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A tinny ringing sound was the only thing Rick could register. He was certain the rest of his face had also been damaged by the large blast just now. His eyes could only pick out the brightest of light sources, and his tongue tasted like carbon and dry, overcooked flesh. The Federation was becoming more careless, more reckless; Rick had been certain it was only a matter of time before they did themselves in. But he had been wrong too. Too close to the thermal plant to escape before he realized it was a trap; too far from the ship to make a quick getaway. His only consolation was that Morty hadn't joined today's adventure. Rick's eyebrows met—or would have if they still existed. Morty was sick, of all times. A stupid cold. To think of mankind's medical advancements, and no cure for the common fucking cold! And also no cure for sitting point blank at an explosion meant to kill.

But it hadn't, not yet at least.

Rick could imagine the government heads high-fiving themselves and drinking congratulatory champagne for "killing" him, but he wasn't dead yet. Dying, sure. But he wouldn't let them celebrate too soon.

Painstakingly, Rick reached into his lab coat pocket for his flask, only to find his lab coat incinerated and the flask partially melted into his chest from the heat. Shit, then the portal gun... He groaned with a throat that was too parched to make a noise. This was it, then. At least he wasn't in a cage, or with a stripper. And fuck, at least he hadn't poisoned himself with alcohol, no matter how hard he tried. Gave him a little fucking dignity. The last few beats of his failing heart were fading, then he remembered one last thing he had in (what used to be) his pants pocket. It was so stupidly convenient (and equally idiotic) that he was looking in horror at the bomb as it went off. The tiny Meeseeks Box, which he brought in lieu of Morty, survived the blast.

He weakly pressed the button and a flash of powder and sparks heralded the appearance of a too-happy humanoid creature.

"I'm Mr. Meeseeks, look at me! What can I help you with?" it greeted him. Its aloof grin it had fell at the sight of Rick, prone, burnt, and bent in the wrong ways. "Let me get you out of here."

"Fuck no, it's too late," Rick coughed. "I want you to take my ship, go—" he paused for breath, "—to the garage, use the hologram device, and impersonate me. You can retire after a day, but keep a journal of your memories so that the replacement has a little context. Here." Rick handed him the Meeseeks box. The motion induced a wild spinning sensation that gripped his toasted innards. Even if the creature could get him to the ship, help was still light-years away. He was a goner. "Fuck. I'd give anything for a Bacardi right now."

The Meeseeks snapped its blue fingers. "Caaaan d—"

"No, dammit! Focus," exhaled Rick. "The infantry will be here any moment to collect my body, so you better be fucking gone, you hear me? Whatever happens, don't let the Council replace you or your friends with an asshole Rick! And...don't let Morty know...that I'm dead."

"Yes, sir!" The Meeseeks saluted before skipping away toward the ship. It didn't notice the moment Rick's lungs deflated for the final time.

~o0O0o~

"Rick, that juice tasted funny," Morty noted, looking from his half-empty glass to Rick, hovering over him with his arms on his waist.

"N-now listen here, kiddo, you don't diss a powerful healing elixir from the planet Oethax just for its taste!" replied "Rick" without missing a beat. Perfect, thought the Meeseeks. The hologram tech was beyond belief; he didn't need to expend any effort to match Rick's voice, and the clothing effects were quite real. But now he was getting exhausted; it had been nearly thirteen hours since he was called into existence. Regardless, he still had to write that journal.

Today, Morty was still sick (going on a week now), but the medicine was working wonderfully. He would recommend the next Meeseeks to give him one last dose, and Morty will probably be good to go back to school. Before he gets home, they have to figure out a way to recreate Rick's chaotic adventures safely, and without using the portal gun: because they didn't know how to recharge the thing. They could simulate the personality well enough (Morty hasn't noticed a thing, poor kid), but the genius under that exterior was impossible to mimic. And then there was the rest of the family. All the Meeseeks had to do was avoid conflict with Jerry and compliment Beth's cooking at least once a day. Summer could go days without talking to "Rick", so until Meeseeks had to forge some adventure (perhaps a simulation, like this very hologram they were using), they could spend the energy trying to entertain Morty.

Morty finally finished the last gulps of the elixir and handed the glass back to "Rick". "Rick" ruffled the boy's soft brown hair and walked to the door with a false zigzag and a final burp to complete the act. He hit the light switch, waved a lazy goodbye, and closed the door behind him. Just the journal now. So tired.

~o0O0o~

"Look at me! I'm Mr. Meeseeks!"

The creature raised his arms in a cheery greeting. It looked around for its caller; it was another Meeseeks, looking old and worn. "Here, friend. Look at this journal. Read it carefully. That's your purpose." With an ancient smile, the elder Meeseeks disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The fresh Meeseeks picked up the thick notebook on the desk. The journal began three years ago. The entries themselves weren't long, only detailing some trivial interactions between the writer and Morty, and each with varying levels of enthusiasm about the job. The hands that scribbled these messages were all tired and shaky, like that previous Meseeks who summoned him. Then, was that also his fate?

