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worstmorty-blog · 7 years ago

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( me: i should initiate more contact on this blog also me: (just keeps rping as my morty on skype with my qpp)

[Under normal circumstances, Rick would consider his brilliant escape from the most rigorous and secure intergalactic prison to be a matter of celebration; perhaps he’d again claim himself to be a God, or the closest thing to a “God” there possibly could be in reality, bearing a mind rivaled by none and abilities to “control” the universe as he pleased. A takedown of the Galactic Federation was incredulously simple, and although the grandfather ought to be rejoicing, he felt an abnormal, metaphorical weight on himself. He was freed, but that freedom didn’t allow him an ounce of joy. Though Rick evidently wasn’t the type to “reflect” on his actions, the isolation and confinement of his few months spent in prison only allowed him the pastime of thought.]

[He’d never admit it, of course, but Jerry’s words were striking – insisting that Rick was a chaotic force in his family’s lives, that he was merely worsening their situation by sticking around. They wouldn’t have a damn thing to concern themselves over now, thanks to the intergalactic method of law enforcement collapsing by his own hand, but that didn’t mean that his return would be “for the best.” He’d ruined the lives of those he’d cared about (though, he could scarcely admit to himself that he truly cared in the first place), and allowing himself any presence in their lives – even if he truly sought to stand by them – might only impair them. In usual fashion, Rick decided it would be for the best to isolate himself, akin to when he’d abandoned his own daughter for twenty years, and entirely for the same reason.]

[In that state of mind, Rick wondered whether eluding and dismantling the governmental stronghold was as clever of a solution as he’d believed; not only might he have caused his family grief (they could’ve ransacked his laboratory in the garage by now, perhaps even forced them to relocate in the process), but he was now so reluctant to rejoin his family that he might as well have stayed. Part of him wondered if he ought to have played coy during his “interrogation,” and allowed them to erase his mind so they could rid the world of him and his vast knowledge. The entire universe would be better without him, as far as he was concerned. Suicide had crossed his mind rather often in the time he’d spent whilst freed; death was preferable to living with the guilt of his inability to save his best friend, of harming his family to an almost abusive degree, of abandoning them all again and leaving them to likely suffer from the same abandonment issues that Beth had.]

[Why had he escaped in the first place? Perhaps it was spite – a vengeful desire to eradicate the Galactic Federation after murdering his closest friend – or perhaps he somehow felt the need to atone, to fix what he’d irreparably broken. Yet, now that he was roaming the universe, the question struck him – what could he fix? Revealing himself to his family would merely do more damage in the long run, especially if he found it inevitable to leave them again, and a simple dimension swap wouldn’t resolve the innumerable issues he’d encountered with his family. Morty would likely prefer his absence to his presence, anyway, and though other Ricks would easily find themselves capable of leaving their immediate family behind, this version of himself couldn’t. He was feeble, frail compared to the others, allowing emotions and care to dominate him; that would be his downfall.]

[Over a year had passed by the time he eventually decided to show his face…or, at the very least, revisit the Smith home, given that he was uncertain whether his family even inhabited it anymore. A dismal sense of defeat dwelled within him as he explored the home, finding it entirely deserted; perhaps it was inevitable to discover that they were missing, that they wanted nothing to do with the grandfather anymore (as evidenced by the various photos of him still scattered throughout the house, most of which displayed empty space where his face formerly lingered). That defeat gradually shifted into a hollow feeling that spread outward from his chest, his heart sinking as any hope of reconciling with his family diminished. Instinctively, he made his way to the final “room” of the house, one with the least likelihood of containing any family of his.]

[Shakily, the grandfather opened the door; the garage wasn’t emptied, but it had been organized, various gadgets of his boxed up as though the family planned to move it with them, or perhaps store it somewhere, only to give up halfway. However, his eyes weren’t drawn to them – instead, his gaze met an eyepatched Morty, lingering in the former laboratory, one he unfortunately recognized thanks to his necessary investigation into an “evil Rick.” He froze momentarily, but not out of trepidation; an unbridled rage brewed within him, influenced by his hopelessness and the possibilities that now raced through his mind once he considered what this Morty might have been up to. His presence couldn’t be mere coincidence. The family’s evacuation from the home, the distorted photographs, the fact that he was ransacking the grandfather’s garage. A worst-case scenario of an assumption presented itself in his mind, one he was incapable of refuting – this Morty had raided his family’s home, and…and…]

