Last chapter! Enjoy! :) Previously...

"Anything else you feel the need to say before I chuck your stupid ass out of my lab?"

His voice was cold and bitter, no warmth in it that Morty could hear. The teen sighed lowly, his sad gaze focused on the floor as he pushed the water back into his eyes.

"No," he muttered and without another word, left the garage.

Rick continued to absentmindedly play with an object before letting out a frustrated groan. He rubbed his face roughly and cradled his head in his hands, a painful expression etched onto his face. His fingers clenched into his wild hair.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. He couldn't help it. For what seemed like the millionth time in a week, his mind flashed to that unpleasant memory refusing to leave him alone since he took Morty out for his birthday.

"I wish you weren't my grandfather."

That had HURT. Far too much.

Goddammit, why? Why the fuck did that affect him so heavily? Like he really gave a shit about what Morty thought of him. Like he really cared if Morty looked up to him or not. That kid was a neurotic mess whose brainwaves were so opposite from his that they literally worked as a camouflage for him to be untraceable from other Ricks. He was a moron. A wimp. A complete tool and total loser.

His grandson was nothing like him.

And yet…

Every time the old man saw Morty adapting to their adventures and experiencing new traumas that were slowly eating away at his sanity, he couldn't help but see himself inside that kid. It was worse than getting shot two hundred times in his chest. And he knew, he fucking KNEW that was why he treated Morty so horribly. Every time he saw Morty say or do something that only a Rick would do, he'd make sure to put his grandson back in place; say awful rotten things to him to make sure that he never made a mistake like that again.

But the mistakes kept coming. They came at least once an adventure now and each one was more Rick in nature than the last. This last adventure was a particularly hard one to swallow. Rick couldn't decide which was worse, Morty's boldness at standing up to him or Morty killing Splanex. Both created a bad taste in Rick's mouth at the thought.

He could take the sass. Morty had always been a whiny bitch in the past, but for some goddamn reason, the words he'd chosen to spit at Rick that night had cut a deep layer into the scientist. Rick had made sure to quickly tell Morty off, even made him feel guilty, but there was no denying that Rick had taken several hits from his grandson as well. It doesn't happen. It wasn't SUPPOSED to happen. But it did. And Rick loathed it with a passion. It was the reason why Rick almost didn't go back for Morty. He heard his scream loud and clear in the alleyway that night and almost kept walking. He was so furious in that moment that he ultimately decided to take that fury out on whoever was about to kill Morty just to get it out of his system.

It worked in the most peculiar fashion. He assumed his anger would leave once he killed or tortured whoever was hurting Morty but was astonished when his anger left to rather instead be replaced with fear. Rick didn't DO fear. He rarely felt it, and when he did it was usually because he didn't have much control of the situation, something that didn't happen often. That fear had caused him to sacrifice himself to save his grandson. It was something that, in hindsight, was an incredibly stupid idea now that he thought about it. If he was thinking rationally that night, he would have found a better way to stop Splanex from shooting Morty and saved him the trouble of being shot.

Rick growled while at his work desk and pulled out his flask to take a long swig from it. He didn't bother wiping the drool from his mouth as he stared into space.

Then came the issue of the death of Splanex. Rick must have replayed that memory in his head again and again, and every time he came up blank as to how it happened. He didn't remember much when he was shot other than Morty's voice crying out from above him. It was all a blur. Rick squeezed his eyes shut with gritted teeth. He remembered Morty crying. No surprise there. Morty was always fucking crying. Still, nothing else jogged his memory.

He didn't find out what happened to Splanex until after he was fixed up by Birdperson. He had asked his best friend a lot of questions when he woke up and had demanded details of the event. When Birdperson mentioned Splanex's dead corpse on the ground next to his gun, he pieced two and two together with a wrinkled frown. He figured that Morty didn't kill out of defense since Splanex no longer had an active weapon, but instead chose to kill most likely out of revenge. It didn't bother him that Morty killed Splanex. In fact, he'd seen Morty kill aliens before plenty of times. Rick was glad that motherfucker was dead. What truly bothered him, however, was that Morty killed him without hesitation and all on his own.

When Rick had went back to examine the scene after hearing about Splanex, he felt torn. Torn between feeling angry and impressed. Morty had never, ever killed someone on his own accord. Rick was always the one to either put them in a situation that forced Morty to kill in defense or told Morty to kill for "the sake of humanity" or some bullshit like that. Morty hated it but did it anyway because the kid had the moral backbone of a chocolate éclair and would rather not argue the matter with his grandfather. Rick remembered kicking Splanex's corpse in anger at the realization of what Morty had done.

It was just such a…a Rick thing to do that it made his stomach churn in discomfort. Fear wasn't uncommon for Rick. Yes, it was rare, but it did happen; and he had felt a twinge of it when he gazed down at Splanex dead on the floor. It was the fear that Morty really was becoming more like him. It downright infuriated him to have to feel that fear.

