Disclaimer: I do not own "Rick and Morty".

Author's Note: This chapter considered a bit of research. If I have any medical stuff that could be corrected, and you are a Nurse or a Doctor who knows for certain what happens in this kind of situation, please let me know and I will correct and edit this "Author's Note". Otherwise, Please let me know if the characters are true to themselves. (If not, how could they be changed in the future?) Thanks for reading and providing feedback if you already have, and as well as for those that will in the future; it is always much appreciated. This was not an easy chapter to write as this is a very unusual situation for anyone to be in (and probably wouldn't ever be seen on the show). However, this is a very challenging story, which takes the characters extremely out of their comfort zones, and it is one I have been wanting to explore.

Warning: Contains references to suicide, and severe alcoholism.

Spoilers: "Auto-Erotic Assimilation", Season 2, Episode 3

CHAPTER 2

It was strange, but Morty was actually glad to have his sister around for once. Her being there with him, as they waited in the otherwise empty lobby for their parents to arrive, showed that she-maybe?-really did care.

The best part was that Summer somehow knew he didn't want to talk about what was happening to Rick. She just sat there and kept him company. That was enough for Morty. He couldn't imagine going through all this by himself. What would he do if Rick didn't make it? He couldn't bare to think of the alternative. It just wasn't possible. Rick had stood up to creatures he'd never knew could exist and survived. Something as stupid as too much alcohol couldn't kill him...could it?

"Mom! Dad!" Summer's relief spoke for the both of them as they saw Beth and Jerry running towards them down the hall.

Morty usually hated getting hugged in public, but this was different. He let his mom give him a hug. Her mascara was smeared all over her face. She was crying. It hurt. Stung him, someplace deep inside. He wanted to pull away and forget that all of this was happening. He wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not now. Not ever. He was dead inside.

"What in the hell happened?" Jerry looked awestruck to be in the hospital. He kept looking around in a daze, before turning to face his son. "Are you okay, Morty?" He was holding Morty by the shoulders but Morty wouldn't face him. "Please, son, please tell us what happened."

"Un...er...he was passed out and….I dunno...I had to do something, he wasn't moving when I shook him s-s-s-so I called 911. I-he wasn't moving. I didn't know what else to do, Dad-" Morty didn't realize he was shivering until his father held him close, and Morty suddenly realized he missed being held. His father hadn't hugged him like this since he was a little kid. His father spoke soothing words, tousling his hair, telling him, "It's okay son, you did the right thing."

The right thing. Morty shuddered and bit his lip, wincing as he drew blood. The tears solidified in his throat. He wanted to go find a bathroom and empty his stomach. But there was nothing to empty. He hadn't eaten lunch that day. He'd been too worried about his math test. That was when life was easier, Morty knew now; that was when it was okay to talk about your problems.

Footsteps echoing in the hallway drew nearer, and Morty felt his father's hands loosen as they all stood and found a young doctor with rusty-colored hair walking towards them. He was so young, Morty wondered if he'd just gotten out of medical school; this was the guy who was going to take care of Rick?

"Are you the Smiths?" asked the Doctor. "A Morty Smith signed for Mr. Rick Sanchez. Which one of you is Morty Smith?"

Timidly Morty raised his hand. "I'm him."

"You got your grandfather here just in time son," the doctor appraised him, and Morty felt the knot loosen a bit with relief. (Thank Goodness-Rick was alive!) "Any more time and he might not be with us."

"What happened to him?" Beth choked out tearfully. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Acute alcohol poisoning is the official diagnosis," the doctor explained brusquely, "his BAC, or blood alcohol level, was through the roof when he got here-"

"That son-of-a-b!tch," Jerry whispered through clenched teeth, "I'm gonna kill him!"

"-It appears he ingested some strange yellow chemical as well, and, uh, we're still trying to identify what that is. He also took some narcotics."

"What the hell," Jerry seethed. "He's gone completely bananas-"

"Shut up Jerry!" Beth snapped through clenched teeth. "You're making it worse!"

