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

Author's Note: This one went someplace I didn't expect. I just decided to go with it.

Morty couldn't wait-he'd never been to Disney World.

"This is so awesome!" was all he could say over and over again with glee from the back of the station wagon as the Smith family finally pulled out of the driveway. They were on their way to the airport, where they would catch a big jet to Florida. It was also Morty's first time ever being on a plane and he could barely sit still.

Even Summer, who was ten at the time, couldn't hide her excitement; she was bouncing up and down. "I'm gonna finally get a chance to kiss Goofy!" she squealed, practically giddy with hysterics. "I've always wanted to kiss him!"

"Ugh, gross, Summer!" Morty exclaimed with disgust at his sister, but he was laughing hysterically at the idea of his sister making out with Goofy.

"Now, settle down, Kids," warned an stern but grinning Jerry from the front as he turned around in his seat to look back at them, "your mom and I need you both to be on your best behavior on this trip! I won't have a repeat of the Hamsters in Butts World incident okay?"

"Aw Dad," Morty giggled, "but those hamsters were so, uh, I dunno, so cute, ya know? We couldn't help but try to take some of 'em home! Besides," he added for good measure, "they did look kinda...lonely."

"I wouldn't call it 'taking them'...it was more like you stole them out of giant asses," came a snicker from his mother in the driving seat.

"BETH!" Jerry scolded but Morty could hear laughter in his father's voice so he knew that everything was okay.

Morty was enjoying reveling in the memories of their last trip, but something was gnawing at him, leaving him feeling uneasy...something he couldn't place his finger on, that just wouldn't let go. "Um…" Morty looked around the family car. "Are we uh...missing something? Did, did we remember to bring everything on, on the list, Mom?"

His mother was quiet for a second. So was his father. Even Summer was quiet, and Morty wondered for a horrible moment if, perhaps, they'd forgotten the plane tickets or, maybe-

"OH MY GOD!" his mother shouted out, "JERRY! We forgot RICK!"

Oh no! Rick wasn't in the car with them...how had they possibly forgotten Rick? Morty's stomach flipped at the shout. This was like some awful twisted version of "Home Alone", except he knew that Rick would know they left him there-probably thought they did on purpose.

"BETH!" Jerry was incredulous. "How could you forget your FATHER!?"

"How could I!?" Beth roared at her husband as they switched lanes, "How could RICK forget to come with us!?"

"Not like I care anyhow," Jerry snapped, "we're probably better off without him!"

"Dammit Jerry!" Beth seethed, "What do you have against my dad? You act like you hate him-why can't you ever just be nice to Rick?"

"When the hell is he ever nice to me?"

"Maybe he would be if you'd try being nice first!"

"OR maybe your father doen't know how to be descent in the first place!" Jerry barked back.

Morty watched with horror as his hopes for a nice family vacation began to crumble right before his eyes. He turned towards Summer for comfort but she was typing away on her phone, completely oblivous to whatever else was going on, as usual. Morty groaned and shut his eyes. Suddenly an idea came to him: they could just turn around and go back home, get Rick, and get a later flight! Rick had probably just overslept, having been out late as usual.

"Mom? Dad!" Morty shouted, "Wait, stop! We could just turn around and-"

"Not now Morty!" bellowed his incensed father.

"Dad! You gotta, you gotta listen to me-"

"It's too late for that Morty!" Jerry cut him off.

"But Dad!"

"No buts, Morty!" Jerry had his mind made up and had turned back to face the road ahead. There was tons of congestion and they were probably going to be late for their plane anyway.

"Morty don't argue with your father!" His mother had turned around in her seat briefly to scold him, "This is no time to-"

He couldn't hear the rest of her sentence as his body suddenly jerked-hard-to the left. Then-slam!-to the right-knocking his head straight into the window. Before he had a chance to react, everything became a blur as he felt he was sucked into a vacuum of motion, everything flipping and flopping all over like pancakes, and everywhere there were screams...screams of terror, pure utter terror like he'd never heard before.

And one of the screams was his own.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"NO!" Morty screamed as he lurched foward in bed. It took him a second to realize fully where he was: safe in his bed….in his grandparents' house. It wasn't his bed, but at least he was alive. Or….was he? Morty pinched his arm, twice, just to be sure; it hurt, and was enough to squease the unshed tears from his eyes.

Those screams….they would follow him forever….

