. “You created a ghost.”
Rick didn’t argue with him.
“He’s not here, is he?” Birdperson asked. “Not really. Whatever you made, I cannot see him.”
Morty stepped closer to Rick. “Tell him I’m listening.” There was something defensive in his voice now, as though Birdperson had insulted him without even knowing he was there.
Rick glanced toward him. “He’s here. Just not for you.”
Birdperson caught the movement of Rick’s eyes and lowered his voice. “That’s not Morty, Rick. It is what you have left of him because you refused to let him go.”
“I know what he is,” Rick snapped. His fingers tightened around the mug. “I’m not stupid.”
“Then stop pretending he’s still alive.” Birdperson’s voice remained level, which only seemed to make Rick angrier.
Rick stood too quickly and nearly knocked the mug over. “I’m not letting him go.”
Birdperson looked up at him, calm but sad. “You already lost him. It isn’t up to you anymore, Rick. You need to let him go.”
Morty watched Rick carefully. He looked less angry than he had a moment ago. “Is he right?”
Rick refused to look at him. He turned toward the door instead.
Birdperson stood as well. “You think dragging this fragment around the universe is love? It is not. You are punishing yourself, and this is not what Morty would want.”
Rick stopped at the door with his hand already reaching for it. “Yeah. Maybe. But he’s not going anywhere without me.”
Birdperson stepped closer, stopping before he touched him. “And what happens to you when the ghost fades?”
Rick finally looked at him. He didn’t answer, but Birdperson knew him well enough that he didn’t need one. Rick had already decided that Morty fading wasn’t an option.
He opened the door and left.
⸻
Back on the ship, Morty sat in his usual seat while Rick dropped into the pilot’s chair. Neither of them had said anything since leaving the cabin, and Rick let his hand hover over the ignition without starting the engine.
“You were in love with him,” Morty said eventually. A thoughtful little smile appeared on his forever-young face. “Birdperson, I mean.”
Rick kept his eyes on the dashboard. “Doesn’t matter now.”
Morty looked down when his hands flickered again. The smile disappeared. “Neither do I.”
Rick started the engine and gripped the controls. “Don’t say that.”
⸻
The coordinates came from a closed loop buried in Rick’s personal archive. He didn’t remember recording them, which was how he knew they mattered. Drunk Rick didn’t bother saving much unless some part of him knew he would need it later.
The ship dropped out of space above a nameless rock orbiting a dying star. There wasn’t a sign of life anywhere, only a locked bunker sitting alone on the surface. Rick stared at it through the windshield for a moment before landing.
The vault opened to his palm even though the scanner shouldn’t have recognized him anymore. Inside, cold lights flickered awake one after another, revealing old machines and a room at the far end. A single pod sat in the middle with a chair and helmet attached to it. Rick hadn’t seen the machine in years, but he recognized every part.
Morty stood beside him, flickering in and out more often now. He looked from Rick to the pod. “What is this?”
“The Repeater.” Rick walked closer and brushed dust from the controls. “It takes whatever’s left of a person and tries to rebuild the rest. Memories, personality, all the crap that makes you you. If it can get enough from you and enough from what I saved, it might be able to put you into a real body.”
Morty stared at the pod. The explanation was simple enough that there wasn’t much room to misunderstand it. “You think it could make me real again?”
“I don’t know.” Rick checked the old controls, avoiding Morty’s eyes. “I built it a long time ago in case I lost someone I couldn’t live without.”
Morty looked at him. “So… me?”
Rick stopped what he was doing. “No. I built it for Diane.”
Morty’s face dropped. “Jesus. Okay, wow.”
Rick sighed and turned toward him. “Morty, I…”
“No, it’s fine,” Morty said quickly, holding up his hands. “I’m not offended. I’m just the runner-up in your lifetime of regrets.”
Rick looked away instead of answering.
Morty walked closer to the pod and studied it. “You’d use it now, though. On me.”
“Yeah.” Rick moved beside him and checked the helmet.
Morty’s eyes stayed on the machine. “Even though I’m not him. Not really.”
Rick’s voice cracked just enough for Morty to hear it. “You’re close enough.”
Morty looked at the pod differently after that, less like it was a machine and more like it was a coffin waiting for him. “And if it doesn’t work?”
