Night time was when Rick got his best work done. While everyone was asleep, and unable to disturb him with idiotic questions and menial tasks, he could really engage with his work. All too often, Rick would get completely absorbed to the point of tuning out everything around him, working tirelessly on gadgets and serums and projects he and Morty could use on their adventures. So absorbed, in fact, that he would lose all track of time and end up working until the sun was slipping back up into the sky before he finally lay himself down to pass out from exhaustion… and whiskey. Sure, working all night really gave Rick a chance to get some work done, but he had other reasons for waiting around until it was time for the rest of the world to begin waking up.
Morty hadn't been able to wake up to an alarm since around the time that he and Rick started going on their adventures together. It was purely coincidental, but the abrasive sound would wake the kid up in an all-out panic, screaming and crying about some dumb alien shit, or being tortured and killed, or the time he had to bury his own corpse in the back yard. Rick had to admit, it was kind of… pitiful, and it had begun to really affect him, in ways that Rick couldn't mend with a little inception like he had Morty's grades. The kid would be a nervous wreck all day- even moreso than usual, if you could believe that- and he was honestly starting to come undone. Some days, the alarm would wake him up and he would be unable to get out of bed for the rest of the day, shaken by fear. Since the family had placed the blame for this entirely on Rick, it became his job to wake Morty up for school or work every day.
"Dad," a soft, sleepy voice came from the door to the garage, barely audible above the sound of Rick tinkering loudly on some kind of shiny, chrome machine. "Dad."
"What," Rick grumbled, still somewhat in the zone until he looked up to see his daughter standing in front of him, coffee mug in hand. Blinking dry and tired eyes, he looked around to see his work space lit up, no longer illuminated solely by some dim, fluorescent lights. Beth sipped from her cup, pointing down at the watch on her wrist.
"Morty," She reminded him, as if he needed reminding, and turned to leave Rick standing alone amongst his clutter. She sure as hell wasn't going to be waking him up and dealing with the panic-stricken mess her father had created. Standing up straight for the first time in hours, Rick's bones creaked and cracked as he groaned, letting out a belch. As he shuffled toward the garage door, he reached into the pocket of his lab coat, fishing around for the nearly-empty flask.
When Rick got to Morty's room, he placed a hand on the wood of the door and slowly pushed it open. He had learned from experience that it didn't take much of a startling sound to startle Marty. Figures. Sunlight had begun to invade Morty's room, too, and Rick gazed down at his sleeping grandson, laying on his back with one arm beneath his head and one arm tossed over his stomach. Morty was bathed in the warm glow of the rising sun, and though everyone including Rick was 99% convinced he was unable to feel any kind of guilt, he could have sworn it was the feeling at the pit of his stomach that churned at the thought of ripping Morty from a serene sleep to cruel reality. Gently, Rick sat next to the sleeping boy and placed his hand down on his slowly rising and falling chest, moving it around in slow, circular motions.
"Morty," His usual gruff voice took on a gentler tone, almost sweet and certainly slurred from the alcohol. "You gotta get up now, Morty. Come on." As he began to stir into consciousness, his eyelids fluttering open, Rick slipped his flask back into his pocket, using his free hand to brush back the boy's hair. With his thumb, he stroked Morty's forehead.
"Wh-Wha-" Morty mumbled, reaching his hand up to wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth. As he began to realize what was going on, Morty's eyes shot all the way open, darting back and forth in a desperate attempt to examine his surroundings, search for danger. It was only once he began to realize where he was, feel Rick's hands move gently in an attempt to soothe him, that he began to calm down.
"Gee, Rick," He murmured, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Y-You really scared me, y'know?" It was the same routine every morning. Morty reached up a clammy hand and placed it over his grandfather's. They were beginning to be comparable in size, with Morty growing taller and lankier, much like Rick, but Morty's were soft and warm and Rick's were bony and always cold.
"I know," Rick said, a small smile penetrating his otherwise exhausted-looking face. After a few minutes of this, Morty finally sat up. Some days were better than others for him, and even with Rick's help, he still had mornings where he felt vulnerable and nervous. Morty, who had been staring down at his bedsheets and chewing viciously on the inside of his mouth, looked up and met Rick's gaze.
"R-Rick?" His voice was strained, as always, and Rick knew exactly what he wanted without having to make his grandson stutter out the rest of his question. Moving in closer, Rick wrapped his arms around Morty and pulled him into his lap where Morty clung to him in return, resting his head against Rick's shoulder and closing his eyes. His voice, turned to nothing more than a whisper, strangled out a thank you. Rick nodded, smiling and holding him tight in his arms, pressing down a kiss into Morty's hair.