"Everybody is a Genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree. It will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." -Albert Einstein
When a Morty Loves a Morty
Chapter 1: After The Divorce
At the age of 24, Morty was a gangly, awkward man, with a head of curly brown hair, and a rushed, nervous way of speaking. He worked for an advertising firm, where he sat in a cubicle, wore a yellow tie everyday, and went overworked and underappreciated by his abrasive, emasculating boss.
In the evenings, he came home, removed the yellow tie, and watched TV in the living room with the volume turned up, while his abrasive, emasculating wife, Jessica, loudly fucked other guys in their bedroom. She did not love him. She had never loved him. In hindsight, hypnotizing her into liking him with Rick's old science stuff might not have been the most mature decision. Jessica may have been pretty but she was also vapid and horrible. The hypnotism mites in her brain, which forced her to pretend like she loved Morty, might have been dying, and their effects, slowly wearing off. OR they might have been alive and well, fat and feasting upon her suppressed disgust toward him. Either way she was still vapid and horrible. Morty found himself hating her more and more every day. Still, he did not have the nerve to divorce her, he merely ignored her infidelity until the day that she came to him, arm-and-arm with some guy that she had been "secretly" screwing, and served him the divorce papers.
It was around this time that Morty lost his job at the advertising firm, due to downsizing and layoffs. On top of that, Jessica got basically everything in the divorce. Morty just sat back and passively allowed her to take it. None of it meant very much to him, anyway. Not the furniture. Not the appliances. Not the refrigerator magnets, the lawnmower, or the pictures of them together. All of it was meaningless. Morty kept only a few suitcases full of his own clothes, and a box of old science stuff that had once belonged to his grandpa, Rick. The rest he had no use for.
After the divorce, Morty moved into his sister, Summer's, garage, which had once been his parents' garage and the location of Rick's workshop. In the absence of the eccentric scientist, this place was sad and lonely; empty except for the washer and dryer, and a sad, shitty cot that Summer had set out for Morty to sleep on. The grey walls of the empty garage felt like they were closing in on him.
Morty cried while he unpacked his meager suitcases. Though as he did so, he could not help but feel that this situation was his punishment for trying to play God. Scratch that, he thought. There is no God. This situation is my punishment for trying to p-p-play Rick. Aw jeese...I mean... isn't love j-j-just a chemical drive that compels animals to breed o-o-or something like that? Was it so wrong to t-try and force someone to love me? How else is anybody supposed to love me? Aw jeese, Rick, I don't even love me!
Summer knocked on the door and entered the garage cautiously, carrying a laundry basket. She had put on some weight and now wore her red hair in a short mom bob. There was an ash blond toddler at her heels, playing with a rubix cube.
"You ok, Morty," Summer asked him as she put the laundry basket down on the washing machine and started picking through it.
The ash blond toddler solved the rubix cube and then through it down on the floor in disgust.
"Y-yeah," Morty sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I'm just, y-y-you know...thinking about the good old days, reminiscing. I'm thinking, remembering the past...but you know what maybe I-I-I should be thinking about the future instead and just focus on being cool uncle Morty who lives in the garage. And then when little...little..."
"Nicolas," Summer reminded him, indicating the ash blond toddler as he dissembled the rubix cube and spread it's plastic pieces out onto the floor.
"And then when little Nicolas get's a little older...we can go on adventures, and get ice cream, and j-j-just have, you know a good time, a good, just a really rewarding nephew a-and uncle relationship. Aw jeese, Summer, we just be like Morty and Nick...solving space crimes, getting into all kinds of...all kinds of h-h-hijinks and shenanigans. We could just me Morty and Nick, Nick and Morty," Morty said.
"That's very sweet, Morty," Summer said. "But we do need you out of our garage, eventually. Hemorrhage was going to turn it into a weight room before you moved in."
"Aw, jeese, Summer. I was thinking more like, I should live in here for the rest my life," Morty said.