Rick swallowed. “Then whatever’s keeping you here gets burned out in the attempt. You’ll be gone for good.”
Morty turned toward him. “And you’d be okay with that?”
“No.” Rick’s answer came immediately. “But I’m not okay with this either.”
Morty’s form suddenly glitched much worse than before. His outline smeared into static before pulling itself back together, and when it finally stopped, he lowered himself onto the floor beside the machine.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here, Rick.” Morty stared at his hands. “I think I was supposed to be gone, and you just couldn’t handle it.”
Rick leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know that?”
Morty looked up at him. There hadn’t been much life in those eyes for a long time, even when everything else about him looked right. “Then why keep me?”
Rick met his gaze. “Because you’re all I’ve got left.”
Morty looked away again, but his voice broke when he spoke. “I wake up every day feeling like a lie. I see myself in mirrors and there’s nothing looking back. I try to remember things and I only get pieces, and half the time I don’t even know if they’re mine. I think about dying and I don’t even know if it would count because I don’t know what I am.”
Rick closed his eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Morty snapped, looking at him again. “I’m a glitch! I shouldn’t even be here! I’m nothing!”
“You’re my grandson.” Rick pushed away from the wall, his voice rising with Morty’s. “I don’t give a shit what the machine says you are.”
“No, I’m not.” Morty’s anger disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. “He’s dead, Rick. You buried him.”
Rick turned away. His hands had started shaking, so he shoved them into his coat pockets where Morty couldn’t see.
“I miss you,” Morty said. “I know that sounds stupid because I’m standing right here, but I do. I miss you, and I miss being me. I don’t think I ever really existed like he did.”
Rick looked back at him, his eyes red. “You did. You do. You matter.”
Morty gave a tired little laugh. “That’s what you want to believe. I’m not him, though. I don’t even matter to this world anymore.”
Rick crossed the room and lowered himself onto the floor beside him. He left a small space between them instead of trying to touch him. He hadn’t let himself do that since Morty died, even though some stupid part of him still wanted to reach over and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I can’t lose you again,” Rick said.
Morty looked at him for a long moment. “I think maybe you never stopped losing me, Rick.”
Neither of them had anything to say after that. Eventually, Rick looked toward the Repeater, then back at Morty. “Do you want to try?”
Morty followed his gaze and swallowed. “I’m scared.”
Rick nodded. There was no lie he could tell that would make either of them less afraid. “Me too.”
Morty flickered again, disappearing long enough that Rick straightened in alarm before he slowly came back. Morty looked down at himself, then toward the pod. “Okay. Let’s try.”
⸻
Rick went over every setting on the Repeater before he let Morty anywhere near it. His hands were steady while he worked, even if the rest of him looked exhausted enough to collapse. He checked things twice, then a third time, because this was one machine he couldn’t afford to be wrong about.
Morty sat inside the pod with the helmet resting above his head. His form glitched every few seconds now, each disappearance lasting a little longer. Whenever he returned, he looked around as though he needed a moment to remember where he was.
“How does it work?” Morty asked. “And explain it like you’re talking to me, not another you.”
Rick glanced at him. “It takes what’s left of you and compares it to everything I still have from before you died. Memories, brain scans, old backups, whatever it can use. Then it tries to fill in what’s missing and put the whole thing into a living body.”
Morty looked toward the empty chamber attached to the machine. “So it basically tries to turn this version of me back into… me.”
“Basically.” Rick returned to the controls. “There’s a lot more bullshit involved, but yeah.”
“And you really think it can do that?”
Rick hesitated just long enough to give away the answer. “I think it has a chance.”
Morty gave him a look. “That’s not what you said five minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, five minutes ago you looked like you were gonna shit yourself.” Rick came over and lowered the helmet onto his head. It passed through Morty once before Rick adjusted something on the side and tried again. This time it stayed in place.
Morty gave a nervous laugh. “Still don’t know if I’m real.”
Rick tightened the straps. “If it works, you won’t have to wonder anymore.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Morty already knew the answer, but he asked anyway.
Rick’s hands slowed against the last strap. “Then this is the last time I hear your voice.”
Morty looked straight at him. The fear was still there, but there was something else underneath it now. “Then listen carefully.”
Rick stopped working.
