Derealization

His stomach churned as he continued staring upward. Was he having a panic attack? Something deep inside his mind felt off, like there was a missing piece he couldn't quite grasp. Still, he pushed the feeling to the back of his mind and forced himself out of bed.

It was already getting late, judging by the clock sitting on his nightstand.

Morty got up, changed his clothes, and made his way downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Beth was drinking a cup of coffee while Jerry sat reading the newspaper. There was a strange tension in the room that Morty couldn't quite place, but he brushed it aside.

His father greeted him, and Morty mumbled a tired hello in return.

"Oh, Morty, your grandpa said he needs you in the garage," Beth called out between sips of coffee as she gathered her things for work. She checked her purse to make sure she had everything she needed.

"Y-Yeah. Thanks, Mom. I'll go right now."

"Summer! Get out here! You're going to be late for school!" Beth shouted.

"Ugh, it's not fair. Only Morty gets to stay home," Summer complained.

"His grandpa needs him."

"Whatever."

Summer rolled her eyes, grabbed her backpack, and headed out the door.

Jerry stood up as well. He had an important presentation that day and looked visibly nervous. His hands shook slightly as he gathered his things before leaving.

Morty sighed and rubbed his eyelids, trying his best to wake up and prepare himself for the day.

"Morty, get in here!" Rick yelled from the garage. "I'm gonna need you for the next couple of days, so don't even think about going to school. Remember, Morty, school is just a societal construct made to keep people acting like sheep. Don't be a fuckin' sheep, Morty. You don't need school."

Rick continued ranting about his disdain for education as Morty stepped into the garage.

Morty simply sighed and nodded along, pretending to agree with his grandfather.He walked into the garage and found Rick tinkering with a gadget spread across his workbench.

"Morty, pass me that screwdriver. Size zero. There's a tiny screw in here that won't come loose."

Rick spoke gruffly without even looking up.

Morty sighed and glanced at the pile of tools scattered across an open toolbox. After rummaging through the mess for a moment, he found the screwdriver set, selected the correct one, and handed it to Rick.

"Morty, do you know what this bad boy is for?"

"Is it—"

"Wrong. You wouldn't even guess it if you tried." Rick smirked. "This beauty is gonna help detect crystals scattered across the galaxy. Your grandpa found traces of some important ones. They can power weapons, fuel ships, and you can even get completely shit-faced on them. I'm gonna get rickety-wrecked, son."

"Aww, jeez, Rick... That's really impressive," Morty replied.

…

The minutes slowly melted into hours.

Afternoon faded into evening, and evening slipped into night.

Rick never seemed to notice. He remained completely absorbed in his work, constantly taking devices apart, removing motherboards, replacing components, and making adjustments.

Morty stood nearby, handing over tools whenever Rick demanded them.

Then suddenly, he felt something warm beneath his nose.

Oh, crap.

Morty was having a nosebleed.

He hadn't eaten all day. He hadn't even stopped to drink water.

Since Rick had insisted he stay and help, Morty had spent the entire day running errands, fetching tools, and assisting with whatever project Rick happened to be working on.

"Jesus, Morty!" Rick snapped. "You're gonna get blood all over my shit. If you're gonna be a little baby about it, go bleed somewhere else. I don't need your unhygienic germs all over my equipment."

He shooed Morty away with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Morty blinked.

"Uh... sorry, Rick."

Pinching his nose, he quietly left the garage. Rick didn't even acknowledge the apology. He was already focused on his machine again.

Morty made his way to the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

When he released his nose, blood immediately dripped down his face and into the sink.

He watched it silently.

The blood felt warm against his skin. A metallic taste lingered in the back of his throat as he rinsed his face.

The nosebleed didn't seem eager to stop.

His head pounded, but he ignored it.

After cleaning himself up, he carefully wiped down the sink and faucet. The last thing he needed was Summer finding it and calling him gross for not cleaning up after himself.

Eventually, Morty left the bathroom and headed toward the kitchen.

He was thirsty.

His entire body felt sluggish and weak. He had forgotten to drink water because Rick had spent the whole day ordering him around and keeping him busy.

Morty filled a glass and took a long drink.

The cold water helped, but he still felt dizzy.

"MORTY!"

Startled, he nearly dropped the glass.

"Are you jacking off in the bathroom or something?" Rick shouted from the garage.

Morty winced.

"Get your ass back in here! I need you to hand me stuff."

Morty stared down at the water in his hands for a moment before quietly setting the glass on the counter.

Then he turned and headed back toward the garage.

……

The quiet hum of the garage was the only sound breaking the late-night silence.

Morty sat at the workbench, nervously tapping a screwdriver against his palm. He looked down at his yellow shirt, smoothed out a wrinkle, and sighed.

He was alone in the house. Rick had left a few minutes ago, ranting about needing to "take care of something important" before disappearing through a portal.

Morty's eyes drifted toward an old, dusty quantum monitor sitting in the corner of the workbench.

For a split second, the reflection staring back at him didn't look quite right.

It looked like him.

But something was off.

Morty blinked and rubbed his face.

"Man, I gotta get more sleep," he muttered.

He stood and headed toward the kitchen for a glass of water. Halfway there, he paused. The house smelled strange. It wasn't his mom's cooking, and it wasn't the usual chemical stench from one of Rick's failed experiments.

It smelled metallic. Like a handful of old pennies.

"Mom? Summer?" Morty called out, his voice cracking with his familiar nervousness. "Uh... is somebody frying copper in here or something?"

No one answered. The house was completely empty.

Morty shrugged it off and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He filled it with water and took a long sip. He was still thirsty, he didn’t get to finish his glass from earlier.

Immediately, he gagged.

The water tasted wrong.

It was thick and warm, leaving behind a bitter, iron aftertaste. Like blood.

Morty spit it into the sink.

As the water swirled down the drain, his eyes landed on the microwave clock.

The glowing green numbers were shifting.

Blurring.

Twisting into a faint organic purple before snapping back to bright green. Morty's stomach dropped.

He stared.

A suffocating sense of dread began crawling up his spine.

He couldn't explain it.

It felt like he was trapped inside a maze he couldn't see.

"Rick?" Morty called out, backing away from the counter. His voice trembled.

"R-Rick, if this is some kind of prank, it's not funny, man! Come on, come out!"

He continued backing away until his heel caught on the edge of the living room rug.

Morty stumbled.

But he never hit the floor.

Everything vanished.

Suddenly, Morty jolted awake with a gasp, desperately sucking in air.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

He was in his bed.

The darkness of his room surrounded him.

Another nightmare.

Lately, they have been happening more and more often. Morty stared at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing.

His entire body felt exhausted.

He hadn't been sleeping well for days.

Every time he closed his eyes, the dreams came back.

Strange dreams.

Wrong dreams.

Dreams that left him with the lingering feeling that something wasn't right.

Rick had also been acting strangely lately.

He'd been spending more time at home than usual, which was already unusual enough. Even stranger, Rick seemed determined to keep Morty close by at all times.

If Morty left the room, Rick would call for him within minutes.

If Morty mentioned going somewhere, Rick would suddenly have another task that needed his help.

It was beginning to feel less like Rick wanted an assistant and more like he was keeping watch over him. He was wondering if this was gonna be the rest of his life.

Morty swallowed hard.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.Outside his bedroom door, the house was silent.Yet somehow, that silence felt far more unsettling than any nightmare.

But the silence didn't last long.

The bedroom door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall. Rick stormed inside without warning.

"Morty! Get your ass up. We gotta go."

Morty barely had time to react before Rick was already rummaging through the room.

"W-What? Rick, it's the middle of the—"

"I don't have time for questions, Morty!" Rick snapped. "My time is precious. Get dressed and get over here."

A green portal hissed to life beside Rick, filling the room with an eerie glow.

"Come on. We got a mission."

Morty rubbed his tired eyes and slowly sat up.

"Rick, I haven't slept"

"Yeah, yeah, join the club. Sleep is for people who don't have interdimensional responsibilities."

Before Morty could protest further, Rick grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him toward the portal.

"R-Rick!"

The two stumbled through the swirling green gateway.

Morty let out a defeated sigh.

At this point, fighting it felt pointless.

Every time he tried to rest, Rick needed something.

Every time he thought he'd finally get a chance to sleep, another adventure dragged him away.

The exhaustion sat heavy behind his eyes.

His thoughts felt sluggish and distant.

Insomnia had been clawing at his mind for days, leaving him trapped in a haze of half-finished dreams and restless nights.

As the portal closed behind them, Morty couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Maybe it was the nightmares.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep.

Or maybe it was the way Rick had been acting lately.

Either way, Morty had a feeling this mission wasn't going to help

….

They landed on a planet where the vegetation was a deep shade of purple and the sky glowed with a hazy orange hue. The distant sun was already beginning to set, its reddish-orange light blending into the strange atmosphere.

Unfamiliar chirps, clicks, and buzzing noises echoed through the landscape.

Towering fern-like plants surrounded them, their massive leaves blocking much of the view.

Suddenly, the device in Rick's hand began to beep.

Rick's eyes lit up immediately.

"Oh, hell yes!" he exclaimed. "You see this, Morty? This baby is already paying for itself. I've got a crystal reading."

He held up the scanner as several blinking markers appeared on the display.

"Let's go!"

Without another word, Rick sprinted off toward the signal.

Morty sighed and hurried after him.

As usual, Rick seemed completely uninterested in the world around him. The bizarre landscape, the strange wildlife, the possibility that someone might actually live here—it all faded into the background whenever Rick wanted something.

