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“Don’t think about it,” Rick said, lifting his own corpse. Morty stood in his torn suit, wings drooped near to the floor in horror as he stared at himself and Rick dead in the garage. “And grab a handful of that Morty’s feathers. We’re gonna need them.”
“What?” Morty lifted the body and forced himself to look at the other…him more closely. As he shifted the body, a feather fluttered down—a gray feather. Morty looked over his shoulder with a start at his own brown wings. “Our wings are different, Rick!”
“No shit, that’s w-why-why you need to grab some of his so I can color match.” Rick’s feathers ruffled in irritation as he grabbed a shovel and dragged his own double’s corpse out to the back yard. “Move it.”
The other Rick’s feathers were a different color, too: A dusty blue to Rick’s silver gray.
“I don’t understand,” Morty shook his head and dragged the body back. He stumbled over his feet as he tried to keep up with Rick. He had to flap them twice to give himself extra oomph as he tried to carry the extra weight. “Y-y-you said we’re the same person. So, why. So, why are our wings different?”
“Wings reflect the soul.” Rick dropped his corpse in the backyard and threw a second shovel at Morty. It landed in the dirt when Morty didn’t let go of the body he held. Rick huffed and started digging. “That’s me and you, but the souls are just different enough to create variation in the wings. Finding an alternate dimension with both the perfect spot to slot in and the same color wings as your dimensional counterpart is statistically impossible.”
“Rick,” Morty said, his stomach dropping. He squeezed the dead body as a horrifying thought filled his brain. “You said we’re taking their places. Won’t the family notice our wings are different colors?”
“Not after I change them.”
Morty dropped the body and stepped back. His wings flared open in sheer fear. “What?”
“G-get back to digging,” Rick snapped. His wings flapped hard behind him and raised in dominance. “I-I-I don’t have time for this. Bury the body so we can get back into this Rick’s lab and fix things before the family does get suspicious.”
Was he being serious? Had Rick not heard what he said?
“Rick! You want to change my wings!”
“And mine!” Rick threw his hand out and slammed the shove in the ground. He slowly exhaled and his softened a pinch before the narrowed brown and anger returned. “I’ve done it dozens of times. You’ll be fine!”
Morty shook his head and his wings flattened against his back. He’d never had the prettiest wings or the biggest, but they were his. Wings reflected everything about a person. Was Rick saying his weren’t even his original? They weren’t him?
Rick tossed his body into the dirt and looked at the untouched earth next to Morty. He set the shovel in the ground. “You didn’t dig your hole.”
“I don’t want to change my wings.” Morty took a step back. “I don’t want to pretend to be some other Morty in some other family.”
“You should have thought about that before you asked me for a love potion.” Rick pointed at the ground. “Now get that body buried and come back to the garage. I’ll be ready to finish fixing this mess when you get there.”
Rick stormed back into the house.
Morty ran.
His wings flapped as he jumped the fence and fell into Gene’s yard. His torn suit ripped further and his breath caught in his throat, but he had to keep running.
Rick had put him through dangerous and horrifying situations on adventures, but even he respected wing etiquette. There were lines people didn’t cross and wings were one of them. You didn’t touch people’s wings without permission. You didn’t insult them in public. The cruelest of bullies left wings untouched when beating you to a pulp.
Your wings were who you were.
Even people who lost their wings in horrific accidents wore prosthetic duplicates created to match what they’d lost.
Rick had changed his own wings dozens of times?
Did he even remember what his original looked like?
Morty collapsed behind a house, his breath heaving as he was out of breath. His wings curled around him and he stared at the dull brown sparrow feathers. The tiny dots and specks in them were unique to him; they made him stand out against everyone else with sparrow wings.
They were unique.
They weren’t replaceable.
A portal opened next to Morty and Rick stepped out. He stared down at Morty, his wings already a dusty blue. He looked like a different person from the way he stood to the cold glare in his eyes. “I’ve got a tracker on you, Morty.”
There was nothing to say to that.
Rick grabbed Morty’s arm and yanked him off the ground. Panic hitched his breath, but the sense of total helplessness against a force like Rick kept him docile. Rick dragged him through the portal and set him on a lab table.
A syringe stabbed into his spine and Morty jerked back.
His wings opened and he felt it as every feather ruffled. Morty breathed hard for a few moments as a tingly feeling washed over him and gave him goosebumps.
When the moment passed, he slumped forward and his wings went slack.
The feathers were gray.
Pigeon wings.
A pair of pants and a shirt hit his face. Morty pulled them down and stared at his regular outfit.
“Get changed,” Rick said. He watched Morty for a moment before he looked away. “It’s almost dinner time and we’ve acted suspicious enough.”
A numbness fell over Morty as he took off his clothes and dressed in the clean ones. The gray feathers fluttered into view every so often and he sucked in a breath. They were bigger than his old ones, too.
Once changed, he followed Rick through another portal and back into the garage. He walked in the house that looked so much like his old one.
Summer had bluejay wings instead of crow.
His mother had the same pretty dove wings, but a difference sub-species and shape.
Dad’s wings were half the size and gray pigeon wings instead of brown sparrow. The Morty in this universe inherited his dad’s wings, too.
At least that was the same.
Morty stumbled to the couch and sat, his wings close to him. Rick grabbed a drink and changed the channel, perfectly at home.
But it wasn’t home.
It was the same but wrong.
Morty ripped out a feather and clutched it in his hand.