“I loved you,” Morty said. “I was angry and scared, and I didn’t always understand what you were doing. A lot of the time you were a complete asshole, actually. But I loved you, and I think the real me did too. Even when everything between us was messed up.”
Rick swallowed. “Morty, don’t.”
“I’m not saying it for closure or whatever.” Morty shifted nervously in the seat. “I’m saying it because if this goes wrong, I want at least one version of me to have said it out loud.”
Rick took a step back from the pod. “You should’ve hated me.”
“You hurt me enough that I definitely should have,” Morty admitted. “But that’s not what I remember.”
Rick stared at him for another second before returning to the console. He entered the final command, and a deep hum moved through the room as the old machine came fully awake.
“You sure?” Rick asked, his hand resting over the activation switch.
Morty took a breath out of habit, even though Rick wasn’t sure he actually needed to breathe anymore. “No. But do it anyway.”
Rick pressed the switch.
Pale blue light filled the pod. Morty’s image started to jump and distort as the Repeater tried to hold onto him, his voice sounding farther away each time he spoke.
“I don’t want to disappear.”
“You won’t,” Rick said, watching the readings climb.
Morty looked at him through the light. “Promise?”
Rick wanted to. He wanted to lie to him more than he had wanted anything in years. Instead, he gripped the edge of the console and forced himself to answer.
“I can’t.”
Morty’s body jerked once, and the flickering stopped. Rick stared at the pod, waiting for him to reappear, but nothing happened.
The screen beside him filled with warnings. The machine had found pieces of Morty, but not enough of him to rebuild what was missing. It tried anyway until there was nothing left for it to hold onto.
RECONSTRUCTION FAILED.
SIGNAL LOST.
The lights cut off and the chamber opened.
There was nobody inside.
Rick stared at the empty seat, his mind refusing to catch up with what he was seeing. He moved closer as though Morty might somehow be hidden by the darkness inside the pod. “Goddamn it,” he whispered, then slammed his fist into the console hard enough to crack the screen. “GODDAMN IT!”
The lights flickered from the impact. Rick hit the console again, but the machine had nothing left to give him. Eventually he stopped because there was nothing else to break that would make Morty come back.
⸻
Back on the ship, Rick sat in the pilot seat with his hands hanging uselessly between his knees. The stars drifted beyond the windshield, but he barely seemed to notice them. Morty’s seat beside him was empty.
Rick eventually reached toward the ignition. Before he could touch it, something faint moved in the corner of his vision.
Morty was sitting beside him.
Rick jerked around so quickly his shoulder struck the seat. Morty was barely there, more transparent than Rick had ever seen him, but he was smiling.
“Morty?” Rick leaned toward him. “The Repeater, did it work? What happened?”
Morty shook his head. “No. It didn’t work.” He looked down at himself, watching the seat show through his legs. “But I think maybe you finally let go.”
Rick stared at him. “Then how are you here?”
“I don’t know.” Morty looked up again. “Maybe this is just whatever was left of me getting one last chance to say something.”
Rick’s face tightened. Morty was already fading, and there was no machine around them this time for Rick to blame or fix. “No. Morty, wait.”
“I’ll always be with you, Rick.” Morty smiled at him, looking younger than Rick remembered and exactly the same all at once. “Just don’t forget me, okay?”
Rick opened his mouth, but Morty disappeared before he could answer.
He didn’t flicker back in.
Rick stayed in the pilot seat with his hand resting beside the ignition. He didn’t start the ship, and for the first time since Morty died, there was truly nobody sitting beside him.
⸻
The ship sat idle in low orbit while Rick remained folded over the steering wheel. The soft hum of the engine filled the cabin, carrying on as if nothing had happened. The universe had always been good at doing that.
The real Morty had been gone for years. Rick knew that, even if he had spent most of those years finding increasingly complicated ways not to accept it. The thing he had dragged around the universe had been whatever he could salvage, and now that was gone too.
Eventually, Rick lifted his forehead from the wheel and sat up. He reached into the glove box and pulled out a small wooden box, worn around the edges from years of being carried from one place to another. There was no technology hidden inside it and no way for it to bring anyone back.
Inside was a photo of Rick, Morty, and Summer on some planet with two suns. Summer had been flipping off the camera. Morty wore that nervous grin he always got when he thought something was about to explode behind him, while Rick, drunk and tired, had been caught smiling without realizing it.
