Rick had had enough.

The elderly scientist stepped out of the living room without saying a thing, the irate voice of his son-in-law echoing behind him.

"Oh yeah, just walk away! That's what you always do! Just walk away!"

"Jerry!" Beth's voice exclaimed.

"What! It's true just look at him. He won't speak because he knows it's true!"

Rick slammed the garage door behind him in symbolic defiance. Jerry was right, but that's not what mattered. He wouldn't be Rick if he admitted he wasn't right…he was always right.

Rick took a heavy swig from his flask, the burning sensation of the vodka numbing his lips and mouth. He and Alcohol had been long friends. Alcohol made the pain go away, it made him forget. Rick would even say it made him happy, if only for a little while. It was almost a punishment.

Genius can be too much to bear. Who do you reach out to? Who do you talk to? When the entire weight of the world and the universe is on your shoulders and the meaning of life is rendered pointless by its own infinite boundlessness.

He had seen things that mere mortals never dreamed of; he had conquered worlds and built empires, he had lived and died so many times that he was sure that if the Grim Reaper were real (which in infinite realities was a probability) he would look in his face and laugh.

Nothing touched him anymore…nothing fazed him. He was dead on the inside; as if he were missing a piece of himself. He wasn't whole.

But none of that mattered. He didn't have to share his experiences or care. He had suffered defeats and anguishes that would destroy lesser men, but here he was. He was real and he was alive.

"I don't need anything…or anyone…" he murmured, looking down at his flask. "Only you…you don't ask questions…you understand."

Rick took another swig, his stomach feeling warmer now.

The scientist smiled, giggling a bit.

He had been drinking for so long and so often that he wondered if he even remembered what it was like to be sober…or if he could even bear it.

"That's the only way I can put up with a sack of shit like myself," he stated, lifting the flask into the air. "Here's to sacks of shit everywhere."

He danced along, trying to keep his balance, making his way to his space ship.

"Whether I come, or whether I go, nobody cares and nobody knows," he sang, slurring his words.

He might come back…or he might not. He had tried the whole 'domestic life' when Beth was born. He thought he could have kept his life as a scientist and adventurer, but he found it only tied him down. It was the source of trouble between him and Rachael, his former wife – it was the trouble with everyone he met.

He couldn't pretend to be something he wasn't. His whole life he had been fighting…against authority, against society, against the government…against himself.

When he was younger he had fancied himself something of an idealist. Science was new then, the universe an unexplored realm of infinite possibilities. He saw knowledge as the ultimate means of fulfilment; a way to put an end to want and hunger; to make life free and beautiful, for everybody. He had poured himself into his work, discovering things that no one had ever thought possible.

He had put his trust in his fellow man…and how did they reward him?

They used his devices to enrich themselves. They profited themselves at his expense. He had trusted him and they used him.

It was that moment which had killed the idealist and which gave birth to the cynic.

He destroyed the machines and burned the plans. He vowed he would never allow himself to be used that way again….never again.

Rick stumbled into his craft, searching for the keys. His inebriation didn't make the search any easier and he felt as if he would retch. He reclined for a moment, waiting for the feeling to subside, gazing at the stars in the sky outside.

Humans were such petty creatures. The toil and grovel their whole lives, working mundane jobs in a search for fulfilment which they never find. To what end? Didn't they know there was a whole multiverse out there to be explored? Did they not care?

It was exactly that reason why Rick could never understand Jerry. Jerry was as ordinary as they came, but some ways, Rick envied him. At least Jerry's kids loved him…maybe not always respect him, but certainly loved him.

Rick had wondered if anyone had ever loved him. He had never known his own parents – he had grown up an orphan. Even growing up, he was always loner, even though he didn't want to be. And now it was still very much the same…

But that was his choice….his choice.

Attachments hurt, they tie you down. Love was a sort of attachment. Whatever you love, rules you. And yet, laying the back seat of his space-craft on that quiet, summer night, Rick wondered if he had ever loved anything at all…

Some time passed before the feelings of queasiness subsided and Rick searched in earnest for his keys, so much so that he didn't notice the figure standing in the open doorway of the garage staring at him.

"Uh…Rick?"

Rick bumped his head as he looked up from beneath his seat to see the insecure teenager looking at him from the door.

"Morty?"

"You going somewhere, Rick?"

Rick rolled his eyes.

"Yeah Morty, I am," he replied irately as his finger finally snagged they key that was hidden between the seats.