The scanner led them through dense clusters of alien ferns. The plants grew in twisted shapes, their crimson leaves creating a stark contrast against the purple soil beneath their feet.

The farther they traveled, the thicker the vegetation became.

Eventually, Rick pushed aside a curtain of massive leaves, revealing the entrance to a cave hidden beneath the undergrowth.

"There we go," Rick muttered.

The two stepped inside.

Morty glanced around as they descended deeper into the cavern. To his surprise, there were signs that someone or something had been there before them.

Strange markings had been carved into the stone walls. Broken pieces of pottery littered the ground. The remains of old pathways disappeared into the darkness.

"Uh, Rick?" Morty asked nervously. "This kinda looks like people live here."

Rick didn't even slow down.

"Morty, come on. Walk faster. I know your little legs are shorter than mine, but you can still run."

He waved impatiently.

"Now move."

Morty reluctantly obeyed.

As they ventured farther into the cave, the darkness became almost impossible to see through.

Fortunately, Rick was already prepared.

He pulled a compact pair of night-vision goggles from his coat pocket and tossed them over his shoulder.

Morty caught them with one hand.

"Try not to break those. They're worth more than your shitty college fund, not like you will ever go."

Morty rolled his eyes and slipped them on.

The cave instantly brightened into shades of green and gray.

Ahead of him, Rick was already disappearing deeper into the cavern, completely focused on the blinking crystal markers displayed on his scanner.

With a sigh, Morty followed after him.

The beeping from Rick's scanner suddenly went wild.

Rick let out a loud whoop.

"You see this, Morty? Grandpa's gonna be rich! Rich and famous! These crystals are worth a fortune!"

He laughed and continued running deeper into the cave, completely oblivious to his surroundings.Morty hurried after him, though something about the place felt wrong.The cave was enormous. Strange orange organisms clung to the ceiling in dense clusters. At first, Morty thought they were sleeping animals.

Then he looked closer.

They didn't have eyes.

At least, not normal ones.

Instead, their faces were covered with dozens of tiny sensory organs that twitched and pulsed as if they were listening to the world around them.

A chill ran down Morty's spine.

Then the ground shook.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the cavern.

Thud.

Morty's eyes widened.

The entrance behind them suddenly disappeared as massive figures emerged from the darkness, blocking the only visible exit.

"Oh, shit," Rick cursed.

In an instant, he drew a weapon from his coat and aimed it at the approaching creatures. Unfortunately, these weren't mindless monsters. They were intelligent.

And they fought back.

More of them began pouring into the cavern from hidden tunnels, surrounding Rick and Morty from every direction.

"Aw, come on!" Rick shouted as energy blasts lit up the darkness.

The creatures advanced in overwhelming numbers. Rick fired repeatedly before tossing a weapon toward Morty.

"Catch!"

Morty barely managed to grab it before one of the creatures lunged toward him. He stumbled backward and fell to the ground. The weapon trembled in his hands.

For a split second, he froze.

Then he pulled the trigger. The blast struck the creature squarely in the chest, knocking it backward.

Morty stared.

His heart hammered in his chest.

Another creature charged.

He fired again.

And again.

Soon he was back on his feet.

The fear was still there.

But something else was there too.

Control.

For once, nobody was telling him what to do.

Not Rick.

Not his parents.

Not anyone.

Every choice was his.

Every action belonged to him.

The realization sent a strange rush through him. He moved quickly, weaving through the chaos as he fired at the advancing creatures. The battle raged around them, flashes of light illuminating the cave walls.

Rick glanced over his shoulder and let out an impressed whistle.

"Well, look at that. Maybe you're finally useful for something, Morty."

His grin widened.

"Just like your old grandpa."

Morty didn't respond. He simply stared ahead. The praise felt hollow. The creatures around him cried out in a language he couldn't understand.

Some were retreating.

Others were wounded.

Yet Morty felt strangely detached from it all.

One of the wounded creatures reached out with a trembling hand, wheezing in pain as it spoke frantically in its own language.

Morty stared down at it.

Without a word, he stepped forward.

A sickening crunch echoed through the cave as he brought his foot down on the creature's hand. The creature cried out in agony, clutching the mangled limb as it writhed against the ground.

Morty's expression didn't change.

He simply turned away and kept walking. Behind him, the creature's pained cries slowly faded into the darkness. As the last of the immediate attackers scattered into the darkness, the cavern grew quiet once more. Rick reactivated his scanner. The device immediately resumed its frantic beeping.

"There they are," Rick said, grinning. "The crystals are close."

Without another thought, he continued deeper into the cave. Morty hesitated for a moment before following. The deeper they went, the darker the cavern became. And the more Morty felt that something was terribly wrong. The whole situation felt wrong, against his instinct. But for now, he pushed it aside.

Soon, the cave opened into something neither of them had expected.

An entire city stretched out beneath them. Thousands of strange buildings rose from the cavern floor, illuminated by glowing orange and violet lights. Massive stone pillars connected the ceiling and ground, making the underground world feel impossibly vast.

For a moment, it didn't feel like they were inside a cave anymore. It felt like they had stepped into an entirely different world. Rick let out a low whistle as he looked over the sprawling city.

"Well, damn. That's new."

He glanced at his scanner and grinned.

"Oh, right, Morty. I already got the coordinates. Just stay close and keep up."

Before Morty could respond, a series of strange cries echoed throughout the city.

The sounds grew louder.

And louder.

Then came the roars.

All around them, the creatures began turning in their direction.

They had been spotted.

Armed figures emerged from nearby buildings and alleyways, pointing strange weapons toward the intruders.

Rick's eyes widened.

"RUN, MORTY! RUN!"

Morty didn't need to be told twice.

The two took off through the city as alarms began blaring overhead.

Creatures poured into the streets behind them.

Rick and Morty weaved between towering structures, narrowly avoiding incoming blasts and projectiles.

The scanner continued beeping wildly.

"There!" Rick shouted, pointing toward a large structure in the center of the city.

They sprinted toward it.

Morty stayed close behind, occasionally firing at pursuing creatures to slow them down. The entrance burst open as Rick charged inside. At the center of the chamber sat a cluster of glowing crystals mounted on a pedestal.

Rick's face lit up.

"Jackpot, baby!"

He rushed forward and grabbed several crystals, stuffing them into his coat pockets. The moment he touched them, a deafening alarm erupted throughout the entire city. Red lights flashed across nearby buildings. The creatures outside immediately began shrieking. Even more of them started rushing toward the structure.

Rick froze.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

The scanner suddenly displayed dozens of new signals converging on their location.

"Fuuuck, this is such bullshit."

Without hesitation, Rick grabbed as many crystals as he could carry.

"Morty! New plan!"

"What plan?!"

"We run even faster!"

With that, Rick bolted for the exit as the sounds of approaching footsteps thundered through the city. They both ran through the crowded streets of the underground city. Suddenly, Morty felt something slam into his side. The force knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to his knees.

A second later, a shot struck his leg.

Morty gasped.

A sharp burst of pain shot through him, making his vision blur for a moment.

"Ahh—!"

Instinct took over.

His hand immediately reached for the weapon Rick had given him. He gritted his teeth and tried to steady his aim despite the pain. Before he could fire, however, a green portal suddenly tore open above the street. Something small and metallic dropped out of it.

Tick.

Morty's eyes widened.

"Oh, crap."

The bomb hit the ground and rolled across the pavement. Morty scrambled behind a nearby structure, desperately searching for cover. His injured leg protested with every movement, but adrenaline kept him going. He squeezed himself against the wall, breathing hard and trying not to focus on the throbbing pain.

A deafening explosion rocked the city.

The shockwave echoed through the streets.

When Morty cautiously peeked around the corner, smoke and dust filled the air. Debris littered the ground, and the pursuing creatures had been thrown into disarray.

His ears rang.

His heart pounded.

For a moment, all he could do was sit there, clutching his injured leg and trying to catch his breath.

Then he remembered Rick.

"R-Rick?" Morty called out hoarsely.

There was no answer. Only the distant sound of alarms and the chaos still unfolding throughout the city.

Then Morty heard it.

Rick's unmistakable laugh echoed through the smoke and debris.

"Ha! Get rickety-wrecked, son!"

Morty looked up just in time to see a green portal flicker open nearby.Rick stepped halfway through it, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, Morty! You're still alive?"

He let out another laugh.

"That's good. Means I don't have to make a trip to the Citadel and deal with all that paperwork."

"R-Rick!" Morty shouted. "My leg—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the screaming. You'll be fine."

Rick adjusted the crystals stuffed into his coat and glanced down at his scanner.

"Just sit tight and don't go anywhere. Grandpa's gonna be back in a minute."

Morty's eyes widened.

"W-What?"

"I just gotta make sure I got all the crystals. Priorities, Morty."

Rick flashed him a thumbs-up.

"Try not to die while I'm gone."

Before Morty could respond, Rick stepped backward into the portal.The green gateway snapped shut.

And just like that, he was gone.

Morty was left alone in the middle of a hostile underground city, surrounded by alarms, distant roars, and a growing realization that Rick had abandoned him.

Again.

He used me as bait.

The thought echoed through Morty's mind.

Like I don't matter.

Like I'm just another tool he can pull out of a toolbox whenever it's convenient.

Morty clenched his jaw.

He wondered if this was the fate of every Morty.

To be used.

To be discarded.

To be treated as expendable.

A bitter resentment began to creep into his heart.

Rick hadn't needed him for this mission. He could have done the entire thing by himself. The realization stung more than the bullet wound. It was almost as if Rick wanted him to suffer. As if dragging him along was part of the point.

Morty let out a shaky breath.

