Rick sat perched on his front porch, cigarette lazily dangling from his lips as he went through his phone, seeing for the umpteenth time just how many arguments he and Morty had been through, and those were only texts. They had definitely had their fair share of disagreements, but way before that, the amount of naughty messages they'd shared sat, almost lost completely. But Rick found solace in the fact that, for every argument they had, there were at least four conversations where everything was fine, and often borderline loving.

       But he supposed it hadn't been enough. Not enough to save them, and certainly not enough to keep him and the brunet together. It was just . . . not enough. Nowhere near it.

       Rick sighed heavily, putting his cigarette out simply by flicking what remained into his shrubs. It didn't matter anymore, but he put effort into everything just the same. He would have to face the fact that he'd missed out on love twice in his life now. And because of his own stupidity, to boot. 

       Stepping into his house, careful not to let the cat escape, Rick donned his jacket and shoes. If he was stuck at home, he may as well go out and buy something. Maybe some junk food and cheap liquor. That seemed to be all he was interested in anymore. Just lazing about until the end of his days. He was even growing far more lax with his business deals now. 

       Sitting on his table near the door sat the little golden gun he had purchased for the brunet. He had taken it when he went through his house and cleaned up the best he could, not wanting Morty to find it and get himself in trouble. Especially if he didn't remember how to handle a gun. 

       Supposing there was no better time than the present to make a snack run, Rick headed outside, taking the longer route and deciding to walk. Morty had always loved to walk, and the man found to his own surprise that it was the most relaxing thing he could do; walk through the city for no particular reason. But he knew he'd be walking home with snacks and alcohol, so he last minute turned back with a scowl and decided to take his convertible, rolling the top down instantly before he headed into town. If he remembered correctly, Jeff's would have a holiday sale.

       God, that would be so hard. Rick had been hoping they could pull together long enough to spend the holidays together, but it was obviously impossible now. There was no magic wish, nothing that could fix this. The kid - wherever he was now - was just . . . gone. Worse than dead.

       Pulling into the lot with an exasperated huff, Rick exited his vehicle, wallet in his back pocket as he had checked, and made his way into the store, grabbing a half sized cart as he didn't want to carry everything around like a dumbass. He wasn't new to personal shopping, but he still preferred delivery.  But that took hours, and he wanted it now.

       Rick perused the aisle ways, grabbing candies he knew were influenced by the brunet. He loved them, and he couldn't give up the sugar for anything. Morty had gotten him hooked. Slowly, Rick meandered through, making his way to the freezer aisle that he knew led to the cheap alcohol.

      Morty, funnily enough, had been attacked earlier by Joel, who had stamped the brunet repeatedly while they went around looking for a box of walnuts missing from the baking aisle they were to stock next. He had pulled off a price tag, the final one as far as he could see in his reflection down the freezer aisle, and shut the door, finally done stamping everything. With a tired sigh, he hiked up his khakis as a shopper advanced down the aisle. The brunet thought little of him, heading towards the alcohol to unload and stamp.

       The brunet hadn't been sleeping well recently, finding himself haunted by nightmares. He could barely stand knowing he had seven minutes to finish stocking and labeling before he could punch out. The best thing was that he could punch and go, having forgotten his phone at home and decided to keep his wallet on his. He hadn't had to use his locker today, so he was free to go once he punched his card, loving the classic method of clocking in for work. 

       Rick did a double take as he wandered down the freezer aisle, seeing the brunet he hadn't been able to find anywhere. He was ashamed of himself already, watching as he hiked up his jeans and shut the freezer door, apparently headed in the same direction as Rick. The man watched him go through, opening a new box and beginning to stock up before the next day. The brunet tagged everything with a skill only a seasoned stock boy could have and Rick wondered if the brunet would excel at everything he ever did.

       But the brunet had dropped his wallet when he hiked his jeans up, and Rick did not fail to notice. Carefully, he picked up the lost item, wandering over to the kid that forgot all about his existence.

       "Excuse me." Morty spun after tagging the final case of Sam's Hard Soda, finding a man with wild hair. He looked identical to the one in Morty's boxed images and he wondered if there was a connection, though he already knew it'd be weird to blurt out 'hey I lost my memory but you look like somebody in these pictures I stashed away'.