"You're not…leaving us, are you? Dad says you're not coming back…"

Rick didn't answer. He put the keys into the ignition as the machine came to life, the indicators flashing, the calibrators making the engines ready.

"You are coming back, right, Rick?"

"Look M-Morty," he sighs. "It's been fun – a real blast. We've had some crazy adventures and all, but it's not really working out. Your dad is…well your dad is a lot of things, Morty, but he is right. You need to have a 'normal' life. Your grandpa just screws things up, so I'm out of here…"

"No, Rick," Morty said, an anger rising in his voice. "That's not how families work."

"Oh, so you want me to tuck you in, read you a story, huh? Is that what you want, Morty?"

"No Rick, I…I want you to stay."

Rick flipped a switch, making the engine roar.

Morty rushed to the front of the garage, blocking the entrance with his body.

"Get out of the way, Morty!"

"Rick, if you leave now, I'll…I'll never forgive you!" Morty cried.

"Is that some sort of threat?" Rick scoffed.

"You know, you're just proving my dad right! Doesn't that mean anything to you!?"

"No I doesn't, you whiney little sack of shit. Now move out of the way!"

Tears started to form in Morty's eyes. He had withered his grandfather's abuses, but a part of him knew when he spoke that way, he meant it.

Morty felt as if he had been stabbed. He held his chest, choking up, a new anger rising inside of him.

"Well, you know, you're just a scumbag, Rick! A narcissistic psycho!"

"You want tell me something I don't know?"

Morty screamed, raising his voice above the din of the engines.

"Rick Don't you understand? I can't let you leave! You're…you're my father!"

Not a second later the engines died – sending the hovering spacecraft to the ground with a mighty crash. Almost in an instant, Rick flew out the door and ran up to the quivering teenager.

"Listen here, Morty, because I'm only going to say this once: I'm not your goddamn father. Hell, I wasn't even a father for most of my daughter's life! I only came back because Beth asked me too, so lay off my case Morty. I don't need anybody, and especially not you!"

Rick turned away and jumped in his spacecraft, speeding out the garage into the dark, empty night.

"Stupid…Morty," he burped.

Rick stared into the vastness of space – there were no restraints up here. No rules, no obligations – he was free. He could do anything he wanted.

But it was empty…and cold.

Rick frowned as he placed his hand on the windshield. His hand soon grew numb, just like himself.

The old scientist turned back to earth, now just a green and blue marble behind him.

It was tiny, and on a universal scale, insignificant, yet it was his planet – his…home.

Rick felt a twisting sensation in his gut, and it wasn't due to the alcohol. He leaned against his steering wheel and groaned.

"Damn you, Morty," he mumbled and turned his ship around.

Back at the Smith house, Morty leaned on the balcony of the second story patio, looking up into that same dark, sky.

He dragged on a cigarette he held in his fingers. He knew his parents would disapprove of him doing it, and to some extent, he did himself, but sometimes Morty found it was the only thing that helped.

He snuffed the cigarette out against the rail and slid into his pocket (tossing it in the lawn was the surest way to get caught).

Morty sighed as he wiped his eyes.

He didn't feel ashamed of himself for crying. He was always more self-conscious about his emotional insecurities, but this he knew for certain: he would miss Rick.

The young teen look up at the stars, before the door opened behind him.

"Morty, I-"

Morty cut him off with the upward motion of his hand. Rick froze in place, halfway between the open door the night outside.

Rick waited in the silence, for what seemed like an eternity. Morty didn't move. He was about to retreat back inside the house before Morty's frail voice pipped up.

"You know Rick, sometimes you can be a real sack of shit."

He deserved that.

"And sometimes, I feel," he said, turning to him, his reddened eyes visible in the darkness. "That you're a sick, depraved, immoral, human being and that my life would better without you – if I had never met you – but the cosmos, fate, or God, or whatever arbitrary and soulless power guides the universe has put us together; across dimensions, space and time. And dammit Rick, I…I…"

The young boy wavered, his head swooning. He almost toppled forward, if the waiting arms of his grandfather hadn't been there to catch him.

The young teen bawled, perhaps harder than he had ever done so before.

Rick didn't mind.

He normally would have pushed Morty away, but now he didn't want him to ever let go.

But it was the odd thing about Morty; he was an exceptional person, who evoked exceptional things in him. He was right, they had been thrown together to share a singular destiny – for better or worse. And maybe that was the grand scheme of the universe, or some other such nonsense, but for the first time since Rick could remember, he didn't feel numb anymore.