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Contrary to popular belief, Morty isn't as stupid as they think. They're blinded by their own egos, while Morty basks in the secrecy of his own mind.
Though Morty is indeed a genius, he avoids his own brain like a deadly disease. One wrong touch and he would be enveloped in the toxins.
He'd rather not think about it. His own mind is a prison. Lingering too long in it would rot his brain, and cause his carefully sculpted facade to decay, wilting pathetically at his own thoughts.
And so he doesn't think.
He ignores how he knows Summer gets high and yearns for a better social life to avoid interactions with their parents. How she pretends the problems aren't there, and would rather bury it under weed and friends and her goals of climbing the metaphorical social ladder.
He ignores how he knows his mother is abusive towards him due to her lack of parental figures. How she gave birth too young to know how to parent. How she was too young to understand how to take care of children, when she was merely a child herself.
He ignores how he knows Dad wastes time on stupid hobbies to make up for his lack of a job. How he does things that make him feel useful, wanted, capable. How he knows that Dad would crumble the moment that reality is shattered and he's forced to face the truth.
And Rick… has too many problems to list. Too many reasons. Like his dead wife, his trauma, depression, loneliness, regret, guilt. Or his alcoholism, borderline abusive actions, and nihilism.
So Morty stops thinking. He pushes it away, into the furthest corner of his mind, until he can no longer recognize what lay behind the hidden gates.
Ah, memory suppression.
It is often triggered by a traumatic event, causing the brain to “protect” itself from the horrors of the truth, and brain damage… and PTSD.
Morty's mind scared him. So he scared it back.
—
Morty had been crowned with the title of autistic at the young age of 4. It had been obvious from the start.
He saw his mother cry into the arms of his father that day. His brain vaguely supplied the word “disappointment” when he'd try to search for what emotion they felt at that time.
‘𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶.’ His brain supplied, ‘𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.’
And so he did.
He aced his classes. Won mediocre awards, and was at the top of his classes, until his late 6𝘵𝘩 year of life, when he'd hit rock bottom. He realized something that seemed to be spelled out in all capital letters, bold, with the biggest font:
Being smart meant nothing.
…
Morty hears a sound down stairs and he's sure it didn't come from Mom finding wine or Dad getting a drink. It's around very early morning when he looks at the clock, and he finds himself unable to sleep.
Morty heads down stairs to check the noise.
As expected, the creak of the door was louder than the actual noise, and Morty peaked around but he couldn't seem to find anything that could've caused it.
Morty decides to blame it on racoons. He isn't quite sure what they are since he's never seen one, but guessing by how Dad talks about them, they're probably wild animals.
Morty goes back to sleep.
…
He's 7 when he wakes up from a nightmare and is convinced there is a monster under his bed. He wants to wake up Mom but knows better than to bother her when she just drank a whole bottle of wine.
He wants to ask Summer but he knows she'll just ignore him and tell him to bother someone else.
He doesn't like being alone. It's quiet. His thoughts are all he has in the silence.
He goes back to sleep.
…
He's 9 when he rushes to his room, locks the door, and covers his ears. He's crying and crying and crying and he knows exactly why. He's failing.
Everything is suddenly very loud and Morty tries to shut everything out. He wishes Summer was there. He wishes and wishes but he knows it won't come true.
Morty is alone. And there will never be anyone to hold him close and keep him company when he's breaking at the seams and that will always be a fact.
He doesn't know why he wishes otherwise.
…
Morty is 11 when a crash wakes him up from his pretend sleep. He had been up all night trying to keep himself from crying. Trying to pry his eyes away at his slowly crumbling grades. He wishes he could do something but he couldn't.
Not when his mother kept abusing him. Not when his life was still in ruins. Not when he could barely utter a word out of fear of making someone lash out.
He slowly crept down the stairs, knowing his family was already awake, and headed towards the noise.
He then proceeded to not approach closer because he could smell fire coming from the garage.
‘𝘕𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴,’
And so he watched his mother enter the room, the smell getting more pungent, and see her burst into tears at the sight of… Morty tilted his head to the side, a blue haired man stood there.
