Warnings were in chapter 1 people, so you know what's coming.

A big thanks to my cocreator TheAmazingJoker and TheForeverKnight!

This chapter is dedicated to ask-pax from Tumblr and my loyal reviewer, kiatana,

Enjoy!

Arms Dealer

"Any tool is a weapon if you hold it right"

- Ani Defranco

"Okay! I get it, now could ya just-"

The alien gurgled angrily in another language, waving its tentacles around, differentiating from pointing between the exit and a set menu on the bar counter. Rick ran a hand down his face, groaning loudly and fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. "Morty! The - they won't let us stay here unless we order somethin', and I'm not losing a good deal over this stick-in-the-mud, bouncer looking bartender guy."

Morty looked up from spot in a half-circled booth. He seemed dazed, his legs once again pulled up to his chest, shaking slightly as he chewed the collar of his shirt. Rick leaned back on the bar, resting his arms on the counter. He accepted the menu from the alien, glancing at it and deciphering the language. "What ya want kid?" Rick asked over the music echoing throughout the room, not surprised at Morty's lack of response.

The kid had been very lethargic since he'd woken up, completely quiet on the entire ride through space. Rick had asked more questions, and received no answers. Something was very… off about the boy. And he couldn't figure out what it was. After a few beats of silence Rick ordered for him, spinning around so he could grab a drink for himself.

The green, blobby bartender poured him a large mug of alien alcohol, accepting the loose coins that Rick dug out of the bottom of his wallet. He took a long swig of his drink, taking in the bar's atmosphere. It was a jazzy little place, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. A band played quietly on the other end, lights slowly changing colors, bathing the room in blues and reds. It was on the calmer, classier sides of things; much different from Rick's usual draw of seedy distributors, bathrooms full of druggies, dealers, and inevitable fist fights.

He drummed his fingers impatiently, scanning the bar for signs of his pickup. Nothing. A waiter with a long neck and three eyes slapped an unused tray on the counter, waltzing off with another order. Rick gripped the handle of his silver suitcase, dropping it on the bar after his fingers started to ache. Damn he hated waiting. It was dangerous to be selling a weapon in plain view, and he was wary of getting in a gunfight with his new Morty in the picture.

A weakness. This kid was becoming more of a liability than an asset. Maybe he could ditch him. The family hadn't met him yet, so he wouldn't catch hell for it. It was an appealing idea. Dropping him off on some planet or an unknown dimension. Walk out of here while the kid was out of his senses. It would be so easy. He wondered if the Citadel would take him back. If they said no, he could just dump the kid off on some desperate Rick. Yeah, that would work. He could go back to his old life and pretend this little mistake never happened.

Rick slammed his empty mug down on the counter, motioning for another. He groaned loudly, rubbing his face roughly. He'd told himself the same thing when Beth was born, and see how that worked out? Plus, he doubted the Citadel would assign him another Morty if he conveniently 'lost' this one a day after getting him. And he sure as hell wasn't staying tethered to Earth for the rest of his miserable life.

He had a few projects to work on when he got home, and he hoped this Morty would be a little cooperative while he was working. Maybe the kid would be interested in his inventions? It was always a possibility, considering Mortys inherent curiosity and their obnoxious need to please. Attention starved dimwits, ready to do anything for a Rick because their parents definitely didn't care about them the way they should. It was sad, and made them easy to manipulate because Ricks gave them that feeling of worth, regardless of if it was positive.

Rick whirled around, deciding to ask in hopes that he may actually get an answer this time, only to find the booth empty. His heart stopped in his chest for a long moment, as time slowed. His mind raced as panic flooded his mind, along with worst case scenarios. Regardless of his previous convictions, he could not survive the responsibility of causing another version of his grandson to die. Just as he was about to rush forward to tear the entire bar… no… planet apart, a reflection danced over his mug on the counter.

Rick barely had time to react, grabbing the plastic tray left on the bar and thrusting it in front of his face. A steak knife lodged itself halfway through the sheet, his arms recoiled from the sheer force behind the blow. Rick twisted the tray, the knife slipping out of the assailants hands. He lurched toward them, hauling them up by their shirt and slamming them back against the counter.

Rick was met with a flurry of weak coughs, Morty's terrified eyes locking with his.

He was beyond pissed.

"Are you SERIOUS, Morty!" Rick exclaimed, giving him a rough shake. The bar had gone quiet, the band stilled and attention draw to the two. "I can't have FIVE fucking SECONDS without ya trying to drive a knife through my skull!?"

