This little, platonic fic is based off @dorklyevil comic of the same name, which could be found here.
I love their comics, and they are so lovely. Please check out their art is you haven’t already. Hope you like this Dorklyevil.
Today was going to be a good day. The birds were singing, the cherry blossom tree was set to bloom in a few days, and he was going to try out a couple of new recipes. Funny, Zeta-7 never thought he’d have days like this again, where he’d have plans, a reason to get out of bed, and keep busy taking care of his family; it was wonderful. As he would, he laid out his outfit of the day on the bed, which consisted of the usual brown dockers, white t-shirt, underwear, socks, and knitted sweater. And with the small ache in his back, he grabbed his towel, and went to take a shower in hopes to alleviate it.
Evil Morty waited until he heard the groan of old pipes, and running water before he moved. Full of mischievous intent, he thought of the drawers first, which were bound to hold what he was looking for. Certainly, it wasn’t necessarily evil to sneak into his adoptive grandfathers room, let alone to search through his things which he could use if need be, but it was what he did to survive. It was by some miracle he hadn’t killed Zeta-7 already, but then again, he hadn’t reason to. At least not yet.
If it ever happened that guilt dare creep up on him, then he’d push it away, and remind himself that Ricks didn’t care about Morty’s, and even if Zeta-7 cared now, it didn’t mean it would last forever. So for now, nothing mattered, and he’d have to find ways to last another day. Then, instead of finding a weapon he saw it, the sweater. Damn it, it just sat there, unassuming, simple, and innocently folded.
From afar, there was nothing so readily obvious about his wardrobe, but unlike most Rick’s, Zeta-7 made a great deal of his own sweaters; all lovingly stitched, knitted, and sewn. They were all a little bit of him, and in his mind’s eye, he wondered what they’d look like if they burned. Why, if the whole house were engulfed in flames, and no traces were left behind, then he could move on to more familiar territory. Yet, as he heard Rick singing We Are The Champions, he frowned. Maybe, there really wasn’t anything of interest here.
Though to be sure, he checked anyway. Initially, he hadn’t noticed the low temperatures of the morning, having only portaled in a few minutes before, from a dimension whose heat was hot enough to sear the flesh of any unprepared creature. Yet, when his search was inconclusive, his eyes settled on the blue sweater again. Nicely folded, smelling of lavender, it felt light to the touch, and soft in his hands. Pulling it over his head, he made off with it; forgetting his original intention due to being so terribly human
Something wasn’t right. Zeta-7 was sure he had left his sweater with the rest of the clothes, unless he had forgotten again. He was old, it wouldn’t have been extraordinary if he had left it somewhere without thinking. He searched through the drawers, closet, and about the house, but found it nowhere. He thought of asking Evil Rick, but he was busy smoking on the balcony.
Perhaps Morty would know.
He could detect the movements of all those in the house. Zeta-7 wasn’t too far off, and it would be embarrassing if he had to explain himself. Then again, knowing Zeta-7, he’d easily let it go and put on another one. Yet, he was too tired for this. Evil Morty skulked, searching for an open door.
Inside the office, there was a massive chair which was only used in occasions.
It seemed that just as soon as he settled onto the chair, he heard the creak of floorboards, and the whine of an opened door; Zeta-7 was only a few feet away. Evil Morty sat deathly still, he waited for the impending doom; expecting the worst. However, most Rick’s didn’t get a chance to say two words before he blew their brains out, or could even lay a finger on him before they disintegrated, but a small part of him would regret the loss of this Rick; at least for a moment. And he breathed a sigh of relief once Zeta-7 was gone. In the quiet of the room, when he was sure no one else was coming, he relinquished to the exhaustion which had been magnified by this brief crime.
With raised brow, he put away his cigarettes. “Sup?”
“Have you - y-you wouldn’t have happened t-t-to see my sweater?”
Opening the fridge, he searched until he found the last light beer. “JZ, you ugh - you’ve got to be more specific.”
“I don’t - don’t know, you have one for ugh - for everyday right? It’s not like I give a crap, but ask Morty, he might know, or whatever.”
Patting Evil Ricks back, Zeta-7 made his way upstairs, knocked on Mortys door, but heard no answer. Maybe he was still sleeping, but then he heard a door close down the hall. It wasn’t Evil Ricks room since his door was always locked, which left the attic, and the office. Now in the office, there wasn’t anywhere to hide except the large chair. He thought of entering, until it dawned on him that he forgot to preheat the oven.
Later, when he noticed Morty didn’t show up for breakfast, he checked the attic, and then went back into the empty office, and just as he hoped, there was Morty, curled up, wearing his sweater, fast asleep. Like this, he didn’t seem so exasperated, and Zeta-7 could tell by the bags under his eyes, that Morty hadn’t been sleeping. Retrieving a duvet from the hallway closet, he covered up his adoptive grandson, and let him be; there was always another sweater in the closet.
