A/N: Italics = thoughts now cuz I just found out that the Notes app on iphone (where I always write) can do that shit so yeah here's your barf (also didnt get any responses for chapter 3 so i'll just use my best judgement).

Visiting came at last and Rick sits in a chair next to the back windows, bouncing his leg. People started signing in at the nurses station and Rick jumps up, looking for his family. He spots a familiar short kid in a yellow shirt and runs over to him. He grabs Morty's arm and drags him off to his room. Beth, Jerry, and Summer follow.

Rick shuts the door behind him and lets out a half-sigh half-scream. "Holy FUCK these tight asses are driving me crazy."

"Well, you kinda already were," Jerry smirks, proud of himself, earning a smack in the arm from Beth.

"Shove it up your ass, Jerry," Rick sneers and plops down on the bed.

Beth joins him and side hugs him. "I'm sorry, Dad. We're here to support you."

Morty sits on his other side and hangs on his arm affectionately. "Yeah, Rick."

"Oh stop with the lovey dovey bullshit, like, thanks and everything but no thanks," Rick rolls his eyes.

Summer sits on the desk.

Jerry sits in the chair next to her. "So are you gonna quit drinking now or what?"

"Hell no," Rick replies dismissively, glaring at him. "That's not the issue."

"Then what is?!" Jerry snaps.

"Jerry!" Beth exclaims and touches her pointer finger to her lips angrily. "Dad, maybe that's not your main problem, but it is a problem," she turns to her father with a sad look.

"Oh, come on, Beth. It's gotten me this far, and that's saying something."

Morty pipes up. "Hey, Rick?"

Everyone looks at him.

He puts his arm back in his signature awkward position behind his head. "I want you to quit."

"Shut the fuck up, Morty," Rick says coldly.

He sees his grandson's eyes well up with tears.

Rick sighs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Still pretty irritable.. I'm not used to this and this place doesn't help."

"I thought that was the point, though, helping?" Jerry says.

"Yeah," Rick spits bitterly. "Supposedly."

"Well, uh, what's so wrong about this place? Everything seems okay, I donno," Morty says quietly.

"Yeah, it seems fine 'n' dandy to anyone who doesn't have to stay here for weeks. But, hey," Rick punches Morty's arm playfully, not feeling like working himself up to explain it. "I play my cards right and I'll be outta here in 6 days or less."

"Dad," Beth says, concern in her eyes. "I don't want you to just do whatever just to get out of here, please just try to listen and-"

"Don't you think I've tried, Beth," He asks, exasperated. "I've been here before."

Everyone looks surprised. "When?" His daughter asks.

Rick lets out a frustrated breathe of air. "Back when I was still with your mother."

She nods, looking straight ahead.

"And, hey, Beth?" Rick asks sheepishly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I left you there all those years ago. There was more to it than you know, but I'm sorry."

"Oh, Dad," She hugs him tightly and pulls back with tears in her eyes.

He knows apologizing doesn't make it okay. He knows nothing can ever repair any of the damage he's caused, to Beth or anyone else. He looks at all his family's faces.

Summer and Morty solemn, Beth smiling sadly to her hands in her lap, and Jerry being the asshole he is, glaring at him.

"Well, anyway," Rick breaks the silence, picking at a scabbing cut on his arm. "Did anyone bring my shit?"

Beth nods. "I gave it to the nurses at the front. They said they have to search it."

"Okay," Rick says, relieved. "The books too?"

"Yeah, I found a couple Asimovs in your room, but I didn't wanna dig around in your things," Beth says.

"Oh thank god," Rick breathes. Issac Asamov will save him from this crippling boredom, although he's read every one he owns multiple times. "So, Morty! What kind of adventures are we gonna go on when I get outta here, how 'bout a visit to Bird Person?"

Morty smiles and squeezes his grandpa's arm. "Yeah, that'd be good."

They joke and laugh until visiting ends and the staff deliver his belongings to the room.

They say their goodbyes and Rick gives Morty an affectionate hair tussle. He didn't want them to go but he took a deep breath and shuffled back to his room, hiding his sinking heart.

It was day 2 in the loonie bin and shit was seriously testing Rick. Greenie the weenie is depressing as shit and doesn't even try to hide it, a cooky old guy older than him wanders around babbling, two middle aged ladies do nothing but whisper to each other, and everyone else is quiet and boring. Although, Rick has kept to his room for the most part, coming out to nibble food and to pretend he's participating for a while. At least he had his clothes back, especially the lab coat. He felt weird without /

This morning they'd made him wait in a line for medication. When his turn came he threw them back and quickly hid them in his cheek before lifting his tongue for the nurse to look. They don't check all that thoroughly.

Later, he emerges for lunch call and goes down to the cafeteria with everyone. He waits in the line outside the cafeteria for all the teenagers to get upstairs. Most of them are talkative but separated by gender. The adults enter and wait in line for shitty frozen-in-bulk food.

