A/N: This chapter does not feature any characters other than Rick and Morty. It's alll fluffy(ish) caretaking, Rick being grouchy, and Morty being worried... but also rightfully annoyed. I hope you enjoy it!
"Well, looks like it's just us again." Morty said wearily.
"Good. It was kinda fun watching Jerry get so close to realizing the Mimicking Disease thing is a lie, only to just miss figuring it out. But you being here to see me be a pathetic mess like this is bad enough. Don't need your dumb dad here for the show, too." *Cough!* *COUGH!* You really can get lost anytime too, y'know." Rick griped.
"Yeah, 'cause leaving you alone has worked out great so far today. Forget it, Rick. I know you don't like it, and I'm not exactly thrilled, either. But I'm not going anywhere. Here. I read that keeping your head elevated is supposed to help. How's this?" Morty said, placing two pillows under Rick's head.
"Alright, I guess. At least I'm finally warm." Rick mumbled in response.
"Well, that's good. Try and get some sleep. Maybe you'll feel a little better when you wake up." Morty smiled a little as Rick drifted back to sleep. Finally – Rick seemed more comfortable, and Morty mistakenly thought he'd get a little peace and quiet. Of course, it didn't last.
A few minutes later, Rick woke up coughing and sat up as quickly as he could manage with the many layers of blankets tangled around him. The pillows fell to the floor.
"Now what's wrong?" Morty asked apprehensively.
"It's too fucking hot in here!" Rick whined, struggling his way out of the blankets and throwing them aside once he'd finally managed to get free. Of course, most of the pile ended up on top of poor Morty, who looked annoyed, but not surprised.
"It's too hot, and I can't sleep. I can never sleep right when I'm sick." Rick continued to pout, pulling his labcoat off and dropping it to the floor.
"Uh-huh. You do need to rest, but maybe food first? Maybe that will help?" Morty suggested. "How's your stomach feel?"
"Eh, not great, but in a 'least of my problems' kind of way. Food probably is a good idea." Rick answered with a shrug.
"Okay. Stay here, and I'll get you something to eat. Stay. Here." Morty instructed. He placed the blanket pile next to Rick and backed out of the room so he could keep an eye on him longer. He went into the kitchen, but immediately peeked back into the living room.
"Morty, relax. I'm not gonna do anything that involves having to get up. Trust me, that part of the day is *COUGH!* done." Rick told him crossly. Morty went back into the kitchen.
Waiting for him to get back, Rick tried to focus on the TV. The boring fishing show was done, and now there was a home repair show on.
"People say watching paint dry is boring, but let me tell you, those people are idiots. There's so much to see! Are your strokes even? Any bubbles? How close does the finished product look to what you pictured when you started?" a middle-aged, lumberjack looking man rambled. Rick looked for the remote, and, seeing that it was on the arm of the opposite end of the couch, immediately decided it wasn't worth bothering with.
Sitting and literally watching paint dry, he realized something felt off. Well, everything about the way he felt today was off, to say the least. But this particular unpleasant sensation was newer, and not related to his cold symptoms. He pulled his shirt over his head and stared at it for a few seconds, trying to figure out why it had been on backwards. Unable to think of a reason, Rick just shrugged and put the shirt back on normally. He fixed his crooked, unbuckled belt and took his flask out of his labcoat again, then leaned back on the couch, trying to get comfortable. The man on TV continued to drone on about paint, and how weather could affect its drying time. Speaking of weather, the meteorologist on the other station hadn't been exaggerating – it was now pouring outside.
A few minutes later, Morty came back, carrying a loaded tray and once again looking at something on his phone. He scowled and made a disapproving noise when he saw the flask in Rick's hand.
"Besides another lecture, what'd you bring me?" Rick asked.
"Chicken soup. People on TV always seem to eat that when they're sick, and we had a can, so that was lucky. Orange juice. Some websites say the vitamin C is good when you have a cold. But some other sites said it helps prevent getting sick in the first place, but won't do much if you already are. And then there's some that say both of those claims are bullshit, so I'm not sure if the juice will actually do you any good. But even if it doesn't help, it won't do any harm, either. So, here. There's crackers and ginger ale, too. Figured they'd help if you did feel sick to your stomach at all." Morty said, setting everything down in front of Rick. Rick screwed the cap back onto his flask and looked the items over.
Morty thought he might get a thank you, but instead, Rick commented, "Soup for breakfast? Really? And what are you doing – getting ideas on how to deal with this thing from Facebook and Wikipedia?"
"You asshole. You don't get to be drunk before 8:00 A.M. then complain that it's too early for soup. Just shut up and eat." Morty told him crossly. He sat at the opposite end of the couch with a bowl of cereal and his own glass of juice.
"Fine. I *COUGH!* guess you have a point there." Rick conceded. Without further complaint, he started eating the soup. After four spoonfuls, he decided that was enough and put the bowl down. Morty stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
"What? Just because I can't complain about it being too early for the lousy soup, doesn't mean I'm not allowed to complain about it *Cough!* being lousy, does it? All I can taste is the can it came out of. The liquid is too hot, while none of the solid ingredients are warm enough. I guess the chicken is otherwise okay, but don't get me started on the *Cough!* texture of the noodles. Blah." he complained.
