Waking up from a coma wasnât like how it was on television. You didnât   wake up to your loved ones cheering about how youâd finally awoken-   about how relieved they were that youâd come back to them; that you   werenât dead. In fact, Morty didnât wake up in a bright hospital room   with IVs in his arms, either, although he supposed that was to be   expected given the reason why he had been comatose. No, Morty   woke up in a dark room that he could hardly recognise as his own,   still fairly groggy and feeling like heâd just downed an entire bottle   of NyQuil. It wasnât quite like waking up from a dream, either. When   he woke up from vivid dreams, he jutted wide awake, often drenched   in sweat as he frantically checked his surroundings and tried to hold   back an inevitable anxiety provoked asthma attack.Â
All Morty really did at first was look at the ceiling. He blinked, confusedly,   at the glow in the dark stars patterned around the room as if he were   seeing them for the first time. Memories ran through his head, fogged   and out of order. Rickâs âForever, 100 yearsâ spiel ran on loop like a   skipping record interlaced with surreal memories of his grandfather   caring for him while he was out that he was sure were simply dreams   until his tired, brown eyes fell on the unmistakable figure of a certain   mad scientist passed out at the foot of his bed.
He swallowed hard, weariness fading away as worry and anxiety were   quick to take its place. A timid foot prodded at his grandfather, hoping   that it was enough to wake him up, as Morty was far too fatigued to try   to shake him awake.
âH-Hey, uh. R... Rick? Y-You awake?...â
