Disclaimer: I don't own "Rick and Morty".

Author's Note: A scene from this was inspired by a scene in Season 2's episode "Get Schwifty". I had planned something like this before watching the Season 2 Finale, so, if you've seen the Finale, you might see why it was kind of hard to write. I had to do it though...Thanks for all my readers, I appreciate each and every one of you! Hope you like where this is going! (And, as usual, if anyone seems out of character, or something doesn't work for you, please kindly let me know; it's how we improve as writers and as people in everyday life.) Happy readings! Cheers!

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...Somewhere in Space...

Morty had seen a lot of shit, and been scared plenty of times, but he had never felt quite as terrified as he did in this very moment. The look on Rick's face was one he'd never seen before. It was a strange mixture of crazed and calm, of determination and resignation, and Morty suddenly realized that his life might actually be in danger, and that the very source of that danger was the person he trusted most in the entire world.

"Rick! What the h-h-h-hell, Man!" Morty's stutter always got worse when he was scared, and right now, he was petrified. He was trapped in this metal contraption, and it didn't seem like Rick was even aware that he was there at all. Rick's eyes, half glazed over, half bloodshot, were focused dead-center ahead of them, and while he had a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, his wrists were shaking every few seconds, and the ship wobbled along with them, turning Morty's stomach inside and out. "L-let me outta this thing, Rick, and turn us the heck around! N-n-n-NOW!"

Rick didn't answer him, and Morty shut his eyes, trying hard not to hyperventilate. The ship was weaving back and forth, and he was almost certain he might vomit if this continued. "RICK! We g-g-gotta go back! M-my parents think you kidnapped me, Rick!" Morty was not only terrified of Rick's complete apathy towards the situation, but he was also seething with anger as well. What could Rick possibly be thinking, forcing him into all this-it was the middle of the night, for Chrissakes-and scaring his poor parents to death like that? "W-w-what the hell is wrong with you Rick? They th-think that you lost your mind or something! Y-y-you're not even supposed to be here, you're supposed to be at the hospital, y-y-you almost died! Th-th-they think you kidnapped me and-"

"Newsflash, Morty." Rick turned vacant eyes towards him, his mouth a thin firm line devoid of drool. "I did kidnap you. And I may be losing my mind. But you know what M-Morty? None of that matters now. Because you're going to do what I tell you to do. You're going to listen up r-reaaaal good now, M-Morty! I'm going to let you ou-outta that thing, and you're gonna grab me some booze from the back of this ship, and we're gonna get the f*** outta here-and we're n-not going back."

Morty gaped at Rick, utterly dumbfounded, barely able to comprehend what Rick had just announced; never before had he heard Rick's voice so calm and burpless. "W-what? That's crazy! W-we have to go back, Rick! Th-this is nuts!"

"Morty," Rick slowly turned back to face his grandson, blinking once, then twice, as slow as a turtle, and this time Morty could see how drained of color his grandfather's face was. He might as well have been a ghost. "You're gonna listen up, Morty," his grandfather declared, "and you're gonna do what I say and no complaints, because if you disrespect me one more time, you're gonna stay in there for a long long time. Now, I'm gonna take off those restraints, and you're g-gonna go back there, and you're gonna see a hatch. Now listen carefully, inside that hatch, is my emergency stash. You're gonna get me a handful of bottles from that stash Morty, and then eeeeverything will be just fine and dandy, okay, there, Morty?"

Morty pursed his lips together with frustration. The metal clamps were beginning to dig into his wrists, and he was so fatigued from the whole ordeal that the idea of getting up and doing anything might as well have been a pipe dream. He glowered at his captor and declared in a low, firm voice, as fierce as he could muster: "NO Rick….I'm. Not. Doing. It."

A heavy silence pervaded the cabin, during which Rick's lips seemed to disappear altogether. They were speeding along at a faster pace, and Morty was beginning to seriously doubt whether there was any sanity left in Rick's already psychotic brain. Maybe if he pretended to get the booze, then somehow commandeer the ship? (It was pretty risky; he might have to even punch Rick out first.)

"OK, listen up you little shit," Rick snapped, "You're not gonna play fair? Ok, well, then neither am I. You have at least sixty seconds to change your mind. See that planet over there? See how close we are?"

Morty could see a lush planet to their right, at which the ship was slowly turning its nose to face towards directly. His stomach dropped as a feeling of utter dread took hold. Something was coming and he definitely was not going to like it. Seconds later two more restraints clamped tightly around his ankles, and Morty cried out in pain as Rick pressed a button on the dashboard, before sitting back idly into his chair, placing his hands comfortably behind his head.

"That's our mark, Morty. All you gotta do is say the word, and get my booze, and I'll let you go, got it? You have sixty seconds to change your mind. Ready-set-GO!"

Like a train veering out of control, the ship was suddenly in overdrive, spiraling through space towards the planet Rick had set as their destination, and Morty was seeing his entire life flashing before his eyes: his unearned diploma, his unwed wife, his unborn children….he was the new Roy, except the game was his life, and he'd already played the game, except this time there was no rules, and they were about to make impact in

"T-minus 10 seconds Morty!" Rick was shouting above the unrestrained, almost deafening roar of the engine, the emergency alarms beeping and sending bright red flashing lights spinning in circles, leaving spots on Morty's vision, "it's now or never, Morty! What's it gonna be!?"

Morty shut his eyes and braced himself for impact.

