His name was Marco Reyes, 29 years old, ex-military, now a personal security consultant who made a living protecting rich assholes in the city. Tall, thickly muscled, with a dense pelt of dark chest hair that trailed down over carved abs and disappeared into his waistband. The kind of man who turned heads in the gym and made enemies in the underworld without even trying.
He never saw it coming.
The mercenaries had been watching him for weeks. They worked for El Lobo; the ruthless leader of the most powerful cartel on the West Coast. El Lobo’s original body had been rotting away in a private hospital, riddled with cancer and barely able to speak. He needed a new vessel. A strong one. A young one. Marco was perfect.
They struck at night outside his apartment building.
Two black vans boxed him in. Six masked men in tactical gear swarmed him before he could draw his weapon. Marco fought like a demon, elbows cracking jaws, knees driving into ribs, fists smashing noses. He dropped three of them before a taser hit him square in the back. His massive body convulsed, muscles locking up as 50,000 volts ripped through him. They zip-tied his wrists and ankles, shoved a black hood over his head, and threw him into the van like a sack of meat.
He woke up strapped to a steel chair in a dimly lit warehouse, shirt torn open, chest heaving. The same thick, hairy pecs that had been flexing in gym selfies just hours earlier were now glistening with sweat under harsh fluorescent lights. His arms strained uselessly against reinforced restraints.
“Let me the fuck out of here!” Marco roared, voice echoing off concrete walls. He thrashed so hard the chair legs screeched across the floor.
“You have no idea who you’re fucking with-”
A tall man in a tailored black suit stepped into the light. Behind him, a team of technicians hovered around a sleek, ominous machine humming with blue energy…the mind-transfer device El Lobo had spent millions acquiring.
“You’re exactly who we’re fucking with,” the man said calmly. “El Lobo picked you personally. Said your body is… exceptional.”
Marco’s eyes widened as the technicians lowered a gleaming metal helmet onto his head. Cold electrodes pressed against his temples. He bucked wildly, veins bulging in his neck, sweat dripping down the dense hair between his pecs.
“No… NO! Get that shit off me!”
The machine whirred to life.
At first it was just pressure, a crushing weight behind his eyes. Then came the burning. Marco screamed as he felt his consciousness being ripped out of his own skull like meat from a bone. His vision flickered. His powerful arms went slack. His thick thighs trembled in the chair as the last fragments of his mind were sucked into digital limbo.
Across the room, El Lobo, an old, frail man hooked up to life support, smiled for the final time.
The transfer completed in 47 seconds.
Marco’s body went completely still… then suddenly jerked upright in the restraints.
The new owner opened his eyes.
El Lobo, now wearing Marco’s flawless, muscular body, blinked slowly. He rolled his new, broad shoulders and felt the delicious weight of heavy pecs shifting under dense, dark chest hair. A low, satisfied groan rumbled from deep in his new throat.
“Fuck… this is even better than the photos,” he growled, voice now rich, deep, and dripping with Marco’s natural baritone.
The technicians quickly unstrapped him. El Lobo stood up on powerful legs, grey sweatpants tenting obscenely as he felt the heavy, thick cock between his thighs for the first time. He ran both hands down his torso, fingers spreading through the thick hair covering his chest, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples that hardened instantly. A shiver of pure pleasure ran through him.
He squeezed his new pecs hard, then slid his palms lower, tracing every ridge of his abs, following the dark treasure trail that disappeared into his waistband. His new cock throbbed visibly, growing thicker by the second.
“Goddamn… look at this body,” he muttered, turning to admire himself in a nearby reflective panel. He flexed one massive arm, watching the bicep peak and the veins pop. Then he grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants and yanked them down just enough to see his new cock, thick, veiny, and already hard.
The real Marco’s consciousness was still trapped inside the machine, screaming silently as he watched his own body being molested by the gangster who now owned it.
“I’m keeping this one,” he said aloud, voice thick with lust. “This hairy, muscular, perfect fucking body is mine now. Every inch of it.”
He squeezed his heavy balls, then reached back to grope the firm, round ass that used to belong to Marco.
“Gonna put this body to work,” he growled, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
“Gonna fuck, fight, and rule in it. And you…” he looked straight into the camera feed of the machine, straight at Marco’s trapped soul, “…you get to watch every second of it.”
