A week passed.
Morty didn't try to run away again, but he didn't speak to Rick. The twins, who knew what had happened but didn't necessarily understand it, tried to be as sympathetic as they could. Mabel knitted a yellow sweater with a black Charlie-Brown stripe for Morty. He thanked her for it.
A second week passed. The manner of Beth's death was not brought up again. The weather began to grow cool, and reddened oak leaves started to fall all along the driveway. The spaceship stayed where it was, collecting rust.
"Do you want hot chocolate?" Rick asked Morty one evening. The silence between them was growing tense, and he felt like he needed something, anything, to break it.
Morty shrugged. "I guess."
He padded along behind Rick, barefoot, into the living room. Three steaming mugs of cocoa sat on the coffee table, and Stan sat on the sofa.
"Hey, kiddo," Stan greeted in friendly tones.
"Hey, Stan."
"Good to have you join us."
Morty looked warily between the twins' great-uncle and his own grandfather, whose eyes were cast toward the ground, giving away nothing. "Is this some kind o-of intervention? Or something?"
Stan chuckled good-naturedly. "Nah. Just wanted to talk to you for a bit, see how you were doing."
"I'm fine," Morty responded curtly.
"Sit with us for a bit? Drink some hot chocolate, maybe play some cards?"
"Whatever," Morty mumbled, sitting heavily on the sofa.
Rick picked up his mug, lacing it with liquid from his flask when he thought no one was watching. He took a long draught and sat next to his grandson. Morty tensed. Rick noticed.
"So what'll it be?" Stan asked, ignoring the unspoken drama playing out before him. He picked up a deck of cards, giving it a good overhand shuffle. "Five card stud? Blackjack?"
"Do we have to?" the teen whined. "I-I-I just kind of want to, y'know, go to bed."
"That's the depression talking," Rick stated bluntly. "Don't fight the exhaustion, Morty. It's part of who you are now."
"Rick." Stanley chastised him. His shuffling wavered for a moment before resuming its usual speed.
"What?" Rick complained.
"I'm not depressed," Morty mumbled.
"Five card stud, ante up to play," Stan interjected with force.
"We can't ante up," Rick said, curling his fingers into air quotation marks, "without chips."
"I know that," Stan said. "Why don't you go get them from the hall closet, Rick?"
"Whatever," Rick groaned.
He stood and walked to the hallway, locating the dusty box of old poker chips after a few seconds of searching. Stan's voice drifted through the old walls. Curious, Rick took his time getting back to the living room.
"-you a whole lot, kiddo," Stan was saying.
"I know," Rick heard Morty sigh. "It's just..."
"Just what?"
"I-i-it's just that Mom's death was his fault."
Rick froze outside the doorway. His fingers clenched against worn cardboard.
"Morty-" Stan started.
"N-no, I don't mean that he... that he meant to kill her or anything like that, just that... he didn't stop it."
"Do you think he didn't try?"
Rick inhaled. He put on a brave face. He knocked on the door frame.
"Five card stud," he announced with a forced smile, dropping the box of chips onto the coffee table with a satisfying thud. "Ante up."
"You heard all of that, didn't you?"
Stan carefully traced Rick's hairline. The last rays of sunlight shone red against his blue-grey mane. Morty had excused himself after a few short hands and the two of them were alone, trading glances on the porch and trying hard to look at each other without making eye contact.
"It wasn't new information."
Stan watched the sunset reflect from Rick's dark eyes.
"Sometimes people die, Sanchez. You did what you could."
"Did I?"
"Of course you did. I know you."
Rick's arms hung heavily at his sides. "What's the point of being th-the smartest person in the universe if I'm not smart enough to keep Morty from getting hurt?"
Stan took his hand.
"I don't know, Rick."
"I don't know either."
"Rick."
A thin line of light spilled onto the wooden deck, spreading into a rectangle as Morty pushed open the front door. Stars flickered like candlelight across the sky. Rick pulled his attention away from them, turning back toward the Mystery Shack and his grandson.
"What's up, M-Morty?"
The boy hesitated, one foot over the threshold.
"Um..." Morty began. Rick waited for him to finish. He couldn't afford not to.
"I, um, had a nightmare," the teen confessed.
Rick's owlish eyes blinked.
"Sorry," the old man offered. "Was it... bad?"
Morty nodded. He sniffed.
"Did you... want to talk about it?" Rick prodded.
"Kind of?" Morty asked. It was a question. He took a tiny step closer to his grandfather.
"Oh," Rick said. He lifted a hand as if to place it on Morty's shoulder, but hesitated. "When you say ' kind of,' does that imply-"
Morty closed the distance between them, looping his arms around his grandfather's torso tightly enough to be painful. Rick felt his ribs creak in protest.
"Got it," He wheezed. He hugged Morty back with a tenderness that belied his years.
"You died," Morty cried into Rick's sternum. "In my dream."
"Hm."
"And I w-was so scared."
"Mhm."
"Y-you're all I have left, R-R-Rick."
Rick squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm not going anywhere, buddy."
"Please d-don't hate me for, for r-running away."
"God. Morty."
"I just can't-"
"I don't hate you, Morty." Rick threaded his fingers through Morty's curly hair. The teen sobbed into Rick's chest, clutching the fabric of his lab coat tightly.
"Rick..."
Rick shut his eyes. "Kiddo. I... look. I mean... what I'm trying to say is... I love you more than anything. Okay?"
Morty calmed down, just a little.
"More than anything?" he whispered.
"More than anything," Rick agreed, hiding his face in his grandson's hair.
"Will you be here next summer?" Mabel asked over breakfast the next day.
"Uh... I hadn't thought about it. I mean, probably. Why?" Rick spooned another bite of eggs into his mouth.
"Dipper and I have to go back to Piedmont for school." She made a face.
"In California?"
"Yeah. But it would be neat if you were still here when we got back."
Rick was quiet. He hadn't shown any particularly redeeming characteristics toward the twins - in fact he was positive that he had been downright horrible the entire time he had shared a home with them. And yet, Mabel still wanted to cultivate a friendship. He swallowed his eggs.
"He'll be here," Stan confirmed from across the kitchen with a finality that impressed Rick. He wished he could be that certain of anything.
"Uh, sure," Rick agreed. "I'll be here."
"Cool!" Mabel said, features brightening.
"Cool," Rick echoed, meeting Stan's gaze curiously from across the room. Stan smiled at him. After a few long seconds, the corners of Rick's mouth turned up in response.
The world held a future for Rick Sanchez.