"Can do!" he said, pumping his fist into the air as he started to read, flipping through the deteriorated pages with care.

This journal will serve as a guide to the future Meeseeks who will continue the last request of Rick Sanchez of dimension J-004. He requested me to use the hologram device in the garage to disguise myself as him and protect Morty from receiving an alternative Rick. Failing that, we must ensure that the replacement will be anything but hostile.

In order to preserve our cover, we are also tasked to write down the day's activities as a context for the next Meeseeks to work with.

I turned back from Rick and found his spaceship with ease; it was just outside the blasted ruins of the current building we were in. I was born shortly after an explosion, which also seemed to cause Rick's face to be mostly burnt off. His voice was reduced to a weak rasp, and the arm with which he handed me this Meeseeks box from which I summoned you was likewise hardly able to lift the same box. I obeyed quickly, at his command; I escaped the doomed planet, which was torn by war and seized by the Federation. A giant fleet of ships gave chase, but I was able to evade them with relative ease. Once I was out of that solar system, I activated autopilot so that I could write this journal. Will get back to you after I face Morty. We mustn't let him know that Rick has died. Must not.

Morty was bedridden with the flu. I couldn't even speak to him, so I wasn't compelled to force my presence. But Rick would have, right? However, Rick also instructed us to protect Morty, so I let him rest until dinner; the family came together to eat. Morty, being weak, remained in bed, but Beth brought him food in his bed. He barely touched it, if I hadn't chimed in about his health. Everyone looked at me in disbelief. I was too kind, and Rick isn't. My mistake. To the Next, be careful: protect Morty, but be rough with your words. He will question you otherwise. Good luck!

Many pages continued the story with day-to-day travails until Morty grew well. Morty was skeptical that "Rick" had completely abandoned his missions, so at some point, the earlier Meeseeks decided to mess around the garage and forge some adventure in controlled spaces: simulations, or a trip to a nearby barren world with planted shiny rocks that might pass for something scientifically important. This worked for a time, until Summer too decided she wanted in too. It was tiresome work; the earlier Meeseeks had to survive over thirty hours at times, under the spiteful, watchful eyes of the Smith family. The adventures were trivial, mostly, and the children would grow tired of it too, and they resumed school normally, chalking it up to "Rick's" old age.

Some pages were funny. Jerry noticed that "Rick's" image would fade whenever he drank; that's when the Meeseeks learned that the hologram was affected by water. No one else had been around, luckily. It would have been the end of it, but Jerry had turned superstitious, doubting whether "Rick" was some apparition from the other world, that he was dead. The children were open-mouthed; Beth talked Jerry's ear off for the mere suggestion about her father. That Meeseeks instantly called a replacement, but Jerry had come into the garage to apologize. When Jerry saw two "Ricks", he passed out. Beth would make no further comment other than a quick roll of her eyes after that.

The majority of the stories were short, two- or three-liners that detailed an evening "drinking" alone, where if one of the family stepped into the garage, "Rick" would gruffly yell, "Fuck you," or a similar curse, to the Meeseeks' dismay. They had bravely never broken character, but it took its toll. Knowing everything they did about the three-year history of that request—the daily interactions, even if those memories weren't native—they still had some semblance of regret. The Meeseeks would evolve a melancholy, an assimilated depression, and eventually they no longer needed to act. They may not have Rick's motives, but they acquired the weariness. Even lying to Morty to protect him became second nature. And perhaps that was why the Citadel never sent in a replacement.

~o0O0o~

"Rick" lay on the couch; or rather, he was sprawled on it, like a dirty rag that had been left there to dry. Breakfast was another mundane affair. Today, after an event at the school, Morty would be driving off to attend university uptown. "Rick" had dispatched some crippling criticism of the politics of education, but everyone seemed to be numb to the tirade, which worked out for the current Meeseeks. They said nothing for or against the position, to which the Meeseeks had to improvise a disappointed reaction, and there was still no comeback. Was everyone else this tired too? Instead of joining, it chose to remain indoors and while away the few hours of freedom. Ah! This would be a perfect opportunity to write a partial account for the day. He might even summon the Next, avoid the omnipresent tiredness that afflicted all Meeseeks born to continue this dire request. The man had been dead four years—no, it wouldn't do to badmouth the very same who had given it purpose.

It ambled to the garage, which was a picture of disorder. A Previous Meeseeks thought it was a good idea to randomize the order of the tools and knickknacks regularly, to give a semblance of "working on something". They had even asked Morty to fetch a screwdriver "for old times' sake", only to tinker with something that was already finished. The kid never seemed to notice; the kid, now going on college, aiming for as normal a life as possible for a grandchild of Rick Sanchez, was still clueless about the wool that had been pulled over his eyes. He'd live and die with that lie, but at least his heart would never break. Right? Right? There was no use asking. The Meeseeks wrote a perfunctory report of the morning's interaction and headed back to the couch. Feeling brave, it opened a can of beer from the fridge to complete the picture. It took the liberty of a sip, which made the hologram fizz out for a moment. Even so, no one else was there to see the blue skin underneath.

