Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

Give me stone give me power. And comment dog don't forget that

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The morning sun bled soft light through the blinds as Morty opened his eyes. The room smelled faintly of damp fabric and cold air, a leftover chill from the storm of the previous night or maybe just the echo of something darker. He stretched out slowly, let the silence settle around him for a moment, and then swung his legs off the bed. The hardwood felt cool beneath his feet as he stood up and padded toward the bathroom.

The shower was cold again. He let the water slice across his skin like needles, scrubbing away the phantom weight of yesterday. His eyes closed beneath the spray, and for a second, it felt like everything could wash away Rick's trembling hands, the surgical tools, Beth's eyes in the doorway. But the moment passed, and Morty stepped out, drying off with mechanical calm, his reflection fogged in the mirror.

It was Sunday. No school. And that meant a different plan.

He walked over to the old dresser by the wall, kneeling down and sliding out the bottom drawer. Tucked beneath a stack of worn shirts and forgotten comic books sat a small metal cash box unlocked, dusty, but untouched. Morty flipped it open. Neat stacks of bills met his gaze, some crisp, some faded, held together by rubber bands and careful folding.

He smiled faintly. He'd started saving when he was seven. The dream? An ice cream truck. Why? Hell if he remembered. Seemed like a good idea at the time. But now… Now fourteen thousand dollars stared back at him. Fourteen grand of birthday money, allowance, summer jobs, odd favors, even some money lifted from Rick's projects when the old man wasn't looking.

Morty counted it with steady hands, the soft rustle of paper a rhythm that felt grounding in a way nothing else did. He pocketed the cash.

New chapter. New Morty. And new Morty needed new clothes.

He headed downstairs, the wooden steps creaking under his weight. The smell of eggs and something vaguely synthetic wafted through the air Rick's cooking, judging by the acrid edge.

In the kitchen, Rick stood by the stove, spatula in hand, eyes hidden behind dark goggles. His movements were sharp, jerky, like a man trying too hard to look casual.

Morty smirked inwardly. Trying to act normal. Well… as normal as you can after cutting open your own grandson's skull.

Beth sat at the table, coffee mug clutched in both hands, staring intently at a spot on the wall as if breaking eye contact with anything living might shatter the last thread holding her together.

Summer… probably still upstairs. The usual.

Morty slid into his chair, offered a faint "Morning," and reached for the toast on the table.

Rick gave a noncommittal grunt. Beth forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

They ate in silence, the sound of forks on plates louder than it had any right to be.

After breakfast, Morty stood, gathering the plates with calm efficiency. He moved beside Beth at the sink, helping her rinse and dry, their movements wordless, synchronized.

Then, as he passed her the last dish, he leaned in. His arms wrapped around her waist firm, steady.

She froze. Morty held her close, the embrace warm, grounding.

Then, in a low whisper, lips near her ear, he murmured, "I'm going shopping… new Morty needs new clothes."

Beth's breath hitched. Her legs shifted, a subtle tremble in her stance.

Her voice came soft, almost shaky. "S-Sure, honey."

Morty gave her a soft squeeze before stepping back. Beth turned slightly, her face flushed, biting her lip as she glanced away.

Rick kept his back turned at the stove, shoulders hunched.

Morty smiled faintly, pocketed his wallet, and headed for the door.

He didn't look back as he walked down the hallway, feeling the tension lingering in the air like a static charge clinging to his skin. The stairs groaned under his weight, the front door closing with a soft but definitive click behind him.

The morning sun felt warmer now, brighter against his face as he stepped onto the porch. Morty inhaled deeply, the air crisp, clean a sharp contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the kitchen. He moved down the sidewalk with measured steps, each footfall steady, purposeful, as if the world itself had slowed to watch him pass.

The quiet hum of the neighborhood greeted him, mundane and indifferent, unaware of the storm that brewed inside the Smith household.

Morty's hand brushed against the bulge of cash in his pocket, a silent reminder of his quiet rebellion.

He reached the end of the block, his heart beating with a calm certainty.

This wasn't just about clothes. It wasn't about money. It was about control taking it back, piece by piece, moment by moment.

Morty knew Rick would watch him go, would pretend not to care, but deep down, the old man would feel it a shift in the air, a change in the game.

And Beth… Beth would remember the way he held her, the whisper in her ear, the subtle command beneath the sweetness.

Morty smiled to himself, his footsteps echoing softly as he disappeared around the corner.

The game had changed. And Morty was done playing by anyone else's rules.

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