El Lobo, now permanently Marco Reyes, smiled with pure, wicked satisfaction as one of his mercenaries approaches with a new set of clothes,
“Welcome to your new life, boss,” he said said, grinning.
El Lobo just flexed again, admiring how the muscles moved under his command.
“Best fucking vessel I’ve ever had.”
Epilogue
A few weeks later…
El Lobo stood shirtless in the blazing afternoon sun, the heat kissing every inch of his new, permanently stolen body. Marco’s tanned, hairy chest glistened with sweat as he took a slow, deliberate selfie in the backyard.
He smirked behind the sharp red reflective sunglasses, loving how they made him look like a total cocky bastard. The thick silver chain around his neck caught the sunlight, resting perfectly between his dense, dark pecs. He flexed subtly, making the heavy muscles of his chest bounce and the dark treasure trail shine with sweat.
“Still feels fucking unreal,” he murmured in Marco’s deep, smooth voice. He ran a hand down his torso, fingers dragging through the thick, sweat-damp chest hair, then lower over his tight abs. His cock was already half-hard in his shorts just from feeling the sun on this perfect skin.
He tilted his head, admiring the way the light highlighted every ridge and curve of muscle. The real Marco’s soul was long gone, locked away in some digital prison while El Lobo lived his best life in this hairy, muscular masterpiece.
El Lobo laughed low and filthy, gripping his thickening cock through his shorts right there in the open.
“This body was made to be used,” he growled, giving his pec a hard squeeze before flexing his bicep for another photo. “And I’m never giving it up.”
El Lobo smiled wide behind the red lenses, already planning how he’d spend the rest of the day breaking in his new favorite toy even harder.
If you have the proper certifications, you probably care about your clients. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Here's a short experiment in capturing a few different steps in the "process" of body swapping.
Records just don't equal songs. In S5E6, Robin uses a record analogy where they are the equivalent to someone's consciousness being trapped in Vecna's mind. Robin swapping Mike's record later on is the hint that his mind has been swapped. The red box, which symbolizes Vecna's mind, is also in Mike's dorm room. There is also M.C. Escher/Labyrinth references in both scenes, the reflective globe and the relativity staircase, that are signs they're in a dreamworld.
There's an immediate cut between the X over Will's heart then to a big gray X (behind Robin) next to the finale plan in a shot panning over to Mike's record bomb. Will previous called Mike "the heart," there's the X rift in the Upside Down, as well as the mysterious line "M marks the spot" line about Vecna's mind cave (Mike is at the X spot?). Then that cryptic official post spawning the theory of X being a lie was never debunked. This leads me to believe the Mike we see is a lie, his consciousness is trapped in the Upside Down and/or Vecna's mind where the X is.
Plus, it's curious The Who's poster is behind Robin, as in Mrs. Who, a celestial being and mentor who transports children just like Mrs. Whatsit that inspired Mr. Whatsit, Vecna's alter ego (Robin once said she's Mr. Whatsit's "little elf"). Then the flares are right next to Mike's head—flare which sounds like flayer—as in this is a reference to the Mind Flayer's presence. We also have Lucas' line questioning if anything is real and if Vecna is "messing with us" while Mike and Robin are in the shot (he's basically gesturing to both of them).
From "I Am the... Gorilla-Man" in Tales to Astonish #28, February 1962. Stan Lee (plot), Larry Lieber (script), Jack Kirby pencils, Dick Ayers inks, Stan Goldberg colors, John Duffy letters.
I'm not sure what in particular about the current season inspired me to write this, but: Evil Morty initiates a body-swap with Morty Prime in order to force Rick to fix his brain implants. Hurt/comfort, Evil Morty sneaks a little hug in there even though he insists that he doesn't need one.
A Few Wires Loose
WhovianBuffalo (WhovianB)
Summary: Evil Morty needs a favor, but he still doesn't trust easily. Fortunately, he knows Rick C-137’s weakness.
Category: Gen ~ Fandom: Rick and Morty
Relationships: Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith, Evil Morty & Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Characters: Rick Sanchez, Evil Morty, Morty Smith/Morty Prime
Additional Tags: Body Modification, Body Swap, Brain Surgery, Hostage Situations, Awake Brain Surgery, Mind Swap, Evil Morty's trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Panic Attacks
Notes: CW: brief mention of vomiting, semi-graphic/realistic depictions of brain surgery (bonesaws), anaesthetic/drugs.
