sanchez or something

@rsanchezc137

rick, you know im really grateful that youre working so hard to be better. it means a lot to me and im so proud of the progress youve made. and i know youve done a lot of shitty things, i dont need to know the details of every person youve murdered and every bender you went on.

Morty gently opened the door to the garage, hand wobbling a little. "Hey, Rick, um. Do, uh, do you have a few?"

She had only gotten home a few minutes ago, alcohol still fresh on her breath, and the weight of guilt still fresh on her shoulders. Her grandpa, that was who she needed. Just being around him would make her feel a but better.

Sober Rick was a lot more keen than any other version, so when Morty opened the door and stumbled over, he could guess what he needed from the genius.

"Yeah, kid. Not doin' much." He stood, pushing the swivel chair to the kid, taking a swig from his flask that now held whatever mixture of sour candy, cough syrup, and whatever he decided would do the job when he woke in the ungodly hours of the Earth morning.

He let complaints die on his tongue, pushing back the annoyance and nearly crippling worry that seeing his grandson drunk and moody triggered. Obviously he wasn't the role model of the century, and neither was his daughter, so the kid didn't have much to go off of. Besides, Morty having enough confidence to approach Rick in this state was enough to take off the sharp edge of guilt that tore into him.

"I-I, I fucked up," she mumbled, hugging her arms and gazing at the pavement floor. "I shouldn't have, I just, it was right there, and I was stressed, and weak, and-and please don't be mad at Mortimer because it wasn't his fault, I swear. I-it was all me." Her voice had lightly crescendoed, a wandering ramble of distress.

"'M sorry," was the final addition, topping off the incomplete explanation. "I can, go, if you want."

"Hey, come on, you don't have to freak out." His hands cupped his grandson's chin, wiping the tears that had fallen seemingly without notice of the kid. When he finished, he propped himself against the workbench in the garage, leaning his weight on it and crossing his arms.

"Stop with the explanations, you don't have to explain. I'm not your idiot father, the last thing you need right now is getting scolded by a hypocrite." He tried to smile, wanting to lighten the mood, but clearing his throat when he could tell now wasn't really the time. "It's gonna be okay. Shit happens, I'm not gonna get pissy just because you made a mistake." He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

That joy was relatively short-lived, however. The offer to talk was appealing, and both Rick and every therapist either of them had ever seen were right in that putting words to an experience would make it easier to deal with.

As he began to speak again, a little more calm, he drew his knees up into the chair, against his chest. "If you're sure it won't bother you, um." She wrapped her arms around her legs. "Just, I w-went to visit Mortimer, th-that's the 19 year old who used to disguise himself as a Rick, the one who, um, promised to Chauncey that he would kill him after Chauncey betrayed them, and Mortimer was really sad because he missed Chauncey. S-since, y'know, Chaunce, um, faked his death, so he wouldn't have to worry about Mortimer hunting him down."

Morty paused for a moment. "Jeez, why is everything always so complicated," he muttered, trying to put all the words in the right order. "A-anyway, I, felt bad that Mortimer was hurting so much when I knew Chaunce was s-still alive. And I saw some of Mortimer's alcohol just, sitting on the counter, I guess."

He pulled himself up onto the bench, biting back the wince that his bones tried to pull from him. Despite the enhancements and gadgets and everything he fixed, he still homed himself in the body of an old man, leaving him to deal with the consequences. When Morty began, he went back to listening, his feet kicking aimlessly under him to stimulate some kind of distraction so it was easier for him to focus.

"Yeah, okay. Chauncey's the kid in the house, Mortimer is the one he's so afraid of. I've talked to him, angry fuckin' kid. I'm sure he made a good Rick," C-137 wasn't quick enough to stop the insult, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to ignore his outburst. "Yeah, it's all a mess. I'm with you, though, all caught up in your drama."

As Morty got to the end of his recollection, Rick looked at him, crossing his arms with a soft sigh. "Why would I be disappointed? It's not like you ran off to go get drunk on purpose. I'm more upset you're hanging out with that Mortimer kid than you drinking."

He shrugged before running a hand through his hair, trying to pull words together. Obviously, he didn't get his own chance to be a dad, so after everything he had already done wrong, he wanted more than anything to get it right. He wanted Morty to have somebody he could look up to in the right way, to show him proof that somebody could change. He saw a little bit of his daughter in him every day, which only made him want to do better.

"Look, Morty, obviously I'm not thrilled you're coming home with liquor on your breath. You worry me half to death without substances getting involved, I don't need to explain what adds to that," He paused, trying to figure out a way to word what he wanted to say.