"Fair enough. Do you want some cereal, too? I can't cook, and even if I could, I'd have to leave you alone too long to do that. So if you don't want the soup, that's what you're getting until Dad decides to come out of hiding again." Morty offered. Rick glanced over at Morty's bowl of Strawberry Smiggles. Normally a favorite of his, the colorful cereal did not look remotely appetizing at the moment.
He quickly turned his head again, answering, "Nah. I'm, I'm good with these, I guess." and tearing open the sleeve of saltines. The pair ate in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain and the boring TV show.
"Ow. Dammit." Rick whispered, rubbing at his throat a little and placing the crackers down with a sigh. They tasted a lot better than the soup and had the added bonus of no unexpected temperature changes or gross chewy parts. But the dry crumbs and his already badly irritated throat were an unpleasant combination. Of course, Morty had to notice, and was staring at him again.
"What? I'm just not hungry, after all." Rick lied, gulping down the orange juice.
"You've got a pretty bad sore throat, huh?" Morty asked sympathetically.
"Dammit, when did you get so perceptive? *SIGH!* It's nothing, Morty. Are you forgetting I know what it feels like to have limbs torn off? And internal organs become very external? A few times even when they were still fully organic? This barely counts as pain. It's just annoying as shit. *COUGH!* *COUGH!* *COUGH!* Ugh. That's definitely not helping, though." Rick replied, trying to sound casual. He hoped Morty would brush it off if he did.
"Uh-huh. I'll be right back." Putting his breakfast aside, Morty gathered up the things Rick didn't want, plus the empty glass, and headed back to the kitchen. Rick stared after him and took another swig from his flask.
A moment later, Morty was back, carrying a refilled glass of juice and a bowl of vanilla ice cream.
"Here. This technically counts as food. Close enough, anyway. And it'll be easier for you to eat." he said, handing Rick the dish.
"I… Y'know, you really didn't have to do this, Morty. Thanks." Rick replied softly, mumbling the last word around a mouthful of ice cream.
"It's not a big deal. This is by far the easiest thing I've had to do for you this morning. Anyway, we needed to get something into your system besides alcohol and expired cough syrup." Morty said before he resumed eating his cereal. Rick chuckled in spite of himself.
"Ha ha. Very funny, ya little smart ass." he said sarcastically, but there was no bite to it. The duo went back to eating, half listening to the TV. The lumberjack was now reading off a list of stores that carried his favorite brand of paint. Rick finished eating before Morty did – so much for not being hungry.
"You want any more? I'm not sure if the expression is 'Feed a fever, starve a cold' or 'Feed a cold, starve a fever', or exactly what that's supposed to mean. People apparently argue about that online, too. And that guy who screams at everyone in all caps about viruses not being real keeps showing up on every website. Doesn't he have a job? Or maybe that is his job? Do people get paid to just… yell nonsense at other people on the internet? Oops. Guess I got a little sidetracked there. Sorry. What was I saying?" Morty rambled.
"It's fine, Morty. And no *Cough!* thanks. Rather not push it, y'know?" Rick went to take another drink from his flask, but reconsidered and drank about half the glass of orange juice instead. Morty smiled at that… until Rick filled the glass the rest of the way with some of whatever was in the flask, then downed the entire glass in one gulp. Morty shook his head but decided not to say anything. He'd gotten Rick to eat something and drink two glasses of juice – even with the addition to the second glass, Morty was counting this as a win.
Rick went to put the flask back into one of his labcoat pockets and decided to put the coat back on. A shoe fell out when he picked it up. Rick looked down and noticed for the first time that he was wearing one shoe and one slipper. A confused look on his face, he stared at his feet and the shoe in his hand, trying to recall what the reason for this was. If there was a reason in the first place, that is. Coming up with nothing, Rick decided he didn't care, and tossed both shoes and the slipper behind the couch. Morty finished eating and started gathering the empty dishes.
"Did eating something help?" he asked.
Rick shrugged and answered, "Eh, maybe a little. *SNIFF!* Except now I'm cold again. Fuccckkkk." He grabbed 5 or 6 blankets from the pile and started wrapping them around himself, shivering. Unsure whether to be amused or concerned by Rick's whining, Morty decided he could sort himself out, and just continued cleaning up. Once he was satisfied with the blankets, Rick decided to drink the ginger ale as well, and added that empty glass to Morty's assortment.
"Get some sleep. I know you said you can't sleep well when you're sick, but try, okay? If there is one thing these idiots online all agree on – well, except for screaming virus conspiracy guy -it's that the best thing for you is rest." Morty told him, heading back to the kitchen.
"Fine, fine. I'm going to sleep. *COUGH!* *COUGH!* But it's because I'm tired, not because you told me to. You're *YAWN!* not my mom." Rick reluctantly agreed as he laid down again. Morty chose to let him have the last word, not bothering to reply to that before going back to the kitchen.
When he came back to the living room, Rick was stretched out across the couch, snoring. Morty let out a sigh of relief – he'd half expected to find the room empty. He debated sitting in the chair near the sofa, but opted to stay closer to Rick, squeezing into the corner opposite of where he'd been sitting before. Pulling a pen and small notepad out of his pocket, he started to take notes on the information on his phone screen. The home repair show ended, and an infomercial for supposedly indestructible dentures came on.