Ask me if you need any tags or warnings added, I've tried to cover my bases, but I may have missed some things!
There's the sound of a portal opening, followed by a smashing plate.
“Um… Rick?” Morty’s voice wavers.
Rick pokes his head out of the garage to find Evil Morty standing in the kitchen with an arm around Morty's throat, and a gun pointed at his temple.
“We need to talk.”
Rick locks his eyes on the gun. “Yeah, no shit.”
Evil Morty pushes Morty though first, but keeps a tight hold on him so he can't wriggle free.
“Son of a bitch; I thought we were even!” Rick slams the door behind him, and glares at Evil Morty.
“What? I ended your drawn-out revenge-quest and told you not to come looking for me. That's not the same as being even.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you- so why are you standing in my garage pointing a gun at Morty?”
“Because you're the only Rick I know who won't let him die on the operating table.”
“Operating table?” Morty watches him out of the corner of his eye.
“Shut up.” Evil Morty presses the gun to his temple, and his hand shakes slightly.
“Are you oka-?”
“I said shut up.”
Rick narrows his eyes, and presses a button on his watch. There's a bloop.
“Don't scan me, asshole.”
“Whatever.” He presses the watch again. “It’s pretty clear you have a problem, and you need grandpa to fix it.”
“You're not my grandpa, and I don't need your help.”
“Good! Then put Morty down, and fuck off!”
“Put him down?” He fingers the trigger.
Rick groans. “You know, if you shoot him, you lose your leverage.”
“Rick!” Morty struggles.
Evil Morty grunts. “Go ahead, call my bluff. All it will get you is a dead Morty.”
He throws his arms up in the air. “You know what? Fuck you. If you wanted my help, you could’ve just asked. Now, you're pissing me off. Maybe I won't help you.”
Evil Morty laughs. “You don't have a choice." He presses his finger to the side of Morty's neck, and the two of them fall limp as a spark of electricity jumps between them.
“... Morty?” Rick steps forwards.
The body with the eyepatch slumps to the floor, and the gun clatters to the floor. With a twitch, the body of Morty Prime flexes his shoulders, and stares down at it dispassionately.
Rick glares at him. “The fuck did you do?”
“Complete neural hop. It was faster than I expected; I guess we're compatible. Even if it does feel a little… small in here.”
“Morty?” Rick crouches beside him, and places a hand on his shoulder.
“W-why am I wearing an eyepatch?” Morty says from the floor. He lifts the corner of it experimentally, and blinks. “Son of a bitch.”
He helps Morty to his feet, and a spasm racks his body.
“I-” he claws at the eyepatch. “I can't see.”
Rick glares at Evil Morty. “You really think I'm going to help you now? Switch back, you little shit.”
Morty tugs the eye patch off with a yelp, and two wires tumble loose. He makes a low sound as Rick takes the eyepatch from him.
“Easy, bud.” Rick squeezes his shoulder, and turns his gaze on Evil Morty. “Switch back, now!”
Evil Morty examines his fingernails impassively. “Honestly, it makes no difference to me. I can take it or leave it. If I left now, you'd still have to fix his implants, and I’d have a working body again. Either way, I get what I want.”
“Then fuck off,” Rick grits.
Morty twitches, and stifles a grunt.
“No thanks.” Evil Morty crosses his arms, and sits down in a chair. “There are some useful implants in that body, I'd like them back. Besides, I don't know where this one’s been, and-” he concentrates, and spits out a laugh. “You gave him nanobots so he could turn into a car? What is this, Transformers?”
Rick grits his teeth. “Garage, remove his whitelisting and activate kill bots.”
“Affirmative,” the garage says, as several guns turn on Evil Morty.
“Jesus Christ, Rick, that's my body!” Morty yells.
“Better make peace with losing it, Morty. You can keep this one. How different can you be? You're both identical-”
“No! Jesus Christ, it hurts! My stupid eye keeps glitching out, I can't see! Look at this shit! T-there are wires in my eyesocket! My brain has hundreds of files all called booger_aids!”
