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To say Morty Y-117's life had been a train wreck was an understatement. He had grown up to be the same awkward, bumbling thirteen year old that every other Morty out there was, overlooked and ignored by everyone around him except Rick. But that's where the similarities between him and a lot of other Mortys ended.
There was only a handful of Mortys who were truly alone and he unfortunately ended up being one of them.
It started on a normal Saturday morning.
One minute he'd been eating a nice pancake breakfast with his family, celebrating Rick's one year anniversary of joining (or technically rejoining) their family and then, just like that, it was ruined.
A portal opened in the dining room and a Rick and Morty stepped out of it. The Rick had a wicked scar at the corner of his mouth and the Morty was wearing an eyepatch.
Before anyone could even take a breath, the Rick cocked the gun he was holding and shot Morty Y-117's Rick in the head, killing him right where he sat.
Morty was faintly aware of his family screaming and freaking out around him, but all he could focus on was his grandfather's form slumped over in his chair. There was no way his grandpa was dead.
Rick had to be faking.
Right?
Morty didn't want to believe it. Rick couldn't be dead just like that. He opened his mouth to scream, finally processing what the rest of his family already knew.
Rick was dead.
He looked at the Rick and Morty standing on the other side of the room, but before he could do anything, the Morty raised his own gun and Morty Y-117 braced himself for death. Instead, something pricked his arm and he realized as he collapsed against the table that he had been hit with a tranquilizer dart.
When he finally awoke, he found himself in a dark room, surrounded by a bunch of other terrified Mortys. He had no idea where he was or if the rest of his family was still alive. For all he knew, the evil Rick and Morty could have killed them.
Things only got worse from there.
So much worse.
The next few weeks were absolute torture.
Literally.
He was strapped to a giant dome with hundreds, maybe thousands of other Mortys and was being stabbed in the sides repeatedly, over and over again, for what he didn't know.
And that was the worst part.
He didn't even know if there was a reason for this torture. He knew Ricks could be assholes, but he'd never even imagined any of them going this far. And the Morty at his side seemed indifferent to the torture being inflicted upon his dimensional counterparts, perhaps because he wasn't one of the ones forced to endure it.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
So much time passed and, while Morty Y-117 was occasionally switched out with a different Morty and locked away in the dark room, more often than not, he was constantly strapped to the dome.
Just as Morty had lost all hope, despairingly accepting the fact that he'd be strapped to the wretched dome until his death, the needles stopped jabbing him and the restraints keeping him in place released.
He was actually free and, within minutes of being released, a bunch of Ricks portaled in, providing blankets for cover and herding them to safety. Those without families were brought to the Citadel of Ricks and the rest were returned to their families.
Morty couldn't believe he was actually going home. When he returned to his dimension, his parents scooped him into a tight hug as they sobbed tears of joy. Summer spent the next several weeks practically glued to his side, a far cry from her previous avoidance and tendency to ignore him.
He was certain he'd tire of being fawned over and babied by his family members, but it'd been ages since he'd been the center of attention in his family and he absolutely reveled in it. And it didn't completely fade the way he thought it would. Sure, his parents grew to be less protective and concerned about his whereabouts, but they paid more attention to him and Summer than they had in years.
Their family was far from perfect. His parents still argued, his sister still ignored and picked on him sometimes, and he still struggled at school with bullies and his classwork. But they weren't nearly as divided amongst each other as they had been before. Morty hoped it would last forever, but a part of him knew.
It wouldn't.
And, unfortunately, that part of him was right.
Only six months had passed since he'd returned home, when the Galactic Federation invaded Earth. They were looking for Rick and the Galactic Revolution rebellion he was a part of.
Rick was no longer alive, but it seemed that either news didn't travel fast or that simply wasn't a satisfactory answer to the Gromflomites.
Morty had been on his way home from the mall when the attacks began. As much as he wanted to rush home to hide with his family, he was forced to take cover when the giant ship in the atmosphere began firing a huge laser across the city.
Once the sun began to set, the attacks seemed to ease up and Morty hurried home. The town he lived in was absolutely wrecked. There were deep, still burning trenches in the streets and buildings where the laser had touched.
When he finally turned into his street, Morty picked up the pace, knowing any minute he'd be bounding through his front door. However, he skidded to a stop the second he reached the edge of the driveway.
