"MORTY!"

Rick winced as Summer screamed, but he knew it was for the best. After all, the boy did have more medical experience than she did. It came with adventuring around the multiverse.

He heard the scramble of rushed footsteps before the door slammed open. There was Morty, gasping at the sight before him. "What the hell happened?" he demanded. Already, he was rushing towards his grandpa, ripping off his lab coat and pushing it onto Rick's bleeding side. Morty grabbed his hand roughly and pushed it against his coat. Rick already knew the drill; he had to keep pressure on the wound.

"So grandpa woke me up and asked if I wanted to grab some beer from the Xilar system," Summer began to explain, and Rick was more than happy to let her do the talking while he concentrated on not losing anymore blood. "And of course I said yes, because that shit's good," she continued. "So we portaled into the store right as it was getting robbed. Rick shot the robber of course, but he managed to graze Rick's side."

As Morty turned towards Rick's desk, he paused, glaring at the case of beer. "And as Rick was bleeding out, you still found the time to buy beer?" he asked venomously.

"Actually, the storekeeper gave it to us for free," Summer commented. Rick knew she wasn't oblivious to Morty's anger. She was simply ignoring it.

Before Morty could start yelling, Rick chimed in. "St-stop freaking out, would ya Morty? It's only a graze. It's not gonna kill me. I don't have plans of dying anytime soon." Morty's breath hitched, and Rick felt a fresh wave of guilt. "Besides, I think I deserved a case of beer for all my trouble."

Morty returned to his side with a needle in hand. Rick let go of the lab coat and removed his shirt, giving Morty full access to his wound. He sprayed Rick's sanitizing spray over the open wound. It stung, but Rick didn't even flinch. Gently, Morty took the needle and began to stitch him up, just like he had taught him how to do. Throughout the whole process, Rick remained still, letting Morty do his work.

When he was finished, Rick looked down at his side, impressed. Morty retrieved a wet rag and began wiping away the blood from the wound. "I swear, Rick, only you would find trouble while shopping for beer," he murmured.

"I don't go looking for trouble, it finds me," Rick stated.

Morty smirked. "I think it's both actually." He yawned and stretched. "What time is it, anyway?"

"4:26," Summer replied.

Now, Morty looked pissed. "Who the hell gets up at four in the morning to get beer?" he demanded.

Summer just shrugged. "It's 5:00 somewhere."

"To be fair, I never EURGH went to sleep," Rick replied.

"Well, you're going to sleep now," Morty decided. Rick opened his mouth to protest, but Morty spoke up again before he could. "You've just been shot. Doctor's orders."

Rick stood and sighed. "Fine, if it'll shut your trap, I'll try to get a few hours," he relented.

As he began to walk, Morty placed a gentle hand on his arm. Normally, Rick would have grumbled and shoved it away, but after the events of the past week, he allowed his grandson to show he cared. He knew it would make Morty feel better, and hopefully soon he would stop looking at Rick as if he was fragile. He hated that look, but he had no one to blame but himself.

Upon reaching his room, Rick sat down on his bed and motioned for Morty to sit down next to him. His grandson obliged, and Rick gently grabbed his arm and traced the light pink scar running in the opposite direction of all the other scars. Morty tensed under his touch. "Is this what you felt like?" Rick asked.

"What do you mean?" Morty questioned.

"Like everyone's looking at you like you're some goddamn abused puppy made of glass or some shit," Rick clarified.

Morty thought about it for a moment. "A little," he admitted. "But I think it was the wake-up call I needed."

"I swear the only person who looks at me normally these days is Liz," Rick said with a dark chuckle.

His grandson smiled. "Yeah, she's good at that."

Rick nodded. "I just want everything to go back to normal. To forget."

"We'll get there," Morty promised.

Morty stayed by his grandpa's side for a few minutes after he had fallen asleep. Even after his attempted suicide, Rick walked like he was a god. It was the little moments like this where Morty could see the humanity in him etched in the wrinkles of his face, and he wondered to himself, how could he have missed the signs?

He walked out, hanging his head down low. Despite what Liz kept trying to tell him, he still felt like this was all his fault. And for a horrifying moment, Morty wondered what it would be like if Rick had actually died. He knew that Rick was going to die eventually, but to have him go out by his own hand would break Morty. He'd forever be wondering what more he could have done to prevent it and blamed himself for being too self-centered.

As he entered the living room, he saw Liz sitting on the couch. Wearily, he plopped down next to her. "Summer told me what all the noise was about," she softly explained before resting her head on his shoulder. "I know that look, Morty. What's bothering you?"

"He's going to die someday," Morty began. "But if I lost him to suicide, I don't think I could handle it- always wondering if one extra minute spent with him could have prevented it. And no matter what you told me, I'd always blame myself for being too self-centered."

Liz nodded her head against his shoulder in understanding. "Rick didn't know you cut before he found you in that bathroom four years ago, right?" she asked.

"No," Morty answered.

"Do you think it's because he was too self-centered?" Liz asked.

Morty shook his head. "As much as he tries to pretend he only cares about himself, no. If I wasn't so good at hiding it, he would have noticed."

"That's exactly my point," Liz said. "That's the tragic truth about people like us. We're so good at hiding our pain because we don't want to burden other with it that nobody notices until it's too late." She paused for a moment. "But you weren't too late," she continued. "You rescued Rick just in time, just like he rescued you just in time four years ago. So focus on that instead of the could-have-beens."

"And who rescued you?" Morty asked softly.

"Nobody," Liz whispered. Morty could feel her tense up as she spoke. "My anxiety got so bad that in order to escape my retail job, I threw myself down the stairs. I was out cold for awhile, then I woke up alone with the worst headache imaginable. When my mom got home, she made me go to the hospital. I- I was at the end of my rope, so I finally confessed to the doctor."

Morty's breath hitched in his throat. "I'm so sorry," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I never knew that."

Liz gave a humorless laugh. "Cuz I never told you. I thought about it, and I thought, how could someone be in so much pain that they were ready to willingly throw themself down the stairs and still have no one notice? Then I realized, the answer was me."

Morty wrapped an arm around Liz and pulled her closer. "It was a long and lonely road," she admitted. "And then one day, a fourteen-year-old boy showed up in my psych ward, and suddenly I wasn't so alone anymore. You and Rick- you've never been alone, and you are so lucky to have each other and a family that loves you both so much. And I'm lucky that you came along and pulled me into it."

The couple sat in heavy silence, Morty letting every one of her words sink in. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like to wake up in that bathtub by himself if the cuts didn't kill him. And without Rick's care, it probably would have just happened again. He leaned backwards. His eyes were starting to droop shut, and the last thing he was aware of was Liz's gentle snoring.