[Perhaps even murdered them. The ones he held so dear, obliviated thanks to a selfish, bastardized version of the grandson he’d fucking cherished. His DAUGHTER. His GRANDCHILDREN – his GRANDSON. They…could be DEAD. It might be too fucking late for him to repair any damage he’d done, and his late appearance had likely caused it. One of his hands balled itself into a tightened fist, nails digging viciously into his palm, his grip so intense that it whitened his knuckles; the other hand reached into his coat’s pocket, swiping a laser pistol from within, and hurriedly positioned it in a direct aim at the Morty’s head. The only possibility could be that this motherfucker had murdered his family in cold blood – yet, he hesitated to shoot, even in his infuriated condition. This was a…Morty, a horrific and vicious version of him, but a Morty nonetheless. His likeness to his own grandson was likely what held him back – and he despised himself for his fucking weakness. A guttural growl resounded from him, rather than the fury-induced scream he’d fought to conceal, as he questioned the malevolent bastard.]

What the hell did you DO to them? You – You…you MONSTER! I-I’ll – I… [“I’ll kill you” was his implication – and he had every intent to do so, but his damned feelings prevented him from even voicing the thought.]

How long had it been since Morty had been ‘home’? If he were any other version of himself, the answer would likely be ‘too long’. After all, surely Morty missed his family. Surely he missed the familiarity of the dimension he’d so ruthlessly claimed as his own alongside his merciless grandfather and, of course, the family home. Didn’t he miss the house he’d grown up in? Where he’d learned his first words- lost his first tooth? Where his life had changed forever the second a man from the stars had come crashing on their doorstep, offering Morty things he could only ever dream of?

Yeah right. What a fucking J O K E.

This whole dimension had gone to shit, but this house might be the worst place of them all. In fact, if all went according to plan, this would be the last time Morty would have to set foot in any version this hellhole. And it was a hellhole. It’d always been, of course, but it had only gotten worse over the course of the last year or so. Looking back on it, watching how QUICKLY it had deteriorated without Rick- without a man they’d all been FINE without a few years previously- it was almost funny. They had all been so dependent. And for what? For a man who would abandon them in an instant, should it suit him. For a man who DID abandon them.

And he had abandoned them.

Morty hadn’t always thought so, of course. The second he was informed that his grandfather- no, the man didn’t deserve to be called that anymore. The second Morty had been informed that the high and mighty Rick Sanchez of Earth Dimension C-137 was in the custody of the galactic federation, he’d felt bad for resenting him for what he’d done. He’d turned himself in, after all! All to save the family! Oh, how heroic. And how quickly Morty was to change his mind about that.

He didn’t care about the family’s well being at all. No, he was just a COWARD. It was just easier to turn himself in than to deal with providing for his family- than to deal with the people he’d twisted into small, pathetic co-dependent beings only to get BORED of them the second things took a wrong turn.

No. Rick Sanchez was no hero. Then again, neither was Morty.

In a way, maybe Morty out to be grateful towards the man. After all, it was his abandonment that had allowed the boy to develop into the person he was now. It was all thanks to Rick that he was finally FLOURISHING. But no. Not an inkling of thankfulness was extended towards that bastard. What had once been a childish admiration had long since rotted into a desolate hatred, and once he was done here, he’d never have to think about that bastard ever again.

It was no surprise to find the family home abandoned- RAVAGED. What the federation hadn’t ruined, that miserable family of his had. It was almost poetic, in a way. They had strived so long and hard trying to convince themselves that they were okay without Rick, while Morty was the only one who actively tried to get him back, and the more he tried, the less his family seemed to care. Yet, the second Morty realised his potential- the second he realised that Rick was naught but a relentless famine that had weighed down on their shoulders? That’s when they mourned. And what fools they were for doing so.

A few small “tsk” noises were released as he walked through the remains of the house, laughing at the memorabilia that he’d- that they’d ALL- previously cherished. But that’s not what he was here for. Mementos could rot for all he cared. He was here for something much more valuable. He made his way into the garage, a satisfying “ah” sound escaping his lips. It was pathetic how much the federation had left behind. Of course, that just meant more for him. Not that he particularly cared about Rick’s things.

