Chapter Text
“You… you told me that wasn't true! Y-you're just trying to hurt me!”
Morty hated it. He hated the way his voice shook. And the way tears filled his eyes. And how his heart felt like someone was squeezing it so tight they'd leave imprints of their nails. He looked away from Rick— the man who was glaring at him with so much hate, so much disgust.
Maybe the thing he hated most was the familiarity of it all.
Morty spun around, and bolted to the elevator, not even bothering to listen to whatever insults his grandpa shouted after him. He just slammed his fist on the close-elevator button, and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.
He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. He didn't even need his grandpa to take him to get those cards. He could've walked. Could've taken his bike. This was so stupid.
Morty sniffed, tears leaking down his cheeks.
Why did Rick always have to be such a jackass? Screaming and scolding wasn't enough? He had to hit Morty exactly where it hurt? For what? Some stupid alcohol? Why did he think he could just— just— just say stuff like that? Did he think Morty was going to come right back, tail between his legs? Did he enjoy it? Enjoy screaming at Morty like he was the root of all of his unhappiness?
“When I killed that fish, maybe I should have cut the line!”
(In some ways, he was the root of his grandpa's unhappiness.)
Why did Rick think he could treat him like this? And as fast as the despair came, a burning kind of anger replaced it, seething beneath Morty's skin. Morty didn’t deserve this, he didn't need to deal with this. So what if Rick was supposedly the smartest man in the universe, so what if he was better than him? He didn't have to put up with this. He wanted to ring his neck, he wanted to kick him, and scream at him, and punch him, and—
The door to the elevator dinged open.
Morty was back in the room just below the garage. For some reason, the elevator didn’t lead all the way up. Morty wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe Rick wanted a level of separation from the sub-basement and his family. Morty had given up trying to fully understand his grandpa's motivations a long time ago. He'd have to climb the ladder if he wanted to get back to the house.
But Morty hesitated.
He didn't want to go back to his room. That was the whole reason he had come downstairs in the first place, the nightmare he had—
He wasn't scared! It wasn't that he was scared. He had been through worse, so much worse. Truly, his day-to-day made nightmares look like sweet dreams. It's just when the nightmares happen he forgets the day-to-day, and he knows he can handle it, he knows he can. It just doesn't feel like it, okay? He didn't need anything, he just— he wanted to talk to someone. See someone. Prove that his dream was stupid and then he could go back to sleep.
Morty shifted.
Well— well if Rick wasn't going to go with him to get pokemon cards, he could just go himself. At least he wouldn't be here. In this basement. In this house. It was too early for any stores to be open, but when you have access to the entire universe, time becomes irrelevant. And Morty could see Rick's portal gun nearby, and he knew that his grandpa would kill him if he took it, but who cares? Maybe Morty wanted him mad. Maybe Morty wanted an excuse to yell back at him. Maybe Morty wanted to get as far away from his grandpa as possible for a while. He deserved that, didn't he?
He grabbed the portal gun, fingers falling into familiar positions. It felt steady in his hand, a comfortable weight. He spun the coordinates, nit-picking until he got the dimension that he wanted, then shot a green portal in front of him. The sickly green glow washed over his face, leeching the warmth from his brown hair and tan skin. And before he could change his mind, he stepped through.
***
There were a couple things that Morty maybe should have thought of before he went on an early morning portal hop.
For one, he was still in his pajamas. This wasn't a huge deal— while, yes, Morty was mortified at the thought of people on earth seeing him like this, he was more relaxed when it came to aliens. Why? Probably because he didn't even know what appropriate clothes looked like to aliens. Most likely, he looked weird regardless of his clothes, because he was some hairy ape thing. The only real downside to wearing his pajamas around, was that they were old, and frayed, and he knew that the grime he was getting on the cuffs of his pants were not going to wash out. Oh well.
Point two, he was sort of drenched in maybe-space-alcohol. Mostly just his hair, making it stiff and crunchy. This was also not a huge deal (when you spend enough time around Rick you get used to being covered in alcohol), he just needed to avoid any open flames. Easy. It might make a few aliens glance oddly his way, but hey, what else was new?
Point three. He didn't have any weapons on him. It's not like he slept with a blaster under his pillow (not anymore at least, not after he'd accidentally shot a hole through his wall one night and broke Summer's lamp), so he was, well, defenseless. No weapons. Technically he had his implants, but the likelihood of him being able to trigger one on purpose for defense was like, negative zero. But Morty was used to being in dangerous situations. If something happened, he was sure he could figure it out.
(Or Rick could come and save him.)
Point four, and this was the one he was most concerned about: he didn’t have any money.
I mean, he had some money. Like, ten dollars, but that was earth currency. Look— he didn’t think he would be going off planet to buy pokemon cards! Not originally anyway. And he hadn’t thought that far ahead when he portaled himself right into the center of an alien shopping mall.
“Maybe I should just go home,” he muttered, kicking at the tiled floors as he walked aimlessly around the mall-planet. What was the chance that these stores took Earth American currency?