He swore he wouldn't let it happen. He refused to let it happen. But it seemed that the more he tried to stop it, the more Morty fought it. Rick knew that it was pointless to try and put an end to it. If he truly wanted Morty to become better than him then he would have left a long time ago. He would have cut the adventures and stayed out of his family's way. It was so easy to do—and it wasn't as if he hadn't done it before with his daughter—but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. It was almost inexplainable. It was something that not even the most intelligent being in the multiverse had an answer to. So Rick chose the easier route of not thinking about it, choosing instead to delve back into his bad habits.

Rick hated himself more than anything or anyone else in the multiverse. He hated how toxic he is to his family, he hated being old, he hated his terrible decision-making behavior, and he hated his cowardice when it came to attempted suicides. If there was ONE person he didn't want his grandson to end up like it was no contest that it was him.

Rick took a long swig from his flask and savored the tangy bitter taste of it as it slithered down his throat. It wasn't nearly as good as the ones they served at Gurdenko, but Rick had never been one to get picky with whatever alcohol he could get. As he took another long drink, he heard the garage door open behind him and a soft voice spoke.

"Dad? Everything ok?"

Rick didn't turn around as Beth stepped into the garage, a crease forming between her brows.

"I just saw Morty with his arm in a sling. Something go wrong? You two were nearly gone for a week. Did you want to—?"

"Beth," Rick interjected and turned towards her, "nothing's wrong, sweetie. Morty just had a bit of an accident is all. It was a… surprise. For his, y-ya know, dumb birthday or whatever." He took another swig in an act of nonchalance.

Beth looked surprised for a moment but then her face softened, and her lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you, dad. That was, well, really sweet of you. Morty didn't exactly have the best birthday…"

Rick only shrugged in response and took another gulp of alcohol. He really didn't want to be conversing this with his daughter right now. Luckily, this happened to be a moment where Beth was good at reading his nonverbal cues of wanting to be alone.

"Glad you're both okay. Goodnight, dad," she said.

Rick grunted in response and heard her shut the door.

His head fell onto his work desk with a groan. That week. That one fucking long ass week. He would never, EVER admit to Morty the real reason why he stalled so long in waking up his grandson. He wasn't proud to admit it, but he was nervous at the thought of waking up Morty not too long after he was all good to go. He had too many questions and too many thoughts jumbled up inside his mind when he woke up. He didn't dare think of having Morty see him like this.

So…he didn't.

Instead, Rick made the decision of keeping Morty in a temporary time stasis field despite Birdperson's feeble protests. (It was the reason why Morty's wound never fully healed.) He wasn't sure how long he was going to keep Morty asleep but knew that it would be for however long it would take for him to get his head back on straight. His grandson in the past had been subjected to worst conditions so he couldn't find himself giving two shits at that moment. He didn't care if Morty was there for an entire year if it meant avoiding any unnecessary questioning from the idiot.

The whole investigation process didn't last long. Not even thirty-six hours. The rest of the week was spent slowly internalizing the outcome of the adventure over many, many drinks. He went to at least thirty-two different dimensions in seventeen different universes getting smashed out of his fucking mind. Many mistakes were made during this process but none that an extremely high functioning alcoholic couldn't wiggle his way out of.

Rick groggily shifted his head so that his cheek was pressed up against the table. He was furious at Morty, he remembered. He had ranted nonstop to Birdperson about it after four days of going out and getting shitfaced. He had come back stumbling into the medical center, waving a beer around as he shouted himself hoarse. Birdperson sat and listened without saying a word, just like he always fucking does. His best friend had watched as Rick screamed down at his unconscious grandson, spit flying drunkenly from his mouth.

When Rick had finished (only because he was out of breath), Birdperson had jumped in with a few words of his own.

"Rick, do you think that Morty would have done differently had it been anyone else?"

Rick hadn't answered him as he sunk down on a chair and chugged the rest of his beer with glazed eyes. It was a rhetorical question, after all.

A couple days later he woke Morty up.

With another groan, Rick peeled his cheek from his work desk and frowned at the dartboard on the wall across from him. With a loud guttural sound in the back of his throat, he spat a loogy at the center of the dartboard. Immediately, the dartboard folded inward and revealed a large compartment of liquor. He reached out and grabbed a few with the intent of drinking the night away.

It took Morty a while to fall asleep due to all the unanswered questions from him and Rick's most recent adventure. He felt as if he had only just closed his eyes when he was being roughly shaken awake. Light flooded his vision and he shielded his eyes with his hand. Rick's blurred outline finally came into view as the brightness adjusted. He swayed above him.

"Mmm-OORGH-ty. Hey. Heeeyyy, Morty, b-buddy."

Morty saw a drunken smile spread onto Rick's face, a large amount of drool and alcohol gathering on his chin. The boy simply glared at him and pulled the covers up over himself. He turned over away from his grandfather. He just wanted to go to bed, dammit.

Rick frowned at this and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "A-Aww, c'mo—c'mon, M-Morty. Don't—don't be like that." He clumsily curled a hand onto the boy's shoulder and tried to turn him around but Morty remained firm in his position. He kept his exhausted eyes open and glaring at the wall in defiance. Rick's frown deepened.