"Go to hell!" Morty screeched back, a total turnaround from his previously calm demeanor. This kid was a ticking time-bomb. The kid kicked his feet, not touching the ground as Rick held him up by his shirt. When he realized he wasn't getting anywhere, he yelled back at Rick. "Let me go!"

Rick snarled in his face, Morty flinching as he lowered the boy to the floor. Rick switched out Morty's shirt in favor of grabbing him harshly by the arm, practically throwing him in the direction of the booth. The kid stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face as he spun around to bare his teeth at Rick. The man paid him no mind, pointing at the seat with a glare. "Sit the fuck down."

Morty's angry stare faltered for a moment, flickering towards the door. Rick followed it, immediately shutting down the boy's idea. "Don't you even think about it, Morty," His hands shook with repressed rage, itching to slap the kid silly for his transgression. "Seat. NOW." Rick pointed at the booth once more and Morty huffed, sliding back into the cushioned chair.

Rick slowly turned around the bar. "Who the FUCK gave him silverware, AFTER I specifically TOLD the manager not to," he hissed at the staff. A waitress resembling a purple gazelle quickly scooted to the back of the house, making Rick scoff. "Are we gonna make this mistake again?" He asked the bartender. The creature gurgled out an apology, offering him free drinks for the rest of the evening.

An appeased Rick snatched his suitcase from the counter, lividly climbing into the booth with his Morty. The kid kept his head down, fingering the hem of his shirt and moving as far away from Rick as possible. The man was having none of it, pulling Morty back towards him by a bruised wrist. The shocked, judgemental stares lingered for a while, making the boy shrink in the seat.

He didn't like the attention. Rick realized, watching the boy pull his legs back up. The light shaking returned, and Rick's suspicions resurfaced. Before he could ask Morty about the compulsions, a waitress set a mug of beer down in front of him and handed Morty his food.

A silence descended upon the two. Rick took frequent swigs of his beer, watching Morty eat a bluish colored burger after drowning it in whatever sauce the bar offered. "Only eat about half of that, kid," he sighed, Morty looking up at him questioningly. "Don't want a repeat of yesterday," Rick elaborated. "Ya better not make yourself sick before I can make my drop."

Morty nodded absently, reaching for a milkshake Rick had ordered for him. He wasn't sure if the kid liked ice cream, but he got it anyways because it might keep the boy occupied while he made his deal. Rick leaned back against the seat, mind rolling as he closed his eyes. Memories of his grandson swirled in his head, and he couldn't help comparing this scruffy little monster to what he had lost.

His Morty would have asked about the mission, and subsequently bitched about Rick selling weapons to a hired killer. Rick could faintly hear his grandson's voice in the back of his mind. 'Oh jeez, Rick. I-I d-don't know, I think this is a bad idea.' He could envision Morty being weirded out by the oddly colored food and of himself launching into a long-winded explanation about something that didn't even matter.

That was something concerning. Why the hell didn't this Morty question anything? Had he been conditioned to do so, or just put down so many times that he didn't even bother anymore. He'd been in space for a few years if he remembered correctly. Maybe he was just used to eating questionable shit? Rick opened his eyes, glancing at Morty. The boy was curled up on the seat, his back pressed against Rick so that the man could feel his tremors.

Something was seriously wrong. But what was it? Morty sipped his drink silently, purposely facing away from Rick. He heaved a loud sigh, emptying his mug and motioning for another. He really needed to be drunk right now.

"So, how's your drink kid?" Rick breathed out as the waitress brought him another mug. He took it without hesitation, downing more alcohol as he listened for the boy's response.

Morty hunched further forward, "S' good," he said in a small voice, the shaking faltering for a moment as he spoke.

Rick hummed back, signaling that he was listening as he watched his buyer stroll through the door. He waved the Gromflomite down, the assassin coming over and sitting down in the opposite side of the booth. The alien happily shook Rick's hand, his eyes sweeping over Morty and lingering for a bit.

"Hiya, Rick! It's been a long time!" Rick grumbled noncomittingly to the creature, quickly accepting the bag of money passed across the table. A few patrons stared, but didn't dare say anything against the man known as Rick Sanchez.

"Yeah, yeah. Just take the gun and get outta my face," Rick snapped as he noticed the assassine squinting red eyes at the sight of his Morty. Please don't notice. I really don't want to talk about this right now.

"Hey Rick," he asked. Fuck. "What happened to your grandson? I could swear that this isn't the same kid. I know my stuff… You know the assassine biz comes with facial perception as a must." Morty sunk lower into the booth, his glass slipping out of his hands and smashing under the table as he frantically gripped the seat. The assassin didn't notice his distress, leaning uncomfortably over the table to peer at the kid.