But he didn't want to go home. That's why he was here! To specifically not be at home. Forget the pokemon cards— he just didn't want to be home. This place was as good as any place to be. Moderately safe, no shady market deals going on that Morty could see. Was it loud? Yes. Was it bright? Yes. Was it extremely overwhelming and made Morty want to hit his hands against his head in hopes that maybe everything would just dim a bit?
“L-let's try and find somewhere to sit down.”
Morty wandered for a bit, passing by people with shopping carts and department stores with increasingly specific items. Eventually, he found what looked to be some kind of cafe, and collapsed into a seat in the back.
It had definitely been long enough that Rick knew he'd taken his portal gun. Was he going to come after him? Yell at him again? Tell him how stupid he was?
Morty was stupid. He was throwing a stupid tantrum over nothing and he'd taken Rick's portal gun just to be annoying. And now he was in some mall-planet he'd been in maybe once or twice before, sitting in the back of a coffee shop, with his head pressed against the table in an attempt to soothe his pounding headache. He was such an idiot. Why did he do things like this? Why did he care so much? Why had he gotten so angry before? Why had he wanted to hurt his grandpa? Shame and disgust boiled inside of him, and fear tangled with his nervous system. He should just go home. Maybe Rick hadn't noticed that he'd stolen the portal gun. Maybe, he could return it, and apologize, and everything would turn out okay again.
Morty stood, ready to portal himself back home and stomach another round of screaming, when his eyes caught something in a booth nearby.
At the first glint of blue hair and familiar angular features, Morty's heart leapt in his chest. From fear or relief he wasn't totally sure. Maybe Rick had come here to get him To apologize?
Then his heart dropped into a very deep pit in his stomach.
That wasn't Rick.
Well, it was. It was Rick. A much younger Rick, with short cut hair, an unwrinkled face, and sharp eyes that seemed to physically dissect whatever they landed on. And even though he'd traded a certain black and blue sci-fi jacket for— was that a Hawaiian shirt?— he still had on the black pants and the same metal boots.
Morty stared, unabashedly.
It— it couldn't be, right? There were infinite Ricks. That was sort of the whole gimmick. This had to be just another Rick. Another Rick who looked oddly young for his age, with similar boots and a similar hair style and similar everything else. Because they killed him. Evil Morty and Rick, they killed him. Em had been right— when Rick walked out, he hadn't had an alive amount of blood on him. Rick Prime was dead.
The man locked eyes with Morty.
Shit shit shit shit shit—
Morty fumbled for the portal gun— fuck why hadn't he brought any weapons —and it clattered to the ground. He reached down to snatch it up quickly, but someone else's hand got to it first.
“Woah there, take it easy kid.”
Morty froze— Dammit, dammit, why couldn't he move. Move move move you can't just stand here! —and his eyes darted upwards.
The man grinned, flashing sharp teeth. And Morty could see it now, a little scar on the center of his forehead, like someone had pressed their fingertip against his skin.
Shit.
“Orginal grandson,” he said, voice filled with an excitement that made Morty flinch, “surprised to see you here.”
Morty opened his mouth, but nothing came out, absolutely nothing. God, fuck, what was he supposed to do? He didn't have any weapons, and the man tucked his portal gun at his side, taking away his only shot at escape. Maybe he could— well— run? This mall was huge (planet size), and there were so many people, maybe he could get lost in the crowd?
“I wouldn’t do that,” Rick Prime said, stopping Morty's inch to freedom, “You know I'll just find you, right? I noticed when you first stepped foot in this dimension, there's nowhere you can go that I can't find.”
He grinned.
“Trust me, let's skip the game of cat and mouse. Why don't you sit down?”
Yeah, that pretty much sounded like the last thing that Morty wanted to do, but what choice did he have? He'd seen the tech on this guy. Morty wasn't going to make it very far on pure athleticism alone. And, well, he hadn't killed him yet, so maybe if Morty could keep Prime talking Rick would come.
Stalling. Morty had become incredibly good at that.
He hesitantly sat down in the booth again, moving carefully in case anything he did warranted being brained against the coffee table. Luckily, he managed to keep his head. Prime slid into the seat across from him, looking more smug and pleased that Morty wanted to stomach.
“A-are you, him?” Were the first words out of Morty's mouth. Were they the most intelligent? Probably not if Rick Prime's eyebrow raise was an indicator.
“Do you have any other original grandfathers?” He asked. Morty flushed from embarrassment.
“I-I-I, well, you c-could be a clone.”
“Aren't you a clone? I mean, that can't be your original body.”
“What! No!” Oh god, was he? He really didn't want to think about that right now, “W-w-w-what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be…”
“Dead?” Rick Prime filled in. He cracked a smile, “Seriously? You think I let some evil version of you and dead-wife guy kill me? Come on, use your head.”