Graduation sure took a long time. Perhaps it could have summoned a replacement. As soon as the thought left him, it heard the family car parking in front of the house. It didn't bother to get up, that seemed like something the real Rick would do. Morty entered first, looking much older than eighteen, thanks to the tux he had rented for high school graduation. Summer and Beth looked equally magnificent in their matching floral summer dresses. They filed into the kitchen for a toast of champagne. "Rick" got up languidly to clap Morty on the back.

"At least you're feeling the festivities," whispered Beth as she poured out the bubbly drink. "Dad, aren't you proud? Our Morty is going to college!"

"S-some community college for regular people, more like," "Rick" said with a burp, "but whatever floats your metaphorical boat."

Morty raised his glass with a pained smile. "Thanks, Rick, but I'm gonna do much better than you think."

And Mr. Meeseeks knew he was acting the part so well, because Summer did everything like the journal predicted: she wouldn't even be part of the conversation. Jerry was opening every bottle he could find, if only to put them back in the fridge. "The fizz is for celebrations! We don't have to get blackout drunk!" he said, glaring at "Rick". "Rick" raised his glass to the man in response.

"All that soda is gonna go stale, Dad," Summer muttered. She grinned at her brother in passing and excused herself; she had some friends to text about their thesis.

The gathering didn't take too long; they had already had lunch outside after the ceremony. Jerry helped Morty pack while Beth went out for groceries. "Rick" was left alone in the garage, with such thoughts as: Why couldn't he simply vanish? When does this quest end? Does it have an end? Will it end when Morty dies? Can "Rick" fake a death so regular and expected, like a heart attack? Or liver failure? Something everyone expects, so that there would be no need to grieve?

The Meeseeks' internal monologue was interrupted by a knock on the access door. Morty's head was peeking out from a crack. Still in character, "Rick" grunted and made a motion with his hand to let Morty in. "What do you want?"

"I'm moving out, y-you know," Morty began, looking at his feet.

"Of course I know, you idiot, I know everything," "Rick" answered.

"And I'm going to visit only a few times a year..."

"Naturally, unless you still want to be coddled. Oh! You're not begging for one last adventure, are ya?"

"No, Rick."

"Then good. Because I'm fucking tired of it all." "Rick" wondered if that was part of the cover or an honest sentence. What were honest sentences even like? It had mostly forgotten. Aside from the daily report, there was a mentality that it had to uphold, one that shunned cheerful helpfulness, which was natural to a Meeseeks. Everything was a lie. Rick's psyche was a dark shit-hole; if it had enemies, it still wouldn't wish such a heavy burden on them as this.

Morty sighed. "I know what's going on."

"You think you're such a clever piece of shit, huh? Well, college isn't whatever you expect it—"

"I saw the fucking journal, Rick!" cried Morty.

Mr. Meeseeks was about to retort, then the impact of Morty's words sunk in. Then shit, had it failed? Did those four futile years of false misery amount to nothing? Fuck! How could it disappear now, if that quest was never completed? "M-Morty, the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can stop pretending now," Morty said gently.

"Rick" eyed Morty for a good long minute, wondering what to do. If he knew this much, then the jig was up: there was no more need to hide. "Rick" reached under the desk for a knee-height box with electrical wires protruding from all edges. It had needed some repairs over the years. "Rick" opened the lid and pressed a shallow white button. The hologram faded away, revealing the lanky, awkward creature. After all that, it felt naked without the disguise.

Morty stared hard, daring himself not to flinch or look away. His eyes felt ready to overflow; so many questions threatened to make him faint. He hung his head, bit his tongue, and tried to steady his buckling knees. "I'm sorry," was all he could say.

"I can't begin to imagine why you're sorry. I messed up. We messed up. They—well, someone. Not you," Mr. Meeseeks lamented. "I'm sorry. I don't even know how to act anymore."

"Rick put you up to this, didn't he?" began Morty. He needed something to collapse into; the shelf with the tools and half-finished projects served as a good-enough leaning post. He cleared his throat. "I...only saw it by accident. It was open one time when we were remaking the butter robot for the twentieth time. Just one page. You were talking a-about...about a Next and a Previous for a couple of short entries, sharing advice and some account of what happened on a particular day. I didn't mean to pry, but I know now. You've been pretending to be Rick..." he paused for a long while, scratching his nape and fiddling with the corner of his white polo. "But why? Did something happen to him? Did," he sighed, "did he get captured?"

Mr. Meeseeks looked at this human. Eighteen, but still innocent. Poor kid, but no longer a kid. "Four years ago, Rick was trying to obtain a compound to create an accelerated bacterial culture machine, to cure your flu back then. The First revealed the place was rigged to hell and back with explosives, which had damaged Rick beyond help. He died right after instructing the First to protect you by all means."