No, if he were to have any joy with them, it would be in disassembling them- in prying the things the man had worked so long on apart as if they were scrap metal. And to Morty, that’s truly all they were. Parts. Pieces. Nothing here was worth anything. Morty could make things far more brilliant- and had. He wondered, for a moment, how many years it had taken Rick to develop his first portal gun? Even without a reference to work with, Morty had recreated that technology in mere months.

A small “hmm?” was released from his lips, malicious grin spreading across his lips as the door was opened; rather TIMIDLY. Well this was bound to be fun. Who was it? A federation member? One of his kin? Oh, how he’d love to see the terrified face of his father one more time before ENDING the pitiful fool’s life.

His grin dropped only slightly when he recognized the man as a Rick, quickly losing any excitement or thrill he’d found only moments before. Ugh. How TEDIOUS. He’d never killed a Rick before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there? And he would kill him if it came to that. No one but Morty was getting these leftovers. He deserved them. He’d suffered for them.

A flinch wasn’t given as the gun was held to his head, a single hand coming up in false surrender as another reached for a weapon of his own, hinting to the other that he was in possession of one as he waved it almost playfully behind his back, but not revealing it just yet.

“Oh, what was that? You’ll what? P L E A S E, Rick, speak up, won’t you?” He gave a rather dramatic roll of his eyes, smile widening into one a bit more malice. Maybe this would be fun. He didn’t know which dimension this asshole was from, but he was clearly INTIMIDATED by Morty’s presence, and that in itself was DELECTABLE. “Stuttering like that makes you sound an awful lot like this sad little boy I once knew. But you know what happened to him, don’t you? I k i l l e d him. And unlike a certain someone, I can say that word without choking up.”

[Rick recognized the identity of this Morty; or, at least, he knew who he associated with that damned eyepatch. His fellow Ricks, dumbshits involved with the council whom had spitefully informed him of the investigation’s results, noted that the version of Rick they’d hunted down was being controlled remotely. At the time, the grandfather had his suspicions – that Rick’s behavior was irrefutably Morty-esque and immature, not to mention that a majority of his ramblings involved how not a single Rick genuinely cared about their sidekick and grandson – but this encounter essentially confirmed it. The murderer still roaming the galaxy, traversing multiple realities without a hint of remorse, still intent on acting upon the grudge he held against the man whom had revealed it to him. His trigger finger trembled, entirely tempted to end this confrontation, though he knew fully well that he wouldn’t.]

[The evil “Rick” did have a point, after all; with the endless list of injustices inflicted upon most Ricks in their individual timelines, none of them could entrust themselves with attachment, with caring about human beings who were ultimately replaceable. Attachment was equivalent to vulnerability, and allowing themselves to care would merely result in their paranoia being justified. When Bird Person had ruthlessly been murdered by an agent of the Galactic Federation, Rick had sworn never to trust anyone ever again – and yet, even that breaking point of his had its restrictions. No matter what, he found himself incapable of disregarding his family, although he ought to view them as entirely expendable; granted, he’d abandoned one of his countless daughters in a timeline overrun by mutants, but perhaps his trust merely extended to his sidekick. Morty, the grandson he’d gradually grown fond of over the years, despite each inherent aspect of his deeply-seeded mistrust and avoidance refuting those feelings. Why else would he have only included Morty when he swapped dimensions? Why else would he find himself teary-eyed at the thought of losing him?]

[…Losing him…ironically, in his callous attempt to evade his family in order to “protect” them, he might have lost them at the hands of an alternate version of his grandson. One whom had evidently endured enough, and grown so sick of it that he’d retaliated with bloodshed and the torture of his fellow Morties. A grimace contorted the grandfather’s features, desperately wishing that he could be a decent enough human being to avenge his own goddamn family, but part of him wouldn’t…feel justified in doing so, not when it meant ending the life of his grandson. Another version of him, one which felt no mercy, no remorse, but a version of him nonetheless.]

[Rick hadn’t seen his own grandchild’s face in over a year; the face of his partner in crime, whom he cherished enough to sacrifice himself or others for. He could have ignored the tears his grandson had shed after exiting the bathroom of that tavern, or refused to attain vengeance by shooting the bastard that assaulted him; he could have left Morty behind in the “Cronenberg” dimension; he could very well have left Morty stranded in a void of a shattered reality with cats that were and weren’t Schrodinger’s; there were numerous opportunities for him to abandon the child, but he’d stuck around no matter the tension in their relationship. Perhaps he couldn’t accept that the one goddamn person he’d cherished so dearly that he would sacrifice everything for them had been killed – perhaps he couldn’t differentiate this Morty from his own, despite the evident differences in their attitudes. His grandson was an insecure piece of shit; this Morty was an arrogant, ruthless killer.]