“Calm down, Morty. It won't hurt once I fix it.”
“Rick!”
“Fine!” Rick sighs, and presses something on his watch. “Killbots, stand down.”
There's a clatter as the garage rearranges itself, and a workbench raises up in the center of the room. He holds a hand out. “Obviously, I’d prefer to do this downstairs, but I'm not letting him in there.”
“Oh no, I was so desperate to see your secret sub-basement,” Evil Morty quips. “It’s not as if there's one in every universe.”
Rick ignores him. “Alright, Morty, lie back.” He offers him a hand up, and reactivates the scanner. “So, obviously there's nothing major here, he just wants to avoid going through the surgery himself.” He side-eyes Evil Morty as he completes the scan. “Fortunately, you're less of a pussy-ass bitch than he is.”
“Th- thank you? I think?” Morty’s left leg twitches, and he glances at his counterpart. “What did you do?”
Evil Morty examines his fingernails. “Nothing. It was just shitty craftsmanship… Obviously the work of a Rick.”
“Are you still here?” Rick glares at him, and Evil Morty laughs.
“You’ll need my help to get through the firewalls. But, if you'd rather take your chances-”
“Oh, yeah, like I need your help to get through a bunch of passwords called Eight equals-sign D and Eight Zero Zero Eight Five.”
“I changed them, genius.” He pushes his chair out. “But I can come back when you're done…”
“Be my fucking guest.”
He sinks back down. “No. You'd probably just clone him a new body and leave that one to rot.”
“Can you blame me? You're not exactly making this easy.” He reaches for Morty's forehead, but something zaps him. “Ow! See?!”
Evil Morty chuckles quietly.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Morty, can you lower your forcefields?”
“Sure.” A beat. “Um, how?”
“Just think ‘deactivate forcefield’.”
Morty’s eyes roll into his head for a moment. “Fuck! It’s all just ‘boogeraids’ up in here!” He gasps for breath.
“C’mon, Morty. Think about doors opening.”
Evil Morty rolls his eyes, and grabs the discarded eyepatch. “I’ll do it.” There's a faint shimmer of light as the shield deactivates, and Morty glares at him with his one good eye. “You still have control?”
“Yuh-huh.” He folds his arms, and watches Rick. “By the way, I’ve rigged the nanobots to explode as soon as anything happens to either of us. Just a little extra incentive not to cross me.”
“Cool it, Jigsaw,” Rick says. “Let's just get this over with so you can fuck off.”
“Cute,” Evil Morty rolls his eyes.
Rick examines the results of the scan. “The central core of the cortex processor is entirely burned out. I'm going to have to replace it.” He reaches for a sedative, and pats Morty’s head. “See you in a few hours-”
“No.” Evil Morty stands up. “He needs to be conscious so you can monitor his cognitive function.”
“No, fuck you. I'm putting him under.”
He shrugs. “Fine with me. But I'm not going back in there if you damage the goods.”
Morty sucks in a breath. “It's okay, Rick.”
Rick grits his teeth. “It’s not okay. Garage, generate a non-magnetic sterilisation field.”
The bench becomes subtly warmer, and Morty relaxes a little.
Rick pours something pink into a glass. “Morty, drink this. Other Morty-” he glares at him- “Stay out of my way.”
Evil Morty laughs. “Kryptogenic morphine? I thought you said he wasn't a pussy.”
“I said he was less of a pussy than you, so unless you want to get on this table and prove me wrong-”
“Jesus Christ, both of you, shut up!” Morty downs the liquid in one gulp, and slams the glass down. His arm trembles slightly as he rests it at his side, and watches Rick stormily. “Fucking get this over with.”
Rick discards the glass, and covers his labcoat with a see-through poncho.
Evil Morty sniffs derisively.
“What? I’m not getting blood on my labcoat.”
Morty exhales.
“Um- sorry, bud.” He keeps an eye on him while they wait for the morphine to kick in- his pupils dilate, and his eyes droop slightly. After a moment, it's clear he can't delay this any longer. He clears his throat, and ruffles Morty’s hair- which has the added benefit of annoying Evil Morty.
“Sorry, little buddy, but he said you needed to be awake for this, and there's only a 30% chance that he's lying. Of course, there's a higher chance that he's mistaken, but if that brain gets damaged while your mind is still inside it, then-”
“I get it,” Morty says, softly.
