"Mom's gonna be late." Morty informed Rick, who nodded, rubbing his throat again.
"Ugh. Morty, remind me to stop including tonsils in any and all future clones. They just sit there doing nothing 99% of the time, then get all inflamed and painful the few times a decade I get sick. Talk about a design flaw. It's *Cough!* *Cough!* like the little pick-me ass bitches are mad at me for typically forgetting they exist. Ow. Also, remind me to remove these the second I feel up to it." he complained.
"Uh-huh. I promise I will." Morty agreed, trying to decide if it was a good or bad sign that Rick was talking about removing his own tonsils when he felt better, as opposed to right this second.
"You planning to stay up for a while?" he asked, getting another nod as an answer.
"Okay, well, it's lunchtime. Did you want to try eating a sandwich or something?" Rick gave him a look that was meant to be angry, but came across more pitiful.
"Fine, I'll just bring you more ice cream." Morty gave in.
"Thanks. Oh, and Morty? I'm kinda *Cough!* empty here. Think you can help me out, buddy?" Rick asked, shaking his empty flask.
"No way. You've had plenty already. I'm not gonna get into a whole thing with you about how much you drink normally, but you're way too sick for it today." Morty refused.
"Pick a lane, Morty. I can't be *Cough!* 'too sick to drink' and 'not sick enough to cure using one of my supposedly crazy experiments' at the same time." Rick pouted, putting the trash can and tissue box aside to put his labcoat back on and retrieve the blankets from the floor again.
"Yes, you can. Both of those things can be true, Rick. And they are. You're not guilting me into refilling your damn flask. I'm bringing you more juice." Morty told him, starting to leave the room.
"But *Achoo!* my throat hurts. And my head hurts. And I'm cold again. It'll help with at least one of those things." Rick whined, throwing his head back dramatically and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He snuck a glance at Morty to see if this was working at all.
"No. It's probably why your head hurts in the first place. Or at least one of the reasons. As for the rest, I don't see how it's supposed to help…" Morty made the mistake of looking over at Rick, seeing again how disheveled and miserable he looked. And asking for more booze, while not a good idea, was tame compared to every other idea Rick had come up with today…
"Okay, I'll make a deal with you. I still refuse to bring you any of the stronger shit you keep in the garage. But I'm pretty sure there's sofa wine left, and if you drink it, I won't tell Summer it was you. I should since she's mad at you anyway, but I won't. Deal?" Morty compromised.
"Fair enough." Rick agreed. With an annoyed sigh, Morty went to the kitchen to get lunch for the two of them.
Rick felt around under a cushion until he found the half empty bottle of wine. The overly colorful, badly designed label had silhouettes of about a dozen dancing figures, all in obnoxiously bright colors, in front of a disco ball. It looked as much like something teenagers would sneak as this particular bottle was. He unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sip.
"Eww. How long have we all been sitting on this shit? I doubt it was great to begin with, but it's definitely seen better days." Rick complained to himself. He looked the ugly label over again and saw the alcohol content: 7%.
"Ugh. It's terrible and weak as hell? One or the other I can deal with, but this is just awful. *Cough!* Dammit, Summer. I would've expected better from you." Rick took another sip and shuddered. He recapped the bottle and started to put it back, then reconsidered. This stuff was giving the cold medicine a run for its money in terms of what tasted worse… but the warm liquid sliding down his throat did feel sort of nice. Soothing, even. It didn't burn like the liquor he would have preferred to be drinking would. And sure, the alcohol content was a joke, but it's not like he was starting from sober…
"Fuck it. Beggars can't be choosers and all." Rick muttered, deciding to drink more of the sofa wine.
Meanwhile, Jerry was sulking in his mancave. He turned the Sailor Moon tape over in his hand repeatedly and sighed. Finally deciding to put it down, he checked his phone to see if either of the Beths had replied to any of his texts. Neither one had. Jerry frowned and sat there for a few minutes, looking even more dejected and forlorn. Then he thought of some more messages to send, and immediately proceeded to do that.
Another thing Morty became aware of throughout the day was that, besides not sleeping well when ill, Rick also rarely seemed able to get comfortable for more than a few minutes at a time. The tossing and turning was just as bad, if not worse, when the man was awake than when he was sleeping. When he was lying with his head at the opposite end of the couch, Morty kept getting kicked, usually in the back of the head. If Rick was lying with his head at the end of the couch where Morty was sitting, that meant more getting coughed and sneezed on, and sometimes being hit by a bony elbow or shoulder.
When he wasn't sprawled across the couch (and Morty), Rick would try to sleep sitting at the opposite end of it, usually with at least two pillows under his head. Apparently, this helped with the postnasal drip, but sleeping like that hurt his back. Morty had to stop himself from pointing out that Rick fell asleep sitting on the couch all the time and didn't usually complain about that afterwards.
Then of course, there was the temperature issue. Rick alternated between freezing and not being able to get enough blankets, his thin frame shaking despite all the layers… and the exact opposite, tossing all the blankets aside as quickly as he could, complaining that the thermostat must be broken. He kept going from one extreme to the other, with very little middle ground.
