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It wasn’t often Morty got to spend time around…well, other Morty’s.
Currently he was crouched in the playroom by a Morticia, a Flower Morty, and a Muscle Morty. He tucked his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top as he watched Morticia braid Flower’s hair-vines, Muscle sitting cross-legged next to them.
Other Morty’s were running around, or talking, or moping along the edges. But for some reason when Rick dropped him off - “You’re gonna get on my nerves during this mission, I can already tell.” - Morty felt drawn to this corner. These Morty’s seemed nice, at least, and about as tired of Rick as he was.
That impatience Morty wanted to stem so badly kept flooding over, nowadays. And it was entirely Rick’s fault, but still, Morty couldn’t help that automatic tug of guilt for being so fed up lately.
The others weren’t judgmental, at least, when he sat with them.
“All done,” Morticia said at last, patting Flower’s new style approvingly. “Looks cute!”
Flower glanced back with a smile, rolling forward into a standing position. “Thanks,” he said with a nod. Then he cut his gaze across the room, narrowing his eyes before stepping away. “Just in time, too. That’s my Rick.”
Morty blinked up, straining to see what Flower had referred to. Across the way, by a reception area up front, was a line of pretty much identical Ricks. Immediately he doubted whether Flower was made of brain or plant; there was no real way to tell any of these guys apart.
But sure enough, Flower didn’t hesitate as he crossed, joining the side of a grumpy Rick, who perfectly matched the others around them. The older man made some sort of comment - if Morty knew Ricks like he thought he did, it was a scathing remark about his hair - and then physically tugged Flower away.
Huh.
“How’d he know which one was his Rick?” Morty asked before he could think better of it, facing his companions again.
Morticia, digging through a bag at her side, paused. “Wait, you don’t know?” she said, surprised. Then her face melted into something more sympathetic. “Ah, I get it. I can explain. You want a hairdo while I talk?”
Morty would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, but there’d been too many adventures for him to feel comfortable exposing his back. He shook his head with a rueful smile. “Maybe next time.”
“All good,” Morticia shrugged. “Muscle Morty?”
“Hell yeah,” Muscles grunted, spinning on a dime to crouch on the floor. Morticia grinned and tugged out her hairbrush.
“So, it’s a weird phenomenon. We’re not even sure the Ricks know about it,” she explained absently as she worked through all the knots in Muscle’s longer hair. “We call it a tingle, ‘cause that’s what it feels like. A tingle down your spine, kind of like ASMR or electricity or whatever. Only Morty’s feel it.”
Intrigued, Morty rocked forward just a bit. The idea of knowing something Rick didn’t was too good to pass up. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah,” Muscles agreed, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back. “It happens when you lock eyes with the Rick from your dimension. It tells you that it’s your Rick. The lamest superpower ever.”
Morty blinked. That sounded…weird.
“Why does that happen?” he asked, brain rocketing as he tried to make sense of it all.
“We can’t be sure,” Morticia said. Her hands never paused in their motions, deftly braiding a mini crown on Muscle’s scalp. “Some of the Smart Morty’s say maybe we developed it as a natural response to dimensional travel. So we know who our Rick is, wherever we go with him.” In a deceptively casual voice, she added, “Rick’s don’t experience it, though, as far as we can tell, and neither do clone Morty’s. Take that however you want.”
It was a lot to process, but instinctively, it made sense. Morty had seen so many other versions of himself blindly following a particular Rick, as though they automatically knew who they belonged to. This made things a whole lot clearer on exactly which Rick got which Morty, and why some seemed more in-tune together than others.
Except.
“But,” he said, dropping his knees and sitting up, wringing his hands. “B-but I don’t-“
“Morty!” a voice yelled right behind him. Sure enough a hand came crashing down on his shoulder, blindly dragging him to stand, and yeah, that was his Rick alright. Significantly drunker than when he’d been left, with little green splotches all over his shirt, but still himself as he yanked out a portal gun. “Morty, time to go, say goodbye to your weirdo friends.”
Morty blinked, looking back to the other two Morty’s and opening his mouth, before suddenly the floor disappeared beneath him and he was tumbling into their dimension again.
Or at least, his dimension.
As Rick started ranting about his trip, slurring every few words with a laugh, Morty silently debated his newfound knowledge.
Because as far back as he could remember, since Rick crashed down their door and charged back into their lives, Morty had never felt that shock they’d described. Even now, when he’d seen Rick, there was nothing more than a headache forming behind his eyes.
Morticia was wrong, he told himself, obediently tailing Rick as they went back to the garage.
She had to be.
——————-
Standing next to his own grave for the second time seemed to put some level of perspective in Morty’s life.
Not much, because thinking too hard about anything was just a bad idea. But still, his hands aching where he held the shovel and Rick burping against the fence made the world feel…surreal. Or maybe it was what he learned before that changed him so much.
Morticia was right, all that time ago.
Morty never thought about it (lies, he thought about it every single day) but suddenly everything just…clicked into place.
Rick wasn’t his Rick. That’s why he never got the tingle thing. In all the universe dimension-hopping bullshit, Rick was never meant to be his grandfather.
Part of him wanted to worry. But what Morty said on Rick Prime’s space station was true - that guy wasn’t his grandpa. Rick was.
Rick was the one who showed up and took him on adventures and healed him when he got hurt. Rick took him to space and got him into trouble and pretended not to care when he carried Morty out of danger, time and time again. This was his best friend, his real parent, his Grandpa Rick - not by blood, but by his own choosing.
Who needed a shock connection anyway.
“You coming inside or what?” Rick grouched, tapping his foot impatiently. Morty startled, quickly dropping his shovel and darting over to join his grandpa in the house.
