Morty knocked on the door. It made Rick laugh.
"Y-y-you don't need to knock to, to come into the hallway, dipshit," Rick muttered wetly.
Morty opened the door to his bedroom and joined his grandfather in the hall. He closed it quietly behind him, as if locking his own opinions away. Rick sure wondered what went through the kid's head sometimes.
"Stanley's mad at you, huh?" Morty mumbled wearily. He tugged at the hem of the pajama shirt Dipper had lent him. Morty was taller than the Pines twins, and the shirt rode mercilessly up his sides.
Rick hid a hiccup in his flask, leaning heavily against the wooden wall. His silence answered Morty's question better than words ever could.
"Look, man..." Morty said, after a very long pause. "I don't think you killed her."
Every muscle in Rick's body tensed. "Of course I didn't kill her you little-" he began reflexively, before wisely shutting his mouth. He shook his head weakly.
"And from my, my research, it doesn't seem like you could've really helped her, either."
Rick made a small sound in the back of his throat.
"She dies," Morty continued relentlessly, looking ridiculous in Dipper's old pajamas, "in every garage in every universe. Sooner or later. Rick..."
The old man let out a shuddering breath.
"We gotta do this here? In the, the fucking hallway, for chrissake?" He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Morty shrugged. He pointed suggestively at the ceiling. Rick nodded, swallowing hard against his too-tight throat. They padded silently down the hall, and Rick reached up and pulled the attic ladder down. The old wood whispered softly against the ancient carpeted floor. They climbed.
"Quiet enough for you?" Morty asked without emotion upon pulling the attic door shut behind them.
Rick brushed sawdust from his knees. He nodded again.
"Look, Rick..." Morty tried. "I mean. You're... not a good person."
"Fuck you too," Rick replied hoarsely.
"Rick."
"God. What?"
"Please don't take that the wrong way. I just-"
"Really, Morty?"
"Fine, fucking, fine. Take it whatever way you want." He was starting to get annoyed. "J-just, hear me out, would you?"
Rick grunted.
"You, you're not a good person," Morty continued brazenly. "You're an alcoholic, cynical, e-evil bastard who fucks up everyone he meets. But y'know... I really don't. I don't think you killed her. Because, y-you loved her." He swallowed.
Rick looked down. "You're goddamn right I loved her."
Morty sighed. He crossed his arms.
"I was the one who told Dipper to ask you about mom."
Rick's world stopped. "You... what?"
"I thought maybe I'd get an honest answer if it was from, y'know, an outside perspective."
Rick was quiet for a long time.
"A-and Dipper loves a good mystery, so, I thought... well..." Morty shrugged.
"He's fucking thirteen," Rick hissed suddenly. "I, I expect this from you, but him? That's morbid as hell. You could have just talked to-"
"Talked to you? You're out of your mind, Rick. When you're not drunk, you're just, just moping around, or fucking Stanley, or-"
Rick punched him. He didn't mean to, exactly, and it wasn't hard, but he punched him nonetheless.
"Ow! What the hell Rick!" Morty cradled his jaw with both hands.
Rick stared at him for a long time, lips slightly parted. The teen shuffled a few paces backward.
Without a word, the old man turned, unlatched the attic door, and descended the ladder. His hands shook as he crossed the darkened hallway. A light flicked on underneath Stan's bedroom door. He heard a cough and a mumbled "Rickster?" and his pace quickened.
He unbolted the front door and ran out into the cold night air, breathing hard. He closed the door behind him.
"Rick," Stan's muffled voice rang from inside the shack.
Rick stuffed a hand in his mouth and bit down on his forefinger. His eyes cast about wildly. There had to be something. Someplace he could hide.
Muffled voices pressed through the closed door.
"-m fine, Stan, he just-"
"He hit you?"
Fuck. Stan had found Morty. Or Morty had found Stan. Either way, Rick was fucked. Absolutely fucked.
A high-pitched moan escaped the old man's lips. He stumbled across the wooden deck. A light snow had started to fall, and his feet slipped on the wet surface. His hip connected hard with the board. The resulting thump echoed through the trees.
"Sanchez!" Stanley shouted. Oh god, he was fucked.
Rick tried to get up, but his hip was on fire after his fall. He stifled a groan with his fist. He tasted blood. He scooted shakily across the planks, pulling his weight with his other arm. He could never face Stan or Morty again. Not after tonight. The doorknob turned - time was running out.
Mercifully, his fingers grazed the lip of the top step.
Rick tumbled gracelessly down the two steps at the edge of the deck. He inhaled painfully. His teeth dug into his knuckle.
The front door opened, and Stan's bulky frame was silhouetted in golden light. "Sanchez!" he yelled angrily.
Rick rolled under the deck.
Stanley stomped across the planks. "Sanchez!" he yelled again. "I know you're out here!"
Rick stayed quiet.
"What the fuck did you do, Sanchez?" Stan screamed. Oh, god.
A tear rolled down Rick's cheek. A breeze swirled around him and he shivered, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.
"S-Stanley!" Morty was yelling. A smaller pair of footsteps joined the larger, more menacing ones tramping around above Rick. "Stanley, c-calm down."
"I can't let him hurt you like that, Morty," Stan replied, monotone.
"He didn't mean it, he just-"
"And what's to say he won't do it again, huh?" Stan interrogated. "He's unpredictable."
"Stanley!"
Stan's heavy footsteps echoed above Rick once more. "Sanchez!" he bellowed. Rick winced. He hadn't heard Stanley Pines this angry in a long, long time.
"Stanley! Stanley. Please-" Morty was saying.
"Morty, he hit you."
Rick stifled another sob.
"I provoked him!" Morty yelled. The woods were suddenly quiet. The air was cold.
"You... what?" Stan asked. Rick shivered uncontrollably, mere inches under their feet. His hip throbbed.
"I egged him on. Don't you see?" Morty pleaded. "I asked Dipper to talk to him about my mom. I was trying to figure out whether h-he, whether he killed her or not." The boy's gulp was audible even from under the deck. "If you're gonna be mad at someone, be mad at me," Morty mumbled resignedly.
Rick squeezed his eyes shut. Saltwater flowed freely down his face. He didn't dare wipe it off.
Stan's breath was audible. Rick could picture him clenching and unclenching his fists. "Is that true?" he rasped after a long minute.
"Y-yeah," Morty admitted.
Stan sighed. "He shouldn't have hit you," he admonished, a little calmer.
"I know."
"You okay?"
"I'm okay."
The boards creaked above Rick as Stan took a few steps closer to the house. "Come on back inside, kiddo. It's freezing out here."
"O-okay."
Morty's feet followed Stanley's back into the Mystery Shack. The front door clicked shut. After a few minutes, the porchlight that had shone through the cracks of the boards buzzed out of existence. It was unbearably quiet, and pitch black, and colder than Rick Sanchez could possibly comprehend. He shivered with frost, and he shivered with shock. His hip was becoming unbearable.
When he was sure that everything was completely still, he let out one long, earnest sob.
Then, it was dark.