Archive of Our Own ^beta

If you paid attention to the endlessly humorous and complex dynamic between the infamous Rick and Morty duo, one would notice that Rick was the one in control of their activities. He often made a habit of dragging Morty around from planet to planet, from dimension to dimension. He made all the plans and goals for almost every adventure (excluding when Morty invoked the right of his Morty card to decide every one in ten adventures). He was certainly, clearly, the dominant person in their dynamic.

He would wake Morty up at three in the morning for an adventure, even as the teen groaned and complained and protested. He could basically kidnap him from school whenever he wanted, opening a portal in the middle of the hallway, in class, in the cafeteria— it didn’t matter as long as Rick got to whisk him away in the end. Morty disappeared so often, in fact, that nobody even worried if he was gone for a few hours, or even a few days. Around week, and people would only start to worry a little bit, but there would still be no hint of panic. They knew he was with his grandfather.

Rick was always told Morty what to do, and the boy almost always listened, as long as the requests (or demands, since Rick wasn’t usually asking; he was telling) weren’t too unreasonable. Grab me that wrench, come here, pass me that wire, turn off the light, come on this adventure with me, shove these seeds up your ass, shoot that alien. And Morty, even if he complained sometimes, did what Rick asked. He wasn’t always on board, but Rick always found a way to manipulate him. To convince and persuade him.

Rick always got what he wanted, after all. And that’s the rule their dynamic thrived on. Morty was the puppet, and Rick, the puppeteer. Controlling and persuading and manipulating the actions of the people around him to suit his own wants and preferences. Beth never asked Rick to stop taking Morty on adventures. Jerry was powerless against him. Summer didn’t care, as long as she was paid for some of her troubles.

And Morty? Well, Morty loved Rick unconditionally, even when his faith in the man sometimes wavered, even when Rick disappointed him so deeply that it hurt his very soul. But being this way... loving Rick so deeply... it made him suggestible, at times. It made him more willing to follow Rick’s command, sometimes even without the persuasion and manipulation.

And so, it seemed... that Rick controlled everything. He controlled his family, he controlled the universe, he controlled science. He bent Her to Her knees and commanded Lady Science’s every action, forced Her to fulfill His every need, His every request. Rick was God. Nobody could beat Him, nobody could sway Him, nobody could manipulate Him.

Rick was Absolute. Rick was Invincible. Rick was In Control.

At least, that’s what you’d see on the outside. That’s what you saw on the first glance, what you notice when you first start analyzing their dynamic, what you assume is the unbreakable, unwavering rules of who they are, how they act around each other, what they’ll always be.

But what people don’t know— what you don’t see, unless you look deeper— is that Morty Smith— small, naïve, suggestive, sweet little Morty— is the one that has Rick wrapped around his finger. While Rick may be in control, while he may drag Morty around despite his protests and grumbling, he’s further under the brunette’s thumb than either of them will ever really realize.

Rick would never admit it. He’d die before he’d admit it, he’d take it to his grave, he’d let his inner thoughts, his inner feelings die with his brain, with his very existence. But he loved Morty back. Rick loved Morty more than he’d ever loved anyone before in his life, and there was no replacement. No chance that he could ever love anybody more than he loved His Morty.

His Morty. Because not even another Morty could be as great as His. They could never compare, could never be the same, could never make Rick feel this way. And if he could get rid of these emotions, he would— he’d even had the chance to do it, the chance to start over, the chance to forget all about the kid. He’d literally ripped out his irrational attachments with a detoxifier machine.

But in the end, he needed those irrational attachments. Without them, he wasn’t Rick Sanchez. He was just an emotionless idiot who was ‘healthy’ and had no fun. So at least now he knew he was stuck with these attachments, but he’d still never admit it. But even so, Rick didn’t realize how much power Morty truly had over him.

Sometimes when he thought he was in control of an adventure, it was actually Morty pulling the strings. One second, they’d be stealing something Rick wanted, or gathering valuable rocks that Rick planned to steal and make a shit-ton of money off of, or they were building clones, or fighting gromflimites, or overthrowing a government—

And then Morty would say something that would throw him off. We can’t just leave this girl here to die, Rick. We can’t let these aliens go extinct, we have to help them! Can we go there instead? Can we please, please try some of those Kelmflark Cakes? We don’t have to kill that guy, Rick, we can spare him. Let’s just go home, I’m tired. Can you, uh... buy me this thingy over here? Come watch TV with me? It’ll be fun, Rick.

And, even though most of the time it took a lot of arguing, Rick would cave. A lot. A whole lot more than he thought. Because he couldn’t keep saying no to that pouty face, to those large, doe-like eyes. He couldn’t say no, couldn’t keep denying him. His harsh thoughts, his harsh plans, would halt in the face of Morty’s words, and his edges would soften, his heart would swell, and he’d cave.

He almost always sprinkled in a few insults to make it even, but Morty had long since gone numb to it. He knew it was a defense mechanism that had blossomed so deeply in his chest that there was probably no reversing it at this point. He had learned to accept Rick the way he was.

Some days, Morty even convinced Rick to hold off on adventures until after he’d completed a full day of school. He’d have an important test that he just couldn’t miss, or there was some extra work that he was required to turn in, a group project that he couldn’t ditch. And Rick would let him stay in his school, let him mingle with all those unimportant people, all because he couldn’t say no to those eyes. To that pleading tone in his grandson’s voice.

And so he’d wait in his garage for seven hours. The whole seven hours that it took for Morty to get through an entire day of school. And he’d tinker on his projects, melding stuff together, rearranging wires, adjusting dials, mixing chemicals, sometimes without purpose. Because the whole time, for all seven hours, all he can think about is Morty. And he’d glance at the door. Waiting. Watching. Impatient.

His leg would bounce, his heart would pound a little too quickly in his anticipation. He’d forget the purpose of the device he was working on. And he watched the door when the seven hours were up because Morty would walk in at any second now.

And then he would— he’d walk in, looking tired and exhausted from a long day of listening to his teachers drone on and on about this and that. And Rick would have to fight back a smile as a light feeling bloomed in his chest— his wait, his anticipation, finally over.

“Morty!” He’d say, sounding far more excited than he should be. So he’d clear his throat, relax his expression, forcefully calm his pounding heart, and try again. “Oh, hey, Morty. S-so you r-ready for that adventure?”

Morty would smile and nod, maybe start talking about his day as they both got in the ship, or stepped through a portal. And Rick would be beaming on the inside. Because finally, he could have Morty all to himself again. Finally, they could go on adventures and forget about everyone and everything else. Just Rick and Morty, one hundred years, and their adventures.

When the adventure was over, and Morty requested that Rick let him go to school again the next day, Rick would reluctantly agree. And the cycle would start over again. And Rick would wait, again, in his garage. Watching the door, waiting for Morty’s return, anticipating it. Excitement would build in his heart with every second that Morty got closer to getting home.

Just like an eager puppy, waiting for their favorite person to return.