Rick held the photo between his fingers. “I thought I could fix it,” he said, even though there was nobody there to hear him. “I’ve fixed everything else. Broken universes, broken people, broken laws of physics. But I couldn’t fix this.”
He set the photograph on the dashboard and rubbed both hands over his face. “I thought if I kept you close, I could undo it. Make it like it never happened. But all I did was keep you stuck with me when you were supposed to be gone.”
Rick stared at Morty’s face in the picture. His next breath shook badly enough that he had to stop and try again.
“I’m sorry.”
Nothing answered him. Rick sat with that for a while, because for once he didn’t have a Morty beside him to pretend otherwise.
⸻
Three days passed without Rick drinking or opening a portal. He mostly drifted, sleeping when his body forced him to and waking without knowing what he was supposed to do next. On the fourth day, he landed on Earth-TR67.
The Smith family there didn’t know him. Their Rick had abandoned them a long time ago, and Rick had no intention of introducing himself. He stood on a hill overlooking their backyard and watched a younger Morty play catch with his Jerry.
He knew it wasn’t his Morty. He wasn’t going to walk down there and pretend otherwise, and he wasn’t going to convince himself that another version was good enough. Still, he stayed longer than he meant to, watching the kid complain when Jerry threw too high and laugh when the ball bounced off the fence.
Eventually Rick returned to the ship alone.
⸻
Later, Rick sat on a rooftop in some forgotten city while rain soaked through his clothes. Birdperson joined him without announcing himself, taking a seat beside him and waiting until Rick decided whether he wanted to talk.
Rick kept his eyes on the city below. “You were right.”
“I often am,” Birdperson replied, deadpan. He waited for the insult that normally would have followed, but Rick didn’t give him one.
“I let go,” Rick said. “Had to.”
Birdperson stayed beside him without pushing for details.
Rick reached into his coat and pulled out a silver disk about the size of a coin. He held it between his fingers for a moment before crushing it in his fist. Sparks slipped through his knuckles until the device fizzled and went dead.
“No backups,” Rick said, opening his hand to look at what remained. “No clones. Nothing.”
Birdperson looked at the ruined device before turning back toward him. “What now?”
Rick tipped his head toward the rain. “I don’t know. Probably nothing for a while.”
Birdperson nodded. They sat together for another few minutes before he spoke again. “I’m proud of you.”
Rick snorted. “Don’t be. It took losing the same kid twice.”
“You are still here,” Birdperson said, leaning a little closer. “That is not nothing.”
Rick didn’t have an answer for that, so Birdperson didn’t ask him for one. They stayed on the rooftop until the rain stopped and morning began to creep over the city, two people who knew there were some things even they couldn’t outrun forever.
⸻
Rick returned to the Prime Dimension for the first time in two years.
He didn’t go to the destroyed garage or the house. He landed behind an abandoned strip mall on the edge of town and started walking without deciding where he was going. Eventually his legs hurt enough that he sat down beside the ship because he couldn’t think of a reason to keep moving.
That night, he slept outside the ship for the first time in weeks.
He dreamed of Morty. This time it wasn’t the flickering ghost that had followed him around the universe. It was the real one.
They were standing at a vending machine on some alien outpost, and Morty couldn’t figure out how to get the chips to drop. Rick kicked the machine hard enough that five bags fell at once. Morty laughed so hard he snorted, and Rick handed him one before keeping the rest for himself.
“You’re such an asshole,” Morty said through his laughter, clutching his single bag against his chest.
“Yeah, and you got free chips, so quit bitching.” Rick tore one of his bags open and kept walking, already expecting Morty to hurry after him.
When Rick woke up, his chest hurt. There was no alien injury to blame and nothing wrong with his heart that one of his implants could fix. He knew what it was this time, and he let it hurt.
⸻
A few months later, Rick found himself sitting across from Evil Morty.
It wasn’t an accident or the result of another chase. Rick had reached out, and Evil Morty had apparently been curious enough to agree.
They met in a neutral zone, a floating station built by Mortys who had left the Citadel and wanted nothing to do with Ricks anymore. Evil Morty insisted on going by Mortimer now, although Rick had rolled his eyes the first time he heard it. Mortimer wore clean boots and a pressed jacket, looking irritatingly put together compared with Rick.
