Author's Note: This is my first published work, please be nice. I feel like Rick might be a little OOC but I also felt like there was a lot going on in his thoughts that was left unexplained. I was also inspired by the outstanding artwork depicting Blood Ridge by Joel Kilpatrick.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rick and Morty.
******************************************************************************The Right Thing
Just for a moment, Rick felt again, sobriety overtaking him in the face of his old friends. For a moment, the horrid memories, the ones of blood and hate and fear, grief, were drowned by the good mood instead of just alcohol. Some persisted, as he doggedly chased them with vodka, flickering here and there, in a motion or fleeting word. He pushed them aside.
Later, he held the last remnants of those memories tightly in his hand, once more drowning the voices, the whispers, and memories in alcohol. Slowly, he let the photograph slip from his fingers, taking one last drink. He lingered on the memories, holding onto that fantasy world for as long as he could. Where wings spread in the sunlight, feather casting shadows on the grass. Where music filled the night, and a blonde haired child ran giggling into his arms.
Don't think about it.
It was time. Reality seeped back in. With it, he could see the blood seeping over the smiles, dripping away. The photograph fluttered quietly to the floor.
Long ago, when they were still young, when they believed in right and wrong, he had joined Birdperson in his fight, standing beside his friend, doing the right thing. They had paid dearly for their freedom, with blood and tears and their innocence. But they fought, and fought fiercely, losing more than they could ever have imagined. He remembered.
Don't think about it.
He remembered the exhaustion, the groans of pain from around him. He remembered the blood. He remembered the downy feathers, Birdperson's quiet mournful cry as Rick reached out to console him, his own back hunched with the weight of the world. The sympathy and despair.
Really Birdperson? You make it through the war just to die at a fucking wedding? Lame.
He remembered the bitterness, after. The grief and depression, tearing all that was good in the world to shreds. He remembered his heart breaking and hardening.
For love. For freedom. For what was right. So he could go home, to Beth.
When he got there though, he finally understood. The war hadn't just taken his friends. It took his life, his youth. His soul.
He couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Morty, not again, sharing those last few moments of understanding.
His hands shook as he scattered the coins onto the counter, the memories flooding in, the death, despair, the grief. What did it matter now? He was old. He was tired. And ultimately, he had failed. Failed to realize how dangerous their enemy still was. The least he could do was make sure Morty never suffered as he had.
He never should have returned, he was endangering them all. You shouldn't have come back.
Don't think about it.
He had wanted to be happy again, to feel again. You made a mistake.
Maybe, though, he could still fix this. He might be able to destroy the Federation once and for all, finish the fight they had started all those years ago. Maybe there was still time for the happy ending. If not for him, then for Beth, for Morty, for Summer. Even Jerry.
It would be better this way, anyway. They could have the happy ending he never would.
They don't need you. The best thing you ever did was leave the first time.
Maybe he could still do what was right, just once more.
He walked to the door.
Be good, Morty.