Morty's breath hitched. Mr. Meeseeks wondered whether telling him was a good idea; but he already knew, partly. He deserved the whole picture.

"We did our best, but we were portraying a complex mad scientist with issues that no one can even guess at. We did our research, with little success. All we could do was guess based on your reactions. We could only live for so long, each Meeseeks, but our combined knowledge gave us enough insight to fit in somehow. The first and only priority was to keep up Rick's image to protect you, and to prevent getting you matched up with a Rick who won't treat you right. We meant no harm. If anything, we learned to love you. Hopefully as much or as little as the real Rick did."

Morty slid down along the shelf to the floor. Suddenly the world was blurred; suddenly, that blur cleared when he felt two fat teardrops collide against his wrinkled tuxedo pants. "You did great," he said, masking the hiccup with words.

Mr. Meeseeks picked up the can of beer it had taken earlier and downed all its contents. It gave Morty a few minutes to come to terms with the lie, dry out his eyes, and release the pent-up breath he'd been holding ever since...when was that? Mr. Meeseeks wish it knew, so it could punch the Previous who had left the journal in plain sight. More importantly, however, Morty was grieving, which Rick absolutely forbade. Did that mean it failed the quest? But in other words, did that mean the quest was finished?

Both of them looked up when they heard footsteps approach the garage. Mr. Meeseeks hurried to reactivate the hologram and kicked it back underneath the workstation. Summer peeked in, and with one glance her indifferent mask became one of excitement.

"What are we doing?" she said as she stepped in and closed the door. She had discarded the dress to don one of her old tank tops and capris. "One last hurrah before we forsake our childhood?" she added with a wink to Morty.

"Rick" watched Morty look up in absolute horror. Ha, the poor kid had always been this way. It was time for him to grow up, move on. Mr. Meeseeks had an inkling that it was its time to move on as well.

"Summer, could you leave us alone, please?" Morty pleaded in a voice that was too tiny to belong to an eighteen-year-old.

"No. Way. You haven't changed at all!" remarked Summer, swatting her brother's pleading arm from her own.

"Rick" didn't fail to notice the strained calm in Morty's voice. It had really come far, thanks to the shared knowledge through the years. It would recognize the hurt in Morty's words, since the Meeseeks itself, with this quest, was living proof that lies ripped the soul apart.

"Nothing's happening," Morty recited, "I'm going to college to pursue an ordinary life that I deserve, since I'm stupid, like everyone says."

Summer's face softened, but Morty went on:

"I owe so much to Rick, you know? A background of wonder at the universe; a keen interest in science, and the art of not giving a shit to anything that doesn't matter; a lifetime's worth of fun memories. But we can't bother him forever. We have to stand on our own feet," and thus saying, Morty stood up and dusted off his clothes, "and look forward, not back at all the good times we had."

"Rick" smirked. "Well said." It remembered the half-hearted journal entry it wrote earlier. That would be the last entry. The mission was over. It was free to die. But not now, not in front of Summer.

Summer looked as confused as she was annoyed. "What the hell are you talking about? It's not like the world is ending. Things are going to be different, but nothing has to change change," she finished with a pout." She looked to "Rick" for support, but the latter didn't respond to her cues for help. "Ugh! Whatever." Defeated, she yanked the access door open, cast the pair a scorned glare, and stomped out.

"Rick" had to chuckle at the way things turned out. The real Rick had been so concerned for Morty and discounted the fact that Morty was neither jaded nor weak, that he could still mature, much further than Rick.

"So I'm free now?" Mr. Meeseeks asked.

Morty nodded. "Yes...I think."

Mr. Meeseeks reached under the desk again for the hologram box to undo the charade one last time.

"Wait!" called Morty. He hesitantly approached "Rick" and, without warning, hugged it. The hologram fizzed and sputtered from the contact; Morty, eyes shut and tears streaming, didn't notice. Mr. Meeseeks wasn't as tall as Rick, was even thinner than Rick, didn't move like Rick now that he could observe the difference: but this image was Rick's last "gift" to him. Rick did care, despite everything he said.

Mr. Meeseeks let him have this moment. It carried the weight of the four years, and that burden was about to be lifted, as soon as Morty let go. Poor kid, crying on his graduation day. Well, such days meant both endings and beginnings. It's okay, one final kindness before sweet oblivion, Mr. Meeseeks consoled itself. When Morty, shoulders heaving with the effort to calm himself, finally released it, Mr. Meeseeks put the hologram box on top of the desk. It rummaged the drawers for the journal and placed it there too, along with the Meeseeks Box.

"Glad to help, Morty!" it saluted.

Morty watched the Last wave goodbye cheerfully, the first time he had seen "Rick" that "happy" about anything in four years.

As it vanished in a puff of smoke, its farewell rang clear, still in Rick's voice, "Take care of yourself! I'm Mr. Meeseeks! Look at meeee!"