"Morty, you can't live here for the rest of your life," Summer informed him with annoyance.
"W-why not? Hemorrhage can still turn it into a gym. I don't take up a lot of space I-I-I don't even care. I can just like...I can spot him. For like safety and stuff...I can be useful. I can be a-a useful guy. I could just be, you know, useful uncle Morty who lives in the garage slash weight room, always...always spotting people. Always giving people towels," Morty blathered.
"Morty. Stop it, please, ok? You can stay for a couple of weeks until you get your shit together and find an apartment to move into. You can't stay for the rest of your life."
"Please, Summer, I don't want to live alone! I don't want to be a-a-alone with these thoughts in my head and no one there! I'm gonna' hurt myself, Summer, I'm gonna' kill myself!" Morty shouted spastically, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.
"Morty! Calm the fuck down!" Summer shouted, pushing him off of her and backing away from him. "Ok, you're on the road to becoming a sad sack like dad after mom left him."
Morty sat down on the cot, put his face and his hands and started bawling. Summer abandoned the laundry basket, knelt to retrieve Nicolas from the floor, and crept quietly out of the room. Morty was too wrapped up in his misery to notice her leave.
"...Oh, J-Jessica...," Morty murmured between sobs. He was only vaguely aware of the door creaking shut as Summer exited the room.
...
When it was time for dinner, Morty crept out of the garage and shuffled into the living room awkwardly. His eyes were red from crying, his face was patchy and unshaven, and his curly brown hair was disheveled.
He sat down at the familiar kitchen table, looking at the framed family photographs which decorated the walls. There was a picture of his teenaged self posing for a photographer with Summer, his parents, and Rick. There was also a picture of Summer and Hemorrhage on their wedding day, dressed in scant, post-apocalyptic rags and armor. Summer's veil was crown of bones, and between the two of them, the couple held the roasted head of a slain mutant, instead of a piece of cake.
Morty piled meatloaf and potatoes onto his plate. Because he was depressed, he took a little more than he would have usually.
"Woah there, little guy. You're gonna eat me out of house and home," Hemorrhage commented jokingly. He was a blond, big guy, with a smooshed, ugly face. Though still muscled from a previous life of constant warfare, he wore normal clothes and a conservative hairstyle. There was no hint of the post apocalyptic hell he had come out of about him. He looked just like a normal guy, your run-of-the-mill suburban dad.
"Aw jeese, aw man, sorry," Morty replied quietly, pushing some potatoes back out of his plate, and into the serving bowl. "I guess I was just trying to fill up this big hole in my heart that I have now."
"Jesus, Morty, way to be depressing," Summer said, wrangling a squirming Nicolas into his highchair.
Morty ate his meatloaf and potatoes silently, trying his very best not to be depressing; trying his very best not to start crying again over his food and kill everyone's vibe. He listened to Summer and Hemorrhage talk to each other about their boring day, deriving comfort from their presence. It felt good to be a part of a real family again, even if he just got to be the weird, unwelcomed uncle, squatting in the garage.
Nicolas squirmed in his highchair. Summer walked over to him and picked him up.
"How's the food, Morty?" she asked him, because he had not said anything to her since the "hole in my heart" statement at the beginning of the meal.
"It was good," Morty replied simply. "Thank you, thanks for having me."
He stood up and walked back to the garage, blinking back tears.
The instant the garage door snapped shut behind him, he heard Hemorrhage and Summer start talking about him:
"Your weird-ass brother better not be staying here for longer than a week," Hemorrhage said.
"Hey, watch what you say about my brother," Summer snapped back angrily. "Morty's always been there for me. When we were kids he always knew what to say to make me feel better when I was sad and if the shoe was on the other foot, I know that he'd let me stay here as long as I wanted...and you know what, I don't even care what you say, I'm going to tell him that he can stay as long as he needs to."