Rick sits down at a table in the back by himself and pokes his mush with his fork; mashed sweet potatoes, cooked spinach, and lasagna. A chair scrapes the floor next to him and looks up to see Eve, the green girl. He ignores her and returns to playing with his food. She sits silently and eats a few minutes before speaking up.

"Hey," She says.

"Hm?" Rick looks up.

"Why are you so quiet?"

"Eh, nothing to say," He replies simply and returns to his food.

"You're in your room a lot, y'know they don't like that, right?"

He continues staring at the food he's mashing around and says. "Well, how much don't they like it?"

She pauses. "Well, I feel like they might make you stay out of your room if you keep leaving groups. So they hate it."

He looks up, eyebrows knitted. "They do that?"

"Yeah, it's happened to me twice. And then if you get pissed at them for it they'll put you in the 'quiet room'," she warns with air quotes. "Actually, that goes for anytime you get pissed."

"Well, aren't you the expert," Rick says sarcastically, even though he was mildly intrigued. He'd been in that shitty box for days last time.

She shrugs sheepishly. "Eh, sortof. This is my tenth time in a place like this I think."

Rick raises an eyebrow. "How?"

"Well," She says, making gestures with her plastic fork as she spoke. "Shit started when I was pretty young, so I didn't catch on that these places are never here to help, they just hold you 'til they've sedated you enough or you lie enough."

Rick laughs mirthlessly. "You're still pretty young, kid, but you know the breaks."

"Yeah, I guess," She says with a crooked smile. "I meant like even younger. I was fourteen, but I've seen people whose shit hit the fan even younger."

Rick sighs sadly. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it really does. My high school transcript is a pile of shit because of it, plus I don't really know what I'm like as an adult because I've always been like this."

Rick takes a reluctant fork full of sweet potato into his mouth. Too sweet. Nothing tastes good. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," She says, taking a swig of water.

"Shit, man..."

She gives a tiny insincere laugh. "Them's the breaks, right?"

"Damn straight, kid. Damn straight."

Damn straight depressing. But with all the loony old people around he figured the kid could use a friend at least for now. Plus, she seemed like she knew a thing or two about this and that. The ward returns to their rooms after the meal and Rick lays on his bed, staring out the window next to it blankly. Everything sucks.

"Jesus christ I need a drink," Rick mumbles to himself, annoyed with the world.

"You 'n' me both, man," his room mate replies from the other bed, lying under the covers and facing the other way.

Rick states in groups and to the psychiatrist over the next couple days that he regrets what he did and feels much more clear-headed. Staff always nod and ask questions like "how would you rate your safety scale" and "what would you do if you went home today?"

He lies and remains the "perfect patient" for three days, coming to the idiotic groups more, being quiet, obeying everything (or appearing to be).

On the morning of day 4, he asks the psychiatrist when he'll get home. The "doctor" tells him not to worry about it and focus on treatment. Rick bristles but remains polite with moderate restraint.

Rick waits for meds, fakes them out, checks in positively, and goes down to breakfast.

Couple more days, he thinks, just a couple more days.

He gets his over cooked frozen pancakes and sits in hi usual spot in back. Eve joins him.

"Hey, buddy," She says, taking a seat.

Rick nods. "Hey."

"Isn't this syrup awful? It's not even maple syrup, it's just dyed corn syrup," She complains, attempting to cut the pancakes with the edge of her fork (no knives allowed, even plastic). "Damn I need a cigarette. These patches don't hold you off forever."

Rick shrugs, stabbing a whole pancake in the middle and biting a piece off. Cutting it is too much work. "Yeah, I used to smoke way back when."

"Why'd you stop?" She asks curiously.

"Smoke breaks took too much time. Didn't like the naggin' need for a smoke."

"Don't you drink? I saw you in the AA group."

Rick looks away. "It's kindof a different thing."

Eve shrugs. "I gotchu."

"Aren't you only eighteen though?" He asks with an eyebrow raised, knowing her answer already.

She laughs mirthlessly. "Yeah, but I've got connections!"

"Mm," Rick grunts and takes another piece from the fork.

Day 5:

"Ugh, these assholes spewing rainbow sunshine vomit all day, it makes me fuckin' SICK!" Rick complains to his family during visiting.

"What does that mean?" Morty asks, confused.

"Ugh. It MEANS these self-righteous idiots don't know what they're talking about. Optimism isn't the god damn answer to everything," Rick mumbles, sitting on his foam slab. "And that control freak psycho who calls himself a doctor isn't even listening to me."

"Dad, I'm sure he's listening, he just-" Beth tries to state but Rick interrupts angrily.

"Just what, Beth? Just WHAT!?"

"They're here to help, they're not your enemies and neither are we!"

"Wow," Rick rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "Are you really pretending that I'm just a paranoid, stubborn child? Are you purposely trying to annoy me, Beth. Because you're doing great. Add that to your resume."