END

Description
A tinny ringing sound was the only thing Rick could register. He was certain the rest of his face had also been damaged by the large blast just now. His eyes could only pick out the brightest of light sources, and his tongue tasted like carbon and dry, overcooked flesh. The Federation was becoming more careless, more reckless; Rick had been certain it was only a matter of time before they did themselves in. But he had been wrong too. Too close to the thermal plant to escape before he realized it was a trap; too far from the ship to make a quick getaway. His only consolation was that Morty hadn't joined today's adventure. Rick's eyebrows met—or would have if they still existed. Morty was sick, of all times. A stupid cold. To think of mankind's medical advancements, and no cure for the common fucking cold! And also no cure for sitting point blank at an explosion meant to kill.

But it hadn't, not yet at least.

Rick could imagine the government heads high-fiving themselves and drinking congratulatory champagne for "killing" him, but he wasn't dead yet. Dying, sure. But he wouldn't let them celebrate too soon.

Painstakingly, Rick reached into his lab coat pocket for his flask, only to find his lab coat incinerated and the flask partially melted into his chest from the heat. Shit, then the portal gun... He groaned with a throat that was too parched to make a noise. This was it, then. At least he wasn't in a cage, or with a stripper. And fuck, at least he hadn't poisoned himself with alcohol, no matter how hard he tried. Gave him a little fucking dignity. The last few beats of his failing heart were fading, then he remembered one last thing he had in (what used to be) his pants pocket. It was so stupidly convenient (and equally idiotic) that he was looking in horror at the bomb as it went off. The tiny Meeseeks Box, which he brought in lieu of Morty, survived the blast.

He weakly pressed the button and a flash of powder and sparks heralded the appearance of a too-happy humanoid creature.

"I'm Mr. Meeseeks, look at me! What can I help you with?" it greeted him. Its aloof grin it had fell at the sight of Rick, prone, burnt, and bent in the wrong ways. "Let me get you out of here."

"Fuck no, it's too late," Rick coughed. "I want you to take my ship, go—" he paused for breath, "—to the garage, use the hologram device, and impersonate me. You can retire after a day, but keep a journal of your memories so that the replacement has a little context. Here." Rick handed him the Meeseeks box. The motion induced a wild spinning sensation that gripped his toasted innards. Even if the creature could get him to the ship, help was still light-years away. He was a goner. "Fuck. I'd give anything for a Bacardi right now."

The Meeseeks snapped its blue fingers. "Caaaan d—"

"No, dammit! Focus," exhaled Rick. "The infantry will be here any moment to collect my body, so you better be fucking gone, you hear me? Whatever happens, don't let the Council replace you or your friends with an asshole Rick! And...don't let Morty know...that I'm dead."

"Yes, sir!" The Meeseeks saluted before skipping away toward the ship. It didn't notice the moment Rick's lungs deflated for the final time.

~o0O0o~

"Rick, that juice tasted funny," Morty noted, looking from his half-empty glass to Rick, hovering over him with his arms on his waist.

"N-now listen here, kiddo, you don't diss a powerful healing elixir from the planet Oethax just for its taste!" replied "Rick" without missing a beat. Perfect, thought the Meeseeks. The hologram tech was beyond belief; he didn't need to expend any effort to match Rick's voice, and the clothing effects were quite real. But now he was getting exhausted; it had been nearly thirteen hours since he was called into existence. Regardless, he still had to write that journal.

Today, Morty was still sick (going on a week now), but the medicine was working wonderfully. He would recommend the next Meeseeks to give him one last dose, and Morty will probably be good to go back to school. Before he gets home, they have to figure out a way to recreate Rick's chaotic adventures safely, and without using the portal gun: because they didn't know how to recharge the thing. They could simulate the personality well enough (Morty hasn't noticed a thing, poor kid), but the genius under that exterior was impossible to mimic. And then there was the rest of the family. All the Meeseeks had to do was avoid conflict with Jerry and compliment Beth's cooking at least once a day. Summer could go days without talking to "Rick", so until Meeseeks had to forge some adventure (perhaps a simulation, like this very hologram they were using), they could spend the energy trying to entertain Morty.

Morty finally finished the last gulps of the elixir and handed the glass back to "Rick". "Rick" ruffled the boy's soft brown hair and walked to the door with a false zigzag and a final burp to complete the act. He hit the light switch, waved a lazy goodbye, and closed the door behind him. Just the journal now. So tired.

~o0O0o~

"Look at me! I'm Mr. Meeseeks!"

The creature raised his arms in a cheery greeting. It looked around for its caller; it was another Meeseeks, looking old and worn. "Here, friend. Look at this journal. Read it carefully. That's your purpose." With an ancient smile, the elder Meeseeks disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The fresh Meeseeks picked up the thick notebook on the desk. The journal began three years ago. The entries themselves weren't long, only detailing some trivial interactions between the writer and Morty, and each with varying levels of enthusiasm about the job. The hands that scribbled these messages were all tired and shaky, like that previous Meseeks who summoned him. Then, was that also his fate?