“Good.” Rick fixes Evil Morty with a look of utter loathing, and then places his hands on either side of Morty's head, ostensibly taking measurements. “You know what's about to happen?”
Morty nods.
He preps a tray with several small implements. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Just do it,” he repeats, with less gusto than before. “Please.”
Rick nods. He glances at Evil Morty. “Do your implants have noise-reduction?”
“As if I'd tell you that.” Evil Morty snarls.
Rick sighs, and grabs a pair of ear defenders from a nearby workbench for good measure.
“You might want to close your eyes ‘til it’s over.”
Morty’s eyes go wide, but he does as he's told.
Evil Morty laughs.
Rick wheels on him. “You know, you could be less of an asshole. This is your body. It won't help you much if he has a panic attack.”
“Or pees his pants?” Evil Morty says, dryly.
“You suck,” Rick decides, as he turns back to the bench. Morty’s eyes are screwed tight shut, and Rick runs a hand through his hair soothingly. “Alright, buddy. Bear with me here.”
He grabs an electric shaver and runs it in a line, following the curve of his head.
“Watch it,” Evil Morty says.
“Excuse me for not giving a fuck about your hairline right now,” Rick grits. The buzzing stops, and he admires his handiwork. Then, he glances at the scalpel.
“Okay. This is going to suck, but it shouldn't hurt. Tell me if it does.”
Morty breathes shakily.
Hand heavier than it has any right to be, Rick picks up the scalpel. He can feel Evil Morty's eyes boring into him as he makes the first incision.
Morty huffs out a breath.
Rick’s stomach twists, but he keeps moving steadily, until he’s made a small flap. He keeps the square as small as possible, but it’s still too much. Small beads of blood form around the incisions.
Morty’s eyelids flicker, and his breathing picks up.
Rick’s head pounds. “Y-you good?”
His hand twitches. It may have been intended as a thumbs up.
“Alright, little buddy, let’s do this. I’m going to be right here,” Rick says, firmly. He lifts his head off the table slightly, and secures the ear defenders with the headband resting on the back of his head, near the neck- potentially uncomfortable, but out of the way of any loose skin. Then, he lowers Morty's head back onto the table with care, and breathes unsteadily as he reaches for the bonesaw.
Evil Morty clears his throat, and Rick bares his teeth at him.
“Morty, if you fucking talk to me right now I might just murder you; I don't care whose body you're hijacking.”
Evil Morty raises an eyebrow, and watches the proceedings with a kind of morbid delight.
He lifts the flap to expose a small section of skull. Blood runs along the recently shaved hair at the nape of Morty’s neck, and soaks into the neckline of his shirt.
Morty makes a whimpering sound, and Rick’s heart twists.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
The moment Rick turns the bonesaw on, Morty flinches. Rick hesitates, but Morty manages to hold still after that, so he presses forwards. He cuts through the skull as quickly as he can, a tiny circle barely large enough to fit the forceps through. The wires poking out of Morty's brain don't surprise him- he'd seen the full extent of them on the readout- but what surprises him is how experimental most of it appears to be. There are loose wires which no longer attach to anything, and he pulls one of them free. The end is jagged, like its been cut haphazardly.
“It looks like these modifications were made with a hacksaw,” he says, with distaste.
“Those were mine,” Evil Morty drones. “And it was a powersaw.”
“Makes sense.” Rick remains impassive, but his lip wobbles.
“What’s wrong? Feeling sorry for me?”
“Yeah, sorry you're such a pain in my ass.” He clips the wire carefully, and replaces it with a new one.
Tears brim in Morty's eyes, and his leg spasms repeatedly- whether from fear or the faulty cortex unit, he can't tell. Rick breathes raggedly, and looks up at Evil Morty.
“Hold Morty’s hand.”
“Why?”
“Because mine’s covered in blood.”
He laughs disbelievingly. “No.”
“Fuck you, hold his hand! If he starts thrashing around now, it’ll cause a bunch more problems.
“Hey, asshole, it's not my fault you forgot to tie him to the table.”
“That's not how this works,” Rick grits.
