Disclaimer: I don't own "Rick and Morty". And "all that jazz".

Author's Note: Remember Abradolf Lincler?

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"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand." -Mary Shelly, Frankenstein

Morty was not prepared to look death in the face, alone, but that was what he did the day his parents were to be put in the cold hard ground.

He sat with his sister in the front row, staring at the two caskets, trying to ignore the cold anger brewing in his gut. He wasn't there. There weren't too many people in the crowd, which only made it worse; his parents didn't seem to have many friends, although there were some there that Morty didn't recognize. He did however recognize Jacob, his grandparents' strange in-house companion whom they'd met just that past Thanksgiving (Jacob had actually, very sweetly, reached down to give both himself and his sister a hug). He was surprised to recognize some of his father's old coworkers. He even recognized one of the people from the vet hospital, Davin, who was sitting in the middle row and bawling his eyes out like a little girl. He saw some of Summer's friends sitting in the back. But Rick was nowhere to be found.

Morty tried to listen to his grandfather Leonard as he stood at the podium and gave a moving speech. He tried to make sense of the words but the sounds just seemed like nonsense words, all jumbled together and meaningless. Occasionally he would find Summer's hand gripping his, and every now and then a wretched sounding gasp or sob would escape from her throat and he wondered if he was possibly going to survive this moment without her tearing his hand from its socket, or his heart from its cavity.

He tried not to think about his parents' lifeless bodies lying there, in the two brand-new shiny coffins at the front of the room. All he could think was: Fuck you, Rick. You selfish bastard, you don't even have the descency to come to your own daughter's funeral. He knew he should be probably shedding a few tears, just like everyone else in the room; everyone was crying, it seemed, except for him. His eyes were painfully dry, and so was his throat, and he desperately needed to find himself some water. Funerals had to have an intermission, right? He wasn't sure whether he wanted to drink a glass of water or throw up his breakfast in the bathroom sink.

Halfway through the ceremony, his phone rang-and Morty, horrified, fumbled desperately to hang it up. Of all the times to get a phone call, he thought miserably, shutting the phone to vibrate. He received a text shortly after that but it didn't matter what it was.

After the ceremony he, Summer and his grandparents sat in the black limo his grandfather had hired as it took them to the cemetery. Summer sobbed with abandon into his jacket, staining it pitifully with tears. He tried to comfort her best he could but he knew that no matter what he did, it wouldn't help; their parents were dead, and it was as simple as that.

They would have a reception at his grandparents' house with food for the guests, but Morty knew he wouldn't be eating. "Why?" Summer kept on asking, shaking her head and wiping away tears. "Why?"

He recalled his own words of wisdom to her once: "Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere." He thought of his own decaying skeleton in the backyard. He looked at the text on his phone. It said: This is Dr. Lipkins of the Intergalactic Hospital. Your father was in a fight and is recovering from physical injury. He is in our care. We need you to come and ake him home. Morty blinked, taken aback by the words; his 'father''? Didn't they know his father had just been buried, that he was six feet underground?

Then, like a flash of lightning, it suddenly dawned on him: it was Rick the doctor had meant. Rick had been in a fight. Rick was in the hospital. Now it was all beginning to make sense: why Rick hadn't been at the funeral, or hadn't contacted him at all that day. He'd gotten in some stupid fight-probably drunk or stoned off his ass-and screwed everything up everything again, like usual.

Morty turned off the phone as the words began to blur and run together, stinging the corners of his eyes. He fought off the urge to sob and stuffed the phone deep inside his pocket, following his family silently back towards the car.

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Rick was silent for some time, to the point where Squanchy wondered if perhaps Rick hadn't even heard him. Except, when Rick finally spoke, it was very clear that he had-and it was very clear that Rick didn't believe a single word. "Okay. Enough of this bullcrap. Explain yourself. Now." Rick demanded coldly. "Becuase as far as I know-I'm the only me there is and ever was." Rick was getting a little fed up with this creature. How dare he presume to know something about when they'd never met before in his life? "Talk," Rick demanded again. He could feel the anger boiling in his gut.

