Notes: I've been rewatching season 2 recently and just couldn't get this episode out of my head for some reason, so here's the result. Hope you enjoy!

The Rick And Morty animated series belongs to amazing Justin Roiland & Dan Harmon. This is a work of fanfiction, I own nothing.

Special thanks to 3DPhantom who has made this way more readable.

Morty was afraid of many things: Monsters and mean aliens and anything unknown that could expect him out there in the space. He was also afraid of dentists, of getting rejected by Jessica, and of being kidnapped. He was afraid of jellybeans in restrooms, and guards and police officers, any of whom could be the Federation's spies. He was afraid of death and pain. He wasn't a coward, just… not the bravest.

But this was worse; so much worse.

Morty had only wanted to be fair. He by no means had meant to kill anyone: His aim was only to succor, to save a life. He had wanted to do the right thing because he wasn't his grandfather and couldn't stand aloof and watch someone killing an innocent soul. But in the end, Morty turned out to be a killer.

After he had come home from the misadventure that day, Morty had simply plopped onto his bed in the hope to fall asleep fast. However, pretty soon the realization that it was impossible for the time being dawned on him: He couldn't stop thinking of what he had done, and was rolling around in the bed frantically from the nagging thoughts, unable to think about anything but all the living creatures he had killed that day. Having realized there was no point in trying to fall asleep now, Morty just sat up on the comforter, pulled his knees to his chin, and stared into the darkness of the room, shivering slightly and making quite, unhappy sounds.

Now, he was just like all those killers Rick was running guns for. Despite the fact that he had initially wanted to be entirely unlike Rick, he ended up taking after his grandfather much more than he would have liked. Murdering people... Ruining lives...

At some point, he started crying. His head buried in his knees, Morty was sobbing into his pants' fabric, shaking and rocking back and forth, not caring that someone could walk in on him because it was already the dead of night and everyone in the house must have fallen asleep a long time ago. He hated himself. For the first time in his life, it was not monsters or aliens or police he was scared of, but he himself.

He didn't notice it when Rick entered the room. The older man had heard the sobs while going to bed and while a part of him wanted to simply ignore them, the other part was filled with a curiosity that eventually overtook him.

"Morty?"

"G-get out," Morty muttered without raising his head.

Rick's brows knit together in a frown. As far as he cared to remember, his grandson seemed okay mere hours ago—or at least Rick thought he was—so what could have caused such a quick turn-around in the boy's mood? Rick still felt unsure he wanted to deal with it right now, and considered just doing as he was told and leaving the boy with his stupid teenage problems... But while he lingered in the doorway, Morty let out one more involuntary gasp, making Rick freeze.

Something in that gasp told him that this was different from whining over typical teenage problems; it was something deeper and bigger, something that had made him step into the room and walk over to his grandson. Despite the darkness, Rick didn't turn on the light. He could tell where Morty was sitting by his muffled gasps, and for the moment towered above him. "H-hey, what the hell, Morty? I helped you today, even though you acted like a real piece of shit, and you made a new friend, so what's, what's your pro-oough-oblem?"

Morty's face screwed in distress. Rick's taunt of 'I told you so' was the last thing he wanted right now when innumerable questions of 'if' and 'maybe' were swarming in his mind like bees in a hive. He was only fourteen, and he already had killed so many people… It was the worst day in his life for a long time, and all he wanted to do was to be left alone.

Left without any answer, Rick touched his shoulder, only to raise his eyebrow. "Geez, buddy, you're shivering. What's wrong?"

Morty opened his mouth, only to tell him to fuck off, but he was already at his wit's end. He had been crying in the dark alone for what seemed like an eternity, and he felt a sudden need to talk about this with someone. It was an urge that he couldn't resist, even if it meant that he would be teased by his grandfather later, because having to dwell on it by himself was becoming unbearable.

"Rick, I-I killed him."

Rick's brow twitched. "What?"

"I killed Fart. That gaseous cloud we helped escape today. He said life forms based on Carbon are an illness, and he was gonna cleanse our universe of them to bring his species here. Then I asked him to sing his song and shot him with the gun while he was singing it," Morty explained in a dead voice and buried his face in his knees again, waiting for his grandpa to burst into laughter. So stupid.

Rick froze as he processed what he had just heard, and a heavy frown twisted his face. So, that was what'd actually happened... Because Morty hadn't told him it back on the ship, Rick had attributed the boy's lack of joy to the fact that he was disappointed by the parting with his new friend, but now he'd just learned the kid was disappointed with himself. Absentmindedly, the scientist ran a hand through his disheveled blue hair.

The news was rather surprising, but not shocking. He didn't like that Fart from the very beginning.

"You know Morty, I committed my first mass murder when I was twenty-two, so… you broke the record. Congratulations, buddy."

Morty raised his head in disbelief, though he couldn't see his grandpa in the dark anyway. Rick's words nearly rendered him speechless; he had even stopped crying. "What? Y-y-you mean it, Rick? I-i-is this all you can tell me now?! You're, you're not helping!"

"So?" Rick retorted, folding his arms. "Wha-wh-what did you expect me to say, M-Morty? I'm not your mommy, I ain't gonna comfort you and tell you it wasn't your fault because fucking hell," he pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation, "it was."

The boy's shoulders sank. "I-I feel t-terrible, Rick…"

"Well, you should."

Despite the fact that the older man couldn't see him, Morty shook his head. "You don't understand Rick." He dug his nails into his palms. "I wanted to do the right thing. I-I'm not… I'm not like you."

Rick let out a dry laugh. "Oh, so you think I don't understand how you feel?" His voice was calm as he spoke. "Well, then you're wrong, because I actually do."

"W-what? You do?"

