Morty came back at sunset.

He didn't say a word. He walked right past Rick without looking at him. Rick wasn't angry; he deserved it, after all. He quit tinkering with the ship's engine and followed Morty off the driveway and back into the Shack, covered in engine fluid and holding a wrench.

Morty came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, swaying unsteadily. His eyes were dull.

"s' not y-your fault," he mumbled without preamble. "I-i-i-i's indirectly your fault. 'S what they said."

Rick's eyes narrowed.

"Morty, what are you... have you been drinking?"

"Heh," he spat, not quite laughing. "You do it. Evvveryone does it."

"Morty," Rick warned.

"Here's y-your stupid gun," the teenager said, hefting the portal gun at his grandfather, who caught it with a sigh. It clanked heavily against the wrench in his other hand.

"You went to the Citadel?" Rick confirmed his hypothesis by checking the dial. "Why?"

"Doesn't m-matter. Got my answer."

"Morty... you thought I would lie to you? A-about this?" Rick looked wounded. His fingers tightened around the wrench. His grandson leaned precariously against the wall.

"I-i-indirectly your fault," Morty continued on his initial train of thought, as if it had never derailed in the first place. "You didn't mean to let them die. B-but your actions, your... your existence... killed them."

Rick took an involuntary step back. That one hurt.

"Not to mention," Morty went on after a brief pause, "I find you here, w-working on your stupid ship. Gonna leave me. Gonna leave again, now I'm gone, you're free to go wherever you want, so... you were gonna leave m-me, Rick?"

"I was gonna come find you, moron."

"Heh... of course you were."

Rick's shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch.

"I thought you were gone for good, kiddo," he whispered.

"Well maybe I should be."

A light flicked on at the end of the hall.

"What's going on? Rickster?" Stanley asked, shuffling into the narrow passage clothed in a bathrobe and a pair of threadbare slippers. "Morty? You came back?"

Morty took a step back, lost his footing, and stumbled backward. Rick caught him easily, with the practice of time guiding his hand. The teenager fought the old man's grip for a half second before succumbing to the familiar feeling.

"Rick?" Stanley asked again. "What's wrong with him?"

"Alcohol," Rick answered. He pocketed the portal gun and wrench and placed both of his hands atop Morty's shoulders.

"You let him drink?"

"He drank on his own."

"Am still here, you know," Morty mumbled. He had closed his eyes. "Can still hear you."

"Yep," Rick said. "Bedtime for you, kid."

"No."

"Yes."

"I second the motion," Stanley said. "His bed is still set up in the guest room. Want help?" he asked Rick.

Rick shook his head mutely. He pushed Morty forward easily, guiding him slowly down the hall to the aforementioned room. Stanley followed, wordlessly crossing the room and pushing the quilt back. Rick coaxed his grandson into the bed.

"Jus' leave me alone," Morty lamented. "Go away, R-Rick."

Rick didn't respond. He pulled the quilt up over Mortys' shoulders, tucking him in. Then he walked out of the small room. Morty was already snoring.

Stanley shut the door softly behind them.

"Guess they have to start sometime, huh?" He put a well-meaning hand on Rick's shoulder. "Drinking, I mean."

"No," Rick shut him down. "They don't."

"You can't protect him forever, Rick. He's got to have his own experiences."

"Yeah b-but your first drink should be at like, high school prom. Or a birthday party, or when you lose your virginity or something. Not when your parents die." He cupped his hands over his eyelids.

Stan sighed sympathetically.

"At least he came back," he offered. "On his own, too."

"Only because he had nowhere else to go."

"In that case, aren't you glad you stayed?"

Rick had no good response to that.

A small pair of feet padded into the hallway.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked, her too-long sleeves trailing from her wrists.

"Hey Mabes. Why don't you round up your brother for dinner? I was thinking maybe we could order a pizza?"

"Actually, I'm not that hungry," she said. "I heard Morty's voice. Did he come back?"

Rick and Stan exchanged wearied glances. "Yeah, sweetheart. He came back," Stan said.

"That's good!" Mabel grinned. When the adults didn't grin back, her smile faded just a bit. "Isn't it?"

Rick turned his face away. After a moment's hesitation, Stan looped his arm around the other man's shoulders.

It belonged there, after all.