Morty heard his mother mumble a quiet, “...dad?”
And that was how he met his grandfather, Rick Sanchez, who he now knew as the craziest man in the multi verse.
—
Morty liked safe, predictable environments. He likes how he doesn't need to worry about sudden loud noises, or anyone judging him for his interests. He likes how quiet it is, essentially.
But he hates sitting still. He hates when he's alone and all he has is his mind to accompany him. He hates how he starts 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 without actually 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 to know.
And so he keeps coming back to Rick, despite how much shit he gives him, because who 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 about how emotionally damaged you are when you're too focused on fighting for your life?
Sure, his peace and quiet might not exist when he's shooting his way to the exit, dragging his drunk grandfather behind him, but he'll have to compromise.
Which is exactly why he has plenty of hobbies. Rick and him get into disagreements all the time, and Morty can't 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 being near him. So he'll just have to distract himself some other way. It might not have the same high as getting chased by the space equivalent of the police, but it gave his mind something to focus on. Other than over-analyzing everything and everyone around him, that is.
But Morty has a new addiction. Something that he 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 hurts him more than pleases him but he can't bring himself to care.
—
He's running. Running. And running. He doesn't look back. Not when he knows his mind will start thinking the moment silence comes. Not when he knows Rick will find him soon. When he knows, without a doubt, that Rick will either crumble or find him, because Morty is the emotional groundwork needed to balance out Rick's point of view, and without Morty, Rick won't have anyone to lean on and-
Keep running. Keep running. Don't stop. Don't let the silence take over.
Never let the silence take over.
Morty stops running when he sees skyscrapers and parks and benches, because he knows he isn't in the suburbs anymore. He's in the urban part of where he lives.
The bench feels cold under him as he sits down, trying to catch his breath. He didn't even need to run. It's late at night and he could see the stars in the sky. He looks around him and it looks like a park, with concrete roads. There's mostly just grass and bushes, and the trees could be counted without losing track.
He puts his leather pack next to him, and rummages through it, looking for something. A water bottle catches his sight and he drinks heartily. He sighs, closes the bottle, and stops. Listens.
Steps.
𝘛𝘢𝘱.
𝘛𝘢𝘱.
𝘛𝘢𝘱.
It's getting closer.
Morty can't see anyone in his field of view, so he deduces that it's coming from somewhere in his blind spots. The sound comes vaguely from his right side, and sounds like leather boots on concrete, so he assumes whoever it is is walking on the pathway, not behind him or on the grass.
𝘛𝘢𝘱.
𝘛𝘢𝘱-
The stepping stops once Morty looks to his right and aims a ray gun at the figure. He stands up cautiously, walking slowly in front of the man, never lowering his gaze(or the gun), even after the man raises his hands with a surprised expression.
It's Rick.
Or- no. Not Rick. 𝘈 Rick.
This one looks different from the others. He still has the classic Rick look, but instead of the usual clothing, he's wearing a pink lab coat instead of white, and a red sweater instead of the alcohol smelling blue.
“Hey there buddy, are you… alone?” He asks, with a suspiciously gentle smile.
Morty knows from personal experience not to trust Rick's, no matter how they look or act on the surface. So he doesn't answer, opting to tighten his grip on the gun instead.
“Okay…” the Rick says awkwardly. He puts his hands in his pockets. Morty prepares to pull the trigger because that usually meant weapons.
“T- take your- your hands out,” Morty demands.
“Wha-? Oh,” the Rick complied, “look, I can- I can even take off my coat for you. If you don't trust me.”
Morty jerks the gun to signal ‘𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵’. Again, without any complaint, the Rick shrugs off his coat and lowers it onto the ground. He raises his hands again.
“Maybe we got off on the wrong track. I'm Rick E-28,” Rick introduces himself unprompted, “Have you heard of the MPS?”
MPS sounded like a government ran agency, so no, he probably hasn't heard of the MPS, and if it's ran by Rick, then definitely no.
He shook his head.