       "Oh, s-s-sorry, am I in y-your way?" Morty moved to the side, scarlet creeping into his cheeks as he regarded the man, watching as he smiled softly, extending his arm and not seeming to recognize the brunet at all. Huh. Must not be the same guy.
       "Not at all. You just dropped this, is all." Morty peered at his hand, finding he held the brunet's wallet.

       "Oh my gosh! Th-Thank you," Morty exclaimed, happily taking his belonging and forcing it back into his pocket. "Th-These uniforms don't h-h-have very good pockets," he chuckled, stashing his equipment away. He heard the man chuckle, watching as he grabbed a case of the hard soda he had just put on the shelf. Morty watched curiously, seeing him take the grape, before he went back to gathering his tags, feeling like magma coursed through his veins and flooded his cheeks. 

       Rick peered out the corner of his eye as he set a four pack down in his cart, watching the brunet that seemed to be flustered, gathering his work equipment. He had to stop himself from chuckling, wondering how Morty could be so worked up he dropped two pencils and a roll of price labels.

       "Here," Rick offered, gathering the items before the brunet could. "Th-Thanks," he whispered, looking like he actually might cry from the embarrassment. "You good?" Rick questioned, trying to dial back the genuine worry oozing from every word. The brunet nodded, walking off with a quick, "Yea. Have a g-g-good even-ning." 

       Shaking his head with a forlorn chuckle, Rick continued on his way, paying for his items while his mind was elsewhere. He knew where Morty was now, though whether or not that was a bad thing he couldn't honestly say. He had to tell Gary, that much he knew. The bouncer had been losing his marbles trying to figure out how to at least keep tags on the brunet. He was still their responsibility, amnesiac or no. 

       Morty was okay.

       Morty, after punching out and offering his goodbyes, had a mental battle with himself. He'd just embarrassed himself in front of a really nice gentleman, and then stared at him, and then embarrassed himself again. God, he must think he was an idiot. 

       Huffing and wrapping his arms around himself as he had no jacket on a chillier walk home, Morty hurried along his way home, watching a silver vehicle travel past him, recognizing the blue hair waving wildly in an instant. 

       That man was very polite, and he was pretty attractive. At least, Morty thought so. He actually took up quite a bit of the brunet's thoughts as he walked home, wondering why the man chose grape, of all flavors. But Morty had never had alcohol, so it wouldn't matter anyway. Grape soda alone may be nasty, but he had no idea what it tasted like with alcohol. So to each his own.

       Crawling into bed that night, setting his alarm to allow himself time to clean up before he went to work, Morty found sleep came very easily, but it was very difficult to keep hold of. The only time he didn't find himself waking every ten minutes was during a nightmare.

       The blue haired man stood across from Morty, somebody holding him in place. There was somebody else next to Morty, and they were saying something the brunet couldn't quite make out. Somebody else held Morty where he was. Or maybe his feet just wouldn't work? Whatever it was, the brunet found himself unable to move, even though he wanted nothing more than to save the blue man. His heart was hammering in his chest, everything moving slowly, as though a puppet master was moving everything with stilted precision. 
       The area in which they stood felt familiar, and Morty wasn't sure why. It was just a big open clearing, trees in every direction for what looked like miles. 
       "I've had it coming a long time runnin'."
       Morty looked to the blue haired man, recognizing the voice. What was he talking about? Why wasn't he moving? He should be trying to run. But, instead... he just watched Morty with a forlorn expression, tears blurring the brunet's eyes immediately. The vision he saw - the pain in beautiful blue - had his stomach reeling. He felt like only he could fix the pain, but how? He didn't think he knew the man, yet here he stood feeling like every fact about the man was on the tip of his tongue, yet out of mind. 
       The man's eyes never left Morty, but the sound of a sickeningly loud gunshot rang clear in the brunet's ears, Morty watching as the blue haired man collapsed.

       "No!" Morty shot up in bed, feeling like he couldn't breathe. He felt a dampness on his face, finding he'd been crying in his sleep. That had felt so real. Even the . . . memory of the dream felt like it had actually happened. Morty had actually been able to smell the smoking gun, it was so realistic.

       With a soft grunt, Morty laid back on his bed, unable to stop the reeling in his gut as he tried to get back to sleep. It was only three AM, and he had yet to get a decent night's rest after all of this. Hopefully those dreams - those realistic nightmares - would just leave him be already.