And if he caught the old man ruffling his hair as they went, it only solidified his decision.
—————
Living in this new universe wasn’t as bad as Morty feared.
Sure, ‘Parmesan’ wasn’t getting any better, but at the very least everything seemed normal. None of their family changed much after the first few days, and goodness knew Rick wasn’t much on changing in the first place.
Besides, everyone was still getting into the swing of things here, so Morty was free to skip school all he wanted. In fact, he took full advantage of it now, lounging on the couch and watching interdimensional cable. The current show broadcasted in a language he definitely didn’t speak, but it made pretty good background noise.
“Morty!” came his grandpa’s yell. Morty would have groaned on principle, except there hadn’t been any adventures since they’d landed here. That danger urge itched somewhere beneath his skin, and Morty was already hopping to his feet when Rick rounded the corner. “C’mon, Morty, you son of a bitch, I’m bored. Let’s go to Blitz and Chips.”
Morty glanced up, fully prepared to cheerfully agree, when he felt it.
Morticia told him the truth, but not the whole truth. Tingle was an understatement, in the way that a wolf was a dog or his moms were just friends.
Meeting Rick’s eyes, the shock felt like ice water poured over his head, morphing into something molten and fiery as it burned through his veins.
This was the Rick from his dimension. Rick Prime, the Real Deal, the Asshole Rick, the one who killed his grandpa’s family.
Frozen in the living room, heart hammering in his chest, Morty stared down his original Rick.
The original Rick who, he realized, dressed exactly how C-137 Rick did. Lab coat, spiky hair, stained shirt, gun holsters. Every detail was perfect - if it hadn’t been for that instinctive feeling, Morty wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.
Prime folded his arms, eyes narrowing in scrutiny, and Morty forced himself to relax as his mind raced.
He hadn’t been dragged away or kidnapped or killed, yet. That meant something else was going on. More information needed.
“S-sorry, Rick,” Morty fumbled, averting his eyes to the ground. Rick always told him he couldn’t lie for shit, but hopefully Prime didn’t know that. “I just…you’re not still mad at me?”
A test; he hadn’t spoken to Rick at all today, and yesterday they’d done nothing but hang out and watch movies. The real Rick would know that.
Maybe Morty was wrong, and the weird tingly feeling was a coincidence. He just needed this Rick to tell him he was being stupid, that they hadn’t even fought. The whole thing would be ridiculous tomorrow.
Rick readjusted, rocking back on his heels with something ever so smug in his eyes. “Of course I’m still mad. I’m always mad at you, dipshit,” he said neutrally, turning and walking off. The expectation that Morty would follow hung in the air. “You’re always pissing me off. Come on.”
He thinks he’s won, Morty realized abruptly, hands shaking with adrenaline. It’s Rick Prime, and he thinks that I believe he’s my grandpa. Ricks were dangerously cocky, sometimes, and it became their one blind spot.
Morty had one chance.
Time slowed to a crawl. The whole thing was like an episode of a crappy TV show. Morty barely noticed, eyes trained on Rick Prime’s form.
His fourteenth birthday present, from any other grandpa in the world, would have been cash or socks or something equally mundane. From Rick, his gift had been a laser blaster. As a bonus, the old man had even taught him how to use it. The memory was one of Morty’s favorites - Rick, nearly sober, smiling with pride as he helped steady his grandson’s arms.
‘One to the head, one to the heart, one to the knee. The three main places on any life-form.’ That was Rick’s advice, and Morty had the wisdom burned into his mind.
Morty raised the gun now, out of the camouflage the couch had provided. The words echoed in his ears as he squeezed the trigger once, twice, thrice.
Rick Prime only had time to spin in place, eyes widening comically as the rays hit him over and over.
Morty’s knees gave out. He landed on his butt, unable to look away from the bleeding mess that was his original grandfather. Dully, the sound of Rick crashing around upstairs filtered down, but Morty could barely hear it over the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
“Morty!” Rick shouted, storming down the stairs like a herd of buffalo. Terror shot through his voice, for the first time Morty could remember. “Morty, don’t go with him! That’s not me, I’m coming, Morty-”
When Rick rounded the corner - with a truly impressive amount of weaponry armed along his shoulders and arms and extra hands - he immediately ground to a halt, jaw dropping at the scene. The retina in his robotic eye flickered over and over, trying to process what the genius was seeing.
Morty understood. He kind of felt the same way.
Looking at Rick now, huddled as Morty was on the floor and hand still gripping the gun too tightly, there was no tingle. Nothing to indicate a connection with Rick. Nothing but the stark concern in Rick’s face and the overwhelming, encompassing feeling of being safe.
The bleeding, dead lump on the floor was his blood grandparent. But the Rick in front of him was Morty’s Rick, and that made all the difference.
“I think I killed your archenemy,” Morty whispered. He tore his eyes away from the body to glance at Rick, exhausted and relieved and lightheaded from the combination. “Sorry about that.”
The next moment Rick charged into him, throwing his arms around his shoulders and practically crushing him to his chest.
“I was scared shitless, Morty,” Rick said, grip liek iron against Morty’s back. “I thought he was gonna take you. He had some ridiculously elaborate plan to kidnap you and vanish without a trace. His timing was perfect, his camouflage was perfect. There’s no way you could have known…”
“Morty’s just know know who their Rick is,” Morty said, eyes falling closed, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. “It’s a tingle thing.”
“That’s the worst explanation of anything I’ve ever heard. You’re an idiot,” Rick said, nonplussed, which translates to I’m glad you’re okay.
Thank god for the tingle thing, Morty decided silently, clinging to Rick.
It came in handy after all.