The silence stretched and Morty didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until the weight from his bed lifted. He remained glowering at the wall in front of him, determined to not give Rick the satisfaction of paying him any attention. He heard feet stumbling and a grumbled curse.

"Fine. B-be like that, yaah-yah little-ya little—"

There was a thump and Morty knew his grandfather had just fallen to the floor, most likely passed out from the heavy drinking. The boy sighed and sat up to turn off the lights when he heard shuffling from the end of his bed. A wrinkled hand shot up and scrambled to grasp onto the bed before Rick hoisted his drunk body from the floor. Morty stared as Rick swayed for a moment. He was shot a pointed glare as Rick tore himself from the bed to stagger towards the door whilst mumbling to himself.

"D-don't need anything from—from you, ya liiittle, li-little turd. Don't neeed you tah—belch—tah be me, of all people. I-I mean, Christ, M-Morty, w-w-w-would it kill ya to be a goddamn Morty f-for once in your—in your—"

Rick ran into the dresser nearest the door and groaned. Morty was beside himself trying to figure out what the hell Rick was spouting on about now and was about to get up and help the old man out of his room when Rick seemed to have recovered himself as he finally reached the door, gesticulating angrily.

"I-It's not MY fault I-I'm so—t-that I'm such a…" Rick stopped in the doorway suddenly with his back to Morty and lay a hand against the frame to steady himself. Morty blinked as he let Rick's words process, almost wanting to hear what Rick had to say.

A few moments passed before a dry, bitter laugh burst from his grandfather.

"Wh-whatever," came the low rough murmur as his other hand tightened on the doorknob.

Morty threw a leg over the edge of the bed. "Rick—" The door slammed making him wince. Then a familiar green glow illuminated the outer edge of his door before it vanished. Morty sank back into his bed, slightly stunned.

The teen sat there for a few minutes before getting up to turn off the lights. He slowly returned to his bed, his mind even now more mixed-up than it was before. He didn't fall asleep for a long time after that, not caring that he had school in just a couple hours. He merely stared up at the ceiling and contemplated what he'd just heard and how it applied to what they just went through.

I-It's not MY fault I-I'm so—t-that I'm such a…

Such a…what? An asshole? Morty snorted. Most likely. Whatever Rick was about to confess right before he left most likely wasn't of great importance, he concluded. He probably just didn't want to admit that he was clearly at fault for what happens on their adventures most of the time. Even Morty isn't as vain as to say that he personally isn't the one causing the problems on a lot of their adventures. He knows for a fact that he does, but he isn't like Rick. He KNOWS when to take the blame. However, something else that Rick said had him second guessing what their relationship meant.

Don't neeed you tah—tah be me, of all people. I-I mean, Christ, M-Morty, w-w-w-would it kill ya to be a goddamn Morty f-for once…

Morty furrowed his brows. What did he mean by that? Did Rick seriously believe that he was acting just like him? Him? Morty wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. NOBODY acted like Rick unless it was another Rick and even then, his grandpa was still the Rickest Rick he'd ever known. So how could he possibly think that he was turning into the sociopathic scientist? It just wasn't possible. Morty shook his head to himself and turned onto his side with his hands resting underneath his head. He exhaled through his nose tiredly as his eyes began to droop.

It shouldn't matter anyway. Rick will always be Rick just as Morty will always be Morty. It's how the multiverse works, and it'll always stay that way as long as there are Ricks and Mortys existing. He and Rick always understood that much. 'A hundred years Rick and Morty' is what Rick occasionally referred it as. A hundred years of fucked up trauma and mindless adventures for them to go on, and a hundred more years of Ricks being Ricks and Mortys being Mortys. For what is Rick without Morty and Morty without Rick?

A lifetime of loneliness, was Morty's last solemn thought before sleep at last took him.

Aaaaannnddd done! This was a particularly hard chapter for me to write. I tried to keep Rick in character but had some problems when it came to his perspective on Morty killing Splanex and his thoughts to it. Still, I gave it my best shot and am pretty content with how it turned out. Up for suggestions on how to improve on my writing, though, so feel free! :) Had a lot of fun writing this story and hope that you guys enjoyed reading it! Thanks for reading! *trips headfirst into a wood chipper*

Rick: That's my one-armed man! I'm not driven by avenging my dead family, Morty! That was fake! I-I'm driven by finding that McNugget sauce!

Morty: McNuggets?

Rick: I want that Mulan McNugget sauce, Morty! That's my series arc, Morty.

Morty: What the hell?

Rick: If it takes nine seasons, I want my McNugget dipping sauce, Szechuan sauce, Morty!

BONUS!

Rick: We're gonna do all kinds of wonderful things, Morty. Just you and me, Morty. The outside world in our enemy, Morty. We're the only-BURP!-friends we've got, Morty. It's just Rick and Morty. Rick and Morty and their adventures, Morty. Rick and Morty forever and forever. 100 years, Rick and Morty. Morty's things. Me and Rick and Morty running around and Rick and Morty time. All day long, forever. All a hundred days, Rick and Morty forever 100 times. Over and over . .com. . All 100 years. Every minute, Www. !

*Morty moaning and seizing on the floor*