[Perhaps he wanted to sustain a conversation with anyone resembling his grandchild, even if it resulted in his death – it wasn’t as though an event in this confrontation would result in him attaining the guts to pull the trigger.] [Weary eyes squinted slightly upon noticing the object that the Morty was dangling around behind him, managing to hide the object, yet provide a threat nonetheless. Of course, at this point, Rick didn’t give a damn about whatever harm came to him – he wanted fucking answers, closure, even if he learned that the family he’d desired to revisit and reconcile with was no longer around, but he didn’t care if he earned a death in the process. He was inching closer to death with every passing second – he had methods of preventing it, but the more he stuck around, the less he was willing to lengthen his lifespan, especially with the newly presented possibility that his family was dead.]

[Jesus. He’d endured plenty of death in his lifetime, both at his hands and the hands of others – he’d once committed mass genocide on a planetary scale, for that matter – but none of it affected him nearly as much as this single possibility. He’d never experienced the immense horror and despondence that accompanied witnessing his best friend DIE because he couldn’t prevent it; he’d never felt the overpowering despair that accompanied the possibility that his family was gone, thanks to him avoiding them for such an extended period.]

[His spare hand gradually raised itself to grip the gun, as though attaching both of them to his current weapon would amplify the threat, gritting his teeth at the Morty’s smug attitude. He realized that he currently held the upper hand, even remarking upon the grandfather’s evident dismay and how closely it resembled…]

[…His grandson’s. Not this bastard’s, but the grandson that this – this monster had proudly claimed to have killed. Every ounce of his being urged him to pull the damned trigger. Learning that his Morty was deceased instilled him with unparalleled exasperation, and yet he couldn’t lash out at another version of him. It was fucking PATHETIC. He truly was frail for being unable to set aside his affection.]

I’ll KILL you! [Although they were shouted, the words held no meaning; they were utterly useless, a fruitless attempt to intimidate him. He followed with demeaning statements, most of which merely spoken to express his fervent rage in the absence of his ability to react violently.] Y-You hear me!? If you laid a fucking finger on them, I’ll end your worthless fucking existence! No universe would miss a Morty like you – a goddamn bastard child who rebelled by killing everything around him!

Oh, yes. He’d been right to begin with. This WAS going to be fun! The pitiful man in front of him was no Rick; he was nothing but a shadow of the man he once was. He was showing every weakness in the book- making every mistake that people like him never did. Every mistake that his kind would surely OUTCAST him for. And yet he continued to threaten Morty? Surely, he must see how futile that was. He knew Ricks were a bit stubborn in accepting that their grandsons could pose any sort of threat to them, of course, but this was a bit much, even for a Rick.

His malicious grin only widened when a second hand was brought up to the man’s gun, as if that would aid him in pulling the trigger when it should be painfully obvious to Rick that such an event wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Honestly, his inability here was pretty pathetic, not to mention the ATROCIOUS acting. Was he honestly acting as if he cared what became of the family here? It wasn’t as if it was his family. When had ANY Rick EVER cared about people that were so easily replaceable, anyhow? No, Morty could assume that the ANGUISH presented was for his sake- a last effort for a Rick to manipulate a Morty into doing his bidding, but he wasn’t going to fall for that. How could he? He was better now, and better than this sad man before him, too.

Yet, the look in the man’s eyes intrigued him, as a child might be intrigued watching a fish flail helplessly around on the land, knowing that it would die within minutes, but far too excited to see something new to care about the death of such a lowly creature. He wanted to know MORE- wanted to know why this man was so hesitant to pull the trigger and why he cared so much about anything in this dimension. There were an infinite number of dimensions he could find spare family members in, but he’d picked this one and was so DISTRAUGHT when things didn’t turn out his way.

A small chuckle was released at the man’s last statements. Perhaps he was giving the guy too much credit. Perhaps he was a weaker breed of Rick- one that truly did care. Well, one that lied to himself that he did, anyway. How TRAGIC.

