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Rick took one last swig of his flask before tossing it across the room. He shifted under his blanket and sighed into his pillow. Alcohol and sleep did not mix well together. Initially, he was okay with passing out anywhere from his alcoholism—because sleep was a waste of time that took up half of everyone's time. But now he had Morty, Summer, Beth… and even Jerry that all came under his care. Alcohol was something that he could work on over time. Sleep seemed like something he could fix—even without robotic enhancements. He would do it naturally. For them.
"Rick?" he hears Morty's voice coming from the doorway. "Rick? I need to talk to you—"
"Morty?" he squints and frowns. "Jesus fucking Christ Morty—Morty?"
He could have gone on to chew him out for disturbing the sleep he was specifically trying to get for him—but something stopped him from doing so. It was dark in his bedroom, even with the door open as Morty lingered at the threshold. He sounded weary, something wrong with his tone. He also knew that Morty would never really disturb him whilst he's sleeping.
"I fucked up, Rick—" he mutters, rubbing his eyes.
"Okay, fine, fine," Rick sighs, but makes space in his bed. "What happened? You can tell grandpa. Do I need to go and sort something out?" He starts to reach for his portal gun.
"No," Morty states, a bit too monotone.
"What do you mean no?" Rick pauses.
"I already handled it, Rick," Morty looks down at his hands. "I already handled too much."
Morty told him everything. Everything that happened before they went on the motorbike together. When he called Morty his son. When Morty called him his dad. When he finally succumbed to tears or would stare at the wall in front of him, Rick had nothing to say. Instead, he watched Morty fall asleep in his arms. He adjusted the blanket over his grandson and contemplated everything.
Biologically, Morty was his grandson. When he looked down at his grandson, he saw his nose and eyes. And if he was so perfectly fine with replacing his other family members with different versions from different universes—then why should it matter that Morty was Prime's grandson? But he could not replace anyone now. He did not want to replace anyone. He had never replaced Morty and would never replace Morty. He wasn't even Morty Prime to him. Just his Morty.
But his Morty also walked into a dimension that did not belong to him. Managed to make a drunk out of the few Ricks who were sober. Managed to kill the entire Smith family. It was eerily close to the traits of the man who walked into his dimension and ended his family.
He watches Morty stir in his sleep, probably plagued by what he did within the same day. Rick feels his features strain, his vision blur. He brings his Morty closer to him, pressing his chin over his head, his hands across his shoulders in a secure grasp. Maybe there was something about the people from the Prime dimension that was truly fucked, that Rick did not want to acknowledge—but he was going to do everything to protect Morty, because Morty was not Rick Prime's, he belonged with him.