Morty didn't move. For that first moment, all he did was glance at the screwdriver at the opposite end of the work bench. He shifted his attention from the screwdriver, to Rick, screwdriver, then finally back to Rick. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it when he saw Rick outstretch his hand. From past experiences, Morty knew very well that this was a good time to argue. 

Wordlessly, the teenager stepped further into the garage. His hand shook as he picked up the screwdriver and plopped the handle in Rick's palm. Between then and when the older man spoke next, Morty took the time to study his appearance. Rick certainly looked like he had been though a lot, but that wasn't where Morty's attention was. Rather, it was on his face. He squinted a bit, though he wasn't sure what he was looking for. Rick looked exactly the same as before. He looked like any other Rick.

Rick's next request snapped him out of his thoughts. Morty blinked, confused. "Uh..." Interrupted by Rick's sudden question, Morty followed his gaze up to the ceiling. Indeed, there was some faint patches of nicotine residue on it and the walls. "I-I think it was Mom," he said, his voice hoarse from not speaking for so long. 

"B-But, uh...Crystallized w-what?" He was sure he had heard it before, but at the state he was in he couldn't recall what it was Rick was talking about.