It sounded unbelievable. Rick never cared if he killed someone, it just didn't bother him in the slightest that he ruined lives. Neither did he look worried if someone suffered because of him, because other people's feelings meant nothing to him. That was who he was, after all. That was what it meant to be a Rick.

Although Rick's face was hidden in the darkness, Morty could make out his silhouette as the older man sat on the bed, slouched. "Yes, Morty. You know, I was a kid once, too. I've killed for the first time, too. I know what it's like."

Despite his unhappy thoughts, Morty couldn't help but felt a little curious. He knew that sounded silly, but it seemed strange to look upon Rick as someone who was once a child. "You were innocent?"

Rick placed a hand over his forehead, an elbow on his knee. He didn't like telling people about his childhood, but as long as it kept Morty distracted from his whining, he was willing to do so, even though he'd never concede it.

"Yeah. And there also was a day when I killed for the first time, and I felt terrible, just like you. And then the second time. And the third," Rick's voice was gruff. "I didn't count it further after the count of three, it was no use because there were too many of them. Being the smartest man in the universe means having lots of enemies, Morty. Not everyone understands that."

He hadn't recalled this for so long... Rick pondered as the words hung between them in the dark. He had gotten used to killing people and aliens. He had forgotten that for Morty, such things were new; he hadn't experienced much yet in his relatively short life.

"And how did you cope?" Morty broke the silence. The answer came almost immediately. "Alcohol. Drugs."

Morty nodded as if he had expected that.

Silence reigned in the room once more, and Morty didn't say anything. This made Rick feel awkward. He knew he should just get up and go to sleep, but for some unknown reason, he couldn't. He couldn't leave Morty like this...

Rick never told it to anyone, but he liked having Morty around, and not only because of his brain-waves, but because of the affection he secretly felt for the kid. Morty was his little helper, his little friend who went with him anywhere and looked up to him, and whose eyes shone with wanderlust whenever Rick took him on adventures. He was candid and bold enough to talk back to Rick, and he was his grandson, after all. Rick could be inconsiderate to him sometimes, but in fact, he really hated it when the kid was upset and tried to fix whatever the problem was as soon as possible—for example, by distracting him by showing him some extremely convoluted contraption or calling him to watch Ball Fondlers together.

"Don't sweat it much, Morty," he spoke up eventually. "You know, those, those Federation douchebags would be after me one day anyway, so I guess you did me a favor by finishing them off before they could impede my work. Not that I couldn't handle them by myself…" He yawned.

Morty remained silent and still as he listened with sudden rapt attention. It wasn't typical of Rick to give him pep talks, was it...?

"And although I still think you'd have been better off staying there in Blitz and Chitz with me… Remember that any experience is good, Morty. Y-yeah, new situations can be intimidating Morty, and some experiences may be traumatizing, but they're still experiences; they're useful." Rick let out a loud burp. "A-a-and even if you've fucked up, that means you won't fuck up that way again because you've experienced that. You wouldn't know you shouldn't do something if, if you hadn't learned it from hands-on experience. We, we wouldn't grow as individuals if we never fucked up, Morty."

Rick gave one more burp before shutting up, effectively ending his rambling.

Morty didn't say a word either. He could smell his grandpa's boozy odor in the air, and he blinked away tears while ruminating over what Rick had just said.

"S-so, don't sweat it, Morty, just fuck the benefit of hindsight," Rick continued, scratching his brow idly. "You can't fix what you've done once you've done it, so there's no point in torturing yourself over it. That Fart was stupid, I didn't like him. A-a-and the bureaucrats, didn't like them either. Fucking turds."

Morty sniffled and turned his head in Rick's direction.

"You helped me today," he noted halfheartedly, and his mouth twitched slightly in something akin to a weak smile. "You disliked Fart from the beginning, but still, you helped me to save him, with that portal to the water dimension and stuff."

Rick rolled his eyes. What a pain in his ass. "Yeah. Couldn't just leave you with that fucker: What would I tell Beth if he had turned you into a piece of iron? Nothing."

Morty gave a quiet chuckle. Oddly enough Rick's erratic speech, permeated with burps, hadn't been useless: He already felt as though something heavy had been removed from his shoulders, allowing him to breathe normally. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

"People make mistakes and it's a part of growing, huh?" He smiled despite the fact that Rick couldn't see him. "Y-you know, I really feel a little better now Rick."

Rick snorted. "I don't care you little shit. I, I actually only came here to remind you we're going to that ocean dimension tomorrow. Get your ass up tomorrow re-e-eal early Morty."

Morty smiled again.

Maybe he wasn't smart, but for all the time he had spent with Rick, he had learned a thing or two. He had learned to discern the great pain behind some of the older man's jokes, the concern behind his indifference, and the tender fondness behind his dismissive behavior. Rick could delude others with his I-don't-give-a-shit attitude, but not him.

Rick got up from the bed and headed for the door. Maybe the kid would be able to fall asleep now; at least he had stopped mewling, which was a good sign. There was no way he was going to let anyone, especially some old fart, disappoint his grandson.

"R-Rick?" Morty called out to him.

"What?"

"Th-thank you."

Rick raised his eyebrow, his back facing Morty. "For what?"

"For being the coolest grandpa."

As Rick lingered in the doorway, Morty could make out his scrawny figure, silhouetted by the hall light. Without waiting for the older man to say something, slightly comforted, the boy thought he could try to fall asleep now, so he got under the comforter quickly and snuggled against it.

Rick said nothing and simply headed for his own room. Once out of Morty's earshot, though, his brow flattened and his wrinkled face creased with something akin to tenderness.

"Anytime," he whispered, stepping into the dark room. "Anytime, kid."