"We're Mortys! We're not defined by our relationships to Rick! Our destiny is our own!"
Those words still rang in his ears, bouncing around as they slowly lost meaning. He remembered the rush of encouragement, of adrenaline as he joined the other versions of himself be spurred on by Morty C-137's speech. His words were powerful, and hit him at the bone. At the time, he believed him.
Morty C-237 was a fool.
The moment the crowd had been broken apart and pushed away from the downed Rick, his senses came crashing back. There was blood on his shirt, his hands, his face. He didn't look any different from most of the other Mortys who surrounded him, and he wasn't treated any differently either. He was escorted from the building and rounded with countless other Mortys like cattle.
The light hit him hard, making him shield his face with his bloodied hands. He blinked his eyes open and squinted at all the moving bodies around him until someone shoved him forward. He looked up and saw a Rick staring down at him with an expression of disinterest, which quickly shifted to a frown.
"C-C'mon! Move. We don't have all day, asswipe!"
Morty swept his gaze down at the ground, and finally moved forward.
---
The Council of Ricks had been very vague when they told him when he'd be given a new Rick. "When one needs a replacement," they had told him. Until then, he was expected to shut up and go back to his dimension. Morty had been so numb that he hardly realized when a portal to C-237 had been opened in front of him. Stepping through, he found that his dimension was exactly like it had been. He knew he had been gone for at least a couple months, so of course there wasn't going to be any changes.
Creeking the front door open, Morty peeked around it. The television was on, but no one was watching it. He looked to the kitchen as he caught the heated voices of an argument. Furrowing his brow, he stepped inside and slammed the door behind him. The arguing stopped.
---
His parents had greeted him with hugs and snippy comments towards each other. His mother's eyes were red, her hair was disheveled, and there were what could only be wine stains on her shirt. His father, on the other hand, was perfectly fine.
His sister had rushed down the steps, and before Morty could say a word she was pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. One look at her told Morty that she had spent much time crying.
That first night was awkward. Beth had made a plate up for Rick, and nearly burst into tears when Jerry pointed it out. All Morty could do was sit and slowly eat, trying not to look up from his plate when his parents started to argue.
Summer slammed her fork down and declared that she was going to stay the night at her friend's. Judging by the way that neither Beth or Jerry attempted to stop her, Morty figured that this was a nightly occurrence. He watched her leave.
She didn't come back until two days later.
---
Now, almost a month later, Morty was sitting on his bed. He was currently busy inspecting the healing wounds on his sides. The puncture marks had scabbed over, but were still painful when touched. He guessed they would scar. He bit his lip, knowing it could be worse. His time trapped to the building, repeatedly stabbed to keep his brainwaves shrill and powerful, had been short compared to a few others. There had been no set schedule for when the Mortys would be swapped out to prevent actual starvation, so some had been left out there for far longer than others. That Rick hadn't cared to keep track - he just couldn't have any dead Mortys on his hands. A dead Morty couldn't give off brainwaves.
Morty still had nightmares, and likely would for a long time. Sighing, he lowered his shirt. He swung his legs off the side of his bed and looked out the window. The sky was dark, hardly punctured by any light. Standing, he went to the small window and leaned against the sill. Silently, he counted the few stars that he could see. He traced them, trying to find the constellations Rick had showed him. He darted his eyes up and down, side to side, but couldn't find any. Either the clouds blocked them all, or he had forgotten them.
The teenager took in a deep breath through his nostrils, shuddered, and covered his face as his eyes began to tear up. He couldn't believe he missed that old, drunk asshole. All the scientist had done was drag him around, yell at him, and make him question every aspect of his life. He crushed every sense of security and normality he had in the span of one year.
Yet, all he could remember was that morning, and how Rick had grabbed his shirt and yanked him back until the kid fell out of his chair. The shot had so clearly been made for Rick, but all that old bastard could do was try to protect Morty's sorry ass while everyone else screamed.
"Oh my god, Rick. I fucking hate you."
He wiped at his face, ridding it of his tears as he looked up just in time to spot a shooting star. His naivety wanted to make a wish, but all he did was turn away. He crossed the room to shut off the light, then headed back to his bed. Once under the covers, he shoved a hand under his pillow before settling down, and was asleep within moments.
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