"Back off," Rick warned briskly. "It's cause he's not. Don't ever bring it up again - or so help me - I'll never sell ya another gun again."

The Gromflomite waved his arms innocently. "Sorry Rick, didn't know it was a touchy subject is'all," he appeased. Rick pushed the suitcase towards him, the alien getting up to search through his pockets.

Rick facepalmed, leg bouncing impatiently as the creature grated every last one of his nerves. "Michael, I swear ta God-"

Before he could finish, he had already found a shiny holocard, giving it to a hesitant Morty. "Name's Krombopulos Michael; I'm an assassin that buys guns from your," he paused at Rick's seething glare. "Relative?" He guessed questioningly. Morty didn't respond, enthralled by the lighted card.

"I'm very discreet. I have no code of ethics. I will kill anyone, anywhere. Children, animals, old people, doesn't matter. I just love killing!" Morty recoiled from the excited explanation, his mouth a thin line as the blue light from the card reflected off of his goggles.

"Oh, dear fucking God… Get out of here man," Rick ordered tiredly. The alien checked the contents of the case, a skip in his step as he headed out of the bar.

"Bye Rick! See ya soon, buddy!" Rick let his head thump against the table, the door's bell ringing as the creature left. He didn't look at Morty as he held out his hand for the card.

"Give it," he bit out.

Morty didn't hand it over, stuffing it in his pocket. "No," he deadpanned. "It's mine. He gave it to me, so it's mine," he repeated like a child. Rick groaned and hit his head on the table a few more times, his mug clattering from the action.

"Morty, I'm not asking," he reiterated.

"I know."

"Goddamnit Morty, just give it!" He barked at the boy, lifting his head up. "It's not like K. Michael is gonna kill me for ya, you don't even have money to pay him with,"

"I don't care, it's mine!" Morty spat back.

Rick took a long swig from his mug, his mind buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol. "Fine! Keep your shitty glow card! See if I care, ya little fuck!" Morty seemed satisfied, leaning heavily on Rick.

They sat like this for a few minutes, both brooding. After Rick finished his last drink, he got up from the booth, Morty tumbling out after him from the lack of support. "Come on, let's get outta here," Rick said. The staff seemed relieved, and Rick waited up for the kid struggling to catch up to his long strides.

It reminded him of how much shorter this Morty was than his original, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Despite having drank four mugs of alien alcohol in the bar, he fished out his flask for a long swig that would drown his depressing thoughts. "Ya better not throw up in my ship, MoOOUGHty," Rick belched. Morty nodded, gnawing his shirt collar and looking back at the bar.

He hated this kid.

The ride back to Earth was quiet. Morty sat in the passenger seat, staring out into space. His trembling had become more violent, and he was now sweating profusely. Rick tapped the steering wheel, the ship rumbling under them. Things were escalating, bit by bit. It set him further on edge, driving him to take frequent swigs out of a bottle he'd stashed under his seat.

Something was very wrong, and Rick was tired of this little guessing game.

"Morty, ya better spill the beans because I'm fucking done with this - this," Rick took his hands off of the wheel to wave them as he spoke. "Secret shit. I'm sick of guessing what the hell is going on, and it's ending now."

Morty continued to stare out into the dark void of space, pursing his lips. His fingers twitched and Rick was sure that the boy was restraining from taking his shirt back into his mouth. "You're not hiding anything from me, so get over yourself before I make ya," Rick urged.

Morty swallowed, ripping his eyes away from the stars to look past Rick. "N-Nothing's going on," he replied. "Besides, you said I didn't have to answer anything I didn't want to."

"No." Rick gave him a hard stare, leg bouncing as he tried to maintain his patience. "I said that I wouldn't press ya for answers, if it wasn't relevant."

Rick took in Morty's shaking form in the seat beside him, sickly and anxiety ridden. A huge leap from the stone-cold killer he met the previous day. "And I'm pretty fucking sure that a complete overhaul in behavior isn't normal," Rick tone emanated suspiciousness. He slapped the wheel, maneuvering past an asteroid belt. "Christ Morty, how stupid do ya think I am!?" He gritted his teeth.

"I-I don't have to tell you anything," Morty snapped. He sat up in his seat, reminding Rick that the kid wasn't wearing his seatbelt. "You know exactly what's going on, y-you're just trying to make everything a big joke. Having me tell you what I need, what you've made me!" Morty pointed at him, voice shrill.

The ship approached Earth, and Rick swerved into the atmosphere, pushing his speed to reach home before a fight broke out while they were airborne.