“You think I ruined this family? *Me*?” He paused for a moment, allowing himself to openly laugh with his entire body for several solid seconds, cutting himself off with an obnoxious sort of snorting sound that only someone who was genuinely amused could make. He shrugged and shook his head, holding out both arms which revealed a rather advanced looking laser pistol that he’d been holding behind his back, but he simply set it aside on his Rick’s old, dusted work table before he closed the distance between him and his latest playmate, standing close enough for him to feel the point of Rick’s weapon against his forehead.

“_Jeez, G R A M P A, you really are a dumb one. You think a Morty could do something like this? We’re useless, remember? SHIELDS and CANNON FODDER for almighty GENIUSES like you. No, Rick. If you’re looking for someone to blame, try looking in a mirror. The Rick from this dimension? He’s gone._” The cat-like grin from his face faltered ever so slightly, obvious anger flittering in his expression, but he continued smiling nevertheless. “He abandoned them, Rick. Threw them to the side the second they stopped catering to his every need all under a pitiful guise of self sacrifice. So if you’re looking for a new REPLACEMENT FAMILY, you’re about a year and a half too late. I’m all that’s left of this family now.” A small hint to the fate of Rick’s ‘family’ in this dimension; a subtle clue to how Morty had become the way he had, but nothing too obvious. After all, giving him the answers he wanted on a silver platter was no fun at all. Morty wanted to see him BEG for them. He wanted him to suffer the way he had for years.

Truthfully, Morty didn’t know if his parents or sister were alive or not, nor did he care anymore. But if Rick thought Morty had murdered his entire family, well, that would just help instill FEAR in the man; help him cower in the boy’s presence like he ought to.

[This Morty’s amused reaction, followed by his relinquishment of his hidden weapon, did naught to quell the fury within him; eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he didn’t lower his own pistol, even if it was acting as a pointless accessory at this point. Setting it aside now would merely prove his own fragility, provide a shred of evidence that he cared – besides, it was likely that this version of his grandson had certain tricks up his sleeve. Even without the pistol he’d been playfully waving around behind his back, he’d likely be equipped with a variety of other armaments that he wouldn’t hesitate to utilize. Better to pretend that he had some sort of “upper hand” here, even if he truly didn’t.]

[His following words struck a chord within the grandfather; particularly, hearing “grampa” once more, mockingly, from a version of his grandchild that might have massacred all he cared about on this godforsaken planet – in this godforsaken universe. The eyepatched Morty proceeded to insist upon the misconceptions he’d formed regarding the “ideals” of other Ricks – how they considered their own grandsons as nothing but tools, even developing a form of “insurance” should they lose or kill their universe’s Morty – and although such might apply to alternate versions of himself, particularly those who had attained membership with the Council of Ricks, it didn’t ring true for this version of himself. Rick berated himself for his attitude frequently, even considered his irrational attachment to his own grandchild – his family – as “toxic” and “unhealthy,” but the feelings remained with him nevertheless, making this encounter that much more infuriating.]

[Finally, the killer spoke up about the supposed “fate” of this dimension’s Rick; under different circumstances, he’d regard Morty’s ignorance here humorous, but it did force him to wonder – if this version of his grandson was clever enough to support himself in traversing the multiverse, how was it that he was clueless that the Rick standing before him and aiming a trembling pistol at his head was the one from this dimension? Beyond that, there was a tinge of personal resentment in the way his grin faltered, brief as it was. It was as though this Morty wasn’t recalling the fate of an alternate grandfather, but rather, the one he himself had grown up with. Of course, that was mere speculation…but it uneased him regardless.]

[This dimension’s Rick had “abandoned” them under a guise of self-sacrifice? He might have…drifted through the galaxy for months before he dared to return, but it wasn’t spent without intent to do so. Hell, his very reason for crumbling the Galactic Federation was so that he’d be able to rejoin his family without concerning himself or them over being apprehended – yet, his only reason for preventing himself from doing so was out of dread that his presence would further ravage the family’s state. He, in essence, was a pernicious force in his family’s life…and that wouldn’t change, even if he sought to better himself.]

[Then – those final words, “I’m all that’s left of this family,” caused Rick’s animosity to waver – the shaky pistol in his hand lowered, eyes staring in disbelief at the Morty before him, wondering if it was possible for his own Morty to exist right before him. However, this examination of his grandson ceased rather quickly, the pistol now forced up against the child’s head as he internally convinced himself that the little bastard was utilizing manipulation now…even if he didn’t even recognize that this Rick was from this dimension.]

