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

Author's Note: This is the first chapter that had ever actually made me cry while writing it. I found it pretty cathartic. I've been going through a lot lately and sometimes writing is the only thing that helps. That and music. And watching "Rick and Morty" of course. :)

xxxxx

"STOP! " he heard. "DON'T!"

That damn voice, it wouldn't let him be. Why could no one just let him be? This voice, a voice he didn't even know, was trying to stop him, take all the control away from him, but no-it had no power over him. Nothing did any longer. There was no going back.

He could feel the barrel pressing against his temple. His finger pressed against the trigger. He would have pulled it loose, had a blow to his head interrupted the act, sending the gun flying out of his hand, the world spinning dangerously and tilting on its axis. He hit the ground with a thud, and that was the last thing he remembered.

It was the last thing he remembered, until he opened his eyes and looked up, towards the sky. He was alive. How...how was he alive? Why was he alive? He wasn't supposed to be alive. He didn't deserve to be alive.

He felt a sharp sting that definitely proved he was alive. It hurt like a bitch. He howled in pain. "AGH!" He slapped at the sting but, to his amazement, a hand pushed him roughly away.

"Stay put! I'm trying to help you, you fool." There, there was that awful voice again.

Hers.

"...why...," he croaked. His throat was hoarse from exhaustion. If he had more strength he would have strangled her to death.

"For your own good," was her pat reply, as she tended to the wound she'd left when she'd knocked him out sideways.

"...don't...," he rasped, trying to reach for her wrist so he could pull it away. Again, she gently pushed him aside.

"Why in the hell would you do something like that?" It was a challenge he wasn't prepared for; didn't hardly understand. She didn't know him; why would she care? "What on Earth were you thinking?" she demanded as she continued to struggle with the antiseptic she was attempting to apply to the cut on his face where her fingers had accidently scraped away flesh.

"Fuck...you." He forced the words out as tightly with as much resentment as he could so that she would get the message.

She did. For a moment, baffled, she stared at him blankly for a couple of minutes, then realization came across her tired face, and she abruptly tossed the gauze aside with a huff.

"FINE!" she snapped bitterly as she scrambled to her feet, zipping the first aid bag she'd produced from out of nowhere back shut. "That's what I get for going out of my way these days," she muttered, scowling down at him as she wiped the dirt off her already dirty blue jeans. "You're on your own then, mister, okay? But you're sore out of luck because I'm taking my gun with me-and don't think that thing you were trying to help stood a chance, by the way, because it didn't. I've seen things like this far too many times to know when a case is a helpless case. And, believe me, that was a helpless case. And apparently," she added flatly with clearly emphasized annoyance, "so are you."

"Don't-don't go." He blurted the words out without even thinking, not even knowing why, and he hated himself for how weak he sounded. They weren't words he was used to using, but, nor was he used to a situation like this. The last thing he wanted was to beg to a girl, but the thought of being completely alone with himself-even for a second-was suddenly one of the most terrifying things he'd ever dreamt of. The thought of it terrified him to his very core, and Rick was not used to feeling terror. (Sure, he felt it when he was running away from crazy space aliens-but this, this was an entirely new breed of fear.)

"Hey," she said with a shrug, turning back around towards him for a second, "I don't jive well with crazies. You well established yourself as one." With that, to his horror, she abruptly turned and started to walk away.

"NO!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, scrambling blindly to his feet as he started to half-walk, half-crawl after her, "BETH! Don't go!"

He stopped at once as he heard the name uttered from his lips. Beth. Felt his heart break completely in two, as though someone had slashed it apart with a razor blade, blood and guts everywhere. His body suddenly had a mind of its own. He was falling, falling against his own will, and he felt himself losing the strength to hold himself upright. He was falling, falling, and he couldn't stop it from happening...just like he couldn't stop...couldn't stop...

...couldn't...

He hardly heard the sob that escaped from the depths of his soul as he sank to the ground with complete and utter despair. There was no woman any longer; she was gone, just like Beth was gone...he could hear a voice screaming as he pounded away at the pavement, as though the harder he pounded, somehow he might break through and find her there, on the other side. He hardly felt the tear of his flesh as he continued to pound and scrape at the ground until his fingers were bloodied, tarnished by his own self-hatred. Somewhere, there was someone moaning, and his face was drenched with sweat...no...this was something else...something...salty. Tears.

He was crying. But that was impossible. He couldn't cry. Crying wasn't allowed. You simply lost and moved on. Why, then, did he feel like he was drowning in his own pain? Why did he feel like he was going to choke on his own despair?

Time had stopped. He was alone. Always alone...

...or so he thought, for suddenly he felt a hand on his side, and it felt so soft and warm, and suddenly a body was there, a warm and gentle body, and he collapsed into the arms of the woman who hadn't left, but stopped him just in time, from losing everything.