“So,” Mortimer said, settling back in his chair. “What do you want?”
Rick shrugged. “Closure.”
Mortimer raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get it out of your system.” Rick leaned back in his own chair and waited.
Mortimer studied him for a moment. “Which one was he?”
Rick didn’t bother pretending he didn’t understand. “The original. Morty Prime.”
Mortimer’s expression changed slightly. “I liked him.”
Rick blinked. “Really?”
“He couldn’t stand you sometimes.” Mortimer looked away, almost amused by the memory. “But he still followed you. Until the end, huh?”
Rick lowered his eyes. “Yeah.”
They sat without speaking for a while before Mortimer leaned forward again. “Did you try to bring him back?”
Rick’s face gave him the answer before he could decide whether to lie.
Mortimer nodded. “And you failed.”
“Yeah.” Rick looked down at his hands. “Pretty spectacularly.”
Mortimer was quiet for a moment. “I had to kill one of my Ricks. I didn’t feel bad about it, either. But sometimes I think about the version of me he knew, before everything happened. The Morty who didn’t make it out of that life. It still fucks with me.”
Rick looked up at him.
“You’re not the only one haunted by a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore,” Mortimer said. “You’re just insane enough that you actually made yours sit in the passenger seat.”
Rick let out a dry laugh. “Not anymore.”
“Good.” Mortimer settled back again. “Maybe now you can stop trying to beat death at everything and just live.”
Rick didn’t answer.
When he eventually stood to leave, Mortimer stopped him before he reached the door. “Hey. If you ever build something that actually works, don’t use it.”
Rick glanced back.
“Let him stay dead,” Mortimer said. “It sucks. It’s supposed to.”
Rick held his gaze for a moment, then nodded and left.
That night, the passenger seat was still empty when Rick returned to the ship. He looked at it before starting the engine, expecting the old pain to hit him exactly the way it used to.
It still hurt. He just didn’t flinch from it anymore.
⸻
Summer didn’t say anything when Rick showed up at the door.
She stared at him for several seconds before stepping aside. Rick entered without trying to hug her or make a joke, and Summer didn’t offer him either one. The house looked painfully familiar, almost like nobody had touched anything since he left.
Rick walked into the kitchen and stopped when he saw Morty’s chair at the table. It hadn’t been moved.
Summer stood across from him with her arms crossed against her chest. “Why are you here?”
Rick kept staring at the chair. “I don’t know.”
She followed his gaze and her expression tightened. “We don’t sit there anymore. Mom can’t. Dad can’t either. We tried once and it felt wrong, so now we eat in the living room.”
Rick swallowed. “I didn’t come to fix anything.”
“Good,” Summer said. “You’re not great at that.”
Rick nodded because he couldn’t really argue.
Summer poured herself a glass of water and took a drink. She kept her back to him for a few seconds before finally turning around. “What happened to him?”
Rick’s body went rigid, but Summer didn’t raise her voice or start crying. She stood there with the glass in her hand and waited for the answer he should have given her years ago.
Rick pulled out one of the other chairs and sat down, leaving Morty’s untouched. “He died somewhere stupid. Somebody shot him who didn’t even know who he was.”
Summer’s expression barely moved, but her grip tightened around the glass.
“I buried him off-world,” Rick continued. “Clean grave. Beautiful planet. Nobody goes there unless I take them.”
Summer swallowed. “Okay.”
“I tried to bring him back.” Rick looked toward Morty’s chair again. “Couldn’t let it go. I made something else instead. A ghost, basically. Pieces of him that I managed to keep together.”
Summer stared at him. “You kept him with you?”
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
Rick looked down. “Too long.”
Summer turned away and set her glass on the counter. “You always said Morty made his own choices. That he wasn’t just some tool you dragged around.”
Rick had nothing to say to that.
Summer looked at him again. “Do you think he knew he was going to die?”
Rick took a slow breath. “He wasn’t scared when it happened. Mostly he was pissed at me.”
Summer’s mouth twitched despite herself. “That sounds right.”
Rick almost smiled too, but it disappeared before it really formed. They stayed there together for a while before he managed to look at her.
