Cloth Mother, Wire Mother
<600 words || Rickorty || I'm a fool to hold you - Mitski || SEASON 6 EP 10 aftermath
Rickbot sits upright and leans on the wall as Morty embraces it whilst sitting on its lap
It's cold.
The engine whirs in Morty's ears as his head rests against the cold metal panel. Beneath it lies the core—the part that makes Rickbot Rick and not just some glorified toaster.
If there's a god out there, Morty prays that nobody'll see him like this. That he wont be seen with his face pathetically pressed into the cold titanium-- only warmed by his body heat-- as his hands wrap around its chest.
If somebody sees him hanging on every word, sees him beg an algorithm of artificial life to whisper sweet nothings in his grandfather's voice, Morty wouldn't know what to do with himself.
It reeks of wine, burnt silicone, and deception.
The scent takes him back to when his heart shattered, when he realized that his family loved an imitation of Rick for months—a version of him born to take his spot, as he deemed their needs second to his pursuit of one man.
He remembers the anger clearly. How he felt hate swirling—festering—in his chest as he saw Rick on the 10th floor showing no remorse and only frustration at his creation for not being flawless.
His heart still aches when he realizes that Rick—his Rick, the man who taught Morty how to see the world and open his eyes to his placelessness—would never level with him. They'd never value one another the same.
Rick would never hold Morty, let alone provide him with the right to ask.
But Rickbot would.
Despite past sorrow, Rickbot is a dream taken physical form. The fact he's metal doesn't stop Morty from assuming this is what a loving father's embrace should feel like. Being with Rickbot makes his heart warm, forget the weight on his shoulders, and drowns his mind in happiness.
It's therapeutic, feeling his own curls pushed around by large hands as his brain melts to words marching on the cusp of absurdity, while being conducted by promises of security and love.
Morty asks it to tell him that he's his favorite, to tell him that he likes going on adventures with him, to tell him that he likes being around Morty, and to tell him sweet nothings as reality drifts away from his grasp and the boy embraces the voice's words as gospel.
Algorithms provide responses upon data fed to them. The words are real—they're seen as truth to Rickbot. Words can only be logically spun together when there's a basis for them to be grounded on.
He's forming these responses based on real memories—a portfolio filled with bliss and calm, steady hearts beating in sync, pressed up near one another as the two embrace one another. This Rick has memories of stomachs full of Blitz n' Chips and laughing over nothing in the cheap diner. The moments where they were watching interdimensional cable, Rick comforting Morty as he worried over losing his dick, and how they both derailed the impending doom of the solar system, truly happened.
If Rick was there too, Morty's sure these moments would happen regardless.
Rickbot can't be that different from Rick from a psychological standpoint. Thoughtfulness can't be that important to who somebody is as a character. Therefore, being 22% more thoughtful isn't grounds to be recognised as a new identity. One's past, habits, and environment play a larger role in identity.
Rickbot is Rick.
22% isn't that much of a difference.
22% on a test is a failing grade.
22% of 5 is barely over 1. Rick was barely that thoughtful in the first place; that, plus 22% of an already small number, makes no real impact.
Besides, Morty's only going to Rickbot because Rick is busy hunting Prime.
Morty's only going to Rickbot because he has nothing better to do.
Morty's only going to Rickbot because it doesn't count as touching Rick's shit, or screwing things up, or murdering his family.
rick and Morty have replaced themselves multiple times across universes. His body rots in the backyard. What difference is thinking this to be rick?
It's just one small guilty pleasure.
He just wants to hear that he'll be mourned if he killed himself, that he's irreplaceable, that Rick wouldn't be able to live on if Morty wasn't there—and feel Rick draw stars on his back while his heart burns bright with content and happiness, and live in this moment that he swears he won't do again. There's no point in not overindulging himself.
"Morty?"
Rick's voice sounds distant. Maybe his battery is dying.
"Say it again. Tell me that I'm irreplaceable."
"Morty, what—URP—the fuck are you doing?"