Rick absentmindedly tinkered with a device he barely started building. It was just a facade, an attempt to fool his family and himself into believing he was busy. That he had other things to worry about.

That couldn't be any less true. Rick was once again thinking about Morty. He was staying in his room, taking a sick day from school after the incident at breakfast. The matter was sticking to him like a tick to his ankle. And Rick wanted that tick gone.

After unpurposefully rescrewing in another bolt for the thousanth time, the scientist pushed the device away from him and set the screwdriver down. He reclined in his chair, got out his flask, and sipped from it while he stared at the ceiling of the garage.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop worrying about Morty so much? This aggravated him to no end. Rick recalled how his grandson acted to his family that morning. Why was he all of a suddenly sick? He had used the stomach bug conclusion to deflect badgering from Jerry before, but now Rick was starting to question it. Last night he seemed fine. Wouldn't there have been some kind of predecessor to the sudden bout of sickness? Why couldn't he figure this out?

Rick's frustration, drinking, and head positioning combined to make him feel dizzy looking at the ceiling. He slouched and put his head in his hands. He needed answers. Rick's head cleared at the thought of a solution. An adventure. Morty always opened up to him during adventures. Just take him to some fucked up purge planet and he'll crack like an egg.

Rick rose from his chair, coveted his portal him from its usual place on his workbench, and bounded to Morty's room.

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"Morty, we're going on an adventure." Rick said assertively.

"Rick, really?" Morty whined. He was lying in his bed, an ice pack pressed to his head. "Come on, I feel like crap."

"You're fine." Rick said. He walked to the side of Morty's bed, sidestepping the trash can next to it, and grabbed Morty's arm.

"What are you doing?" Morty asked.

"Morty, stop." Rick tugged his grandson out of bed and started approaching the door to leave.

"Cut it out, Rick!" Morty cried. He resisted his grandfather's grip, but was still weak from his sickness.

"Morty!" Rick shouted. The teen stopped struggling. "I really need you for this one." Rick's voice contained undertones of squeakiness and desperation. Rick cursed under his breath at the sound of his leaking weakness. He retrieved his portal gun, materialized a green hole in front of the two, and dragged his grandson and himself through.

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The pair arrived in the fantasy dimension where Morty led the adventure. The town looked much wealthier and high quality since their previous visit. The buildings were updated and the people milling around were wearing more lavish and expensive clothing.

Rick heard Morty's breath hitch in his throat, which was succeeded by him clinging to his grandfather's lab coat.

"Alright, M-Morty," Rick began. "You get free reign today. We can -uuurp!- find gold, or, slay dragons," He trailed off.

"Why does it have to be here?" Morty asked.

Rick darted his eyes down to examine his petrified grandson. He couldn't miss the pure terror in his eyes or how his knuckles were turning white at how hard he was gripping the clothing.

"Morty, what's wrong with you?"

"Rick, y-you don't-don't know w-what happened here," Morty stuttered.

Rick was pissed off. He was trying to bond with his grandson, not attend a soap opera. "Quit clinging to me and go."

Morty reluctantly let go of the lab coat and followed Rick.