“I’m sorry.”
Summer’s expression cracked for a moment. She looked away before Rick could say anything else, walked into the hallway, and opened the closet. When she returned, she was carrying a small shoebox.
“He had some stuff here,” she said, setting it in front of Rick. “Drawings, notes, old shit. Mom couldn’t throw any of it away.”
Rick looked at the box without touching it. “Why give it to me?”
“Because I think you actually want to remember him now.” Summer pushed the box a little closer. “The real him. Not whatever version you needed him to be.”
Rick finally rested his hands against the sides of the box.
“Take it,” Summer said. “Then go. We’re still figuring out how to live without him, and we don’t need you making it harder.”
Rick nodded. He picked up the box and left without arguing.
He didn’t open it until he was back in the ship. Near the top was a crumpled school paper with a D+ written across it and a note in Morty’s handwriting.
I don’t get math, but I tried. Sorry, Mom.
A crude drawing of Rick holding his portal gun had been scribbled into the margin.
Rick stared at it until his hands started shaking. He didn’t reach for a bottle or try to find something to break. He sat there with Morty’s stupid drawing in his hands and cried until he couldn’t anymore.
⸻
The planet didn’t have a name. Rick had never bothered giving it one. He’d found it by accident years ago, and the first time he really looked at it, he knew Morty would have loved it.
The air was clean and the rivers glowed at night. Just before sunset, the sky turned violet and reflected across the water, stretching all the way toward the horizon.
Rick stood at the edge of the clearing, much older now. His coat was faded and patched in places, and his face had gotten thinner with age. He moved more slowly these days, but his eyes were clearer.
He followed the familiar path without needing to look down. Morty’s grave was still there beneath the wide stone tree, surrounded by soft grass. It wasn’t much, only a flat piece of dark metal half-sunken into the soil.
Morty Smith
You mattered.
Rick lowered himself beside it with a grunt and took a moment to get comfortable. Age had made sitting on the ground a bigger pain in the ass than it used to be. He looked at the marker for a while before a small smile pulled at his mouth.
“Hey, Junebug.” Rick rested one hand against his knee. “Been a while.”
Wind moved through the clearing and disturbed the grass around the marker.
“This place is still the same. Peaceful. Quiet.” Rick glanced toward the river. “You would’ve picked it apart in a day and still found something new to complain about tomorrow.”
His smile lingered. It was tired, but it didn’t hurt the way it used to.
Rick reached into his coat and pulled out an old piece of paper, now creased and faded with age. Morty’s stupid little drawing of him with his portal gun had somehow survived everything.
“I used to see you everywhere,” Rick said. “Mirrors, corners of the ship, dreams. Every time I closed my eyes, you were there waiting for me to let you go.”
He ran his thumb carefully along the edge of the paper.
“But I don’t see you anymore. For a while, I thought that meant I was forgetting you.” Rick looked down at Morty’s name. “I haven’t. I know that now. You just stopped haunting me.”
He gave a quiet laugh and rubbed a hand over his face. “I like to think that means you finally got free of me.”
The violet clouds above him slowly deepened toward blue. Rick tucked the sketch carefully beneath the edge of the marker and weighed it down with a small stone so the wind couldn’t take it.
“Summer came here once,” he continued. “Didn’t say much. Just stood here with you for a while. She still talks about you. Some days more than others.”
Rick rested both hands against his knees and looked toward the glowing river.
“Sometimes I get scared I became a better person because I lost you. Feels wrong when I think about it like that. Like the price was too high.”
He stayed quiet for a little while, listening to the wind move through the strange trees Morty had never gotten to see.
“But if you’re watching somehow, if there’s still some piece of you bouncing around out there, I hope you’re okay with me still being here. I’m trying, Morty. Took me long enough, but I’m trying.”
Rick pushed himself onto his feet and brushed the grass from his coat. Before leaving, he looked down at the grave one more time.
“I never stopped loving you. I never will.”
Rick stood there for another moment before turning toward the path. He walked back through the trees slowly, not because he was waiting for something to follow him, but because there was no reason to hurry anymore.
The clearing remained behind him, peaceful and unchanged. Wind moved through the branches and across the soft grass surrounding Morty’s grave, while the last violet light of evening reflected off the river in the distance.