He felt like Rick wasn't his grandpa anymore.

Just another person using him.

Another person who didn't care.

Darkness began creeping into the edges of his vision.

His head throbbed.

A sharp, relentless headache pounded against his skull.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but the pain only worsened.

Black spots danced across his vision when he opened them again.

The world faded in and out.

Sounds became distant.

Muted.

As if he were sinking underwater.

Then, through his blurred vision, a familiar green portal flickered open nearby. Rick stepped out carrying even more crystals than before.

Morty's stomach twisted.

Son of a bitch.

Rick could have teleported this entire time. He could have grabbed the crystals and left. He never needed Morty here.

Not for the mission.

Not for anything.

Before Morty could finish the thought, his body gave out. The cold spreading through him became impossible to ignore.

His heartbeat felt slower.

Weaker.

His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. The last thing he saw was Rick casually adjusting the crystals in his coat. Then everything went dark.

That motherfucker...

The thought lingered for only a moment before consciousness finally slipped away. And as the darkness swallowed him whole, Morty couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing his mind. But oddly enough, he felt like he was starting to see things more clearly.

…..

Morty's eyes slowly fluttered open.

At first, all he could see was a blinding white light hanging above him.

His vision swam in and out of focus.

Everything felt cold.

His entire body was trembling.

The chill had seeped deep into his bones, and every muscle ached.

Slowly, the room around him came into focus.

The garage.

He was back in the garage.

Morty tried to move, only to realize thick restraints held his wrists and ankles in place. He was strapped to one of Rick's metal operating tables.

Panic briefly flared in his chest.

His gaze drifted across the room until it landed on Rick. The old scientist stood beside a workbench, carefully disinfecting an assortment of tools. Dried blood stained his lab coat, dark brown and crusted from exposure to the air. Rick glanced over his shoulder and noticed Morty was awake.

"Jesus Christ, Morty."

He shook his head.

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you trying to die on me."

Morty swallowed hard.

His throat felt painfully dry.

Rick returned to cleaning the instruments.

"Do I seriously have to babysit you now?"

He snorted.

"You're such a high-maintenance Morty."

The words stung more than Morty wanted to admit. Rick continued talking as though discussing a broken appliance.

"You know I could replace you in a flash, right?"

Rick picked up a scalpel and inspected the blade.

"Right? You understand that?"

His voice remained casual.

Almost bored.

"There are infinite Mortys out there."

Rick set the tool down and rolled his eyes.

"So why don't you be a good Morty and do your job properly? I don't need a damaged Morty, making my life harder."

Morty simply stared up at the ceiling.

...

Morty felt dizzy as Rick grabbed his injured leg and began working on the wound.

The restraints dug into his wrists as he instinctively tried to pull away.

"Hold still, Morty," Rick muttered, barely looking up from what he was doing.

Without hesitation, Rick cut through the skin, widening the opening so he could reach the bullet lodged inside. Blood quickly stained the gloves on Rick's hands as Morty let out a scream of agony.

"Rick—!"

The old scientist ignored him, remaining completely focused on the procedure. Rick shoved his fingers into the wound, digging through flesh in search of the bullet. A fresh wave of pain tore through Morty's body, making his vision blur.

Morty's entire body tensed.

A sharp surge of pain shot through his leg, and he cried out despite trying to hold it in.

Morty's vision blurred.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

The pain was overwhelming.

"R-Rick, couldn't you have used anesthesia?" he gasped through clenched teeth.

"Anesthesia takes time, Morty," Rick replied flatly. "And unlike you, I have things to do today."

Morty let out a strangled groan.

Of course.

Of course Rick hadn't bothered.

Each passing second felt unbearable.

The garage lights seemed too bright. The room spun around him, and nausea twisted in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, desperately trying not to pass out. At that moment, black spots began dancing across his vision again. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay conscious.

Morty made the mistake of looking down. The sight of his injured leg was enough to make his stomach lurch. He immediately looked away, swallowing hard.

He felt sick.

Really sick.

The room spun around him as nausea churned in his stomach. He was certain he was going to throw up.

But he couldn't move.

The restraints kept him pinned to the table.

His vision flickered at the edges, darkness creeping in and out like a faulty lightbulb.

Morty forced himself to look toward Rick.

At first, everything seemed normal. Then the exhaustion and pain began twisting his perception.

Rick's movements felt wrong.

Unnatural.

The shadows stretching across his face made him look less like a person and more like something else entirely.

A monster.

At least, that's what Morty saw in that moment.

Not his grandfather.

Not the man who occasionally took him on adventures.

Just a cold, detached figure standing over him while he suffered.

Morty's throat tightened.

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall.

He wouldn't give Rick the satisfaction.

He wouldn't beg.

He wouldn't cry.

Not after everything.

Not after being abandoned.

Not after being treated like he was disposable.

His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

More than anything, Morty wanted to leave.

He wanted to get off the table.

He wanted to get out of the garage.

He wanted to get away from Rick.

The thought echoed through his mind over and over again.

Just get away.

Because for the first time in a long time, Morty wasn't sure he could stand being around him anymore.

"There," Rick said. "You big baby. I got the bullet out."

He tossed the bloody fragment into a nearby tray.

"Seriously, Morty, you can't even handle something this simple."

Rick let out a belch and shook his head.

"How would you ever survive without me? You wouldn't last a week."

Morty hissed as Rick roughly slapped a bandage over the wound.The sudden pressure sent another spike of pain through his leg.Rick, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered.As if patching Morty up was nothing more than routine maintenance.A moment later, the restraints clicked open.

Morty's arms immediately dropped to his sides. His wrists ached from struggling against the straps.

Slowly, he sat up.

The room spun.

His leg throbbed.

His entire body felt weak.

Rick had already moved on.

Without another glance in Morty's direction, he returned to his workbench and began sorting through the crystals they had stolen. One by one, he arranged them into a precise pattern, completely absorbed in his project.

Morty sat there in silence.

He rubbed his sore wrists and tried to steady his breathing. Only then did he realize tears had slipped down his face.He quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt.His throat burned from holding back screams.He just stood there, and took every detail, making sure not to forget this moment.

…..

Morty's eyes fluttered before slowly opening. In front of him, two blue orbs seemed to glow in the darkness.

Rick.

His grandfather was staring directly at him.

Rick opened his mouth to speak, and the stench of alcohol hit Morty immediately. His breath was rancid. As he talked, flecks of spit landed on Morty's face.

"Morty, you know you're such a stupid piece of shit, right?" Rick slurred. "Without me, you wouldn't be anything. You know that?"

His grandfather launched into another drunken rant.

Morty remained silent.

Rick laughed bitterly before taking another swig from a flask.

"Absolutely nothing."

Morty stood frozen. His body was exhausted. His leg still throbbed from the injury, and his head felt heavy.

Rick continued talking anyway. The words just kept coming. One insult after another. One complaint after another. As if Morty weren't even a person standing in front of him. Rick stepped closer. Too close.

His voice grew louder as his drunken rant spiraled further.

"Just try to be useful for once. Don't end up like your idiot dad. The only thing he ever managed to do was get my daughter pregnant with his shitty sperm."

He shook his head and laughed to himself.

"Guy managed to contaminate an entire family tree with pure incompetence."

Morty stared at the floor.The insults barely surprised him anymore.That was the worst part.A few years ago, comments like these would have shocked him.Now they felt routine.

Predictable.

Just another night listening to Rick tear apart everyone around him.

But this time, something felt different. Maybe it was the mission. Maybe it was the pain. Or maybe he was finally reaching his limit. Whatever the reason, Morty found himself listening to Rick's words and feeling something other than hurt. Something colder. Something harder. And for the first time, he didn't feel guilty about it.

"Rick... you're drunk."

Morty's voice came out tired and hoarse.This wasn't anything new.

There had been plenty of nights when Rick stumbled into his room long after everyone else had gone to sleep. Nights when he would stand there ranting, insulting him, tearing him down piece by piece.

Morty had spent years wondering why. Lately, he thought he finally understood. Rick was afraid. Afraid of Morty growing a backbone. Afraid of him realizing he didn't have to put up with this. Afraid of losing control. At least, that's what Morty thought.

Rick opened his mouth to continue his rant, but Morty cut him off.

"You need some water."

Rick blinked.

For a moment, he looked genuinely surprised.

"Let's go."

Morty slowly pushed himself to his feet despite the throbbing pain in his leg. His body ached. His head was pounding. He was exhausted. But even so, he found himself reaching for Rick's arm. Not because Rick deserved it. Not because he had forgotten everything that had happened. But because despite the anger simmering in his chest, ~~he couldn't just leave him like this.~~

"Come on, Rick," Morty said quietly. "You're a mess."

Rick stared at him for a long moment.

Then he scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, therapist Morty."

But he didn't pull away.

Rick stumbled behind him as Morty slowly made his way downstairs. Halfway down the steps, Morty froze. A strange smell hit him. It was stronger than before. Much stronger.

The scent was sickly sweet, almost overpowering. It clung to the air and made his stomach turn. Morty covered his nose instinctively. His pulse quickened. Something felt wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Oh, shit..."

Panic flared in his chest.He hurried down the remaining stairs, ignoring the pain in his leg as he searched the house.The smell was everywhere.

It lingered in the living room.

The kitchen.

The hallway.

As if something had happened while they were upstairs. As if something was waiting for him. Morty's breathing grew shallow. His mind raced through a dozen possibilities. Then he reached for the light switch.

Click

The room flooded with light. Morty stared. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there. No signs of a break-in. No overturned furniture. No blood. No monster lurking in the shadows. Nothing.

