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“Did you actually kill him?”
Rick narrowed his eyes as he turned to Evil Morty. His raised hand froze, never bringing the flask to his lips.
“What?”
“I know I told him you did it, but is it really true?” Evil Morty rolled his eyes and turned away.
They sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the abyss. It was a vast planet teeming with ants whose blood melts metal. A hot planet - hotter than Venus and anything the petty Earth civilisation knew.
And now they were looking down, toward where all the rivers of fire flowed, while Rick, using the stretching implant in his index finger, was trying to roast a marshmallow.
Rick was a strange man. Every time, he diligently pretended he’d come under duress, yet he was the one who kept suggesting, time and again, where they should go next. Even now - they’d finished long ago, and the containers of ants stood between them - he was in no hurry to leave.
“Why does this matter to you?” he asked. Evil Morty shrugged.
“I didn’t see the body, you know,” he replied. “I figured there wasn’t anything to look at. But since his weapon belongs to me now, maybe I should make sure.”
“Are you scared or something?”
“I don’t appreciate the idea of being subjected to a Rick’s attention ever again.”
Rick snorted and shook his head. He shrank his finger, twirled the marshmallow, but then held it over the river of fire again.
“They really did a number on you, didn’t they? Now you’ll always be a scared little wimp.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
Rick grunted. It seemed he wasn’t even sure himself whether he should answer.
“No Rick could have survived with those injuries, that’s for sure. If you erased all his backups, he should be dead.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“I don’t know, are you sure?”
Evil Morty pressed his lips together and tapped his thigh with a hand hidden from Rick’s view. Then he sighed.
“No.”
“Then maybe you should be afraid.”
“You bastard, I ended up there because of you.”
“Then maybe I should be afraid too, you moron.”
Evil Morty clenched his fists in an unspoken outburst. A wave of heat, suspiciously reminiscent of shame, scorched his chest.
“Don’t you think he’ll go after Morty?” he asked spitefully, and Rick’s composure finally gave way - he froze, staring straight ahead. He was pointedly unperturbed, and therefore obvious. “You can’t remember this because you were nearly dead, but Prime was ready to finish him off too. Even though they’re related.”
“Prime doesn’t give a damn about that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, maybe. But now that you’ve ruined all his plans, don’t you think he’ll want to get revenge on you? Come up with some other toy to kill your whole family, one by one? Or maybe he’ll take your Morty for himself. After all, you’re just living his life like a parasite. Just like all of them.”
Rick clenched his jaw and flinched so hard he nearly dropped his marshmallow. Taken by surprise, Evil Morty almost jumped back, but managed to hold himself in. His throat felt scratchy.
“Wow,” Rick rolled his eyes and leaned forward, as if to avoid looking at him. “This whole presidency thing has really made you chatty, hasn’t it? Or have you always been like this? Is that why the other Ricks wouldn’t accept you, huh?”
“Very funny.”
“Yeah, you’re funny. A kid with a pirate eye patch, do you even realize that’s not how it’s supposed to be? I’m a real piece of shit myself, but even I don’t know what they did to you to turn you into such a bastard. Not enough attention? Or too much?” noticing Evil Morty swallow hard, Rick smirked. “What, did grandpa ask you to sit on his lap? Yeah, that explains a lot.”
“You don’t know anything!” hissed Evil Morty, but they both knew that was a pretty weak response. Almost pathetic.
“Well, maybe I don’t,” Rick shrugged. He retrieved the marshmallow again and, now satisfied, waited for it to cool. “But then again, maybe Morty was lucky to have me. He could have ended up like you.”
Evil Morty felt his mouth open to reply, but realised he couldn’t make a sound. No, he simply had nothing to say.
He froze, staring somewhere beyond Rick’s shoulder, where the horizontal turned vertical and the hiss of the flames died away. His body had become unresponsive and limp, like cotton wool.
“Those are very bold words,” Evil Morty muttered, “coming from someone who spent half his life on a murder he’s not even sure of anymore. Was your wife just as unreliable, or is that a unique trait?”
“Oh, screw you,” Rick brushed him off.
Of course. Of course, he’d had much more time to build up his armour.
After all, he was an adult.
“You know you’re not worthy of him, don’t you?” asked Evil Morty.
“Aim higher, little guy. All of them.”
“And you can live with that?”
Rick shrugged, then peeled a single marshmallow piece off his finger and popped it into his mouth.
“You get used to the good stuff fast,” he replied, chewing. Evil Morty grimaced but said nothing. “They’re not the innocent sheep you think they are, you know. They can stand up for themselves. Summer would kick your ass easily, even if you stuffed yourself full of implants. As for Morty, well. He’s changing.”
“One day he’ll dump you.”
“Maybe so. But that’s inevitable. And you know it, too. You’re the Morty who dumps everyone, aren’t you?”
“So what?”
“So family always comes back. Maybe someday you’ll see that for yourself.”
Rick groaned as he stood up and yawned. Evil Morty barely had time to react before the second, uneaten marshmallow piece landed in his hands.
“Well, if anything comes up, text me. Or better yet, don’t text me, and forget my number, you little shit.”
Evil Morty blinked slowly. A strange, bittersweet feeling took hold of his mind, one he couldn’t suppress no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t know he was still capable of feeling that way.
“What about your ants?” he asked, nodding toward the containers still standing next to him.
Rick waved him off, already licking his fingers and opening a portal.
“I already have those. Take them all.”
Before Evil Morty could come up with a reply, he had already vanished into a green whirlwind. He was left alone with the rivers of fire, two containers of ants, and a piece of marshmallow.
Evil Morty took a closer look. The marshmallow was burnt.
“What a bastard,” he muttered, then tucked the containers under his arm and stood up.
Glancing around and making sure no one was nearby, Evil Morty popped the marshmallow into his mouth. It was sticky and cloyingly sweet.
As he stepped into the golden whirlpool, he thought he might like to try that again.