YOU’RE all that’s left of this family? D-Don’t give me that shit. I know who you are -- what you are – and you’re not from this dimension. If you were, don’t you think you’d recognize your own damned grandfather? [His expression twitched, aggression instantaneously replaced by dejection, and just as quickly returning to indignation.] I didn’t abandon them. For fuck’s sake, I – I escaped an intergalactic prison to see them again, I wiped out the Federation, a-and I came back to this shit! I wasn’t looking for a REPLACEMENT family. I was looking for MY family. A-And you…you killed them, d-didn’t you!?

Are you really trying to trick me into thinking that YOU’RE my Morty? I’m not nearly as dumb as he is – …was. I’m…not falling for that bullshit.

It was so satisfying to see him falter the way he did- to see any version of the man that had RUINED his life crumple before him. Morty had never really been one for revenge, per se, killing when necessary and when given the chance but not going out of his way to track down and exterminate anyone who had ever wronged him. That would be stupid, after all; a sure way to get caught and KILLED like the previous owner of his eyepatch had. No, if Morty was to take revenge at all, he was clever about it. And he’d W A I T for it as long as he had to. After all, this confrontation was much more satisfying than if he’d hunted down Ricks as his predecessor had.

He knew he would enjoy coming back here, in some sick, twisted way. He HATED this place, of course, but seeing the ruins of the sad, broken life he’d left behind was charming in its own way. It was a reminder of how much he’d changed; how much he’d GROWN. He DESPISED the boy he used to be, hated him with a passion that burned much deeper and brighter than his hatred towards Rick ever could, but reminders of that kid’s DEATH were fantastic- exhilarating.

But he was having more fun in this hovel than he ever could have imagined. Planned revenge was NOTHING compared to the JOY this brought him. He didn’t know what was wrong with this man- what defective dimension he’d crawled out of- but Morty was loving every minute of this interaction. Ironic, really, when you considered how much he hated the old crone. But the company of an enemy was ALWAYS exciting when they acted as pathetically as he was.

The shock- the fear- the DISBELIEF in his expression when Morty announced who he was; it was precious. A small, condescending “aw” escaped his lips, head tilting to the side in mock sympathy as he lowered the gun. Well. That was almost TOO easy. A step backwards was taken, but certainly not out of fear. No, he just wanted to remain eye contact with his prey as he retrieved his weapon- wanted to cherish every pathetic emotion on his features until he breathed his last breath. Because this? Oh, he didn’t want to miss even a MOMENT of t h i s.

Steady hands that were in an obvious contrast to the man’s shaky grip grabbed his pistol, giving a small shrug as he began to raise it in his direction only to freeze once he heard the phrase “your own damned grandfather” escape his lips. His gaze, full of a confident seething HATRED wobbled, brown eyes widening in astonishment- in HORROR- at his words.

“Gr- R... Rick?” His voice came out small and scared. In the moment, it was as if he was still that pathetic little boy, mourning the loss of his grandfather and wishing- PLEADING- that he would come home to them so he didn’t have to live another day without him- his best and only friend. A trembling gaze traced the man’s features. Most Morties might not be able to tell the small differences between Ricks, but Morty had always EXCELLED at that. He made a note of every little feature. They lined up PERFECTLY with those of his own grandfather, but...

He wasn’t... He couldn’t be...

Another step backwards was taken, void of the confidence he’d had only moments before. One hand held his weapon which had lowered itself helplessly to the ground as his other gripped the work table behind him with enough intensity for his knuckle to go white.

“No. Sh-Shut up.” He internally chastised himself for allowing that dreadful STUTTER to come back after working so long and hard to eliminate it from his vocal patterns. His gaze hardened as his body shook with an overwhelming anger, stronger and much more unstable- much more FEEBLE- than his usual seething hatred.

“You’re not. Him.”

[That patronizing “aw” arising from the alternate version of his grandson merely provoked Rick further; he ought to have recognized that such a pathetic fabrication, the insinuation that he was a member of his family, was a simple attempt at forcing him to lower his guard. All he could really do as the child reached for his pistol calmly, the weapon entirely still in his tightened grip (as opposed to quivering in the grandfather’s), was stare with the knowledge that his demise was likely imminent. Frankly, if he did manage to “go out” this way, he couldn’t say that he’d regret it – fuck, wasn’t this the result he had desired throughout his self-imposed exile? He’d always assumed that his death would be at his own hands. If it was at those of his grandson’s instead…even if it was an alternate, bloodthirsty version of him, he might even feel a bit more justified.]