"But you're a good kid. I don't have to worry about you seeking out shit like that, or lying to me or your mom or your therapist about what's really going on. Rome wasn't built in a day, I don't expect you to be the emperor and change everything before you can stand on your feet." He said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. "I'm not disappointed because I know you tried. I also don't really stand in the place to judge, y'know..."

"Mortimer's not... bad. H-he's hurting. Like you. T-tortures himself with guilt." Like you. "He, he really regrets how everything w-went with Chaunce. That, that the last thing he said to him was, was so awful."

It was in his nature to see the best in people. Bred for forgiveness. A mother who had been desperate for the approval of the man, the one she thought abandoned her. A father who had sought to be kind and keep the peace, despite raising protests now and then. It was woven into Morty's DNA, just as his addiction was.

"Thanks, for, not judging me. For, not being too upset," she added. It was true, Rick had no place to be angry, but that hadn't always stopped him before. Sometimes, she would still wake in a cold sweat in the dead of night, jostled from sleep by a blurred nightmare of her grandfather's fury.

It was ironic, that the man who had brought her the greatest pain was also the man that brought her the greatest comfort.

"Well, yeah, I'm not saying the kid is the worst person to walk the Earth. He's just kind of... a dick." He said, unibrow furrowing. "It doesn't surprise me that he and Chauncey went through it, that kid is fucked enough, Mortimer being the guy to threaten him isn't really..." Rick trailed off, allowing the silence to fill the end of his sentence.

He shrugged in response, returning to ripping the skin off of his fingertips, shame flooding him once more. How many kids had to thank their guardian for not being upset? How much had he ruined Morty's life, that he felt the need to thank Rick for doing the bare minimum. For offering the smallest bit of support. How many sixteen-year-olds shared an addiction with their alcoholic mother and nearly non-functioning grandfather?

"Not like I can do anything else. Your mom would probably kill me if I was loud this late at night." Once more, he shot for humor but brushed it off as he failed and missed the mark.

Morty's next statement surprised him, eyes widening as he stared for a moment. He stared at his downturned head, unsure of what to say to help the situation. An unsteady hand was set on her shoulder, the older now standing so he could be a little closer.

"You're not an awful friend. You made a mistake, and that's okay. You've got the world on your shoulders, kid, nobody is going to blame you for stumbling." He spoke, his voice steady, effort going into his attempt at comfort. "The whole situation with Chauncey and Mortimer is fucked, but it's not impossible to settle. Nobody's going to hate you for this, Mortimer's mad but he's just... kind of like that from what I've seen." This time he didn't smile, the joking tone long gone.

Morty gently opened the door to the garage, hand wobbling a little. "Hey, Rick, um. Do, uh, do you have a few?"

She had only gotten home a few minutes ago, alcohol still fresh on her breath, and the weight of guilt still fresh on her shoulders. Her grandpa, that was who she needed. Just being around him would make her feel a but better.

Sober Rick was a lot more keen than any other version, so when Morty opened the door and stumbled over, he could guess what he needed from the genius.

"Yeah, kid. Not doin' much." He stood, pushing the swivel chair to the kid, taking a swig from his flask that now held whatever mixture of sour candy, cough syrup, and whatever he decided would do the job when he woke in the ungodly hours of the Earth morning.

He let complaints die on his tongue, pushing back the annoyance and nearly crippling worry that seeing his grandson drunk and moody triggered. Obviously he wasn't the role model of the century, and neither was his daughter, so the kid didn't have much to go off of. Besides, Morty having enough confidence to approach Rick in this state was enough to take off the sharp edge of guilt that tore into him.

"I-I, I fucked up," she mumbled, hugging her arms and gazing at the pavement floor. "I shouldn't have, I just, it was right there, and I was stressed, and weak, and-and please don't be mad at Mortimer because it wasn't his fault, I swear. I-it was all me." Her voice had lightly crescendoed, a wandering ramble of distress.

"'M sorry," was the final addition, topping off the incomplete explanation. "I can, go, if you want."

"Hey, come on, you don't have to freak out." His hands cupped his grandson's chin, wiping the tears that had fallen seemingly without notice of the kid. When he finished, he propped himself against the workbench in the garage, leaning his weight on it and crossing his arms.

"Stop with the explanations, you don't have to explain. I'm not your idiot father, the last thing you need right now is getting scolded by a hypocrite." He tried to smile, wanting to lighten the mood, but clearing his throat when he could tell now wasn't really the time. "It's gonna be okay. Shit happens, I'm not gonna get pissy just because you made a mistake." He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

That joy was relatively short-lived, however. The offer to talk was appealing, and both Rick and every therapist either of them had ever seen were right in that putting words to an experience would make it easier to deal with.