"Fuck, kid," Rick offered him a concerned glance, focusing on landing without hitting power lines or trees. "I don't know what your on about. Just - just give me a hint, I don't have the same memories as your Rick," he appealed.

Morty crossed his arms, sinking back into his seat with an angry expression. "How about you give me my suit back?" He countered.

The ship stuttered across the ground as Rick landed, sending up a shower of sparks. "Ya know that's not gonna happen, Morty," he growled. Rick halted in front of the garage, the night sky melding into pinks as morning approached. "I'm serious kid, ya aren't getting out of this!" He yelled after the boy as Morty shoved his door open and exited the ship.

Rick followed, circling the vehicle to meet him. Morty flinched away as Rick grabbed his wrists, keeping him from fleeing. "What have I made ya? What are you talking about?" He gave Morty a shake when he didn't answer, only screaming back incoherently. "I'm trying to fucking help you, ya little shit!"

"LET GO!" Morty shrieked. He ducked his head and his eyes burned with tears. "P-Please, I need -" he finally sobbed, virtually collapsing with Rick as the only thing holding him up.

Shudders rocked the kid's body, and Rick was alarmed by the total deterioration of the boy's mental state. He lowered him to the cement, letting go of his arms. He shouldn't care. Just leave him here, let him work out whatever the fuck was wrong. Rick took a step back. "Morty," he said cautiously.

Before he could question him, Morty got to his feet and stumbled into the garage; taking a corner to curl up in. Rick approached him irritated at the kid's blatant waste of his valuable time. His inherent tendency to make everything harder than it was. Rick felt inside his lab coat for his flask, fingers brushing the portal gun as he searched. It would be so easy. Just drop him off where the little freak wasn't his direct responsibility anymore.

He snatched his flask instead, uncapping it and taking a long pull.

Rick's mind worked. Morty sat in the corner shaking and hugging his knees, face hidden from the world. He knew this. He'd seen this before. But what was it? Morty let out a pained cry, digging his fingers into his hair.

A terrifying thought swept his mind, and he was crouched next to Morty within seconds. Had the bar poisoned him? Rick reached forward, tilting the boy's head back.

Thick lines of blood trailed from the kids nostrils.

"Shit!" Rick muttered loudly, rushing to his workbench for something that could purge whatever poison entered the kid's system. He threw old inventions off of the desk, ripping through plans and discarding empty pill bottles.

"R-Rick?" Morty rasped, before vomiting on the floor. "I-I, please, I need… Please," he begged, retching again.

Rick payed no mind to the mess, or to the awful smell of stomach acid. He opened a cupboard and frantically read labels of different drugs. "You're gonna be fine kid," he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "I think someone slipped ya-" he paused mid sentence, dropping a glass beaker. It shattered on the garage floor.

He was sick before he ate, so he couldn't have been drugged. Shaking, nausea, vomiting, hallucinations? Cold sweats and aggression? How did this all connect? Where had he seen this before? Images of crooked hotels, alleyways full of homeless drug addicts, and remnants of his own escapades backstage after playing for alien crowds. The blissful highs and tragic withdrawals that always followed. Passing around a cocktail of pills and shooting up with dirty needles. A distant, yet far away memory in his mind's eye.

Rick's thoughts whirled, puzzle pieces fitting into place and displaying a tragic new picture. His legs shook as he fell into his swivel chair, burying his face in his hands. The symptoms hit him like a train, sending him sprawling into a pit of pure self-loathing.

"R-Rick," Morty stuttered. "It hurts."

Rick felt numb, getting up rigidly walking to his mess of a Morty. Shame. Hell, he didn't think that he could hate himself anymore than he already did. He crouched down to the kid's level, shoving back the boy's sleeves. Morty didn't fight back, blood dripping down his face and vomit staining his shirt. There, in the bend of Morty's elbow and dotting the burns around his throat, were small pinpricks.

Needle marks.

Rick didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Morty." It was probably one of the most sincere things he'd ever said in his long life. "Please, I need you to tell me what you took…"

Morty's head lolled to the side, snapping Rick into action. He lifted the boy off the the cement, rushing out of the garage. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Flickers of anger, fear, and pity lit his mind.

It all came together in one startling truth.

This kid's previous Rick had gotten him hooked on drugs, and now without them, the boy could die from the withdrawals.

Cliffhanger for you!

I've been dropping hints leading up to this reveal since chapter one! Excited? Well please review for more!

How will Rick deal with this revelation? Will Morty be okay? Wtf is gong on? ALL in the next chapter!

Seriously tho. I need reviews my crops are dying ;-;