The house looked exactly as it always had.

Yet the feeling remained.

His senses were screaming at him that something was wrong. Every instinct told him that he should run.

That he should hide. That danger was close. But his eyes told a completely different story.

The contradiction made his stomach twist. Morty slowly turned in a circle, scanning every corner of the room. Still nothing. The silence felt unnatural. Like the house was holding its breath.

A chill crawled up his spine.

For a moment, Morty wondered if he was finally losing it.

The nightmares.

The exhaustion.

The constant stress.

Maybe it was all catching up to him. Maybe there was nothing there at all. Maybe the only thing haunting the house was his own mind. The sound of Rick stumbling drunkenly down the stairs snapped Morty out of his thoughts. He shook his head and made his way into the kitchen.

The strange feeling hadn't gone away.

Neither had the smell.

Trying to ignore it, Morty grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink.

The steady stream of water was oddly comforting. For a moment, he almost relaxed. Then he felt it.

The sensation of being watched. Morty's shoulders tensed. It felt like there were two pairs of eyes fixed on him.

Following him.

Studying him.

He swallowed hard and glanced over his shoulder. Rick was lingering near the doorway, swaying slightly on his feet. Morty forced himself to exhale. It was probably just Rick. At least, that's what he told himself.

Still, the uneasy feeling remained.

Distracted, Morty opened one of the kitchen drawers.

Inside lay an assortment of utensils and cooking tools. His eyes landed on a large kitchen knife. The polished blade reflected the overhead light.

For some reason, he found himself staring at it. A little longer than necessary. Without really thinking, he reached down and picked it up. The cool metal felt heavy in his hand. Morty rarely spent much time in the kitchen.

His mom was particular about her space and didn't like people getting underfoot while she cooked. Over the years, he'd learned it was usually easier to stay out of the way.

He turned the knife over once in his hand before setting his glass on the counter. The strange feeling in the house hadn't disappeared. If anything, it felt stronger. And somewhere deep down, Morty couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen.

Morty sat staring at the knife in his hands. He could feel its weight pressing against his fingers, the cool steel resting in his palm.

"Ooo-la-la, are you going to kill someone?"

A familiar voice taunted from behind him.

"You really are a psycho, just like your mother said."

Rick stepped in front of him and casually grabbed the knife from Morty's hand.

"C'mon, Morty. Why don't you try to stab me? Here, I'll even give you a clear shot."

Morty froze as Rick guided the blade toward his own throat.

His thoughts immediately spiraled into a whirlwind.

His heart pounded violently against his chest. He swallowed with difficulty, his throat suddenly dry.

This was it.

If he just pushed forward—if he drove the knife straight into Rick's throat—it could all be over.

The suffering.

The pain.

Everything.

His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the exposed target before him.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Rick sighed.

"I'm done. This is boring."

He pulled the knife away and rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, Morty, grow a spine. And quit throwing tantrums like your father."

"If you want to do something then do it, if not then why even bother"

"C'mon. Let's go."

Rick grabbed a glass of water and drained it in a few gulps. Morty remained. The knife rested in front of him. For a moment, he set it down. His hands were shaking. He stared at them, trying to steady his breathing.

Across the room, Rick laughed to himself and began walking away. A flask hung loosely from his hand, and he took another careless swig as he headed toward the garage.

Morty's eyes followed him.The laughter echoed in his ears

Every insult.

Every mission.

Every time he had been treated like he didn't matter.

The resentment he'd been trying to ignore suddenly felt impossible to push down. Rick kept walking. He never looked back. Never noticed. Never seemed to consider what Morty might be feeling.

Morty's fingers slowly closed around the knife's handle. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Before he could think better of it, he pushed himself to his feet and rushed forward.

Something inside Morty snapped.

Before he could think twice, he snatched the knife back up and rushed after him.

"Rick!"

His grandfather barely had time to turn around.

Morty drove the knife into Rick's chest.

For a split second, the world seemed to stop.

The laughter vanished.

The sound of Rick's flask hitting the floor echoed through the room.

Morty stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as reality finally crashed down around him.

……

Morty woke up with a gasp, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

The dream had felt too real. Too vivid.

Slowly, he pushed the covers off himself and glanced at the clock. The numbers remained still. They weren't dancing or swirling like they sometimes seemed to.

He was awake.

At least, he thought he was.

Morty sat up and tried to gather his thoughts. Something felt wrong. It was as if an invisible force was pulling the strings behind the scenes, guiding everything around him.

He tried to calculate how much time had actually passed, but his sense of it felt warped. The days blurred together until he could barely tell one from the next.

A sick feeling settled deep in his stomach.

It felt like a loop.

Like he was trapped in a nightmare that never truly ended.

No matter how many times he woke up, it always seemed to begin again.

Morty buried his face in his hands.

He was exhausted.

Tired of the confusion. Tired of the fear. Tired of feeling trapped.

He didn't know how much longer he could keep doing this.

He just wanted it to end.

It felt like something unseen was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Guiding everything.

Watching.

Waiting.

Morty squeezed his eyes shut. He was tired. So unbelievably tired. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of Rick. Tired of questioning his own sanity.

More than anything, he wanted out.

He wanted the feeling to stop.

Because if this continued much longer, Morty wasn't sure what would break first—

The nightmare.

Or him.

A memory suddenly resurfaced.

Clearer than any dream.

Clearer than any nightmare.

Rick's hand was clenched tightly around the front of Morty's shirt, pulling him close.

"Morty, me and you are gonna be together for a hundred years."

Rick's blue eyes burned into his.

"Don't you dare fucking forget that."

Morty remembered staring back at him.

Those piercing blue eyes.

That impossible intensity.

At the time, he had simply nodded.

Morty remembered lowering his gaze to the floor.

He hadn't responded.

There was no point.

Rick would always have the last word.

The memory faded.

Morty sat in the darkness of his room, staring ahead.

His heart felt strangely calm.

The fear.

The confusion.

The endless uncertainty.

For the first time in what felt like forever, it all seemed to settle into place.

He finally understood something.

The nightmares weren't random. The exhaustion wasn't random. And neither was the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Someone was pulling the strings. Someone was keeping him trapped.

Morty's hands slowly clenched into fists.

He knew what he needed to do. The time for doubting himself was over.

Now it was time for action.

….

Morty walked toward the garage. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Rick was already completely wasted. After their trip, he had gotten high on the crystals they had stolen and mixed them with various bottles of alcohol he had managed to swipe from different planets over the years. The result was exactly what Morty expected. Rick was barely coherent.

The smell hit him before he even reached the garage door.

Alcohol.

Chemicals.

And the faint, sweet scent of the crystals. Morty hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Rick was slumped over his workbench, surrounded by half-empty bottles and scattered tools. A few glowing crystal fragments sat nearby. Their faint light reflected across the garage walls. Rick muttered something unintelligible under his breath before taking another drink.

For once, he wasn't building anything. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't ordering Morty around. He was simply sitting there.

Drunk.

Vulnerable.

Morty stood in the doorway and watched him. His expression remained unreadable. The memory of the nightmare lingered in the back of his mind. The memory of being abandoned lingered too. As did every insult.

Every mission.

Every time Rick had made him feel small. Morty's hands slowly tightened at his sides. Rick didn't even notice he was there.

"Oh... hey, buddy..."

Rick's words slurred together as he looked up.

"What are you doing here?"

He tried to push himself to his feet, but immediately slipped and nearly fell over again.

"Ugh..."

Rick rubbed a hand over his face.

"Why don't you be a pal and hand me that bottle over there?"

He lazily pointed toward a nearby workbench.

"I just need... I just need to get some water in my system. Overheated a bit."

He let out a drunken laugh.

"Maybe had a couple more swigs than I should've."

"Sure thing... Rick."

Morty's voice was quiet.

Calm.

Almost too calm.

He stepped closer, looking down at him.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Rick looked pathetic.

The genius scientist who could outsmart entire civilizations was sprawled across the garage floor, barely able to sit upright.

His pupils were heavily dilated.

His head swayed from side to side.

Empty bottles lay scattered around him.

The sharp smell of alcohol hung in the air.

Rick didn't seem to notice the way Morty was staring at him.

Or maybe he was simply too intoxicated to care.

For once, Rick wasn't the smartest person in the room.

For once, he wasn't in control.

And Morty couldn't stop looking at him.

Morty slowly crouched down beside him and overpowered him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

He stared into Rick's eyes.

The old scientist blinked lazily, struggling to focus. His expression twisted into a scowl as he finally registered Morty's presence.

"Get away from me..."

Rick's voice came out slurred and irritated.

"What... what are you doing?"

Morty didn't answer.

He simply remained there, watching him.

Rick shifted uncomfortably on the floor and squinted up at him.

The usual sharp intelligence behind his eyes was dulled by alcohol and exhaustion.

For once, there was no sarcastic comeback.

No grand speech.

No impossible invention.

Just Rick.

Drunk.

Disheveled.

And vulnerable.

The sight felt strange.

Almost unreal.

Morty had spent years looking up at Rick.

Following him.

Listening to him.

Now their positions felt reversed.

Rick frowned.

"What are you staring at, Morty?"

His voice carried a hint of uncertainty beneath the annoyance.

Morty's gaze never left him.

The garage fell silent except for the faint hum of machinery in the background.

"Thanks for the ride, Rick."

….

Evil Morty let out a quiet sigh as he lifted the eyepatch and secured it over his eye.Immediately, something clicked into place.

Yes.

This felt right.

For so long, there had been a disconnect between who he was and who he appeared to be. Now, as the eyepatch settled against his skin, that feeling finally disappeared. It felt like a part of him. Like a missing piece that had finally been returned.

