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It has been months since Evil Morty arrived at the Smith household. Rick hadn’t exactly invited him and now more likely just tolerates him after a tense standoff that had ended with Morty convincing Em to begrudgingly stay instead of disappearing off into another dimension again.
Nobody is still entirely sure how Morty of all people pulled it off, and Em is never forthcoming about his reasoning for why he continues to live here, either.
At first, the house bristles with his presence. Beth eyes him with suspicion, not trusting him to not kill her father in his sleep. Jerry avoids him entirely, now more scared of the boy than Rick, if that is possible.
And the old man himself mutters insults under his breath whenever they cross paths. Em just flips him the bird, still forever silent.
Em’s only friend here, honestly, is Morty. Morty doesn’t treat his cosmic twin any differently—no matter how much Rick tries to nudge bully his grandson via peer pressure... Rick’s efforts so far have borne no fruit.
Summer, though, finds herself caught in the middle. She remembers the stories her grandpa can’t shut up about—Em is supposed to be the ‘villain.’ And yet, here he is, eating cereal at their kitchen table, tinkering with gadgets Rick pretends not to notice. He sits out on the porch most nights, staring at the stars with a look she can’t read.
He doesn’t belong here, not really—she has a feeling he likes to stay outside a lot more than inside because it’s less awkward that way.
He isn’t loud and obnoxious like Rick or pathetic like her father. He’s strangely... Calm.
Summer hates how much she notices him.
...
Over time, small moments begin to pile up.
One night, she catches him repairing the porch light without anyone asking.
Another time, after a fight with her mom, she had stormed into the garage, venting under her breath. She hadn’t been surprised he was in there—if it wasn’t her grandpa in the garage, then it was Em.
He didn’t interrupt and mock her. He just listened, his gaze steady, until she realized he’d heard every word.
His silence wasn’t cold. It was grounding, like he was holding space for her anger without judgment.
“Feel better?” he had asked softly; it wasn’t sarcastic. He asked her like he really cared, and for once, she did.
He never asks for thanks, never explains himself. He’s just… There.
Summer’s frustration grows alongside her fascination. Why would someone like him—someone who has walked away from entire universes—choose to linger here, in this messy, dysfunctional family of theirs?
Summer knew if she had the chance to leave this family behind, she’d take it in a heartbeat and never look back...
...
One evening, she finds him in the garage again. He works on a small device. He never looks up when she enters, but she knows he senses her. He always does.
“You’ve been here for months,” she states more than asks, her body slightly trembling with the weight of everything that has remained unsaid. “Why? Why stay here, of all places? You hate this family. You despise everything about us. So why linger now?”
Em finally sets the tool down, his stoic expression fading into something softer. He leans back, studying her with those eyes that always seem to strip away every defense she has.
“Do you really think I’d still be here if nothing mattered?” he asks quietly. “You think I’d put up with all this nonsense… If there wasn’t a reason?”
Summer steps closer, eyes searching his desperately for something—anything—the words to describe what she wants to find in his gaze elude her still... “Then tell me… What matters?” she nearly begs. Her chest tightens. She wants to argue, to demand more, but her voice falters. “What reason?”
For a moment, his mask slips. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something vulnerable. He rises, closing the distance between them, his voice low, almost tender, and quieter than she’d ever heard it before. “You. That’s why I’m here, am I not?”
The words aren’t smug or sinister. They’re simple. Real. Not a promise, not a grand declaration—but a confession. He isn’t leaving. He had chosen her, even if he couldn’t yet bring himself to say it aloud.
Summer’s breath stutters in her chest, as if her lungs forget how to inhale. She wants to deny it, to push him away, but she finds herself frozen, her heart racing. Her lips part, but no words follow—only the tremor of everything she couldn’t yet voice.
He gives the faintest smile, stripped of arrogance, a silent understanding flickering across his features.
...
Later that night, she catches him on the porch again. She steps out; the cool air brushes her skin, goosebumps pebbling along her arms. The world is hushed, just the faint hum of crickets and the distant rush of cars driving along in their neighborhood.
He sits on the steps, his posture relaxed, his gaze fixated upwards. The stars stretch endlessly above them, scattered across the night’s sky. He doesn’t move when she appears. He simply shifts slightly, leaving space beside him.
Without words, she joins him.
The silence between them isn’t awkward—not anymore, at least. It’s now comforting. Their shoulders almost touch, the warmth of him close enough to feel but not quite enough to bridge the gap. Summer pulls her knees to her chest, breathing in the cold night air, and for the first time in weeks, she feels at peace.
She glances at him once from the corner of her eyes, catching the faint curve of his smile in the starlight. A smile stretches across her own face unconsciously.
And at that moment, it’s enough.