"Summer, if you tell him that, he'll never leave!" Hemorrhage shouted back in exasperation.
"I can't leave him alone, Hemorrhage!" Summer shouted back, choking back tears. "Can't you see? If I leave him alone he's going to kill himself! Just like my dad did after mom left him!"
"Summer, I can't have an unemployed crazy man living in my house!"
"Oh, now it's your house?"
"Summer, he can't-"
"So, what are you going to do, leave me? Leave me like they all do! Leave me like my dad did when he shot himself in the head! Leave me like my mom did when she fucked off to go fuck around with aliens in outer space! I'm not going to abandon my baby brother in his time of need just so that you can have your stupid garage gym!"
"You know Summer, since I married you, all you do is bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch-bitch-bitch! After a week, I want him out of my house! It's your choice Summer, him or me!"
"Then, I choose Morty! I'll choose Morty every time!"
With those words, the couple's shouted arguement faded to a bitter silence.
Feeling shame and guilt for being the cause of this argument, Morty hung his head. He didn't want to stay in a place where he wasn't wanted. He didn't want to cause Summer and the family any trouble.
Morty opened the box full of Rick's old science stuff, which had been sitting on the dryer. He picked through the items carefully, until he found the one that he had been looking for: an inter-dimensional camera phone. It had a lot of number and letter keys on it and was made of a glossy, red metal. Morty dialed the number for directory assistance, and a projector screen popped up above the keyboard. A blob-like, green alien, with a lot of wriggling tentacles greeted him in a business-like tone:
"Hello, inter-dimensional directory assistance."
"Uh, yeah...I need a-a number for a real estate office at The Citadel of Ricks," Morty stammered.
"The Citadel of Ricks is now 'The Citadel of Mortys'," The green alien informed him. "I'll put you through."
The screen flashed and then changed so that a Morty wearing a suit and tie had replaced the green alien.
"Hello there. I'm just a-a, I'm just a-a-a-a regular Real Estate Agent Morty," Real Estate Agent Morty introduced himself, adjusting his yellow tie.
"Yeah, I need...a-a apartment on The Citadel of Morty's. Nothing fancy, just, you know, a regular shitty apartment for a regular shitty, piece of shit. I want just like, just like the w-w-worst piece of shit you've got. I'm probably just going to kill myself in it so I'm not, you know, I'm not picky."
"Whatever you say, Sad Sack Morty," Real Estate Agent Morty interjected flippantly.
"Don't call me that."
"I know just the place," Real Estate Agent Morty informed him. "One bedroom, ground floor, studio apartment on Morty Street. Its dirt cheep and nobody wants to live there."
"Thanks, I'll take it," Morty said.
Morty spent the next hour or so; wiring currency; filling out paperwork, and finally, signing the lease. At the time, he had been too depressed to be very worried about paying the rent on the apartment. He figured he'd just find a job on the citadel. Any job. I didn't even matter to him which one. After all, how much more degrading and terrible could any job have been than slaving his days away in an advertising firm? Unfortunately, Morty was about to have that question answered in the most devastating and horrible of ways possible.
After all, there are far shittier places to find yourself than an office cubicle .
Author's note: So, at this point, I should probably warn you that the M rating hits hard in chapter 2. Chapter 1 is more to set the scene and introduce the main character, so there's nothing that can really be considered super offensive in it. But I should warn you, the next chapter does contain some content that certain readers may find distasteful or disturbing, mostly, Evil Morty's suffering and the suffering that he inflicts upon other Mortys. There will be EXPLICIT MORTY ON MORTY VIOLENCE AND SEX at some point. So, if this kind of thing is likely to upset you, you have been warned and may choose to stop reading now. Reviews are appreciated, so leave one if you are so inclined. Even if its just to tell me what a horrible person you think I am. All acknowledgement of my existence is much appreciated. Furthermore, if you have any questions or suggestions for me, I will happily reply to them. Acknowledge me please. Feed my power.