“Oh, because you're ‘partners’? He-”
Morty spasms, and Evil Morty grabs his hand with both of his own, and squeezes tight. Morty goes still.
Rick swallows a lump in his throat, and moves in deeper. He follows the wire which is still attached to the eye socket.
“There's something…” He pulls it out.
A microchip.
“Your Rick really didn't want this to be found, huh?”
Evil Morty’s face changes. “That's not what you're here for,”
“No, but it's what I found, bitch.”
“That's not what was malfunctioning!
“No, but it might have caused the malfunction.” He drops it into the metal tray, and deep-scans the surrounding area. “You really don't want a loose receiver rattling around in your brain.”
“Doesn't matter.” He lets go of Morty’s hands. “The transmitter was destroyed.”
“But what if someone found the right frequency? They could grab your brain like a joystick-”
Morty makes a weak sound, and opens his eyes as he stares at Rick, terrified.
“Take the ear defenders off of him,” Rick says.
“Fuck you, I'm not your sidekick.”
“How many times-? This isn't about you, motherfucker!”
“It's literally my body-”
“So fucking help me!”
Evil Morty drags them off none-too-gently, but handles Morty's head with care. It makes sense, Rick supposes. He's incentivised to protect it.
Rick leans forwards, his hands still in Morty’s brain.
“Hey, buddy! Buddy! You're doing so good!” He wanted to sound gentle, but it comes out frantic.
A fresh wave of tears roll down Morty’s face.
“Hey, d-don’t be like that,” he soothes. “Your neural readings look great, little guy, but, just to be sure- you’re alright? Nothing hurts?”
Morty chokes out a sob. “No. Fine. I'm fine. Just, please, hurry.”
“I hear you. Almost done, sweetie.”
Morty visibly relaxes, and Evil Morty keeps his face carefully blank.
“Oh, you like that, lil junebug? Lil boopa?”
Morty makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“That’s it. Attaboy. Grandpa’s here...” At long last, he finds the cortex’s core processor, and fumbles around for the replacement unit. He glances up.
“Hold him.”
Evil Morty grabs his shoulders, and Morty shakes.
“Love you, bud.” He modulates his watch to play the exact frequency required to trigger the release-catch in the core, and it pops out with a hiss. In an instant, Morty’s body goes haywire, every part of him flailing, and Rick cries out.
Evil Morty throws himself on the table, pinning Morty’s legs beneath his own as he fights to keep his arms still. Morty’s head scrapes against the table, crushing Rick’s left hand and smearing blood across the workbench. With a yell, Rick wrestles the replacement core into place, hands shaking. Morty screams, the core activates, and the processor whirrs to life.
Morty screams, and his body goes still.
Rick withdraws, hand shaking.
Evil Morty stares at him, still sprawled on top of the body on the workbench.
“It's over.” Rick’s voice is hoarse. “We're done.” He replaces the section of skull ever so gently.
“You're not going to test it?” Evil Morty sits up, still pinning Morty's arms. “What if you made a mistake? You'll have to do that whole thing again.”
Rick doesn't reply, his hands moving automatically. His vision is obscured, and he blinks back tears as he uses a laser-cauteriser to fuse the seams together. Then, he does the same with the flap of skin. Aside from the shaved patch, it almost doesn't look as if he's had surgery at all.
“Hello?” Evil Morty says.
Rick takes a few shaky steps away from the table, and retches into a bucket.
“Jesus.” Evil Morty clambers off of the workbench, but makes no attempt to approach him.
Morty stirs slightly, and Evil Morty stares at him dispassionately.
“If you’ve fucked this up-”
“Y-you really think I'd make a mistake, Morty?” Rick's mouth tastes of bile.
“Your stomach does.”
“Ugh. Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.” Evil Morty turns to Morty and pokes him in the leg, then gets kicked in the arm for his trouble. “Reflexes good,” he says, rubbing the bruise.
“Leave him alone.”
“It's my body, remember?”
“So you keep telling me.” His hands shake, and he stares at them. “I need a drink.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’m not gonna-! Why am I defending myself to someone this insufferable?” He drags himself to his feet, and ignores the wave of nausea that passes through him. Evil Morty steps aside, and begins running scans of the body Morty is currently borrowing.
Rick ignores him. “Hey.” He wipes his mouth, and leans against the workbench.