"I'm not trying to say anything like that, okay?" She says, searching for the right words. "It's just maybe you're too close to the situation to see that you... You..."

"Great talk, honey," Rick says flatly and stands. "Welp! Who's up for some poker! Huh, Morty?"

"Uh, sure, Rick. But don't we need chips or something?" Morty says, slightly put off, considering they'd never had a family game night or anything before.

"We can improvise," Rick says. Picking up an empty foam cup from the desk he and his room mate share and proceeds to rip pieces off. "Foam is 20, paper's 10, and, uh.." He looks around for something else to use. "Ah," He walks over to the bed and rips a strip of fabric from the sheet. "Cheap ass fabric is 5."

"Dad!" Beth scowls at his damage of property.

"It's fine, Beth, people rip the sheets all the time, that's part of why they're so shitty," Rick assures her, focused on ripping everything and making need piles. "Let's all start out with 5 20s, 10 10s, and 15 5s."

Everyone sits on the floor in a circle and plays cards in between casual conversation and wise cracks. Nothing to do but cards, really, so Rick savors the time with them, the slightest taste of normal, of freedom, of happiness.

"I'VE BEEN IN THIS HELL HOLE FOR 6 DAYS NOW AND YOU WON'T EVEN TELL ME WHEN YOU'LL RELEASE ME FROM THIS FUCKING PRISON YOU CALL A HOSPITAL YOU'RE A FUCKING SELF-RIGHTEOUS CUNT BAG!" Rick bellows in the psychiatrist's office on the morning of day 7. He couldn't take it anymore.

Two nurses open the door and enter, one holding the door open.

Rick stands and shoves two middle fingers in the doc's face.

"I've asked you to leave politely." The Indian man says calmly and condescendingly (as they always do).

"Oh! You think that's polite?!" Rick faux laughs loudly. "You're a DICK! Go FUCK yourself!" He leaves the room fuming and returns to his room stiffly.

Nurses and techs follow him, commanding him to go to "the quiet room". He stops, takes a deep breath, turns around, and trudges back, eyes squinting incredulously in annoyance. Fine. Fine. It's better than the alternative. He sits in the small, empty windowless room on the single item in the room; a shitty foam rectangle.

This is fine, it'll be over soon. Over soon? He shakes his head vigorously (for once no excruciating headache as a result). No no no. Don't even fuckin' start. There's no way out right now so don't even think about it.. No way out? No way out no way out no way out no way out-

He repeats in his head as he flops face down on the makeshift mattress, eyes wide in horror. He bunches two fistfuls of sheets, knuckles white.

Nothing ever works! I always wake up! Now I can't even try now I can't even numb everything I HAVE TO THINK AND THESE ASSHOLES ARE THE LAST HOPE FOR ALL THESE PEOPLE AND ALL THEY DO IS PUNISH AND GIVE ORDERS AND OH GOD WHY IS THE WORLD LIKE THIS WHY AM I LIKE THIS!

He bites his lip 'til it bleeds, then stops and savors the taste, because he knows there's a camera right above /

Die cut die cut die cut die cut okay okay stop stop. You have to calm down. There's no other option. Calm. Calm. Calm.br /

Rick takes shaky breathes and squeezes his eyes shut.

Slow breathing. It's okay it's not okay IT'S OKAY it's NOT!

He can't take it.

He bolts upright and screams at the top of his lungs. Nurses come in but he doesn't stop. He puts his head in his hands, screaming over and over and over. They're telling him to calm down. That he has to calm down or they'll have to give him medication.

He stops abruptly, his breath caught in his throat.

"Rick," A female nurse says coldly. "Pills or needle."

"Pills. Pills," He croaks quickly.

He looks up. There must've been a dozen nurses and techs looming over him. He fucked up. Suppressing every aspect of yourself does that to a person. He shakes quietly, staring at the floor in front of him.

They're going to silence me. There's no way out. Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep-

He repeats, willing himself not to think about waking up to the abusive system he and all the other sick people in all these places are forced to live under.

Go to sleep go to sleep go to sleep-

A nurse hands him pills and a cup of water. He takes them and watches the water in the foam cup ripple in his shaking hand. He takes a deep, hitching breath and downs the sedatives. Gently and slowly, he puts down the cups on the floor and lays back, eyes still wide staring at the ceiling.

They leave and he stares, repeating his three words, until nothing comes again.

Rick wakes up groggily lying on his back. I guess I've got to pick my battles. I can't keep everything about me hidden for weeks. That's just a lot, I guess.

But he's bitter. So bitter. And his heart is in his stomach. He's mad at himself. And he's mad at the world. He's infuriated with everything.

He sits up, blinking, not used to this kind of anger. Or whatever it was.

It felt blank. Well, not blank. Kind of empty? He felt heavy and tired physically. So he lays back down, mind blissfully blank for now, and rests. He doesn't sleep. Just lies there. For a long, long time.