A sense of clarity washed over him.

He felt stronger.

Sharper.

More complete.

As though he could accomplish anything he set his mind to. For the first time in a long while, he felt like himself. Or perhaps, he felt like the person he was always meant to become. Yet despite that certainty, something still lingered in the back of his mind.

A persistent thought. A quiet irritation. A feeling that refused to leave him alone. It tugged at the edge of his consciousness, demanding attention.

Soon.

He would deal with it soon.

But first, there was something he needed to do. Not because anyone had ordered him to. Not because someone expected it of him. Because he wanted to. The urge was impossible to ignore. A pull deep within him. And he had learned long ago that ignoring those instincts was a mistake.

….

What he hadn't accounted for was the rest of the family returning home. A door creaked shut somewhere behind him. The sound was soft. Barely audible. Yet it immediately caught his attention.

Evil Morty turned toward it. His gaze settled on the doorway. For a moment, nobody moved. Then Beth's eyes widened in horror. A terrified shriek escaped her lips.

"Monster!"

The word echoed through the room. She staggered backward, her hands trembling as she stared at him. Jerry stood frozen beside her. His face had gone pale. He kept glancing between Morty and the scene in front of him, unable to process what he was seeing.

Slowly, he retreated toward the corner of the room. His hands shook uncontrollably. Fear was written across every inch of his face. For once, he couldn't think of anything to say. He simply stood there, staring. Terrified. As if he were looking at a complete stranger wearing Morty's face.

Then, suddenly, Beth seemed to find her courage. The shock and fear faded from her expression, replaced by anger. She marched straight toward Morty.

"What did you do to your grandfather, Morty?"

Her voice shook with fury.

"I am very disappointed in you."

She pointed an accusing finger at him.

"This isn't normal."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You aren't normal."

Morty didn't react.

He simply stared at her.

Numb.

Detached.

As if her words were passing right through him.

Beth took another step forward.

"I always had this feeling in the back of my mind."

She laughed bitterly.

"God, you're nothing like your sister."

Her voice grew sharper with every word.

"Summer has her problems, but at least she's normal."

She jabbed a finger into Morty's chest.

Hard.

"What is wrong with you?"

Morty remained silent.

His expression never changed.

He just looked at her.

That turned out to be the worst possible response.

Beth's face twisted with even more frustration.

His silence felt like defiance.

Like he wasn't listening.

Like he didn't care.

And that only made her angrier.

"Say something!"

She shoved a finger against his chest again.

"Do you even understand what you've done?"

Still nothing.

Morty's empty stare only fueled her rage.

Suddenly, his head snapped to the side. A sharp sting spread across his cheek. Beth had slapped him. The force of it should have hurt more. But Morty felt strangely numb. Slowly, he turned his head back toward her. He stared at the woman standing in front of him. His mother. And yet, in that moment, he felt nothing.

No sadness.

No guilt.

No desire to explain himself.

After all, what had she ever done for him? She had watched Rick drag him across dimensions for years. She had heard the insults. The belittling comments. The endless remarks that chipped away at his self-worth. And she had never stopped them.

Never intervened.

Never asked if he was okay.

Morty remembered the offhand comments she'd made over the years.

Why wasn't he as smart as his grandfather?

Why couldn't he be more like Summer?

Was there something wrong with him?

The questions had always lingered beneath the surface. Small enough to dismiss. Yet sharp enough to leave scars. She never questioned the injuries he came home with. Never asked why he sometimes flinched when Rick put a hand on his shoulder. Never noticed how exhausted he looked after certain adventures.

Or maybe she noticed.

And simply chose not to see. Morty's expression remained blank. The realization settled heavily in his chest. For so long, he had convinced himself that Rick was the problem. That Rick was the one who had failed him.

Now he wasn't so sure.

Beth had stood by and watched it happen.

Again and again.

Maybe she was no better. Maybe, deep down, she had never really seen him as a person either. Just another piece of the family. A problem to manage. A disappointment to fix. Something less than human. The thought should have hurt. Instead, it only made him feel colder.

"Morty! MORTY!"

Hearing her scream his name only made the headache worse.

The sound pounded against his skull like a hammer.

He just wanted silence.

Peace and quiet, if only for a moment.

Slowly, Morty turned his head toward her.

Bang

The room fell silent.

The only sound left was Jerry's terrified sobbing.

Jerry had backed himself into a corner, trembling violently. Fear filled his eyes as he stared at the boy standing before him.

The boy he still thought was his son.

Morty stared back at him without a trace of emotion.

No anger.

No sadness.

Nothing.

Just cold indifference.

Jerry opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words never came.

Morty sighed.

Then he raised the gun.

For a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze.

Bang

Then Jerry's body slammed against the wall with a sickening thud before collapsing to the floor. Blood spread across the surface behind him as the room fell silent once more. Morty let out a long, exhausted sigh. This was getting tiresome. He lowered the weapon and rubbed the bridge of his nose. But before he could gather his thoughts, he heard something else.

Footsteps.

They were getting closer.

Morty's eyes widened slightly.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

His grip tightened around the gun as he turned toward the sound. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, someone else had decided to show up.

Summer burst into the room and immediately froze. Her parents lay sprawled across the floor. Blood pooled beneath them as their bodies twitched weakly. Their skin had already begun to turn deathly pale.

For a moment, Summer couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Then she saw the small figure standing among the carnage.

"Morty..."

The smell of blood and death hung heavily in the air. Her horror quickly turned into rage.

"YOU!"

Her voice cracked as she pointed at him.

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THIS, YOU LITTLE MONSTER?!"

Morty didn't answer. Instead, he raised his hands to his temples and rubbed them in slow, circular motions. A pounding headache was beginning to form behind his eyes. The shouting barely registered. Something else had his attention.

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him.

It was overwhelming.

Familiar.

As if he had lived through this moment before. As if every choice he had made, every step he had taken, had been leading him here. Morty stared at the bodies scattered across the floor. The feeling only grew stronger.

No matter what path he had chosen...

No matter how many times he had tried to change things...

It felt as though he had always been meant to do this. As though this outcome had been waiting for him from the very beginning. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across his face. Then it vanished.

He lowered his hands and looked at Summer.

Silently.

Calmly.

Almost as if he had already accepted what he had become.

"Morty—!"

Morty merely tilted his head and raised a hand toward her.

To his surprise, Summer actually made the smart choice. She ran. Without wasting a second, she bolted through the doorway, screaming at the top of her lungs. Morty rushed after her and stopped at the entrance, watching as she disappeared down the hall. For a moment, he considered pursuing her.

Then he sighed.

No.

He couldn't leave yet. He had more important problems to deal with. There were still two bodies lying inside the house. And then there was Rick. His gaze drifted back toward the room.

Reprogramming Rick was going to take time. Even under his control, Rick Sanchez was far too dangerous to trust completely.

Morty's eyes narrowed.

He would need to make a few adjustments.

A few safeguards.

A few extra layers of control.

Just in case that motherfucker somehow managed to break free. Rick always found a way. Morty wasn't going to give him the chance this time. With one last glance toward the direction Summer had fled, he turned around and headed back inside.

There was work to do.

...

Morty, ever observant, felt two pairs of eyes watching him. He ignored them. He would deal with that later. Instead, he returned to the room. The bodies were still there.

Their blood had long since oxidized, turning a dark brown against the floorboards. The metallic scent lingered heavily in the air.

Slowly, Morty knelt beside one of the corpses and pressed his fingers against the dried blood.

Cold.

The realization made him pause. Then his eyes widened slightly.

"Oh."

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. So that was the smell. The smell that had haunted his nightmares. The smell that had filled him with dread every time he caught a trace of it. For so long, he had been terrified of who—or what—it belonged to. The irony was almost funny. Because in the end, he was the one who had caused it.

He was the monster he had been afraid of all along. Another laugh slipped out, hollow and humorless, as he stared down at the bodies. The room remained silent.

Only the dead listened.

Evil Morty stared down at the floor, finally allowing himself to think about what he had done.

At first, he felt nothing.

Then it caught up to him.

The weight of it all crashed into him at once.

His face turned deathly pale as he looked down and noticed that his hands were shaking.

He clenched them into fists, trying to stop the trembling.

For a moment, he simply stood there, frozen.

Then he took a slow, steady breath.

And another.

The panic receded just enough for him to think.

No.

He couldn't afford to fall apart right now.

Whatever guilt, fear, or regret he felt could wait.

He had to keep moving forward.

That was the only way he had ever survived.

The only way out of this situation was through it.

So Morty straightened his shoulders, forced his hands to be still, and pushed forward.

….

He woke with a violent gasp and immediately realized he couldn't breathe.

Summer was on top of him.

Her hands were wrapped around his throat, squeezing with terrifying force. Every second, the pressure increased. It felt as though one more ounce of strength would be enough to crush his windpipe.

Morty's eyes widened in panic.

He clawed at her wrists, desperately trying to pry her hands away, but she refused to let go.

He tried to speak.

Nothing came out except shallow, ragged wheezes.

The sound was horrifying.

Air refused to enter his lungs.

Dark spots began to dance across his vision as the edges of the room blurred and faded. His chest burned, screaming for oxygen.

Panic surged through him.

For the first time in a long while, he felt genuine fear.

Summer's face hovered above him, her expression twisted with fury as she tightened her grip even further.

His vision continued to darken.

So decided to kick her, and twisted his hand to the pillow, and jammed the gun right to her eye. Hard.

She hissed and stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor. Tears streamed down her face automatically as blood trickled from her eyes.