Rick nodded, and looked him up and down subtly. Like, blink-and-you-miss subtle. Morty caught it.
He's analyzing.
‘𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦. 𝘏𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘳-𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵. 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴. 𝘈𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥,' E-28 glanced at the bench Morty was on, ‘𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮? 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺.’
“You hurt anywhere, kid?” He asks.
Morty shakes his head.
E-28 finally lowers his hands, and Morty tenses, but relaxes ever so slightly once Rick says, “Hey, listen. I'm 𝘯𝘰𝘵 gonna hurt you. You can even keep the gun on me if you don't believe me.”
Morty slowly lowers his gun, still tense. He's not about to believe a random Rick when he could very much be manipulating Morty. He's met multiple Ricks who play the nice act before.
“Wh- What's the MPS?”
“It stands for Morty Protective Services, and…I'm pretty sure you can tell what it's for.”
𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘰… 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴? 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦? 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧? 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯.
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, can I ask my question?”
“You already have,” Morty says firmly, “Wh- what's your role? Do you- do you- do you have a Morty? Is he g- g- gonna attack me if I- if I run?”
“Woah there,” he chuckles, “How about we uh… sit down for those, huh?”
Morty thinks it over.
He keeps thinking.
Then lowers the gun.
But then E-28 picks his coat off of the ground, and Morty raises his gun again, because he's about to get a weapon.
Morty almost laughs because he realized that, with his history with Ricks, if he really wanted him dead, he would've used an implant to kill him the moment he lowered his gun.
So he puts the gun back in his jacket pocket, and sits down on the bench.
E-28 joins him, but deliberately sits on the other end instead of next to Morty, and makes no move to push the bag off.
The moment E-28 sits, Morty says, “Answer my questions.”
Rick perks up, “Well, uh,” he clears his throat, “I'm the founder of the MPS, yes, I do have a Morty, but he isn't here. And besides, even if he 𝘸𝘢𝘴 here, I would never make him attack you.”
Morty nods, taking in the info.
“Do you… know your DN? Or uh- do you know 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 a DN is?”
Morty goes silent, and E-28 assumes that his silence means no, “Well, uh, DN essentially stands for Dimension Number. Like, your dimension of origin. Your original dimension?”
Morty is still silent.
“You don't 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 to answer it. I can understand if you still don't trust me, y'know.”
Morty groans and rolls his eyes, “Y- You 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 know my DN. I mean- wh- why else would you- would a 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬 be wandering the streets for- for no reason? And- and I'm pretty sure you already scanned me with your uhm, prost- prosthe- fake eye, so uhm. Don't even 𝘵𝘳𝘺 to- to l- lie.”
E-28 hums, “I take it you ran away?”
“I- I'm not- not the- the 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 but I'm not ex- exactly 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 either y'know. St- stop asking q- questions you already- already have the answer to.”
E-28 nods, then asks, “You planning on sleeping out here?”
“I- I've slept in worse, uhm, conditions.”
“Well, I can take you to the DSLC. It's where I take Morty's who need shelter, whether from their Ricks, or from something else entirely. You don't have to come, if you don't want to.”
“...” Morty thinks.
But before long, he found himself biting his lip and nodding.
—
The doors of the DSLC opened up smoothly with a ding, and Morty walked inside, E-28 alongside him.
Morty was still as tense as a bridge. All his suspicions however, were erased once he saw a couple Mortys walking around in the reception room.
A reception desk was in the middle of it all, with two doors to side. A Morty sat at the desk, with a computer and coffee in front of him, and some sort of printer-looking machine to the side.
E-28 walked up to the desk and rested his forearm on it, “Hey Helpie, I uh, need you to register this lil' guy over here,” E-28 jerked his head towards Morty.
Morty nodded and his counterpart, Helpie, lit up. He took something that resembled a barcode scanner, and walked towards Morty.
“Do you, uh, kn- know where your- your DN is? As in the- the-?”
“Dimensional ID?” Morty nodded, and grabbed the scanner. He pointed it to his temple.
