A Swig That Burns the Whole Way Down

Part 1

XxX

Shit.

Rick knew he wasn't one for keeping track of time. When he left Beth, he hadn't done the math to figure out she was a fully-fledged adult when he decided to rear his wrinkly old mug back into her life, and certainly hadn't calculated she'd transform into the woman she was today: unhappily married, wasting her PhD away as a heart surgeon for horses (a career Rick, despite his liking of Beth, couldn't help but fucking laugh at sometimes), and caring for two kids (one conceived when Beth was seventeen, and one everyone thought was gonna be dumber than dirt). His little pigtail-sporting girl was a woman now—a process Rick had been too caught up in his own shit to notice.

But this: oh hell, did this take the case. This was something Rick hadn't been anticipating—and quite frankly, something for which he hadn't been prepared.

Morty was graduating from high school.

Now Rick gave Morty credit—he was far smarter than people knew. Even his parents were frequently surprised when intelligence sang from Morty's mouth like a choir of fricking angels. But graduating from high school? It was a concept so obtuse, so unimaginable, that Rick would baffle himself whenever he thought about it.

And maybe it was his own fault: he hadn't thought about it. He hadn't undergone the proper preparations. He hadn't even considered it a real thing. And yet, there he was, hiding in the garage to avoid Beth and Jerry's stupid smiles of excitement and pride as they decorated for Morty's graduation party.

Annoyingly, it pissed Rick off. Morty was eighteen years old, and they were deciding that now was the time to shower him with praise? Rick had witnessed Morty do some pretty fuckin' awesome shit on their adventures over the years, but God forbid they only show him off when some geezer on the school board handed Morty some fake-ass scroll of paper for following some dumb rules for four years!

Rick had gone to Morty's graduation, and it had been as underwhelming as Summer's. And hot, Rick recalled, heaving a box of scrap metal onto his work desk. Sick of Beth and Jerry's sniveling, he'd chosen to sit beside Summer, who wasn't much of an improvement.

"I remember when I graduated," she'd sighed, fixing her ponytail. "Practice for the ceremony wasn't fun, but it was all worth it to have that moment in the spotlight. Oh, I'm so happy for Morty!"

"I still don't geUUGHHt it," commented Rick dryly, taking a swig from his flask. "We sit around for h-hours just to watch MoOORRGHHty walk across a wet football field? The—the whole thing takes fifteen d-damn seconds."

"Grandpa Rick!" Summer complained, narrowing her eyes. "This is a big deal for Morty! You know how much he struggled in school. This is his big moment for everything to pay off!"

"WhooUGHHpie," Rick muttered. "He survived a b-bureaucratic system that consisted of some loOOGGHsers with degrees to 'teach' telling him information h-he forgot five minutes later and th-then testing him on it. Lather, r-rinse, repeat four years, and now we're goUGHHHnna celebrate it."

Summer raised an eyebrow. "I got you an air horn to use when they call Morty's name."

This, for some reason, pacified Rick, and kept him going until hours later, when it was finally Morty's turn. The second Principal Vagina (Rick almost lost it when he added "no relation") finished saying Morty's name, it was time.

"Mortimer Smith—"

"WOOOOOOO!" Rick burst from his seat in the bleachers and pounded his air horn, the shrill sound making the people around him wince. "FUCK YEAH! GO MORTY! THAT'S MY GLIB GLOB MORTY, AW RIIIIIGHT!"

Summer joined in, her air horn in harmony with Rick's, and cheered with him (minus all the cussing). Jerry and Beth sent exasperated side-glares their way, but were too busy waving to Morty down on the football field to really voice their irritation.

Rick smirked as he slapped his hands together to clean them. That part hadn't been so bad.

"Dad?" Beth poked her head in, wearing a green sundress and cheap diamond earrings—probably Jerry's work. "The party's about to start. Are you gonna join?"

Was he?

"Okay, B-Beth," his mouth said. "Be right th-there."

"Okay." Beth smiled and disappeared into the house.