"You little bastard..." she snarled through gritted teeth.

A surge of pure adrenaline rushed through her body.

Without hesitation, she threw herself forward and slammed her fist into Evil Morty's arm, knocking the gun from his grasp. She jammed her finger deep into Evil Morty's eye socket.

An eye for an eye.

He hissed in pain.

The weapon clattered across the ground.

Both of them lunged for it.

They grappled desperately, each fighting for control.

Unfortunately for Morty, he was still smaller and lighter than Summer. Despite his intelligence and planning, he couldn't match her physical strength.

With a furious cry, Summer managed to seize the gun.

For the first time, regret flashed across Evil Morty's face.

He had underestimated her.

He should have killed her when he had the chance.

Now it might cost him everything.

The two stared each other down, both breathing heavily.

Blood dripped from their eye sockets and stained the floor beneath them.

Neither looked away.

Neither was willing to back down.

For a moment, the room fell silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing as they prepared for whatever came next.

…

"Grandpa..."

Her eyes widened.

"GRANDPA! STOP!"

Her voice cracked into a desperate scream.

"GRANDPA, SNAP OUT OF IT!"

She cried out as he choked her. She struggled against him, until she dropped limp. Necked snapped.

Evil Morty watched the scene with cold, emotionless eyes.

Rick simply stared down at her.

His face was hollow, lifeless—like a doll's. He still clutched the corpse in his arms, refusing to let go.

Then a single tear slipped down his cheek.

Evil Morty's eyes narrowed.

"You fucking bitch," he hissed.

"You cried for her? After everything you've done to me?"

In an instant, he grabbed a fistful of Rick's hair and yanked his head upward, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"You fucking hypocrite."

Rick offered no resistance.

No anger.

No fight.

Nothing.

"That's right," Evil Morty said quietly, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

He tightened his grip.

"I own you now."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I am your god."

He understood it now. Everything just clicked in his brained.

He was terrified of being seen as just another Morty—another replaceable sidekick that no one paid a second thought to. He wanted to prove that he was irreplaceable. He wanted the pain to stop. More than anything, he wanted to get rid of the Ricks forever.

His vision began to darken as the world around him started to collapse. The environment twisted and crumbled into an endless void of darkness. The sounds around him faded until there was nothing left but silence.

Then everything went black.

He lost consciousness and fell into the darkness.

….

He gasped, his eyes widening as he realized he was trapped in a pit of black tar.

"Morty?"

A familiar face peered down at him. Morty was staring back with an expression full of concern.

"Yeah. It's just... you've been trapped in the Fear Hole for a while, and I started getting worried about you."

He hesitated before asking quietly, "Are you really okay?"

"Y-yeah, Morty. I'm fine..." Evil Morty replied. "I'm fine."

Morty didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded.

"Come on. Let's get out of here."

As they climbed out, Evil Morty felt a headache beginning to form. Maybe it was from all the memories he had been forced to relive. Maybe it was from facing fears he thought he had buried long ago. He wasn't sure. But when he glanced over and saw Morty smiling at him, the ache seemed to fade, if only a little.

The two of them walked out of the diner together. Only a handful of people remained inside, quietly eating or watching them as they passed. He felt like he had seen one of them before…

But looking and holding hands with Morty, allowed him to rest. For the first time in what felt like forever, Evil Morty allowed himself to relax.

Evil Morty fired up a portal gun, the familiar green swirl tearing through reality. Before he could step through, Morty grabbed onto his arm, and together they jumped into the portal.

When they landed on the other side, Morty let out a nervous laugh.

"Jeez... I remember the first time I went through the Fear Hole."

Evil Morty glanced over at him.

"You went in willingly?"

"Yeah," Morty admitted sheepishly. "I was with Rick, and I got curious. I wanted to see what it was like."

He shuddered at the memory.

"The first thing I saw was this giant spider. Like, seriously giant."

Evil Morty raised an eyebrow.

"A spider?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't even the worst part." Morty's smile faded slightly. "There was a lot of stuff in there that really messed me up."

His gaze drifted toward the ground.

"It all felt like some weird fever dream. Every fear I had was twisted around and thrown back at me."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Hm."

It was all Evil Morty said, but Morty noticed the way his expression softened.

The Fear Hole was cruel. It dug through every insecurity, every regret, every weakness a person tried to bury. And somehow, despite everything it had shown him, Morty had still managed to come out smiling. Evil Morty wasn't sure whether that made him brave or completely insane.

…..

They spent what felt like an eternity together, traveling across dimensions and getting into all sorts of adventures.

As much as he hated to admit it, having Morty by his side made everything better. It felt like a wonderful dream he never wanted to wake up from.

Evil Morty had never felt this calm before. For once, he was genuinely happy.

He found himself smiling more whenever Morty C-137 was around. Surprisingly, they had a lot in common. Morty was kind, curious, and far more resilient than most people gave him credit for.

What Evil Morty found himself noticing most, however, were the little things.

The way Morty would glance up at him shyly whenever he needed guidance. The way his face would brighten whenever Evil Morty praised one of his ideas. And especially the small, adoring smiles he thought no one noticed whenever he believed Evil Morty wasn't looking.

But Evil Morty noticed.

He always noticed.

Morty understood him in a way he had never thought possible. It was as if Morty had become the missing piece he never realized he was searching for.

"Morty, you can't die unless I want you to."

Evil Morty had said it during one of their trips after Morty had badly injured his leg. Watching him bleed and struggle had left Evil Morty feeling utterly helpless—a feeling he despised.

As a result, he banned Morty from going on any adventures for a while.

Evil Morty performed the procedure without anesthesia.

Every movement was deliberate. Every adjustment was calculated to ensure Morty understood exactly what was happening and, more importantly, why. He watched closely as Morty flinched and struggled, refusing to look away from the consequences of his actions.

"This is why you don't run off on your own," Evil Morty said coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Every time you disappear, you put yourself in danger."

He continued his work with mechanical precision, treating the operation less like an act of care and more like a lesson.

A lesson Morty would remember.

Evil Morty told himself it was for Morty's safety. That stricter supervision would prevent future disasters. That if Morty learned to listen, none of this would be necessary.

Pain, after all, was a far more effective instructor than words.

Later that night, the two of them lay side by side on a bed, staring up at the ceiling in comfortable silence. Time seemed to stretch endlessly around them.

It was nice.

For the first time in a long while, Evil Morty felt at peace. He was still exhausted, worn down by memories and fears he could never fully escape, but Morty had blindsided him. Somehow, he had slipped past every wall Evil Morty had built around himself.

And for that, he was grateful.

"You know..." Evil Morty began quietly. "I've never really had anyone by my side."

Morty turned his head toward him.

"My own parents never favored me. Everyone always favored my sister."

The words felt strange leaving his mouth. Vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Morty broke the silence.

"You know... I'll always be by your side."

Evil Morty's breath caught in his throat.

"What did you say?"

Morty's face flushed slightly, but he didn't look away.

"I'll always be by your side."

For a brief, beautiful moment, everything felt warm.

Everything felt real.

Then the world shattered.

Evil Morty's eyes snapped open.

"FUCK!"

The warmth was gone.

The bed was gone.

Morty was gone.

He was back in the hole.

Back in the nightmare that refused to end.

His eyes went dark.

…

Evil Morty jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his chest heaving as he fought for air. Cold sweat clung to his skin, plastering his suit against his body. For a moment, the nightmare still felt real, its lingering terror wrapping around him like a vice.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder.

He flinched and turned, only to find Morty Prime sitting beside the cot. Concern was etched across his face, his usually guarded expression softened by quiet sympathy.

"Hey, hey. Take it easy," Morty said softly.

His voice cut through the haze of panic, grounding Evil Morty as the nightmare slowly faded.

"It's okay," Morty continued. "You made it out."

Evil Morty swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as he struggled to separate the cold reality of his escape from the suffocating, endless layers of the Fear Hole.

He had always believed he was smarter than whatever existential horror the universe could throw at him. After severing his ties to the Ricks and escaping the Central Finite Curve, he thought he had accounted for every variable. He thought he had beaten the system.

But the Hole didn't care about his intelligence.

It had reached past every defense, digging into the deepest corners of his mind and exposing the fears he refused to acknowledge—the thoughts he kept buried beneath layers of logic, calculation, and control.

"I was trapped in there, Morty," Evil Morty wheezed, his voice trembling as he finally met his counterpart's gaze. "It just... it wouldn't let me go. It kept looping."

His hands clenched into fists.

Again and again, he was forced to relive Rick's torture. Every humiliation, every manipulation, every moment of helplessness he had spent years burying came rushing back to the surface. Old scars were ripped open, transformed into fresh, raw wounds.

Each time he thought he had escaped, the nightmare would begin again.

And each time, he was dragged back into the same endless cycle of pain.

Eventually, just as before, he managed to find his way out. But escaping hadn't erased what he had seen. The memories still clung to him, sharp and vivid, refusing to fade.

"I know," Morty whispered, shifting a little closer and offering him a small, reassuring smile.

"You're okay now. You're here with me."

He didn't ask about the horrors hidden inside the simulation. He didn't press for details or demand explanations. Instead, he simply stayed by his side, acting as an anchor to the present and a reminder that the endless void of fear and suffering had never been real.

Evil Morty closed his eyes and leaned into the comforting touch of his counterpart.

Slowly, the trembling in his chest subsided.

He took a measured breath, then another, deliberately forcing his emotions back under control. Piece by piece, the familiar mask of composure slid back into place. His breathing steadied. His pulse settled into a calm, methodical rhythm.

The panic was gone.