He gave it back to Helpie and the latter walked behind the desk again.
The scanner fell to the floor with a clatter, and Helpie looked at the computer with wide eyes.
Morty sighed. At least he now knew Rick didn't block his DID.
To make things worse, E-28 walked behind the desk as well, only to mirror his Morty's expression.
“You g- gonna keep that up?”
E-28 coughed, “I- uh. Uhm…”
Morty sighed, and gripped the straps of his bag.
This always happens.
“H- how about I- I show you around!” Helpie Morty said excitedly, “Rick here i- i- is gonna..- gonna find a free room for you and stuff, s- s- so uhm. I- i- it's better if you.. Uhm, kn- know your way around!”
Morty nodded.
He then proceeded to take his jacket off, and tie it around his waist.
The duo continued to stare, this time, at his arms.
“Y- y- you said you're gonna- gonna sh- show me around?”
Helpie nodded eagerly, and then the author proceeded to give up using stutters, because writing that shit is annoying.
—
“... And this is the lounge! Most of the Mortys and Summers hang out here,” Helpie concluded.
Morty merely nodded, still holding onto his leather pack.
Helpie lead him towards one of the colorful desks, with 2 other Mortys sitting around it. It reminded Morty of those classrooms in kindergarten.
Morty sat down, and Helpie sat down beside him.
Helpie then proceeded to embarrass himself, “So… you're… a 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 huh? Like, Morty Prime?” He laughed awkwardly, and rubbed his neck.
Morty nodded slowly, “Pretty sure that's what I means to be a Prime, so… yeah.”
Silence.
One of the Mortys across from them started talking. He had blonde hair, and wore a pink headband. He had the usual Morty attire, “Hey newbie. I'm what they call Miami Morty. Uh, from Dimension X-856.”
Morty noticed that Miami Morty had eyebags and multiple faint bite marks and hickeys on his neck and arms.
Morty didn't comment on it, “Morty Prime. Or uh, C137, if you want.”
“Sick. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 C137 𝘈𝘯𝘥 Prime's Morty?” Miami barked out a laugh, “You got squished between the two 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 Ricks. Must suck being you.”
“Tell me about it,” Morty sighed.
He noticed that the Morty beside him wore a third of a white mask, and was staring at the cuts on his arm. Morty raised a brow.
The Morty perked up, “Oh, uh. Z-219.”
“Damn. A Z designation?” Morty asked. Ricks from the Z designation were well known for being the most abusive of them all. This Morty was lucky to have escaped. Either that or he killed his Rick.
“Yeah… uhm... People usually call me Mask Morty though,” Mask Morty jerked his head toward Morty's arms, “Your Rick did that?”
Morty shook his head, then asked, “How long have you been here?”
“A few months.”
Morty looked towards Miami, “You?”
“Got here last week.”
“Damn.”
“Yeeeppp,” Miami popped the 'p' sound.
“Uh, Prime?” Morty turned his head at the sound of E-28 calling him, “Morty Prime?”
“Here!”
E-28 approached him, “Uh, follow me, I'll show you your room.”
Morty nodded. Helpie stood up as well, and pulled out a communicator.
The three walked side by side as they walked back to the reception, then inside the door to the right instead. Opening the door revealed a stairwell. Which was kinda stupid since the DSLC was a huge building, and most of the Mortys are exhausted.
While they headed up, Helpie started asking questions, “So uh, would you rather be called C137 or Prime? It's for your name tag.”
“...Prime sounds fine.”
He typed it in his communicator, “Got it. Uh, do you know how long you'll stay?”
“...No.”
“Alright.”
They stopped at a door with lettering that read ‘Dorms - Floor 4’ in yellow lettering. E-28 opened the door to reveal a hallway with rows of doors.
Morty followed the duo through the hallway, and eventually stopped at a door with a white board hanging from it. The words ‘Dorm Room 84’ in black marker.
E-28 gave him a key and a black marker, “Alrighty kiddo, this is it. You can label it or not, completely up to you.”
Morty gripped the key tighter, and entered the room.