'John' sat in his home, as always, watching the final episode of what used to be Rick's show for what felt like the millionth time. There was only one problem. He couldn't remember why he was watching the show anymore. 
       What was the purpose again? The end goal? Why was he watching this show?

       The brunet wouldn't find his answer because there were several knocks ringing almost unforgivingly through the air, Sam running through the house from the laundry room, his shirt in hand as he checked the peep hole. 'John' was ready to run again, expecting it to be another bouncer. John seemed to visit a lot, confusing 'John' because he'd always hear his name and wonder if same was being a chuckle-nut and screwing things up. The brunet had barely forgiven the man for clearing his phone of everything.

       "Uh.." Sam stammered out, stepping to the side. 'John' watched as Gary stepped through the door, the brunet staring curiously. He hadn't seen the man in years, wondering if he was the same person. He'd never stopped by before, never visited 'John'. For the first time in three and a half years, the brunet stared at his friend, unable to say anything. Instead, he took in the smaller frame, the thinning hair and slight beard. He was made acutely aware of his own scruff, staring into chocolatey orbs and taking in the bags weighing heavily beneath them.
       "Morty," he heard softly spoken. Morty. Who the hell was Morty? 

       But of course! 

       The brunet shook his head with a soft smile, feeling almost stupid. After all this time, he'd almost forgotten his own name. "Hi," he greeted, holding his arms out as his friend ambushed him. "I still need to breathe," he wheezed, held closely in a bear hug. Gary gave a weak laugh, stepping back from the brunet. "God," Gary whispered, very obviously taking the physical changes into account.
       "You look so grown up," Gary mumbled. "Like the man you are, instead of the kid you used to be." 
       Morty gave a light laugh. "You're still a magic eight ball, huh?" 
       "You remember that?"
       "To be honest, that's about all I can remember anymore," Morty slowly admitted. "I guess time really does destroy everything eventually."
       "Well, kid, I actually came to talk to you about that. But, God, it's been so long. I just wanna say right now that I'm sorry for putting you both in this."
       "You did what was right then, Gary," Morty assured, nodding at Sam when the ginger motioned that he was doing the laundry. 
       "It wasn't right then, though, and I don't think it was ever right. What's happening isn't right, Morty." The bouncer insisted. Morty sighed, sitting on the couch and motioning for Gary to join him. "I'm almost 26, Gary. I've seen enough in my life right now to know that you getting me out of there was probably for the better. You should hear some of the confessionals I've been running. The funerals I bless, the people I give last rites to. It's a mess, Gary. Th-There's a lesson in everything, and I learned mine without the consequences I see others suffer."
        "Now who sounds like an eight ball?" Gary tried to joke, though he appeared more guilty than anything. Morty gave a halfhearted chuckled. "Yea, well. You can't beat yourself up for wanting to get me out of there. I understand that it must have been frustrating. You never wanted me to turn out like that, but I did. You put an end to it before it got too far, but it got somewhere first. You did what you deemed right. I can't be mad at you for that."
       Gary sighed audibly, running a hand over his balding head. "But you said it yourself, Morty," Gary insisted. "You loved it. You were fine with who you were."
       "This isn't about me, is it?" Morty questioned. Gary shook his head. 
       "Before you go into this spiel I can feel coming, hear this. I can't remember shit about that. I want you to understand before you continue. I can't remember what color blue his eyes were, what shade they used to be when he was tired. I can't remember how he smelled, or what brand of shampoo he used. I can't remember if he smelled sweet or masculine, or how he felt. I can't remember half of what I want to. I don't remember what alcohol tastes like, how gunpowder smells, what it's like to run on the beach. I know nothing outside of jeans and classy t-shirts, dress pants and white colors, anymore. It's all gone, Gary. Three and a half years, it's all gone. There's nothing left to remember him by. Sam took everything. He even found my secret photos. I was left with nothing. I am left with nothing. So, when you go to talk to me about that man, keep that in mind. I can't remember, Gary. I want to, so badly, but I just can't. It's nothing I control. It's all gone."
       When Morty finished his short explanation, he waited patiently for an explanation that never came. Instead, he found the man beside him crying quietly. "Gary?" Morty questioned, leaning over and trying to see the man's face. "God, it's all my fault, Morty," he spoke in a broken voice. "You two would be fine if I hadn't fucked it all up. He's going insane, Morty. That's what I came to tell you. He's not himself anymore. He's always drunk, always out of it. He's been so doped up over these years it isn't even funny. He's got a whore-of-a toy, too. This Amber bitch, I swear. He's been screwing around with her for almost a year now. He isn't the same, Morty. You jus- he's not Rick anymore! He's not himself. He's just broken. I pushed you two apart, and now I'm watching you both completely forget! He said the same thing when I asked him to be careful, Morty! You two aren't the same people. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to admit to being the biggest piece of shit ever, or am I supposed to carry this weight for-fucking-ever? I don't know. I've tried praying, I've tried thinking it out, I've thought about my death because that's what's gonna come if I ever tell him I've been lying to him and everybody else all this time. Gene's gone, Morty. He moved to Arizona a long time ago, because he couldn't handle knowing you were dead and he just didn't want to be here anymore. He left me. I haven't had anybody else to talk to about this, and it's been driving me mad. I have to fix this somehow, Morty. This is all my damn fault."
       Morty sighed softly, leaning back into the couch. "You have to understand, Gary. That life is like a black hole. I can't get out of it if I fall back in. I can't go back to that. You say he's already moved on? Good for him. At least.. at least, that way, he's trying. He's distracting himself. He isn't doing it in the healthiest way, but, from what I do remember, that's a very Rick thing for him to do. You shouldn't worry about fixing this. It's fine the way it is. If he gets over it, then fine. I'll continue living this lie so he can be happy. Then, I'll move to Minnesota, because that's where I'm needed for my next mission for the church. I haven't told Sam, so I know you don't know. I have to leave for Minnesota in a while. About halfway through next year."
       "God, I can't believe this shit has gotten so far," Gary whispered, wiping his face.
       "I think it's a good thing. It means we'll get through this somehow. We're all gonna be alright." Morty reassured, though at this point he would happily admit he was reassuring Gary. He didn't really need assurance at this point. He had found his faith again, and Rick was finding his own with a woman taking Morty's place.
       In this fucked up world, of course it was okay.