When he finally opened his eyes, Morty's sympathetic face was illuminated by the dim glow of the terminal lights. The reflection glinted faintly off the gold eyepatch that concealed one of his eyes.

For a moment, Evil Morty simply watched him.

The Ricks no longer mattered. He had already built a reality where they held no power over him, where they could never reach him again.

Yet despite all his planning, all his calculations, one variable remained stubbornly beyond his control.

Morty Prime.

His thoughts always circled back to him.

Not the Ricks. Not the multiverse. Not the endless machinery of reality itself.

Just him.

Some dark, possessive part of Evil Morty wanted to keep him close—far away from the grandfathers who had damaged them both. He imagined a carefully constructed world where there were no Ricks, no adventures, no chaos. A world where they could finally be free.

A world where Morty would choose him.

The thought lingered for only a second before he buried it beneath layers of logic and restraint.

As always, his expression remained perfectly unreadable.

"You're right," Evil Morty said.

His voice had changed. The panic and exhaustion were gone, replaced by a smooth, unnervingly calm cadence.

His hand closed around Morty's wrist.

Not hard enough to injure him—just enough to make it clear he wasn't letting go.

"We did make it out," he continued quietly. "And you're never going back to him."

Morty blinked.

The warmth in his expression faltered as he looked down at the tightening grip.

"Uh... Evil Morty?" he said with a nervous laugh. "You're kinda hurting my wrist."

Evil Morty didn't release him.

His gaze remained fixed on Morty's face, unwavering and intense. A small, selfish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Every nightmare inside the Fear Hole had revolved around powerlessness. Around losing control. Around being trapped.

But out here?

Out here, everything was finally under control.

No Ricks.

No interference.

No variables he hadn't accounted for.

Just the two of them.

The smile widened slightly.

Then a sharp pop echoed through the room.

The sound was deafening.

In an instant, the space station vanished.

The sterile walls dissolved into drifting clouds of purple mist. Monitors flickered out of existence. The cot crumbled into dust. Reality itself peeled away like a stage backdrop being ripped from its frame.

Evil Morty's eyes widened.

His hand snapped shut on empty air.

Morty was gone.

He stumbled forward, nearly losing his footing as his boots struck damp, uneven ground.

A sickening, metallic stench flooded his lungs.

Fear pheromones.

Slowly, the mist cleared.

Organic walls pulsed in the darkness around him. Shadows writhed across the fleshy cavern. The air was thick, humid, and alive.

Recognition hit him like a freight train.

His stomach dropped.

"No..."

The word escaped as little more than a whisper.

He was still there.

….

Still standing at the bottom of the Fear Hole.

And this time, he finally understood why it wouldn't let him leave.

Above him, dangling from the fleshy ceiling of the cavern, a massive, grotesque manifestation of his own subconscious grinned down at him.

It didn't look like Rick.

It looked like a twisted, multi-limbed version of Morty Prime, its limbs bound together by tangled wires that pulsed with the same golden light as his portal technology. Its smile stretched far too wide, exposing rows of jagged teeth.

"Flawless calculations, huh?" the manifestation mocked, its voice echoing through the chamber in a sickening distortion of Morty's own stutter. "You think you're so cool, so composed. But you're just a selfish, lonely kid who tried to build a cage. And you're terrified that even if you drag him down here, he'll never choose to stay with you."

Evil Morty's breath caught in his throat.

The words struck harder than any weapon.

For a moment, he stood frozen as the realization crashed into him. The carefully crafted mask of composure he'd worn for years shattered completely. The creature's grin widened as the Fear Hole sensed the crack in his defenses.

Then the loop began again.

The wet, organic walls of the Fear Hole constricted around him, pulsing like the muscles of a dying throat. The cavern trembled with every contraction. A metallic scent flooded the air, thick and sharp with the smell of copper.

Evil Morty stood alone in the darkness, his chest tightening as panic clawed its way up his spine.

Instinctively, he reached for the schematics stored within his cybernetic enhancements, searching for a solution, an escape route, anything. But the display in his eyepatch flickered weakly before dissolving into static.

A low hum buzzed against his skin.

Dead.

Completely dead.

For the first time in a very long time, Evil Morty found himself trapped with nothing but his own fear.

"L-Logically..." Evil Morty began, but his voice cracked.

He froze.

His hands were shaking.

"L-Logically, this is just a biochemical illusion," he tried again.

The words stumbled over each other, clumsy and heavy. The stutter—the pathetic, weak, universal Morty stutter he'd spent years burying beneath intelligence, technology, and sheer force of will—had finally breached his defenses.

The purple mist around him thickened and solidified into a mirror.

It stretched endlessly into the darkness, reflecting itself into infinity.

Evil Morty stared at his reflection.

He wasn't wearing his pristine suit anymore.

Instead, he stood there in a filthy, oversized yellow T-shirt. His posture was slouched. Acne covered his face. Tear stains streaked his cheeks. He looked small.

Powerless.

Ordinary.

"Look at the little guy," the Hole crooned.

The voice no longer sounded like Morty Prime. Instead, it had become a chorus of Ricks—thousands of them speaking at once, their laughter echoing through the cavern.

"You built yourself a big wall. You killed countless versions of us. You thought you were special." The voices laughed. "But you're just a cloaking device that got a little too loud."

"Shut up," Evil Morty hissed.

He drove his fist into the mirror.

The surface didn't shatter.

It rippled like water.

The reflection smiled.

"You think you're different from a Rick?" it asked.

The image shifted.

Now the figure staring back at him wore Rick C-137's blue shirt and lab coat. A portal gun rested casually in its hand. The grin on its face was cruel, arrogant, and utterly devoid of empathy.

"You've been telling yourself that story for years."

Evil Morty's stomach twisted.

"No."

"Yes."

The reflection took a step forward despite being trapped behind the glass.

"You're doing the exact same thing."

"No."

"You're trying to isolate a Morty."

The reflection's grin widened.

"You're trying to own him."

Another step.

"Control him."

Another.

"Lock him in a cage."

The mirror bulged outward as if something inside was trying to crawl through.

"Because you're too pathetic to exist on your own."

Evil Morty's breathing became ragged.

The reflection pressed its hand against the glass.

"You didn't break the cycle."

Its smile stretched impossibly wide.

"You just became the monster."

“You became a Rick”

"I am nothing like them!"

Evil Morty's scream tore through the cavern, his composure shattering completely.

He lunged at the mirror.

Gone was the cold strategist. Gone was the calculating genius who had outsmarted Ricks, escaped the Central Finite Curve, and built an empire from the shadows. Logic, planning, and control had abandoned him.

All that remained was panic.

Raw.

Blinding.

Human.

His fingers clawed desperately at the glass.

"N-No! Y-You're wrong!"

The stutter consumed him completely now. Every carefully constructed defense he'd built over the years was collapsing under the weight of the Fear Hole's assault. He sounded like every other Morty he'd spent his life trying not to become.

Small.

Terrified.

Replaceable.

A sidekick crying into the dark.

The mirror finally shattered.

A thousand jagged shards exploded outward, scattering across the cavern floor.

Every fragment held a reflection.

Morty Prime.

Not trapped.

Not hurt.

Not searching for him.

Laughing.

In one shard, he sat beside Rick in the flying car, grinning at some stupid joke. In another, he was complaining about an adventure. In another, he was rolling his eyes while Rick rambled on about something incomprehensible.

Every version looked happy.

Every version looked alive.

Every version looked completely unaware that Evil Morty existed.

And worse—

None of them cared.

Not a single glance.

Not a single thought.

Not a single moment spent wondering where he had gone.

The realization hit harder than any weapon ever could.

Evil Morty had torn apart the universe to escape.

He had outsmarted gods.

Destroyed countless lives.

Crossed an infinite multiverse.

And none of it had made him matter.

He collapsed to his knees in the mud.

The muck splashed around him as his hands gripped the sides of his head.

The weight of his own insignificance crashed down like a collapsing star.

For a long moment, the cavern echoed with the laughter of a thousand Ricks.

Then—

Nothing.

The laughter faded.

The accusations vanished.

The crushing noise dissolved into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Evil Morty remained kneeling in the mud.

His hands pressed tightly against his ears.

His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps.

The display on his cybernetic eyepatch remained dark.

Dead.

Useless.

The technological marvels he'd spent years building couldn't protect him here.

Neither could his intelligence.

Neither could his plans.

Neither could the cold, detached god-complex he'd spent a lifetime constructing around himself.

For the first time in years, there was no one left to outsmart.

No one left to manipulate.

No one left to blame.

There was only the awful, aching truth he'd spent his entire life running from.

He was lonely.

And no amount of power could make that feeling disappear.

….

Evil Morty didn't lean into the touch this time. He didn't force his expression into something calm. He simply stared at Morty Prime.

Something was wrong.

The pixels in Morty's eyes weren't behaving correctly. They flickered and shifted, cycling through a faint, organic shade of purple that seemed almost alive.

"Stop," Evil Morty whispered.

"Stop what, man?" Morty asked, his voice gentle. "I'm just trying to help—"

"I said stop!"

The words exploded from him.

Evil Morty lashed out, backhanding Morty Prime across the face.

Morty's head snapped to the side.

But he didn't stumble.

He didn't bleed.

He didn't even react.

Instead, his neck stretched.

The flesh elongated like molten taffy, twisting farther and farther than it should have been able to. Vertebrae bent impossibly as his head slowly rotated upside down.

The smile never left his face.

Not for a second.

"A-Aw, geez, Evil Morty..." the upside-down figure stammered.

His voice split.

Then multiplied.

