It was in the early hours of the morning when Morty awoke from a particularly nasty dream about King Jellybean. He could feel those hands roughly pinning him against the sink and the saliva dripping from his mouth onto Morty's face. Morty scratched violently where he could still feel the drool, leaving red marks all over his face.

His heart was still racing as he jumped out of bed. He didn't know what he was doing, but he needed to do something. He had to take the pain away somehow.

Morty froze. He needed to cut.

He looked around the room frantically for anything sharp, and his eyes landed on the picture frame Rick had brought him. It was supposed to comfort him, but all it did was make him sick. In anger, he threw it down. The glass broke, and he quickly picked up a piece and ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Morty sunk to the floor and leaned back against the wall. Tears were flowing freely from his eyes. He needed to cut the memory of hands roaming all over him away. He roughly pressed the piece of glass into his skin and dragged.

He wasn't trying to die like last time, so he only drew shallow, horizontal lines. Still, it was enough to make his blood trickle down his arm, staining his clothes. By the time he had forgotten about King Jellybean, he was a sobbing, bloody mess.

He could hear Rick's voice in his head. 'Promise me you'll talk to me if you feel like doing this to yourself,' he had said.

'I will,' Morty had replied.

Guilt and shame came over him as he realized what he had done. He wasn't at home. He couldn't just clean the cuts up himself. He was going to have to tell a nurse. Rick was going to find out, and it was going to break his heart.

Morty sighed. He was always screwing up. It felt like that was all he could do.

He had a wire around his neck that had a call button for emergencies. Deciding that this was one, he pressed it and waited for the nurse to arrive.

It wasn't long before a gentle voice called out his name. "In here," Morty replied. The nurse opened the bathroom door and sighed sadly at the sight in front of her.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

The nurse knelt down in front of him and began rubbing an anti-infection cream into his cuts. It stung, but Morty held a straight face. She bandaged his arms gently, and Morty tried not to cry. He was letting everyone down. He was letting Rick down.

She held out her hand, and Morty gave her the piece of glass. When she left the room, Morty leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. A few tears trickled out. He just wanted this whole nightmare to be over, to go home, and to be better.

He heard the nurse cleaning up the glass mess and sighed. Now he would have no way to cut. Perhaps that was for the best. He'd seen the pain in Rick's face when he looked at Morty's scars. It hurt to think that he could cause others pain when he only wanted to hurt himself.

Morty stood up with new determination. He was going to get better, if not for himself, then at least for his family. They deserved better.

Rick was in good spirits as he picked up a plate of pancakes for Morty and stepped through the portal to the hospital. "Hey, Morty!" he said cheerfully. "I brought you a surprise."

"Gee, th-thanks Rick," Morty stuttered, not moving from his bed.

Rick narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Morty was holding his arms behind his back and had an ashamed look on his face. Rick sighed, put the pancakes down on Morty's nightstand, and sat down next to the boy. "You cut again, didn't you?" he asked.

Morty placed his bandaged arms in his laps. "I'm sorry," he said meekly, holding back tears.

Rick pulled him into a comforting hug. "It's ok, Morty," he said. "Relapse is just a part of recovery. You're note letting me down."

He held Morty closer as the boy started to cry. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I know I promised you I wouldn't do it, but I did."

"Shhh, it's alright," Rick said gently. "It happened, it's over, so don't beat yourself up about it. Learn from it."

Morty pulled out of the hug so he could look Rick in the eye. "How are you so calm about this?" he asked.

Rick sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Depression runs in the family, kid," he said. "Your mom and I? We turned to alcohol. You turned to cutting."

Morty nodded, considering Rick's words. "I'm gonna get better for you," he said. "I promise."

Rick smiled sadly. "I'm glad to hear that, kiddo, but I want you to want to get better for yourself too."

Morty's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You have to want to live for you. Not for me. Not for your family. You."

"I guess I understand," Morty said with a nod.

"And I promise you, you'll get there. You're just a little sick right now, and that's okay, because the universe is crazy and chaotic, and it's okay to not be okay sometimes. I'm not okay sometimes. No one is okay all the time.

Morty's eyes welled up with tears. "Thank you," he said. "I've been trying so hard not to be ashamed of feeling this way."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Rick told him while ruffling his hair. "I love you, Morty."

"Are you just saying that because my therapist told you too?" Morty asked skeptically.

"I'm saying it because it's true," Rick said. "And because I know I can be mean, but I can't allow my grandson to think I don't love him."

Morty smiled brightly and wrapped his arms around Rick. A warm feeling flooded through him as he returned the hug. "Thanks, grandpa Rick."

"Now, you better eat these pancakes I brought you before they get too soggy."