Rick sat at his work desk and scowled. Why had he said that? No, he didn't want to join the stupid party! What was the point? So Morty graduated from high school. Big whoop. So what if he got into the tiny university a couple of towns over. What was the big deal? It was just more of the same, more keeping in line, more shoving nonsense down Morty's ear, more rules to follow, more consequences if he didn't. Why celebrate what was basically just Level 2 of a really bad video game? Why commend Morty for getting into a school that was more expensive than everything Rick owned? What was the point, God damn it?

Because Morty had done it. On his own.

Rick would never forget his first impression of Morty: what a screw-up, Rick had thought with bile in his throat. Summer wasn't half bad—why had Beth kept trying for a winner when all she'd gotten was scraped off the bottom of the barrel? Morty was too nervous for Rick's tastes; far too squishy, not enough gusto, did he even have a backbone? Admittedly, those qualities had been the things that led to Rick to involving Morty in his experiments, but that wasn't because he had liked Morty. He had just needed Morty to protect himself. Morty had been nothing more than a shield.

But along the way, something changed.

Morty, Rick had discovered, was solid. Underneath all that nervous stuttering and hand wringing was a pretty all right kid. A kid that could be pushed and prodded and smacked and assaulted and downright destroyed and not ever give up. Oh, sure, Morty had wanted to—Rick needed all his fingers and toes to count off how many times Morty had threatened to quit on Rick. But he never had. He stayed with school, he stayed with his family, and now he was staying with life.

Which meant he couldn't stay with Rick.

Rick's nimble fingers found his portal gun. Morty was growing up. He was making something of himself, something beyond the dimwitted sidekick to Rick's dangerous experiments. He was majoring in education at the university, with an emphasis on science, and minoring in Special Ed. Morty's opinion of school had shifted drastically during his years: he appreciated it now, and wanted to help those who were struggling like he had. He was contributing to society. He was taking what he needed from Rick and moving on.

Morty wasn't going to need Rick anymore, but Rick sure as hell needed Morty.

And not just for the experiments, Rick realized fiercely. He needed Morty for their Ball Fondlers marathons. For their inside jokes. For their lazy Saturday afternoon tinkering sessions, when Rick would teach Morty about tools and chemistry and the secrets of the universe he had picked up during his alternate reality traveling. For his acceptance of all things Rick. For his liking of all things Rick.

Maybe it would be better if he didn't join the party. That dimension of young people who worshiped the ground he stood on deserved a second trip.

"Rick?"

And then there he was, eighteen year old Morty, opening the garage door and letting the light in. He was still a short stack, reaching Rick's chin, but it was still weird to actually notice Morty in his peripherals instead of overlooking him. He still sported what Rick dubbed the "fuzzy peach do," the tuft of curls covering most of his head and thick as carpeting. Morty wore a nerdy yellow button up and black dress pants.

His big grin was fading fast. "R-Rick? Are you okay?" The squeak in his voice was giving way to the voice of a man.

"Morty…" Rick cleared his throat. He couldn't think of more to say.

"Are you—are you comin' to the party? Mom got that dip you like so much." Morty smiled slightly. "I mean, sure, I had to t-talk her into gettin' it, but you…you know, it doesn't change the dip at all."

"You're a dip, MoUUGHHrty," Rick spat.

Morty frowned. "Rick?"

"You—you think some stupid dip's gonna be wh-what gets me into your stupid party?" said Rick. "Your…your stupid celebration of getting out of one waste of time and g-getting to go into a-a-another? Real nice tr-try, Morty. Real nice try."

"Rick, why're you—I don't believe you," Morty cried, balling his hands into fists. "I know—I know you don't like school, Rick, but this is important to me. I thought—I would think th-that freakin' means something to you."

"Oh, God—whatever, Morty!" Rick yelled, firing his portal gun. "Enjoy your stupid p-party. See if I—see if I care. 'Cause I don't."

"Rick, what—Rick!"

Rick only had one foot in the portal before Morty tackled him, sending them both tumbling through the doorway before it closed with a flash.