Morty stares up at him, eyes unseeing.
“You still in there, junebug?”
He nods almost imperceptibly.
“Good job. Good. Knew it.” He smiles. “Proud of you, bud.”
Morty sighs, exhausted. After a beat, he lifts his arms, weakly, and it takes Rick a moment to realize what he wants. Then, he wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, as Morty settles into the hug.
“It’s alright,” he says, though he may as well be talking to himself. “You’re okay.” He sits on the edge of the workbench, and embraces him gingerly, supporting his weight. Morty mumbles something imperceptible, and Rick tries to stop his arms from shaking.
Evil Morty makes a derisive sound, and Rick glares at him.
“Oh, please, be my guest. You’re more than welcome to fuck off.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m not getting back in there ‘til he sobers up.”
Rick shakes his head, and holds Morty tight. Morty clings to him woozily, trembling profusely as awareness comes back into his eyes.
“No pain?” Rick asks.
Morty shrugs.
“Good.” He presses a kiss to the crown of his head.
“Hey.” Evil Morty snaps.
Rick barely looks at him. “What’s wrong? Afraid of cooties?”
His frown deepens. “Not fucking cool.”
“Yeah, yeah. Next time, think twice about which body you snatch, asshole.”
Morty laughs weakly, and rests his head against his chest. Rick cradles him, and keeps one eye on Evil Morty. “Well?”
“What do you mean, ‘well’?”
Rick shakes. “You've been scanning him for the last five minutes and you haven't found something to complain about yet.”
“It’s… Adequate,” Evil Morty decides.
Rick grins, but feels another rising wave of nausea. For a moment, he thinks that Morty is trembling, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's his own body.
Morty squeezes his shoulder, and gives him a concerned look, but Rick forces his gaze up, to Evil Morty.
“Yeah,” he says, belatedly. “I was really waiting for your approval.”
Evil Morty rolls his eyes.
They stay like that, locked in place: both shaking with adrenaline as Evil Morty watches them impassively, each too tired to make the first move.
“My head hurts,” Morty says, after a while.
“Okay, I'm calling it,” Evil Morty says. He steps up behind them, and injects something into Morty's neck. Morty faints, and re-emerges into his own body half a meter away, as the one in Rick's arms gasps.
Rick loosens his grip on him, but doesn't let go entirely.
“Morty? Other Morty?”
It takes evil Morty a second to get his bearings, but he fixes Rick with a glare. Before he can push him away, Morty runs up beside them and hugs them both tightly. Rick wraps an arm around him in surprise, but keeps both eyes fixed on Evil Morty, who looks irate.
“Fuck you! We're not friends!” Evil Morty's speech is slightly slurred, and Morty chuckles.
“Yeah, no shit. You hijacked my body.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He shoves Rick away, and rubs his temples. “Fuck you for getting blood on my shirt.”
“And fuck you for getting blood on my workbench,” Rick retorts, without much feeling. He tightens his grip on Morty as Evil Morty passes them, retrieves his eyepatch, and presses the button for the shutters.
The garage door opens slowly, and Evil Morty checks the settings on his portal gun. “Alright. Bye, then.”
Rick scoffs.
The garage door is one-quarter open.
“By the way,” Rick says, “I’m not sure what he told you, but there was zero need for anyone to be awake while that was implanted.”
Evil Morty stops walking.
“Looks like you had a pretty fucked-up Rick.”
He wheels on them.
“Fuck you. Seriously. Don't ever hug me. Don't ever psychoanalyse me.” He flips them off, and ducks under the half-opened garage door. “Remember: don't look for me,” he calls. “It won't go well.” There's the sound of a portal opening, and Rick ducks down so he can check that he's gone. In an instant, the garage door is open, the portal is dematerialising, and Morty is staring up at him with huge brown eyes.
He buries his face in his hands, and breathes in short, quick gasps.
“Fuck, that was insane! I-I-I could've lost you, Morty.”
“Rick!” Morty hugs his waist. “Keep it together.”
He breathes unsteadily.
“We made it through.”
Rick ruffles his hair, but he can't stop thinking about all those wires in his head. He keeps glancing at the spot where the portal dematerialised, and neither of them make much effort to close the garage door, as the blood congeals beside them.