"You ….really wanna know the truth?" Squanchy was watching him, albeit hesitantly, as though he was expecting Rick to explode at any second (and he wouldn't necessarily be wrong). "Because I can show you the truth."

"You can, huh?" Rick sneered back, trying to ignore the exhaustion threatening to take over his body, "then please, enlighten me, what makes you think you know all this about me? How do you know all this about me? I'll tell you what," Rick snapped, "nothing! That's what! Because you know shit about nothing. Okay? Got it? I thought so." Rick went over to the nearest sink and went about washing the dried blood off his hands.

He didn't hear Squanchy come up from behind him and Rick nearly jumped when Squanchy spoke in a surprisingly soft, though grating voice, "I know more about you, kid...than you'd want to know about yourself."

"Sure ya do." Rick was beginning to wonder about this guy's sanity. He'd been locked up in that dungeon cell for years; who knew what the quality of his senses were?

Squanchy let loose a strange, pondering whistle, and with an amused tint to his voice that irked Rick to no end, added promptly, "I know you've heard about Project Mobius."

At the title Rick froze. Project Mobius. It was only all the Guardian'd ever talked about for years, but….the strange thing was that he'd never actually said what Project Mobius was. To hear it from this strange creature's mouth gave him pause. Could he possibly….

"How the hell do you know about that?" Rick snapped.

A more than awkward silence had settled between the two, during which Squanchy shuffled back and forth looking mildly uneasy.

"Talk!" Rick didn't care if his voice was raised a notch. This was starting to bug him. Really bug him.

"I learned a lot from above." The statement came out almost a whisper. "When...when you're locked away for as long as I was kid," Squanchy said in almost a trance-like murmur, as though his mind was far away, drifting back over the blur of years, "you...you pay attention to... things….things going on around you, that...you might not otherwise care about or notice."

Rick blinked for a moment before lifting his eyes to the ceiling. He stared at the window with the wire mesh covering for a moment, before turning his gaze back to Squanchy.

Squanchy's eyes looked misted over, his voice full of remembrance, "I know everything, kid. All about the Guardian. All about you. And I know everything there is to know about Project Mobius."

Rick swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight; it was unusually hard to swallow. "what….what about the Guardian?"

Squanchy quickly averted his eyes before answering haltingly, "You...sure you want to know?"

Rick winced at the challenge. Did he really want to know? All his life the Guardian had been a mystery. He'd taught Rick everything he knew; gave him shelter and a place to learn. He gave him the tools in order to survive. He gave him someone to look up to. The Guardian had done it all, all the while keeping himself at a safe distance. Never getting too close, or showing his true face. He rarely if ever displayed emotions, and his expressions were always hard to read; Rick had yearned time after time to ask about the Guardian's past, but he'd known better than to ever bring it up. There was one flaw: a scar, halfway up the Guardian's face, that jagged scar that connected from his higher cheekbone to his lower jaw; where had that come from? Rick had wondered, but never asked. He wondered if Squanchy knew-but that was ridiculous! Squanchy had been a prisoner of the Guardian: nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, here he was, telling Rick that all of the answers to his questions were only a question away….and Rick yearned to ask, once and for all, because if there was any connection between himself and Project Mobius, he had to know...because of how important Project Mobius had been to the Guardian….and this was the last thing that the Guardian had mentioned before….

….before…..

"Tell me." It was spoken in a hoarse whisper, and before Rick could even blink, Squanchy was walking with purpose in the direction of the bookcase along the far wall. He watched knowing what Squanchy was looking for. Knowing immediately which book Squanchy was going to select.

Squanchy returned quickly with a massive book in his hands. An old book, one that had been around for years; it was worn out and weathered, and the etching on the brown leather spine looked positively ancient. It was a wonder that it was still intact.

It was the same book that Rick had yearned to look at all those years. Here it was, in Squanchy's hands, available to him….and all he had to do was take it in his hands.

"Everything you've ever wanted to know about yourself," said Squanchy as he carefully held the book outwards towards Rick, "is here."