Where the house once stood was a giant scorching scar in the ground that extended in both directions for miles.
His home was gone.
The home that his entire family had been in as they prepared to sit down for dinner.
His family was....
.....dead.
Morty rapidly blinked his eyes, hoping that if he opened and closed his eyes enough times, the house would simply materialize in front of him. His vision grew blurry with tears as he finally accepted the horrible truth in front of him and he sunk to the ground, curling up in front of his destroyed home.
That's where he was several hours later, eyes puffy as he continued sobbing, when a familiar sound and a bright green light washed over him.
"Hey, Morty."
That voice.
Morty knew that voice.
But it didn't comfort him the way it once had because he knew it wasn't his Rick.
It was a Rick from the Citadel, more specifically the Morty Adoption Center. As much as Morty didn't want to live on the Citadel, as much as he wanted to be with his family, there was nothing left for him in this dimension. So he begrudgingly let himself be taken in at the Morty Adoption Center.
That was a huge mistake.
It was hell there. Obviously nowhere near as bad as the literal torture he'd experienced at the hands of the evil Rick and Morty, but still hell. No Ricks wanted him, which meant he had to watch as Morty after Morty got to leave, while he was still stuck there.
The more it happened, the more depressed and upset he got, which in turn was one of the reasons he was never chosen.
It was a neverending cycle, one that continued for a year and a half. And then, according to rumors he later heard, the evil Morty who had helped kidnap Morty Y-117 actually destroyed the Citadel in order to break the Central Finite Curve.
Morty couldn't exactly say he was upset at seeing the Citadel ripped to pieces (for the second time apparently), but he was sad that he once again no longer had a home.
What was surprising was just how quickly that changed.
Most of, if not all of the Mortys that had fled with Rick C-137 and his Morty were immediately taken in. A different Rick came to collect them.
A Rick in a red sweater and light pink coat.
Rick E-28.
Morty Y-117 had never met another Rick like this and he wasn't even entirely sure if he was actually a Rick. E-28 was shockingly nice.
Morty Y-117 was brought to the DSLC, the Displaced Safety and Living Center, and it was like nothing Morty had seen before.
Where the Morty Adoption Center on the Citadel had been cramped and neglectful of its occupants needs, the DSLC was the exact opposite. Here, literally everything he could ever need was taken care of and the Ricks that worked here seemed thrilled to make sure everyone was happy and healthy.
Morty thrived here and, as terrible as it probably sounded, he didn't miss not having a family. Not when he had all these other Ricks and Mortys, and occasionally Summers, that actually cared about him.
He didn't mind the possibility of growing up and spending the rest of his life here at the DSLC.
That was until Rick E-28 came up to him one day, months after he'd been living there, and told him he was being adopted.
HIM, the Morty nobody ever picked first (or last, for that matter), was actually getting adopted.
As excited as he was, he was also anxious.
What if this new family was just as bad as his original?
What if he hated them?
What if they hated him?
In the end, all his worries had been for nothing. The moment the front door was opened, the Beth of this dimension - Beth H-33, if Morty remembered correctly - burst into tears as she greeted him.
"I'm so happy to finally meet you, Morty. Welcome home, sweetie."
As happy as Morty Y-117 had been at the DSLC, he couldn't deny just how happy it now made him to be called 'sweetie' by his mom again, even if it wasn't his original mom. He couldn't help crying too, as he threw himself into her arms.
He hadn't been sure what to expect from the rest of the family, worrying Beth's reaction might have been a fluke, but everyone else was just as excited to meet him, including the Rick.
"Welcome home, Morty."
When the Rick grinned at him, Morty felt a pang of grief for his own murdered Rick and he was embarrassed to admit he started sobbing. Beth and Jerry panicked at the sudden switch in his emotional state, but Rick immediately understood and crouched down with his arms wide open.
Morty didn't hesitate and threw himself into them. Rick H-33 might not be his original Rick and would certainly never replace him, but Morty was relieved to see this dimension's Rick was still alive.
As Morty was taken upstairs and shown to his new permanent bedroom, he knew this time was going to be different. Morty could already tell, especially after the brief interactions with the rest of the family, that things were going to be better and, for once, Morty Y-117 was optimistic about his future.