Morty looked up. Looked up at the blonde, grief stricken woman that stood before him. At the knife wrapped in his own small hand. At his puddle of tears that were forming at his mother's feet. At the blood. But he wouldn't look at where the blood came from. So he shifted his gaze back to his mother.
"No… " the woman whispered.
No what? Everything that she truly suffered from was gone.
The pain? The fear? They were dead. They couldn't break and beat him or the people he loved anymore. He had saved his family, in the only way that he could.. Save for one. His grandfather. The realization had hit him as he had picked up the knife. There was only one way that this could ever end. The way that this story of mentor and apprentice had in the galaxy, all the galaxies, for millions of years. Rick knew that. Rick had known that for a long time. Being the most erratic, most pained, most violent of his kind, he had knowledge that was better left unknown.
But the smartest man in the universe was dead. A floating citadel, far, far, away, received news that their biggest threat had been eliminated by none other than the most timid boy in the galaxy. They laughed, and pondered it. Maybe things could get better. Old friends, scattered among the stars, would know eventually, and shed tears for a friend they never quite understood. A boy with wires in one eye paused his vendetta and thought for a beat.
A teenager who was already following her grandfather's mind, rethought everything she once took to be true. A man destined for pity found humility inside him. And a woman with so much potential never quite achieved it. But that was okay. She found her family. Three people picked up their reflections and melted them into something new.
But then there was Morty.
Bloody knife. Broken nose. Brown hair. Eyes like a endless ocean. Tears enough to fill it. He knelt and brushed aside his grandfather's bluish hair. Touched his gray face. The cutting mouth that had spoke to the very universe. The head that had ripped itself apart and rebuilt itself every single day of its life.
His eyes. He gently closed the old man's empty eyes. Eyes that saw with blinding sight. Sight that blinded what it saw. Those eyes that loved hard, and fell deep. Rick Sanchez did not die of blood loss or external injuries. He died of love.
His blood soaked through Morty's jeans.
Sometimes we have to close the shades. To sleep. To smile. To love. To enjoy the rain, but go inside when it gets too wet. To turn down the music.
You're a rogue Rick. Irrational, Passionate.
Morty never forgot that. And he never would. He couldn't tear his eyes from at his mentor's cooling body. His stomach ached.
What now?
Going back to normal was unimaginable. Leaving this house was unthinkable. This garage, even. What would Rick do? Deep down, some dark thing answered. And he let it.
The fourteen year old boy would remember his Rick all the way through, as he loaded up his grandpa's favorite gun and pressed it against his own temple. Silently, he said his goodbyes. His stricken family didn't look up in time.
His mother's scream was already silent to his ears. She was dragged down by grief. He was propelled by it. A sweaty finger pulled the trigger. A family lost their son.
A
thousand
memories
imploded.
The apprentice joins mentor.
And for a moment he was in the sky. Far up. Far gone. Life's old movie projector begin to play some buried memory.
He was lost. He was lost in the big store. This happened every now and then, but it never made it any less scary. Where was Grampa? Minutes, or years later, a pair of arms wrapped around him and cradled his four year old body. He looked up at his grandpa, happy to be safe. Maybe they would get to ride in the space car! But his grandpa was crying. Why was he crying? he wondered. Arms hugged him too tight. His grampa sounded all weird and echoey.
"You did what you had to. It's okay. I know. I messed up too m-much. We were never meant to get as far as we did, Morty. Morty. You and I. The daring heroes and the d-dastardly villains, right? Rick and Morty, a hundred years, Ri-Rick and Morty. Over and over and over… Yeah. Someday. You were so good. It's okay. It's-it's okay, Morty." What was Grampa talking about? "Can we get ice cream?"
The vision flickered. Grampa wiped his face and drank from his metal can drink. "Yeah, yeah. Read my mind, Morty! Let's go get some ice cream! Come on, kid." two versions of the same man beckoned over their shoulder. The small boy toddled after him for a few steps, but suddenly looked back as if seeing a ghost.
The ghost closed his eyes to hide the tears. And when he opened them again, he knew his story was reaching it's end.
And both boys followed their grandpa.
"Okay Rick."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I seriously need to stop writing suicide fics, but when I listen to sad music it's hard not to. I promise that I will attach less sad ones. This is the first thing I ever wrote for Rick and Morty actually, so I apologize if it's a little ooc. Tell me what ya think! I might attach more to this... i really don't know. most of the sad stories i write are stream of consciousness thats heavily revised. Pray for season four! And as they say in Canada, PEACE OOOOT!