"Five!" Rick was crowing like a delighted child on Christmas morn, "Four! Three Two….ONE!"

Morty's hands flew above his head and everything turned to black.

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He could move.

This was the first thought that sparked in Morty's brain: he could actually move, and that hadn't been the case before. Why? He couldn't really remember; something had kept his legs and arms and body rigid in their position for...how long? He couldn't recall that either. Was he alone? Maybe he should see if his lips could move. "Sssss…." He wanted to shout "Somebody please help," but the words just wouldn't come out. His whole body ached, and he couldn't see straight; everything was just a blend of different shades of color wherever he looked. He felt something hard under his back (dirt?); he felt cold metal against his skin. Smoke from an unknown source filled his lungs, causing him to hack and wheeze. He knew he shouldn't try to move, because whenever he managed to move a muscle, pain shot instantaneously in all directions, leaving him immediately spent from exhursion.

So he lay there, letting his chest struggle to breath, noises from unknown sources leaving his ears and his head both ringing, wondering if he was alone….or worse, completely and utterly all by himself.

RICK! The thought finally came to him with a desperate urgency as he remembered suddenly, albeit vaguely, that he had been in the spaceship with Rick last he could recall. The visions weren't clear by any means; they sputtered and spit, and he could hardly remember Rick saying where they were going, or why they were there. "R-r-r-rrrrr…." Talking was useless, and his head fell back against...whatever he was lying on. His chest was caving with each haggard breath; he was panicking, and that was dangerous; he mustn't panic, because if he did, it might be his last dying breath.

He was outside. The realization hit him as he felt the sun's hot beams baking his battered skin. He fought to slow his breathing, struggled to welcome the warmth of the sun as his fingers spread out against the soft dirt and grass where he lay, and tears of anguish and frustration leaked from Morty's eyes. Where in the heck was Rick….when he needed him most?

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Back on Earth, Beth was having a panic attack of her own, within good reason: her father had just kidnapped her son, and they were now running off to God-knows-where, and there was no telling what state her father could possibly be in. She paced back and forth between drinks straight from the bottle, trying desperately to ignore the worried faces of both Jerry and now Summer (who was now awake due to the chaos of the whole unfortunate ordeal).

"Mom!" Summer pleaded, trying to stand in front of her mother to get her attention (Beth was having none of it, and kept right on pacing) Summer persisted. "Just-chill-okay!" Summer demanded, stamping her foot with fists clenched in protest, "Grandpa Rick wouldn't do anything to hurt Morty! He'll bring him back! Okay?"

"NO it's not okay!" Beth screamed to her daughter and, to both Summer and Jerry's bewilderment, burst again into tears, the wine bottle slipping from her hand to the floor and shattering in a dozen pieces, the wine splashing everywhere. "Ohhhh...oh God what have I done?" Beth whimpered, crouching down towards the glass. "Oh….Dad….what did you do?"

"Beth! Get away from there! You'll cut yourself!" Jerry crouched down next to her and clasped her hand, yanking her upwards.

"I can handle sharp objects Jerry!" Beth snapped with unusual rage, "I'm a surgeon, remember?!"

Jerry held his hands up in a truce. "Okay, okay! Forget it, honey, I was only trying to help you-"

"I can't believe you told him he couldn't come back!" Beth, hands trembling, moved to get a dustpan and broom. "Now he's taken Morty and I have no idea where they've gone to, or if they're ever coming back at all-" She bent to start sweeping up the glass, but even that task took too much out of her and she slumped backwards against the cabinet doors. "Here," Beth, resigned, held the dustpan and broom up towards her unusually quiet husband. "You do it….I'm done."

"Mom?" Summer questioned, as her mother swiped a tissue from the counter, dabbing at her eyes as she walked briskly out of the kitchen without an answer.

"She'll...be okay," Jerry reasoned, placing a reassuring hand on his daughter's shoulder. "They'll come back." He paused for a second, and Summer could tell he was worried as he added haltingly, "right…?"

Summer winced at the question. She hoped that, for once, her father was right.

Together they helped clean up the mess.

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Morty must have slept a thousand years, but he didn't feel at all rested from it. The sun was making him sleepier still, and he was almost certain he tasted blood on his tongue. How long had he been lying like this? Hours? Days? Weeks maybe, even?

Suddenly, the heat had disappeared-it was as though even the sun had left him, too-and Morty shivered in the damp coolness that replaced it. It was as though a shadow had blocked out the sun, looming over him like a giant. This is it, Morty thought; this is how I am going to die….

He was ready. He looked up at the shadow above. "Take me," he whispered, and closed his eyes.

To his amazement, Death spoke: and to his surprise, its voice was soft and gentle, almost...warm, like a soothing cloth on his forehead his mom used when he was ill.

"I can see that you are in immense pain and have suffered greatly," the voice said in a calm and authoritative manner. "Do not be afraid." He felt a hand on his pulse, a warm smooth finger, and Morty almost wept at such a human touch. (Could Death really be so kind?)

"There is not much time," the voice continued, and suddenly he was being lifted, and held against soft skin and….feathers? Were angels real? "You will both be in my care for now." The voice continued to speak, but he couldn't understand what the voice was saying-and suddenly he felt himself rising faster, and faster, and almost felt himself falling down at the same time. He was flying...flying amongst the clouds...the soft pillow-like feathers cradled against his skin lulling him to sleep, like the memory of lullabies from a distant dream that, try though he might, he could never remember.