"Can do!" he said, pumping his fist into the air as he started to read, flipping through the deteriorated pages with care.

This journal will serve as a guide to the future Meeseeks who will continue the last request of Rick Sanchez of dimension J-004. He requested me to use the hologram device in the garage to disguise myself as him and protect Morty from receiving an alternative Rick. Failing that, we must ensure that the replacement will be anything but hostile.

In order to preserve our cover, we are also tasked to write down the day's activities as a context for the next Meeseeks to work with.

I turned back from Rick and found his spaceship with ease; it was just outside the blasted ruins of the current building we were in. I was born shortly after an explosion, which also seemed to cause Rick's face to be mostly burnt off. His voice was reduced to a weak rasp, and the arm with which he handed me this Meeseeks box from which I summoned you was likewise hardly able to lift the same box. I obeyed quickly, at his command; I escaped the doomed planet, which was torn by war and seized by the Federation. A giant fleet of ships gave chase, but I was able to evade them with relative ease. Once I was out of that solar system, I activated autopilot so that I could write this journal. Will get back to you after I face Morty. We mustn't let him know that Rick has died. Must not.

Morty was bedridden with the flu. I couldn't even speak to him, so I wasn't compelled to force my presence. But Rick would have, right? However, Rick also instructed us to protect Morty, so I let him rest until dinner; the family came together to eat. Morty, being weak, remained in bed, but Beth brought him food in his bed. He barely touched it, if I hadn't chimed in about his health. Everyone looked at me in disbelief. I was too kind, and Rick isn't. My mistake. To the Next, be careful: protect Morty, but be rough with your words. He will question you otherwise. Good luck!

Many pages continued the story with day-to-day travails until Morty grew well. Morty was skeptical that "Rick" had completely abandoned his missions, so at some point, the earlier Meeseeks decided to mess around the garage and forge some adventure in controlled spaces: simulations, or a trip to a nearby barren world with planted shiny rocks that might pass for something scientifically important. This worked for a time, until Summer too decided she wanted in too. It was tiresome work; the earlier Meeseeks had to survive over thirty hours at times, under the spiteful, watchful eyes of the Smith family. The adventures were trivial, mostly, and the children would grow tired of it too, and they resumed school normally, chalking it up to "Rick's" old age.

Some pages were funny. Jerry noticed that "Rick's" image would fade whenever he drank; that's when the Meeseeks learned that the hologram was affected by water. No one else had been around, luckily. It would have been the end of it, but Jerry had turned superstitious, doubting whether "Rick" was some apparition from the other world, that he was dead. The children were open-mouthed; Beth talked Jerry's ear off for the mere suggestion about her father. That Meeseeks instantly called a replacement, but Jerry had come into the garage to apologize. When Jerry saw two "Ricks", he passed out. Beth would make no further comment other than a quick roll of her eyes after that.

The majority of the stories were short, two- or three-liners that detailed an evening "drinking" alone, where if one of the family stepped into the garage, "Rick" would gruffly yell, "Fuck you," or a similar curse, to the Meeseeks' dismay. They had bravely never broken character, but it took its toll. Knowing everything they did about the three-year history of that request—the daily interactions, even if those memories weren't native—they still had some semblance of regret. The Meeseeks would evolve a melancholy, an assimilated depression, and eventually they no longer needed to act. They may not have Rick's motives, but they acquired the weariness. Even lying to Morty to protect him became second nature. And perhaps that was why the Citadel never sent in a replacement.

~o0O0o~

"Rick" lay on the couch; or rather, he was sprawled on it, like a dirty rag that had been left there to dry. Breakfast was another mundane affair. Today, after an event at the school, Morty would be driving off to attend university uptown. "Rick" had dispatched some crippling criticism of the politics of education, but everyone seemed to be numb to the tirade, which worked out for the current Meeseeks. They said nothing for or against the position, to which the Meeseeks had to improvise a disappointed reaction, and there was still no comeback. Was everyone else this tired too? Instead of joining, it chose to remain indoors and while away the few hours of freedom. Ah! This would be a perfect opportunity to write a partial account for the day. He might even summon the Next, avoid the omnipresent tiredness that afflicted all Meeseeks born to continue this dire request. The man had been dead four years—no, it wouldn't do to badmouth the very same who had given it purpose.

It ambled to the garage, which was a picture of disorder. A Previous Meeseeks thought it was a good idea to randomize the order of the tools and knickknacks regularly, to give a semblance of "working on something". They had even asked Morty to fetch a screwdriver "for old times' sake", only to tinker with something that was already finished. The kid never seemed to notice; the kid, now going on college, aiming for as normal a life as possible for a grandchild of Rick Sanchez, was still clueless about the wool that had been pulled over his eyes. He'd live and die with that lie, but at least his heart would never break. Right? Right? There was no use asking. The Meeseeks wrote a perfunctory report of the morning's interaction and headed back to the couch. Feeling brave, it opened a can of beer from the fridge to complete the picture. It took the liberty of a sip, which made the hologram fizz out for a moment. Even so, no one else was there to see the blue skin underneath.