As he began to speak again, a little more calm, he drew his knees up into the chair, against his chest. "If you're sure it won't bother you, um." She wrapped her arms around her legs. "Just, I w-went to visit Mortimer, th-that's the 19 year old who used to disguise himself as a Rick, the one who, um, promised to Chauncey that he would kill him after Chauncey betrayed them, and Mortimer was really sad because he missed Chauncey. S-since, y'know, Chaunce, um, faked his death, so he wouldn't have to worry about Mortimer hunting him down."

Morty paused for a moment. "Jeez, why is everything always so complicated," he muttered, trying to put all the words in the right order. "A-anyway, I, felt bad that Mortimer was hurting so much when I knew Chaunce was s-still alive. And I saw some of Mortimer's alcohol just, sitting on the counter, I guess."

He pulled himself up onto the bench, biting back the wince that his bones tried to pull from him. Despite the enhancements and gadgets and everything he fixed, he still homed himself in the body of an old man, leaving him to deal with the consequences. When Morty began, he went back to listening, his feet kicking aimlessly under him to stimulate some kind of distraction so it was easier for him to focus.

"Yeah, okay. Chauncey's the kid in the house, Mortimer is the one he's so afraid of. I've talked to him, angry fuckin' kid. I'm sure he made a good Rick," C-137 wasn't quick enough to stop the insult, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to ignore his outburst. "Yeah, it's all a mess. I'm with you, though, all caught up in your drama."

As Morty got to the end of his recollection, Rick looked at him, crossing his arms with a soft sigh. "Why would I be disappointed? It's not like you ran off to go get drunk on purpose. I'm more upset you're hanging out with that Mortimer kid than you drinking."

He shrugged before running a hand through his hair, trying to pull words together. Obviously, he didn't get his own chance to be a dad, so after everything he had already done wrong, he wanted more than anything to get it right. He wanted Morty to have somebody he could look up to in the right way, to show him proof that somebody could change. He saw a little bit of his daughter in him every day, which only made him want to do better.

"Look, Morty, obviously I'm not thrilled you're coming home with liquor on your breath. You worry me half to death without substances getting involved, I don't need to explain what adds to that," He paused, trying to figure out a way to word what he wanted to say.

"But you're a good kid. I don't have to worry about you seeking out shit like that, or lying to me or your mom or your therapist about what's really going on. Rome wasn't built in a day, I don't expect you to be the emperor and change everything before you can stand on your feet." He said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. "I'm not disappointed because I know you tried. I also don't really stand in the place to judge, y'know..."

Morty gently opened the door to the garage, hand wobbling a little. "Hey, Rick, um. Do, uh, do you have a few?"

She had only gotten home a few minutes ago, alcohol still fresh on her breath, and the weight of guilt still fresh on her shoulders. Her grandpa, that was who she needed. Just being around him would make her feel a but better.

Sober Rick was a lot more keen than any other version, so when Morty opened the door and stumbled over, he could guess what he needed from the genius.

"Yeah, kid. Not doin' much." He stood, pushing the swivel chair to the kid, taking a swig from his flask that now held whatever mixture of sour candy, cough syrup, and whatever he decided would do the job when he woke in the ungodly hours of the Earth morning.

He let complaints die on his tongue, pushing back the annoyance and nearly crippling worry that seeing his grandson drunk and moody triggered. Obviously he wasn't the role model of the century, and neither was his daughter, so the kid didn't have much to go off of. Besides, Morty having enough confidence to approach Rick in this state was enough to take off the sharp edge of guilt that tore into him.

"I-I, I fucked up," she mumbled, hugging her arms and gazing at the pavement floor. "I shouldn't have, I just, it was right there, and I was stressed, and weak, and-and please don't be mad at Mortimer because it wasn't his fault, I swear. I-it was all me." Her voice had lightly crescendoed, a wandering ramble of distress.

"'M sorry," was the final addition, topping off the incomplete explanation. "I can, go, if you want."

"Hey, come on, you don't have to freak out." His hands cupped his grandson's chin, wiping the tears that had fallen seemingly without notice of the kid. When he finished, he propped himself against the workbench in the garage, leaning his weight on it and crossing his arms.

"Stop with the explanations, you don't have to explain. I'm not your idiot father, the last thing you need right now is getting scolded by a hypocrite." He tried to smile, wanting to lighten the mood, but clearing his throat when he could tell now wasn't really the time. "It's gonna be okay. Shit happens, I'm not gonna get pissy just because you made a mistake." He gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.