This is fucking stupid, Rick thought to himself. Stressing out over a dumb kid's response to a request? How idiotic and overdramatic was that? Especially with that dumbass meddler alien elevating the already superfluous concern.

Rick pierced the thick fog of his scrambled thoughts by setting a task that needed to be completed; getting more booze.

Rick dove into a cooler he kept hidden under his workbench and ripped out the first bottle of alcohol he saw from its bed of ice. It was a dark green wine type bottle that held alien hieroglyphic letters on the maroon label. He would have just popped the cork off and started guzzling it down, if he didn't feel the weight change in the glass container.

"The hell?" Rick murmured to himself. He gave the bottle a quick shake. The fluid inside sloshed around quicker than usual. He'd only opened this bottle once, and knew there was more left in it than that.

Was someone drinking his booze behind his back? But that couldn't be the case. Only he knew where his stash was.

Nothing was making sense that night. First, Morty declines an adventure, them he gets pried open by a nosy traveler, now his miracle liquid was getting stolen? Rick wasn't in the mood for figuring it out yet, so he gulped down the remaining alcohol in the bottle, dug out another container of booze, one that held an amber liquid resembling scotch, refilled his flask, then drank the rest of the fluid from that bottle too.

It was late at night in this dimension, so when Rick was ready to go to bed, he tried his best to lightly tread to his room. After he softly closed his door, he threw off his lab coat, not really caring where it landed, and crashed into his cot, it squeaking on impact. Rick put his head down and closed his eyes, trying to simulate sleep until the alcohol and exhaustion finally pulled him into the blissful state of unconsciousness.

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Rick trudged to the coffee pot the next morning. He'd need some caffeine to get through the hangover that appeared from last night's binge. When he found the coffee machine, he pulled out a mug from the adjacent cabinet and reached for the coffee pot only to find his hand making contact with Morty's shirt.

"Morty?" Rick slurred. "I've never seen you here before."

Morty poured his coffee and turned around. On his way to the table, Rick snatched a glance at his grandson's face. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Jerry looked up from his newspaper at Morty eating his eggs like a zombie. "Morty, are you okay?"

"Um, yeah." Morty said. "Just a little tired today, I guess."

"Are you getting sick?" Beth asked. She rose from her chair to feel Morty's forehead. "Ugh, you smell horrible."

Morty weakly swatted away his mother's hand. "Mom, I'm fine."

"Unless her father took you out on another adventure last night." Jerry muttered.

"Would everyone just get off my case?" Morty said. "W-why is it such a big deal that I'm a little out of it today?" Morty rested his head on one of his hands, which quickly flew to his mouth before he ran off.

Rick had been separate from the conversation while trying to nurse his hangover. But what he did hear was the sound of loud vomiting coming from the bathroom. His family looked in Rick's direction with a look of accusation.

"Look, I didn't fucking, t-take the k-kid anywhere last night." Rick said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Said he was doing homework."

"Then why is my son throwing up in the toilet?" Jerry shouted.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Jerry," Rick sneered. "Beth's right. The kid's probably just sick."

"Okay then, he's not going to school today." Beth concluded.

Morty came back to the table and sat down, looking even more tired than before. Much like Rick.