Morty fell back onto the mattress with exhaustion. His body was still hot and clammy with sweat, but now he was shivering as if from a fever. Reality shook him back into the room once again, and, remembering, he choked back sobs as he pressed his face deep into the pillow.

He couldn't cry like a little kid about any of this anymore. He had to be strong now-for Summer. He was all she had now. He tried not to think about Rick and the house he'd lived in all his life. Would things ever feel normal ever again? Could he actually be a man, take care of his sister?

The funeral-his parents' funeral-was tomorrow. Morty laughed bitterly to himself at his foolishness. Who was he kidding? He had no one, not even Rick now; no one he could turn to. He'd have to face the music alone. He'd done it before Rick came into his life; he could do it now, again, without him.

XXXXXXXXX

When Rick finally came to he was surrounded by white, blinding light.

Funny-he'd always thought Hell would be scarier.

It sure felt like Hell. His body felt like it was on fire. Even his eyelashes screamed in pain.

"Sir?" A booming voice assaulted his ears. "Can you open your eyes for me? Sir?"

Nope-couldn't be Hell-nobody was this polite there.

He somehow managed to pry his lids open further. A blurry figure was hovering over him.

"Good," said the voice, gentle, soothing. "Your vital signs appear to be improving."

"Wh-wh-wh…." His voice was raspy and sounded drugged.

"Don't try to talk, Sir. You're heavily sedated on morphine. You've survived quite an episode."

"Ep-ep-ep…." A strangled cough threatened to tear his esophogus and, practically choking on his own spit, Rick gave up in spite of himself. His head felt like dead weight as did the rest of him. What the hell happened?

"Sir we just need you to tell us your name. Do you know….who you are? You had no identification on you when you were admitted. Do you remember what happened before you were brought here?"

Loud beeping and humming. A snake poising to strike. Shouting. A spinning, rushing blur of motion. The sensation of falling. Impact. Darkness.

"R...R….R…" His tongue refused to obey him; it was like a huge, bulky foreign object in his mouth.

"Let's try a pen and paper." A pad was presented out of nowhere, along with a pen.

For a second Rick blinked at it, then somehow managed to take the pen in thumb and forfinger, and attempted to scrawl out his name: Rck Snchz. Wait...that didn't look right….

"Okay...do you mean " 'Rick...San-chez?" The blur still hovering over him peered down at the pad with confusion, and then back up at him questioningly. Spelling each word out letter by letter like he was the idiot. It irked Rick to no end.

Everything in Rick's being wanted to scream back at him: Well duh, you imbocile, what the hell does it look like!? But his lips wouldn't move and his head was screaming for silence, for darkness; he only wanted to sleep.

"Mr. Sanchez, pleasure. Now you can call me Mr. Lipkins."

Lipkins? Any other time and Rick would have snorted with laughter at such a name; but laughter, right now, had the potential to kill.

"Mr. Sanchez…"

Rick groaned silently, shutting his eyes tight against the awful brightness that was tearing his skull apart, his mind screaming, Rick! It's RICK, dammit! RICK!

"...is there anyone, a family member, that we can contact for you?...We need to notify your next of kin to your wherabouts….if you'd please put down the names of yor emergency contact and their phone number, we can alert them of the situation."

Again the pad was presented and again he struggled with the pen. When he was done, the pad read: Mrty. 231-4322-0932.

"Marty?" the Doctor asked, nodding. "Okay-who is he?"

Gritting his teeth Rick scratched out, my g son.

"Your son?" Dr. Lipkins nodded again, looking pleased. Rick was too exhausted by now to argue with him; the faster Morty got there the better. He then though of something, something critical-and urged Dr. Lipkins back over with the pad, on which he added: prtl gn.

"What is that? 'Portal gun?" Dr. Lipkins sounded even more confused than before, and Rick tried to keep his teeth from grinding themselves into a pulp. Of all the doctors in the intergalactic hospital and he had to get the idiot. "Okay….I don't know what you mean by that, but I'll gather that he will."

Soon footsteps could be heard retreating and a door was closed. Except for some excessive beeping, the room was quiet, and Rick was alone.

He would have fallen asleep had the doctor's question not been echoing over and over again in his brain. Do you remember what happened before….There was no way he was telling that doctor he had no idea; the last thing he remembered was…..

…..cops knocking away at the door…..

…..raising his fist to hit Summer…..

….his fractured reflection in the autopsy table….

…...the soulless eyes of Beth's face, staring eternally into his own….

He couldn't remember reading anywhere that morphine made your eyes water, but then again, pain always made it easy to forget.