He flicked Morty's forehead, and the boy flinched, but surprisingly his skull was still intact. It didn’t even hurt that much. Prime's grin widened.
“Nah, I just let them think they killed me. Set up a whole dramatic death scene, and now I'm retired!” Prime spread his arms, clearly referencing the red and blue Hawaiian print shirt he was wearing.
“R-retired?” Morty squeezed hard on his arm, trying to trigger something, anything. Maybe if he kept poking and squeezing a biological enhancement would pop out. Maybe if he let his adrenaline levels reach an all time high it would send some alert to Rick. God, why hadn't Rick told him about any of his enhancements?!
He really should have brought a gun. Not that it would do much good.
“Yep. I quit my job of dealing with Rick bullshit. You won't believe how many Ricks have tried to kill me,” Prime lamented, “It's always “you killed my wife!” or something like that, I don't know, don't really care.”
“So… you’re… what, good now?” Morty asked, skeptically. Rick Prime gave him a shark-like grin.
“Pff, what?” He leaned back a bit, “I'm just faking my death, not changing my lifestyle.
Morty felt the tiny bit of hope in his chest get crushed.
So. Prime was… alive, and retired, and still evil. This wasn't looking good for Morty. Not at all. The boy swallowed harshly.
“W-what do you want then?”
“Ah, now there's a good question.” The teasing and manic look on Prime's face dimmed. Morty stiffened up almost immediately, warning bells shrieking inside of his head. The look that Prime leveled him with was… incomprehensible, like the way a black hole was too powerful to look away from, or a supernova was too bright to see. It was a look that contained so much information that Morty couldn't even begin to understand it. But he didn't need to understand it to know that he was being observed, preyed upon. Morty felt like a fly in a venus fly trap, watching the plant close slowly around him.
And then it was gone, replaced by a charming smile that made Morty's insides feel cold.
“Well, we can't have you running back to that fake grandpa of yours and ruining my vacation, now can we?” He mused, tapping his finger against the table. Each tap felt like the thud of a guillotine blade, “So, I guess, you're coming with me.”
That was all Morty needed to hear.
He slammed his foot against Prime's side, sliding down in the booth to both reach all the way across, and avoid the man's grasp. His foot lit up with the pain of hitting something metal, probably one of Prime's many body modifications. He heard a small “oof” and felt someone grab onto his ankle, yanking him out of the booth and hoisting him up in the air like a wriggling fish. Prime beamed at him.
“Ohoho, looks like you've got some fight in—”
Morty's arms reached for the portal gun on the ground that he'd kicked off, and without looking or checking fired a portal underneath Prime's feet.
Normally when Rick fired a portal beneath his feet he landed somewhat gracefully, probably because he properly coordinated it so the exiting portal hovered just high enough above the ground for him to land on his feet. Morty always landed on his face. Sometimes on his knees. Sometimes hands sprawled out in an attempt to catch himself. This time wasn't any different.
The portal Morty made beneath him sent both him and Prime flying sideways, as the exiting portal opened vertically instead of horizontal. Morty's head hit the ground more times than he could count, before he eventually tumbled to the floor. The boy groaned, triggering a horrific migraine.
“Aw j-jeez…”
“Wo-ah, really took a tumble there.”
Morty tried scrambling away, but as soon as he got to his feet a hand latch onto his arm, tugging him backwards. He tried prying it off but Prime's grip was like steel. It probably was steel.
“Oof, I think you got a concussion,” Prime said, snapping his fingers in front of Morty's face. The boy winced, “Did fake-grandpa never teach you portal travel safety? We'll have to fix that.”
Morty tried kicking at the man, but for some reason his body refused to cooperate. It was like trying to move through jello, or underneath several layers of bubblewrap. And his head spun and spun and spun and ached and why was everything so bright? Where was that ringing noise coming from?
“Ahhhh, nice, the paralyzer must be kicking in now.”
THE WHAT.
“Don't worry little buddy, I got you.” Morty suddenly lost feeling in pretty much his entire body, but before he could eat shit for maybe the seventh time that day, Prime slung him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
“Y-you— you— Rick's gonna find m-me,” Morty spat, wincing because the act of talking just made his head hurt more, “He's gonna find me, a-a-a-and he's gonna kill you again.”
Prime opened up a portal in front of him. Unlike both Rick's and Em's portals, this one glowed a dark swirling blue, like the color of a blueberry, or cobalt. Prime grinned at Morty.
“Yeah, well, you saw how well his last attempt went.”
And with that, the Primes stepped into the portal, leaving nothing but a broken portal gun behind.
***
Several hundred miles away, across millions dimensions, and through a hole in the space-time continuum, a boy sat in an inventor lab of sorts, fiddling with a piece of machinery. A notification popped up on his eyepatch, and he looked up. A little yellow dot appeared in a rudimentary drawing of the plane outside the curve, with the words, “Morty_Prime” hovering above it. The boy narrowed his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing outside the curve?”
Then his brow furrowed.
“And why the hell isn't Rick with you?”