Imagine: A Rick that’s lost his Morty trying to cope by getting a new one.
It’s been months and he’s tried to avoid it but Rick finally caves and goes to the Citadel to adopt a new Morty. The one he gets is more chipper than his last Morty, walks a little too slowly, not as shy as his was. But it’s a Morty. It works.
Rick brings him back to the Smith family and Morty immediately notices that his parents have no idea who he is. Rick gives a half ass explanation and Morty just assumes his parents didn’t have a second kid in this dimension. But Rick points him upstairs and Morty walks into a bedroom just like any other Morty.
Theres half finished homework on the desk. Socks on the floor. Backpack half tipped over, a wrinkle in the rug, alarm clock set, bed unmade. It looks lived in, like he himself had just been in there a few minutes ago, but also preserved somehow. Like a shrine.
It creeps him the fuck out and Morty isn’t really sure how he feels about the idea that his new Rick already lost a Morty once and apparently wiped all record of his existence from his family’s life. It’s a weird concept, but he learns to live with it. In a matter of days, he’s fit seamlessly into his new life. Morty’s things are his things, his daily life now Morty’s. It’s like he was there all along and, even though they claim to have never had a son, his parents and sister take to him like a fish to water. It’s almost like he never left his dimension at all.
Except for Rick’s response to him.
It’s subtle. The way Rick frowns when he gets too excited. Or the way he stares just a little too long when he decides to skip ahead. Or the look of confusion when Morty makes PB&J instead of ham or tuna. Or the sheer disappointment that rolls off of him when he taps his foot in the ship. Rick doesn’t seem annoyed or irritated by what he’s doing, just unhappy. Displeased somehow. It’s a constant, frustrating mystery to Morty, one that occurs so often that even he couldn’t miss it, and he struggles to figure it out until one day Rick drunkenly snaps his last Morty didn’t talk nearly as much.
Rick is disappointed because he isn’t like the Morty he already lost. And it fucking stings, that Rick doesn’t like him for who he is as an individual compared to his other grandson, but Morty gets it. They’re all the same except for where they aren’t. But Morty convinces himself that Rick just needs a little more time to get to know him and that things will get better.
As time goes on, Rick gets more and more irritated about it. He snaps at Morty more often when he’s drunk, telling him all the ways he’s different and why his Morty was better, and it gets to the point where Morty asks for waffles instead of pancakes, just so he wouldn’t have to listen to Rick gripe about it. And suddenly Rick is pleased. He smiles and pets Morty’s hair and it’s everything he’s been wanting from Rick.
Morty keeps acting more and more like the other Morty until Rick is never disappointed. Rick never frowns at personality mis-steps, never gives Morty reason to feel bad. All is well. Mostly.
Until Morty wakes up one morning and suddenly the family can’t ever recall not having Morty in their lives. Beth is all too happy to break out the photo albums and tell embarrassing stories about his childhood. His dad is right there with her, talking about ‘Take your kid to work day’ and hot chocolate on the porch with Summer nodding along.
And what’s even more terrifying is that Morty can remember those things too. But he absolutely knows they didn’t happen. He remembers being adopted. He knows he hasn’t always been there. But he’s already playing along and trying to be as similar to the one Rick lost as he can so he simply accepts it.
And things remain that way, an act within an act, pretending constantly, forgetting who he was before, but Morty accepts it.
Until they become romantically involved.
When Morty starts having sex with Rick, he finally thinks that he’s gained something for himself. That he’s different, that he’s not the same as the other Morty and that this singular part of their relationship is unique. Original. And just for them.
Morty revels in it, plays his part more perfectly than ever in front of their family and on adventures but he’s totally wild in the bedroom. Always eager and adventurous and willing to do whatever to stand out and be himself.
And it works. It’s perfect. Until the first time it isn’t just about fucking.
It’s slow and intense and Morty feels like he’s waited a lifetime for this moment, with Rick spooned up behind him, whispering in his ear while they have sex, and then Rick is telling him how much he missed him. How living without him was unbearable. How he couldn’t stop thinking about him. How sorry he was. How much he loved him.
And Morty realizes he’s a substitute in this too.
And he flips the fuck out.
Morty abandons the act entirely and screams at Rick, telling him he’s not his Morty, that his Morty is dead and wasn’t coming back. That Rick could replace him but it’d never be the same. That he’s an individual. That he’s different.
He doesn’t say a single word for a long time. He just stares down at Morty’s red face and his heaving chest and those furious eyes with an unflinching gaze. Like a shark. It almost makes Morty uncomfortable, the way Rick keeps just staring at him, but Morty stands firm and doesn’t back down, even when Rick’s frown starts to deepen.
But when Rick speaks, his blood goes cold.
“You lasted longer than the others. I wish it could’ve stayed that way.”
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