[Answers were what he’d sought, and at this point, he’d obtained them. Dying like the pathetic, emotion-driven version of himself he was might be entirely fitting here. Rather than exhibiting any sort of recalcitrance, or shooting the bastard in an act of self-preservation, an exhausted expression replaced any form of duress on his feature. Perhaps his acceptance of his fate would come across as disappointing to the miniature sociopath, but that wouldn’t matter in the long run, not if his fate was as irrevocably short as it currently seemed.]

[However, the threat to his existence was short-lived; the pistol had been lifted and aimed precisely, but after hearing the grandfather claim to be of this dimension, the Morty froze. The seething, confident, unbridled rage shifted to appalled astonishment once the words sunk in, and momentarily, his demeanor even resembled his own Morty’s.]

[As dismaying as the sight was, the grandfather did little to express his own concern upon witnessing such a significant fracture in the child’s act. Even when Morty faltered, when he comprehended the “gr” preceding the utterance of Rick’s name as an unfinished “grampa,” he refuted every urge to reach out, every temptation to perhaps accept the Morty’s story – if only to somehow connect to someone claiming to be his own grandson again. However, he recognized that it’d be wiser to reject the likely bullshit that this Morty was spewing. There was no ascertaining whether this was an act, and it was better to “be safe than sorry” – to deny any possibility that the child before him was a version of his own grandchild, adversely affected by the grandfather’s absence.]

[Granted, perhaps a portion of his defiance toward a possible truth was because he couldn’t bear the thought that his disappearance would have affected his own grandchild in such a manner. Hell, he had assumed that this was the perpetrator of the Rick murders that they’d been inadvertently forced to solve – this version of his grandson didn’t strike him as anything but a ruthless killer. Beyond that, the child proclaimed that his Rick had entirely abandoned them – when such evidently hadn’t been the case. In the year that had passed, had he deluded himself to the point of convincing himself that the grandfather had no motive to protect them? That his self-induced imprisonment was merely for self-gain?]

[It felt impossible that a child this distorted could be his own grandson, from their reality. It…didn’t feel real, and yet it was…unfortunately plausible.]

[As Morty stepped back, entirely dismissive of the grandfather’s claims as he lowered his weapon and gripped the workbench behind him, Rick offered a dejected and frustrated sigh. It’d provide a significant disadvantage, not to mention rid him of any potential self-defense, but he tucked his own pistol back into his pocket. It was better than clinging to some false shred of hope that he’d somehow bring himself to resort to violence against a Morty – one that claimed to be his own grandson, even if the grandfather had ultimately decided against the accuracy of such an assertion.]

Yeah? And how would you know? [His tone was substantially more condescending than previously, as though he was regaining the confidence that he’d lost the moment he’d begun facing off with a Morty who would easily murder him without a second thought. Rick was satiated with the response he’d received toward the condition of his family; it was more faithful than any other nonsense this Morty had spouted, even if it resulted in naught but the grandfather’s aggravation and contempt placed both upon himself and this Morty. He had his answers, so it didn’t matter whether he retaliated here – in all likelihood, no matter what he ultimately decided upon with regard to this confrontation, he would die. It was simply a matter of whether it was at this Morty’s hand or his own. Nothing here would matter.]

Seems more like you don’t know jack-shit about this reality. I didn’t abandon shit, and if you really were part of the family I left behind, you’d recognize that, right? I’m no idiot. You can act like you’re my grandkid all you want, but I’m not gonna – gonna fall for the manipulation you’re going for here.

[Crossing his arms with his usual mien of arrogance, he continued, one of his hands briefly lifting themselves to gesture for the Morty to come toward him and attack if he could bring himself to.]

Hey, you took every other goddamn thing from me, from my gadgets to my FAMILY. You wanna finish the job and kill me, go ahead. You’re obviously not my Morty, and I’ve got nothing left without him. Prove how “independent” you are and pull the trigger, asshole, if you’ve got the guts.

#rly good thread honestly #wish i didnt have WRITERS BLOCK SO I COULD REPLY THO #skype tag tbd

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