Graduation sure took a long time. Perhaps it could have summoned a replacement. As soon as the thought left him, it heard the family car parking in front of the house. It didn't bother to get up, that seemed like something the real Rick would do. Morty entered first, looking much older than eighteen, thanks to the tux he had rented for high school graduation. Summer and Beth looked equally magnificent in their matching floral summer dresses. They filed into the kitchen for a toast of champagne. "Rick" got up languidly to clap Morty on the back.

"At least you're feeling the festivities," whispered Beth as she poured out the bubbly drink. "Dad, aren't you proud? Our Morty is going to college!"

"S-some community college for regular people, more like," "Rick" said with a burp, "but whatever floats your metaphorical boat."

Morty raised his glass with a pained smile. "Thanks, Rick, but I'm gonna do much better than you think."

And Mr. Meeseeks knew he was acting the part so well, because Summer did everything like the journal predicted: she wouldn't even be part of the conversation. Jerry was opening every bottle he could find, if only to put them back in the fridge. "The fizz is for celebrations! We don't have to get blackout drunk!" he said, glaring at "Rick". "Rick" raised his glass to the man in response.

"All that soda is gonna go stale, Dad," Summer muttered. She grinned at her brother in passing and excused herself; she had some friends to text about their thesis.

The gathering didn't take too long; they had already had lunch outside after the ceremony. Jerry helped Morty pack while Beth went out for groceries. "Rick" was left alone in the garage, with such thoughts as: Why couldn't he simply vanish? When does this quest end? Does it have an end? Will it end when Morty dies? Can "Rick" fake a death so regular and expected, like a heart attack? Or liver failure? Something everyone expects, so that there would be no need to grieve?

The Meeseeks' internal monologue was interrupted by a knock on the access door. Morty's head was peeking out from a crack. Still in character, "Rick" grunted and made a motion with his hand to let Morty in. "What do you want?"

"I'm moving out, y-you know," Morty began, looking at his feet.

"Of course I know, you idiot, I know everything," "Rick" answered.

"And I'm going to visit only a few times a year..."

"Naturally, unless you still want to be coddled. Oh! You're not begging for one last adventure, are ya?"

"No, Rick."

"Then good. Because I'm fucking tired of it all." "Rick" wondered if that was part of the cover or an honest sentence. What were honest sentences even like? It had mostly forgotten. Aside from the daily report, there was a mentality that it had to uphold, one that shunned cheerful helpfulness, which was natural to a Meeseeks. Everything was a lie. Rick's psyche was a dark shit-hole; if it had enemies, it still wouldn't wish such a heavy burden on them as this.

Morty sighed. "I know what's going on."

"You think you're such a clever piece of shit, huh? Well, college isn't whatever you expect it—"

"I saw the fucking journal, Rick!" cried Morty.

Mr. Meeseeks was about to retort, then the impact of Morty's words sunk in. Then shit, had it failed? Did those four futile years of false misery amount to nothing? Fuck! How could it disappear now, if that quest was never completed? "M-Morty, the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can stop pretending now," Morty said gently.

"Rick" eyed Morty for a good long minute, wondering what to do. If he knew this much, then the jig was up: there was no more need to hide. "Rick" reached under the desk for a knee-height box with electrical wires protruding from all edges. It had needed some repairs over the years. "Rick" opened the lid and pressed a shallow white button. The hologram faded away, revealing the lanky, awkward creature. After all that, it felt naked without the disguise.

Morty stared hard, daring himself not to flinch or look away. His eyes felt ready to overflow; so many questions threatened to make him faint. He hung his head, bit his tongue, and tried to steady his buckling knees. "I'm sorry," was all he could say.

"I can't begin to imagine why you're sorry. I messed up. We messed up. They—well, someone. Not you," Mr. Meeseeks lamented. "I'm sorry. I don't even know how to act anymore."

"Rick put you up to this, didn't he?" began Morty. He needed something to collapse into; the shelf with the tools and half-finished projects served as a good-enough leaning post. He cleared his throat. "I...only saw it by accident. It was open one time when we were remaking the butter robot for the twentieth time. Just one page. You were talking a-about...about a Next and a Previous for a couple of short entries, sharing advice and some account of what happened on a particular day. I didn't mean to pry, but I know now. You've been pretending to be Rick..." he paused for a long while, scratching his nape and fiddling with the corner of his white polo. "But why? Did something happen to him? Did," he sighed, "did he get captured?"

Mr. Meeseeks looked at this human. Eighteen, but still innocent. Poor kid, but no longer a kid. "Four years ago, Rick was trying to obtain a compound to create an accelerated bacterial culture machine, to cure your flu back then. The First revealed the place was rigged to hell and back with explosives, which had damaged Rick beyond help. He died right after instructing the First to protect you by all means."

