Rick and Morty Short Stories

Forgetful.

The memories would most definitely suit him just fine for now.

*~*~*

Rick wasn't surprised to find that nobody bothered to try and save him. He deserved this. For all the lives he ruined, the planets he destroyed, the people he hurt; this punishment was just and deserved.

It had been horrible, learning to cope without alcohol. 'Alcohol is the lube I use to slide through life' used to be such a relateable catchphrase. Now, Rick couldn't even utter a simple 'Wubba Lubba Dub Dub'. There was no point anymore, nobody to laugh at what he had to say, or reminisce with over a bottle of whatever alcohol seemed choice at the time. It was just Rick. Rick and his memories, Rick and the idiots trying to obtain his secrets, Rick and the constant mental bickering.

He was losing his touch with reality. The time spent in space, the detox, the confusion, paranoia, age, exhaustion, years of physical neglect, it was all beginning to wear down of the man. He could feel insanity settling in, and he knew he didn't have much time left before he became a babbling mess, hoping he could maintain some part of his good looks and sardonic attitude, even if he did become a potato.

As Rick sat in his cell, nothing left to think about and ponder, Rick wondered if he would still remember his secrets, still have the ability to keep them locked up, should most of his cognitive functions go. If he became a babbling mess, would he go spouting off about everything the stupid government wanted to know? Would they be able to sift easily through his mind, find what they need and destroy everything Rick lived for?

If they found all of his work, locked up in his mind, would everything Rick stood for come crumbling down in an instant, or would it regretfully happen all at once?

*~*~*

Rick knew this was coming for a long time. He was having difficulty separating fantasy from reality, dream from life. His thoughts and ideas were slipping through the cracks and he found it harder to separate the fantasy world from the real world.

His memories were becoming jumbled, too. For a while, he had Beth and Jerry confused with Summer and Morty. He'd quickly remembered that the roles were switched, finally realizing how near he was to losing everything.

Rick wished, more than anything, that he could send some sort of letter or message of any sort to the family. He wanted to apologize, even if they didn't believe it. He wanted them to at least hear, or read, what he had to say. He never meant to be so damn hard on everybody. He really did care, no matter what Jerry said. He was too dumb to realize it, anyway. Rick found himself hoping one of the other three was smart enough to catch on.

Rick was like the refuge in the storm. As long as he remained brave and careless, the family had some sort of hope to cling to. It kept them from flipping their shit, from making it harder for Rick to solve whatever mess they were in. As long as Rick remained expressionless and uncaring, barking orders instead of issuing calming phrases, the family had something to cling to.
If Rick had run around in a panic, or showed even the slightest hint of the fear he felt every time it was up to him to save the family, there would be more problems than when he began. There would be more issues to handle. If he remained the narcissistic asshole he usually was throughout the whole ordeal, he could finish it up faster and get home in time to enjoy his wafers and television in relative peace.