During the few moments of calm when Rick slept, or at least had settled down temporarily, Morty kept looking at things on his phone and scribbling down notes from what he read. As the day went on, what he was looking at progressed from benign things like the debate on whether or not vitamin C did anything for a cold and memes about watching game shows while home sick, to distinguishing colds from more serious illnesses. And from there to complications of those more serious illnesses, and how they could be worse and more likely in someone older…
While Rick seemed to be sleeping soundly enough, Morty decided to risk sneaking upstairs to grab his laptop. His phone was nearly dead, and besides, he was tired of staring at that small screen (and Rick sometimes kicking the phone out of his hand). He came back downstairs about 10 minutes later to discover Rick awake and glaring at him. The tissue shoved up his right nostril undercut how furious he looked, but only slightly.
"Morty…"
"What? I wasn't gone long, and you're the one who wants me to leave you alone all together. If you're mad again because I won't bring you more booze, too bad." Morty said, trying to figure out what the newest problem was.
"Where's my portal gun, Morty?" Shit. Morty gulped, but quickly tried to act nonchalant and lie his way out of this.
"You mean you don't have it? Aw geez, Rick. I don't, don't know anything about that. You probably dropped it in the garage earlier and didn't notice. You have been pretty out of it today." Rick considered this. He hated to admit it, but that was possible. After all, he still hadn't figured out why there'd been a shoe in his pocket earlier. But Morty was clearly more anxious than usual, and it was a dead giveaway he was hiding something.
"Uh-huh. Can't argue with *COUGH!* that. So how about you help me find it?"
"Maybe later. You need to get some more rest, and what's it matter where your portal gun is when you're in no condition to use it?"
"I'm not going to use it. Just getting up from this couch to go look for the thing sounds like a huge pain in the ass – forget about going to another dimension. But it's mine and I want it. Besides, *Cough!* *Cough!* if I'm not going to use it, what does it matter if I have it?"
Morty couldn't think of a reply, and for the second time that day, Rick found himself locked in a staring contest with one of his grandchildren. Also for the second time that day, he lost when he sneezed.
"Ugh. Dammit, I hate this. At least it's almost over. I mean, it has to be – I've been sick for days." he complained weakly after blowing his nose.
"I hate to break this to you, Rick, but it's only been a day. More like half of one, actually." Morty informed him, feeling another wave of sympathy and worry. He plugged his laptop in, plugged his phone into it, and sat down next to Rick again.
"That's not funny, Morty." Rick told him pitifully.
"I know it's not. But I also wasn't joking. Sorry, Rick." Morty apologized. Rick grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it.
"Stop that. You'll just make your throat hurt worse, and for what? Throwing a tantrum isn't going to help anything." Morty told him, patting his arm.
"You don't know that it *SNIFF!* won't." Rick argued, still talking into the pillow. Realizing how pathetic that sounded, he tossed it aside and slumped against Morty, resting his head on his shoulder.
"But… probably not. *YAWN!*" he admitted.
"Aww, come on, Rick. Don't fall asleep on me. I'm covered in your germs as it is. Move." Morty protested, trying to nudge Rick off him.
"You gonna tell me where my portal gun is?" Rick asked, struggling to stay awake.
"Nope. You say you aren't going to use it, but I have zero reason to believe you."
"Fine. Then I'm not moving."
"If you fall on the floor, I'm leaving you there."
Still trying unsuccessfully to make Rick move, Morty was surprised there was no sarcastic response or further argument. He turned his head slightly and saw it was because Rick had fallen asleep. With a sigh, Morty tried one last time to nudge Rick off his shoulder. When it didn't work, he resigned himself to being used as a pillow for a while. He turned on the laptop and went back to his questionable research. Another episode of the fishing show came on. This time, the man who looked like Gene with a beard was listing facts about salmon.
While Rick had slept half an hour at most any other time during the day, of course, now it seemed like he was going to be out for much longer.
"How is this the one position you've managed to get comfortable in all day?" Morty asked, feeling some drool drip onto his shoulder. Besides being awkwardly slumped against Morty, Rick had one leg draped over the back of the couch, and the other dangling off the front of it. It was surprising he hadn't fallen yet. Having given up on getting Rick to move, Morty decided to see if he could slip free without disturbing him. He put his laptop aside and tried to stand up… only to realize that Rick had grabbed onto his arm at some point without him noticing.
"C'mon, really?" Morty whispered, carefully trying to free his arm. Rick groaned and coughed a few times.
"Shit! Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." Morty apologized.
Either ignoring or not hearing him, Rick sat up a little straighter and took a half asleep look around the room. He pulled his blanket pile up to his chest, then immediately rested his head on Morty's shoulder again. He also tightened his hold on the boy's arm.
"Fine, I give up. At least you're not trying to 'fix' this with something that could kill us, and you're finally getting some sleep. You win. *YAWN!*" Morty gave in, accepting that he wasn't getting up any time soon. He suddenly realized how tired he was, too. The sounds of the rain, the boring TV show, and of course, Rick's snoring, weren't helping. Morty looked back and forth between what he'd been reading on his computer, and Rick sleeping up against him. He debated whether it was alright for him to take a nap, too. After a few minutes of just watching Rick, who appeared to be sleeping soundly, Morty closed his eyes. Within a minute, he was also fast asleep.