Morty's breath hitched. Mr. Meeseeks wondered whether telling him was a good idea; but he already knew, partly. He deserved the whole picture.

"We did our best, but we were portraying a complex mad scientist with issues that no one can even guess at. We did our research, with little success. All we could do was guess based on your reactions. We could only live for so long, each Meeseeks, but our combined knowledge gave us enough insight to fit in somehow. The first and only priority was to keep up Rick's image to protect you, and to prevent getting you matched up with a Rick who won't treat you right. We meant no harm. If anything, we learned to love you. Hopefully as much or as little as the real Rick did."

Morty slid down along the shelf to the floor. Suddenly the world was blurred; suddenly, that blur cleared when he felt two fat teardrops collide against his wrinkled tuxedo pants. "You did great," he said, masking the hiccup with words.

Mr. Meeseeks picked up the can of beer it had taken earlier and downed all its contents. It gave Morty a few minutes to come to terms with the lie, dry out his eyes, and release the pent-up breath he'd been holding ever since...when was that? Mr. Meeseeks wish it knew, so it could punch the Previous who had left the journal in plain sight. More importantly, however, Morty was grieving, which Rick absolutely forbade. Did that mean it failed the quest? But in other words, did that mean the quest was finished?

Both of them looked up when they heard footsteps approach the garage. Mr. Meeseeks hurried to reactivate the hologram and kicked it back underneath the workstation. Summer peeked in, and with one glance her indifferent mask became one of excitement.

"What are we doing?" she said as she stepped in and closed the door. She had discarded the dress to don one of her old tank tops and capris. "One last hurrah before we forsake our childhood?" she added with a wink to Morty.

"Rick" watched Morty look up in absolute horror. Ha, the poor kid had always been this way. It was time for him to grow up, move on. Mr. Meeseeks had an inkling that it was its time to move on as well.

"Summer, could you leave us alone, please?" Morty pleaded in a voice that was too tiny to belong to an eighteen-year-old.

"No. Way. You haven't changed at all!" remarked Summer, swatting her brother's pleading arm from her own.

"Rick" didn't fail to notice the strained calm in Morty's voice. It had really come far, thanks to the shared knowledge through the years. It would recognize the hurt in Morty's words, since the Meeseeks itself, with this quest, was living proof that lies ripped the soul apart.

"Nothing's happening," Morty recited, "I'm going to college to pursue an ordinary life that I deserve, since I'm stupid, like everyone says."

Summer's face softened, but Morty went on:

"I owe so much to Rick, you know? A background of wonder at the universe; a keen interest in science, and the art of not giving a shit to anything that doesn't matter; a lifetime's worth of fun memories. But we can't bother him forever. We have to stand on our own feet," and thus saying, Morty stood up and dusted off his clothes, "and look forward, not back at all the good times we had."

"Rick" smirked. "Well said." It remembered the half-hearted journal entry it wrote earlier. That would be the last entry. The mission was over. It was free to die. But not now, not in front of Summer.

Summer looked as confused as she was annoyed. "What the hell are you talking about? It's not like the world is ending. Things are going to be different, but nothing has to change change," she finished with a pout." She looked to "Rick" for support, but the latter didn't respond to her cues for help. "Ugh! Whatever." Defeated, she yanked the access door open, cast the pair a scorned glare, and stomped out.

"Rick" had to chuckle at the way things turned out. The real Rick had been so concerned for Morty and discounted the fact that Morty was neither jaded nor weak, that he could still mature, much further than Rick.

"So I'm free now?" Mr. Meeseeks asked.

Morty nodded. "Yes...I think."

Mr. Meeseeks reached under the desk again for the hologram box to undo the charade one last time.

"Wait!" called Morty. He hesitantly approached "Rick" and, without warning, hugged it. The hologram fizzed and sputtered from the contact; Morty, eyes shut and tears streaming, didn't notice. Mr. Meeseeks wasn't as tall as Rick, was even thinner than Rick, didn't move like Rick now that he could observe the difference: but this image was Rick's last "gift" to him. Rick did care, despite everything he said.

Mr. Meeseeks let him have this moment. It carried the weight of the four years, and that burden was about to be lifted, as soon as Morty let go. Poor kid, crying on his graduation day. Well, such days meant both endings and beginnings. It's okay, one final kindness before sweet oblivion, Mr. Meeseeks consoled itself. When Morty, shoulders heaving with the effort to calm himself, finally released it, Mr. Meeseeks put the hologram box on top of the desk. It rummaged the drawers for the journal and placed it there too, along with the Meeseeks Box.

"Glad to help, Morty!" it saluted.

Morty watched the Last wave goodbye cheerfully, the first time he had seen "Rick" that "happy" about anything in four years.

As it vanished in a puff of smoke, its farewell rang clear, still in Rick's voice, "Take care of yourself! I'm Mr. Meeseeks! Look at meeee!"

END