"There's still a ways to go but we've gotten Mr. Sanchez stable with fluids and are in the process of removing the toxic substances from his system. We pumped his stomach to get rid of the narcotics and are removing the alcohol through a tracheal tube."

"Oh my God-Dad," Beth whimpered and started to cry.

"The tracheal tube will be removed soon," the doctor added at the first sight of tears. "He will need to be monitored for at least 24 hours under hospital supervision. I suggest you let him rest and come back tomorrow. He is sedated right now as he was very aggressive on the ride over here."

"Oh great," Jerry snapped, "I see a lawsuit coming on."

"He didn't hurt anyone, Mr. Smith," Dr. Stark replied in a gentle tone, "there's no need to worry; nobody's asking for lawyers. You'll be just fine."

Morty cringed at that, wondering what his father would think if he had been there to witness Rick attempting to drunkenly fight off two EMTs as they struggled to strap him back down to the stretcher. They had finally managed to sedate him before the ambulance pulled into the hospital's entranceway, but only after Rick had managed to leave two shirts soaked with vomit, as well as possibly permanent scars and at least one black eye.

"We've got him covered for tonight. There's really nothing to do right now except let time run its course. If all goes well, he should be recovered enough to have visitors soon and can probably go home in a day or so." Then, the doctor suddenly turned serious. "Mr. Smith, why don't you take your children home? They've had quite a rough evening. Mrs. Sanchez, before you all leave, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I'll be okay, Jerry," Beth nodded in return to her husband's concerned and questioning eyes. "You call a cab and take the kids home."

"Are….are you sure...Beth?" Jerry looked like he had a few questions himself.

"Yes," Beth nodded, wiping her eyes and standing with a determined look on her face. "I'll be just fine."

"But Mom-" Summer started to protest.

"Go home, honey, it's okay," Beth insisted.

Morty tried not to listen to the doctor's words as he followed his father and sister too quickly out the door. "Now tell me, Mrs. Smith...does your father have a history of depression?"

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That night, Morty had a dream.

In the dream, he was swimming through the endless void of space. Cats of all different kinds were everywhere. Spinning and floating through the endless universe full of debris. He knew this was the end. There was nobody coming to save him. There was no Rick. There was no God. "I'm okay with this." He said the words to no one, knowing no one would answer. He shut his eyes tightly, resigned to the endless infinity of nothingness. "Be better than me, Morty," he spoke to the void.

Be better than me.

With a start, Morty woke, gasping and shivering, nearly completely covered in his own sweat. With a shudder he remembered the sacrifices. All those Morties whose collars hadn't worked. He wasn't just dreaming this time. He was speaking as Rick.

Morty threw off his bed covers and walked as fast as his feet would allow without causing the floorboards to creak down the hallway to his sisters room.

"Eeek! Morty, what the hell, it's...whaaa...what time is it?!" If there was one major thing Sumer hated besides people who didn't appreciate her wardrobe, it was people who woke her up out of a good sleep. And after days like today she sorely needed it. The only thing that made it even worse was her brother, looking down at her, shivering and clutching his stomach, his face contorted by shadows in the darkness of her bedroom. "Morty!" she snapped, "what are you doing in here? Don't you know what time it is?! I need my beauty rest!"

"I-I-I-" Morty's teeth clashed against each other. He felt feverish. He needed to sit down, and he knew Summer hated him sitting on her bed.

"Morty…." Summer turned the lamp on and the look on her brother's face left her speechless. "Morty...what the hell?"

"Summer…" Morty sank on to the bed and buried his face in his hands.

"What, Morty?" Summer, to his surprise, had placed a hand on his back. "What is it?" She never touched me...ever….only to kick me or slap me. Never like this.

Morty felt a shudder rush through him and he hugged his knees tight. "I...I don't think what happened was an accident, Summer…" He couldn't look her in the eyes, but somehow, in the silence, he knew at once she understood.

After a moment, she confirmed his suspicions. "I know, Morty," said Summer softly, and there was a sadness in her voice that he'd never heard before. She let her hand drop from his shoulder to take hold of his hand. Morty was never more grateful for human contact as he was at that moment, as they both stared out into the shadows beyond the light that the lamp provided. "I know."