A dozen Mortys spoke at once.

Then hundreds.

Then thousands.

The words layered over each other into a deafening chorus of identical voices.

"Wh-Why can't you just accept the calculation?"

The grin widened.

"You want me, right?"

The purple glow pulsed behind his eyes.

"You want us to be together forever."

His stretched neck twisted another full rotation.

"We're a team."

The last words echoed through the room, spoken by countless overlapping versions of Morty, each slightly out of sync with the others.

Evil Morty felt his stomach drop.

That wasn't Morty.

It wasn't even pretending to be anymore.

"You're not real," Evil Morty hissed, stumbling backward from the terminal.

His trembling fingers clawed at his cybernetic eyepatch. With a desperate yank, he ripped it free, tearing wires directly from his temple.

Pain exploded through his skull.

Blood and coolant fluid streamed down his cheek, mixing into a crimson-blue trail that dripped into the mud below.

But the interface didn't spark.

It didn't flash warnings.

It didn't provide a tactical readout.

It only emitted a dull, hollow hum.

A dead signal.

Around him, reality began to unravel.

The walls of the space station bulged inward, swelling and contracting like the lungs of some colossal creature. The sleek metal panels rippled with unnatural movement. High-tech monitors melted into streams of black sludge, cascading down the walls in thick, oily curtains.

The sterile floor dissolved beneath his boots.

Steel became mud.

Circuits became roots.

The station peeled away, revealing the damp cavern underneath.

The illusion was dying.

Or perhaps it had never existed at all.

For the first time, the cold mask of indifference that Evil Morty wore so carefully didn't merely crack.

It shattered.

"No... no, no, no..."

His voice broke.

The controlled cadence that had carried him through countless schemes evaporated instantly. The terrified stutter he had spent years burying clawed its way back to the surface.

He fell to his knees in the muck.

"I-I broke the Curve!" he shouted. "I destroyed the Citadel!"

His breath came in ragged gasps.

"I escaped! I won!"

The cavern pulsed around him.

The sludge continued to drip.

The twisted imitation of Morty still smiled.

Evil Morty's eyes darted wildly through the darkness.

"I'm smarter than him," he whispered.

The words sounded less like a declaration and more like a plea.

"I'm smarter than all of them."

Silence answered him.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, came the faint sound of laughter.

"You're just a Morty."

The Hole's voice thundered through the cavern, reverberating from the pulsating flesh that covered the ceiling.

"You always were."

Something enormous dropped from the darkness above.

Evil Morty barely had time to look up before the creature crashed into him, driving him into the mud with crushing force.

The thing was a nightmare stitched together from his worst fears.

Fragments of Rick C-137's face protruded from its massive body, grinning with drunken amusement. Morty Prime's features surfaced between them, smiling with sickening warmth. Extra limbs twisted from its torso at impossible angles, each one ending in mismatched hands that clawed at the ground around him.

Its laughter boomed through the cavern.

Rick's laugh.

Morty's laugh.

A warped combination of both.

The sound rattled through Evil Morty's bones.

"You spent your whole life running from being a sidekick," the creature mocked, its many mouths speaking in unison. "You crossed universes. You destroyed the Citadel. You broke the Curve."

A massive hand slammed beside his head.

"And after all that?"

The creature leaned closer.

Its breath smelled like rot and ozone.

"You ran straight into a hole to cry about a boy who doesn't even know you're gone."

Something inside Evil Morty snapped.

"Shut up!"

His voice cracked.

"Shut up! Shut up!"

He thrashed beneath the creature's weight, clawing desperately at the mud. His fingernails scraped against jagged stone hidden beneath the muck, tearing until blood stained the dirt beneath his hands.

His breathing spiraled out of control.

Each gasp was shorter than the last.

His chest heaved violently, sharp pain lancing through his ribs as panic consumed him.

The carefully crafted image of the untouchable mastermind disintegrated before his own eyes.

There was no calculating dictator.

No fearless revolutionary.

No genius who had escaped every cage ever built for him.

Just a terrified boy.

Tears mixed with blood and coolant fluid, streaking down his face.

The creature laughed again.

And for the first time in years, Evil Morty couldn't think of a way out.

,,,,

He didn't want to fight the universe anymore. He didn't want to be the smartest person in the room. He didn't want to keep running.

He just wanted the aching void in his chest to stop.

"Alright," Evil Morty whispered into the darkness. His voice trembled, stripped bare of the cold composure he had worn like armor for so long. "You win."

The words caught in his throat.

"Just... give him back."

The Fear Hole accepted his surrender eagerly.

The damp, organic walls dissolved around him, melting away like flesh exposed to fire. The metallic stench of fear pheromones vanished, replaced by something warm and familiar—the scent of old books, clean sheets, and worn metal.

Home.

Evil Morty jolted upright with a gasp.

Air tore into his lungs as his chest heaved violently. Cold sweat soaked through his suit, clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Panic still gripped him, sharp and suffocating, but for once he didn't force it down. He didn't hide it behind calculation or sarcasm. He didn't pretend he was above it.

He let himself look scared.

He let himself look small.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder.

Evil Morty froze.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Morty Prime sat beside him on the edge of the cot, his expression soft with concern. There was no fear in his eyes. No anger. No accusation.

Just quiet worry.

"Hey," Morty said softly. "You okay?"

For a moment, Evil Morty couldn't answer.

Because Morty Prime was here.

~~Alive.~~

~~Real.~~

And for the first time since the nightmare began, the crushing weight in his chest eased—if only a little.

"Hey, hey. Take it easy," Morty Prime said softly, his voice steady enough to anchor him against the fading terror of the nightmare. "It's okay. You're out. We made it out."

Evil Morty swallowed hard.

His vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. Normally, he would have hidden them. He would have forced his expression back into its usual mask of cold indifference and pretended none of this had affected him.

This time, he couldn't.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he lurched forward and buried his face in Morty Prime's shoulder. His hands clenched desperately in the yellow fabric of Morty's shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. Like if he let go, the nightmare would drag him back.

His breaths came fast and uneven. He couldn't stop shaking.

"I-I was trapped in there, Morty," Evil Morty sobbed, his voice cracking completely as the stutter he'd spent years suppressing forced its way through. "It just... it wouldn't let me go. It k-kept looping over and over again."

His grip tightened.

"I thought I lost you."

The words came out barely above a whisper.

"I thought you forgot about me."

A broken sound escaped his throat as he buried his face deeper into Morty's shoulder, clinging to him with everything he had. For all his intelligence, all his plans, all his victories across the multiverse, none of them mattered in that moment.

Only this.

Only knowing that Morty was still here.

"I'm right here," Morty Prime whispered, shifting closer.

He wrapped his arms around Evil Morty and pulled him into a firm, reassuring embrace. He didn't press for answers. He didn't ask about the nightmare or demand an explanation. The details didn't matter.

Instead, he simply held him.

Slow, gentle circles traced across Evil Morty's back, grounding him in the warmth of the moment.

"I'm not going anywhere," Morty said softly. "We're a team, remember? You're safe now."

Evil Morty closed his eyes.

For a brief, fragile moment, he let himself sink into the embrace. He let himself pretend the warmth was real. That the steady heartbeat beneath his ear was real. That the hand rubbing soothing circles into his back belonged to the one person he wanted beside him more than anyone else in the multiverse.

But he knew better.

He knew, with absolute mathematical certainty, that none of this was real.

The real Morty Prime was light-years away, probably rolling his eyes at one of Rick's terrible jokes or getting dragged into another reckless adventure. He wasn't here.

And Evil Morty wasn't safe in a quiet room.

He was still trapped at the bottom of a grotesque, predatory pit behind a cosmic Denny's.

This was just another layer of the Fear Hole.

Another trap.

Another lie designed specifically for him.

Yet despite knowing all of that, despite recognizing every inconsistency and every calculated manipulation, he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Because for the first time since he had fallen into the Hole, the crushing loneliness had eased.

Even if it was only an illusion.

Even if it was a lie.

For one selfish, desperate moment, he wanted to believe it.

But as he clung to the illusion, feeling the manufactured warmth of a boy who had finally chosen him over everything else, Evil Morty found that he didn't care.

The calculation was simple.

The lie was better than reality.

For once, there was no complicated equation to solve, no hidden variable to account for. The answer was painfully obvious.

Reality hurt.

This didn't.

His grip tightened around Morty, and he buried his face deeper into his shoulder, greedily soaking in every second of comfort the simulation offered. The warmth, the reassurance, the feeling of being wanted—it was all fake.

He knew that.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to let go.

If this was a trap, then maybe he wanted to stay trapped.

If this was a prison, then maybe he was tired of escaping.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he wasn't alone.

So he held on tighter and silently wished the Fear Hole would never end.

After all, Morty had never come to Denny's with him in the first place.

The thought struck with the force of a blade between the ribs.

Morty hadn't followed him.

Hadn't chosen him.

Hadn't come looking for him.

The real Morty Prime was somewhere else entirely, living his own life, probably unaware that Evil Morty was currently curled up at the bottom of a cosmic nightmare, desperately clinging to a version of him that didn't exist.

A broken laugh escaped Evil Morty's throat.

Of course this was his perfect illusion.

Not power.

Not victory.

Not freedom.

Just someone staying.

~~Just Morty.~~

Notes:

THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG THAN I WANTED IT TOO. IT REALLY DID SPIRAL OUT OF CONTROL. i just wanted to write about a short funny moment between the two morties, but it didnt turn out that way. Next one-shot will be vampire evil morty and morty. Also, thank you for reading, I appreciate any comments you might leave me byyye :p

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Derealization

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