Burn in Hell | C137cest AU

Twenty - Chapter 19

       Morty was mortally afraid of his family, and they understood. He had told the doctor he thought he was 20, and they knew what had been going on at that point. He had remembered his job as a file clerk, living with his family, all of that. But he was . . . mentally 20 years old, and just turned, according to him.

      So Morty's family did the best they could, trying to say as much as they could without freaking Morty out. They started over with apologies, and, after a while, Morty seemed relieved, relaxing and laughing some. He was still so anxious, praying it wasn't a show because of the doctors in the room checking on Morty, but a week of heartfelt praise and apology had led the brunet to believe they spoke the truth. 

       "So . . . I don't s-s-still have that fili-ing job?" Morty questioned disheartened. His family - not wanting to spring too much information on him - left it at Morty had quit because it gave him horrible migraines he didn't want, but he had saved up quite a bit and was fine for a while. 

       "There's a lot that's changed Morty," his father mentioned, Morty flinching slightly but laughing slightly after a moment.

       "Yea," Summer added, appearing upset. But she seemed to be unable to put into words why, either by her choice or their parent's command.

       "U-Um, Doctor," Morty tried, gaining the man's attention. He gave a hum of acknowledgement as he continued undoing Morty's IV and machinery. "W-Will I get all of my memories b-ba-ack?"

       "It's possible," the man responded, though he didn't sound too much like he believed his own words. "And, because you still identify as an adult, you can go back out on your own. You just may have trouble adjusting to the world now." Morty nodded, wondering if there was a 'but' to that statement.

       "However," there it was . . . , "You will need to check in repeatedly. We need to be sure there's no more brain damage. Your motor skills tests were all wonderful, so no worries there. The only issue you have is memory loss, and that's not something we can cure, so there isn't much we can do." That kind of stung, the tone in the man's voice as he calmly told Morty there was nothing they could do as though it was some sort of relief no longer being responsible for the brunet.

       The doctor went over Morty's chart for a moment. "Yep. It says here you're free to go home whenever you want to, but I do have a list of appointments right here. You cannot miss or reschedule. They are timed perfectly to see how you have developed, if you do at all. Your family can take you back to your house, too. Sorry about your kid . . . It's a damn shame." And with that, the doctor wandered out with all of his equipment.

       "Wh-Wha-at kid?" Morty questioned, looking towards the clothing sat on the end on his cot. His family seemed to flinch and Morty didn't know what at, but it must have something to do with the guy they spoke about, telling them what Morty had been doing with his life and whatnot.

       With a sigh, the brunet changed into his clothing once his family face a wall, respectively, feeling somewhat comfortable. Whatever style he had adopted, Morty seemed to like it. His family said these came directly from his closet in his house. 

       It had taken a while, but Morty eventually got home, his family driving him back to a place that was apparently supposed to be familiar to Morty, but wasn't.

       It was really nice, tidy and clean. There was a note on an end table, too.

Morty,

       Cleaned up around here for you. I know it might be hard to live in your place right now. Gary's got a couch lined up for you if you need it.
       It was nice knowing you, kiddo.

RS

       Morty had no idea what RS stood for, but he didn't mind. Whoever it was had been kind enough to clean up for him, something Morty appreciated very much as he set the note back, going through his own house. His family had left shortly after arriving, saying they had to go talk with somebody, but Morty didn't mind. He was still afraid of them, even after days of apologies.

       Morty had a nice house, from what he saw. He was quite impressed by himself, he had to admit. Though his bedroom was another story. Especially under the bed . . . 
       He was scarlet for an hour after investigating that naughty nook.

       There was something odd about the room down the hall from Morty's. The wallpaper was Spongebob, and there were little furnishings, but nothing made sense. There was a photo on the wall, though. Two, actually, side by side and looking like just one.

       One was Morty with a little blond boy, and the other was Morty with a kid that looked almost exactly like him.

       Did Summer have kids?? It was all a bit much and Morty shook his head, walking out of the room.

       The living room smelled far too much like bleach and the brunet had to air it out, removing strange coverings from his furniture and tossing it into a garbage bin. He supposed he could take a while and get to know the layout of his house. After all, he had nothing going on anymore.

       Maybe he could learn more about himself.

       Rick stared in disbelief as the kid's family walked off of his porch and took off again. He had been surprised when they rang the bell at his gate, letting them in out of curiosity. Maybe they were heading home?

       But the last thing he expected to hear was that Morty was awake, and twenty, apparently. Just turned, according to his parents.

        Rick wasn't stupid. He did the math over and over again.

       And that meant Morty had no idea who Rick was, nor that he even existed. He didn't know about the club, or Gary, or Gene. He didn't know anybody.

       Morty was a stranger, in and of himself.

       Morty was lost in a manner more horrid than him actually dying.

       And he may never remember.