Chapter Text
Evil Morty grabbed his sheets out the washer, folding them neatly back up so he could take them back to his cell. Space Prison wasn’t all that bad. Sure he didn’t have to do chores when he was living alone in the central finite curve, but this was also peaceful. He was left alone—
“Hey! Those were my sheets you little shit—“
He grabbed the alien by its weird blue tendrils shoving it down their own throat making them choke and fall to the floor. He walked away while the gagging of agony faded into the distance.
That’s what he always wanted, right? To be left alone? Well yes and no. He mostly wanted freedom. Freedom from Ricks. And that’s what he still had. Of course he could still just leave the prison. But escaping prison is just like using the omega device. It won’t get you left alone. When has running from the cops ever got anyone left alone? It’ll just get you the publicity for a week before people forget about it just like they always do.
Even so as he put the sheets neatly back on his bed. He knew he didn’t exactly get the freedom from Ricks, but more so the freedom to do whatever he wanted with Rick’s. Ending the citadel just ended the making of Morty’s. More so, the so called ‘Morty market.’ But you can never truly end the making of Rick’s. But that’s why he left and destroyed what he could. So he didn’t have to be near them.
But then he fucked up.
He got back in contact with C-137. He didn’t want to. But he couldn’t defend the central finite curve without a plus one at times. Mostly because yes, he didn’t want to do it himself. But also the risk of dying wasn’t worth it. So a simple truce came to be. Just so he himself didn’t die.
The whole other reason he escaped was so he could be free to be left alone without adventures being up an ass. So he had 37s Rick do it. But he also…respected Rick.
He wasn’t going to deny it. He was different. He treated his Morty differently. Treated him differently from his own Rick. That didn’t change that 37 was still attached to Rick. Rick’s too even. 37 would rather team up with a Rick than a Morty. He couldn’t believe that. He refused to believe that.
That’s one off the reasons he showed up to 37s universe.
He wanted to see how loyal Morty really was to Rick. It was bad. Down bad if he wanted to be ‘hip’. Morty didn’t like him not one bit when he found out he was working with his grandpa. Weakness. Pure weakness. 37 was possessive over his Rick. It was almost like being a girl with a guy cousin and your best friend trying to get at him. Even though she’s your best friend, you don’t want her with your cousin for some odd fucking reason. That’s the reason why they’re seen as a couple. They couldn’t do anything without the other, they depended on the other. It was disgustingly pure. Something a Morty always wanted from a Rick. An ounce of validation. That he wasn’t just a boy who makes a fool of himself and fucked up every adventure in some way, shape or form.
Why did he want to see though? Why did it even matter if 37 was so attached to his Rick? Why was it any of his business?
“Yo! You got mail. Read it or don’t I don’t care anymore.” The guard dropped the letter in his cell between the bars. It slid gracefully to the floor beneath Evil Morty’s feet.
Evil Morty looked at the envelope. He didn’t really care. After the first two envelopes containing the bare ass of a version of his grandpa. He stopped opening them. Left it in the trash for clean up. But Rick used a normal envelope with no sticker or forwarding address. This envelope looked very crinkly with a piece of tape holding it together like licking it wasn’t enough to hold it. He scanned the envelope with his eyepatch reading the contexts of the letter within it.
To Evil Morty
I wasn’t planning on writing to you.
Honestly, I don’t even know if you deserve a letter.
You spent the whole time messing with me. Getting in my head that you were better than me and acted like none of it mattered. Maybe it didn’t to you.
But I keep thinking about the prison.
A thousand years is a lot. And I don’t know if anyone comes out of something like that better than when they went in or if you’d even be alive by the time your sentence was over.
I’m not saying you didn’t deserve to face consequences. You made your choice. You wanted to kill me and Rick.
But I just don’t know if I wanted it to end like that.
You’d probably say this is ‘Morty move’ if you knew I was writing this. You’d probably say I’m wasting my time. And Maybe I am.
I don’t forgive you. And I don’t think I ever will.
But I also don’t think I wanted you to die in prison alone.
I guess I just wanted you to have made a different choice. I hope prison gives you time to reflect.
—Morty
PS. This is Morty, C-137 if you didn’t already know. You probably did.
Evil Morty didn’t want to finish reading it. But his eye scanned over each word like he’d miss something. Missed someon—
He clicked his eyepatch off so the letter was no longer visible to him. His heart hammering from—
He refused to let it get to him. He couldn’t lose control again. He got too cocky, now this is where he’s staying for a while. If he got too angry, he’d turn impulsive. If he got too attached he’d—
God being 16 was getting harder everyday. He always forgot he was still a kid. He didn’t see himself as a kid. But he also wasn’t special. He didn’t need to be.
So what did he see himself as?
Evil Morty picked up the envelope, took the letter out and stamped it next to his bed. He laid down with his arms behind his head as the lights started to go out in each cell. One by one.
Click
Click
Click
He laid there in the darkness. The only light was coming from the hallway, but not too bright so inmates can still attempt to sleep on the poorly made beds. Besides the uncomfortable beds that felt they were just sheets and a metal frame, there was the snoring and gurgling other sounds aliens made when they slept.
Gurrrrrrr
Ick—Ick——ick
Random noises that nobody could sleep through unless they had ear plugs. Or the ability to turn their ears off. Evil Morty tapped his left earlobe and the noises instantly turned into a gentle rain in the distance. Just like his paradise that was trashed on the curve. Yea he wouldn’t lie and say he did miss it. It was his paradise for one that turned into none. He clicked his eyepatch getting a view of his home. The view was cracked but he could see it was abandoned with dust, tech and debris. He turned it off before putting his arm back around his head.
Maybe it was a reminder of what he lost? Maybe it was motivation to escape?
The boy genius closed his one eye to rest. Did he need to? Of course not. He never got tired. But what do you do when you have nothing and nobody? You’re not going to find the answer at the bottom of a bottle. But you’re also no better than a Rick if you develop a drinking problem. But if you don’t sleep, wasting away figuring out how to get revenge on him would also give him a win.
Was he plotting revenge? Did he want to?
Three days later…
Evil Morty came back from free time to see the letter gone from his wall. His eyes narrowed before he looked under the bed and around the room. He clicked his eyepatch and scanned the room. He replayed the last time someone was in there revealing it was one of the inmates on cleaning duty. They snatched it right off the wall and tossed it in the trash bag they were using. He followed the inmate right to where they were about to throw the trash down the space compartment. “You threw a letter of mine in there.”
“Oh I did? Who was it from? Mommy?” The alien mocked laughing. Classic line. Someone much older picking on someone younger, telling them to cry to their mommies about their problems. Evil Morty paid no mind. Simply punched the guy straight in the stomach, and when the guy doubled over he kneed him hard in the face.
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
He let the guy fall hard on his face as the fourth crack to the face. He didn’t know what came over him. He just got so…mad?He stared down at the creature, conscious but barely breathing. He turned and scanned the trash bag.
Mommy.
The note was in the middle of all the garbage still intact. He disintegrated the whole bag and trash inside with his eyepatch till the letter remained. He picked it up and examined it. It was filthy.
He never had a mommy.
But at least it was still in tact. It was crinkled but not one tear managed to form. He felt the need to keep it. Why—?
He didn’t need a mommy.
He walked back to his cell before it closed at the set time. He dusted off the crumbs of bread an inmate had on the piece of paper before hanging it back up by his bed frame. He reached in his pocket pulling out the bill from the restaurant.
Cocky.
He sat down on the bed and pulled out a spare pen he had in his pocket. Really came in handy for the plot. He began writing. He shouldn’t write back.
So why was he?
Morty,
Congratulations.
You managed to do something I didn’t think you’d do. You made me read a letter all the way to the end.
But You still don’t get it.
You keep acting like there was some magical version of events where everyone walked away happy. There wasn’t. There never is. Not with Rick. Not when you’re a Morty. Every choice costs something. Mines just cost more than yours.
You say you wanted me to make a different choice.
Maybe I wanted you to make one too.
You had every reason to stop trusting Rick a long time ago. Instead, you keep finding new reasons to stay. I still can’t decide if that’s your greatest strength or your biggest weakness.
As for the prison.
A thousand years is only intimidating if you’re afraid of being alone.
I’ve had plenty of practice.
Don’t mistake that for self-pity.
And don’t mistake this letter for gratitude.
You wrote because you couldn’t help yourself. That’s just who you are.
I answered because I was bored.
Keep telling yourself that’s all this is.
—E.M.
He waited till morning and handed the guard the bill with the note. “The address is on the bottom.” The guard took it without another word and walked off. Evil Morty watched him walk off before staring up at the other cells around him.
Till another one awaits.
So he hoped.