Greetings, comrades! While I work to get "Out" and "Welcome to the Family" back on track (and I PROMISE it will happen), please enjoy my first Rick and Morty story! If you don't like OCs, you know where the door is.

I DO NOT IN ANY WAY OWN RICK AND MORTY. THEY ARE THE PROPERTY OF JUSTIN ROILAND. BELIEVE ME, IF THEY WERE MINE, ISABEL WOULD BE REAL AND RICK MIGHT BE A LITTLE NICER. MAYBE. I DON'T KNOW.

"Ungrateful bastard."

"Jerry! Language!"

"Oh what does it matter? She probably knows every dirty word in the book thanks to your dad!"

"Will you both stop yelling? Clearly we've all had a long day!"

Attempting to block out her family's bickering, Isabel slid off the couch and slowly slunk to the garage, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed and wanted to stop her. She hoped they wouldn't.

Standing at the door to the garage, Isabel watched as her parents took their little "discussion" to the kitchen and her sister and brother sank back into the couch to channel surf. With no one to notice, Isabel slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door a crack.

Her eyes immediately landed on Rick, passed out over his work station. A common sight with Rick of course.

But the discarded flask on the floor, the broken glass on the table, and the smoke emanating from the machine next to him unnerved the eight-year-old.

She eased herself through the door and closed it as quietly as possible. After pausing for a moment to make sure no one had heard, she went forward to investigate.

First she picked up the flask and turned it over. Not even a drop came out. Her heart sank. She was tempted to take it to the kitchen and fill it with water but she didn't want to be caught with one of the many things of Rick's she wasn't allowed to touch.

She set it back where she found it and inched closer to the table. Rick was passed out with his head buried in his arms. He was groaning in his sleep, another worrisome thing. He only did so when he'd had way too much to drink. Isabel remembered hearing him tell Morty once that too much alcohol made him have really vivid dreams he didn't like. She had retreated to her bedroom when Morty had asked what the dreams were about. Something told her she didn't want to know.

She turned her attention to the machine and gave it a once-over. She recognized this one. Last week, she had gone into the garage looking for her roller blades and asked what he was working on. Rick gruffly told her it was a laser vaporizer and to find what she needed and get out. She had peeked in later that afternoon to see him testing it on an apple.

The remains of something recently disintegrated were bunched under Rick's arms. What it had been Isabel obviously couldn't tell.

Shards of the red bulb Rick used to power the machine were scattered among the table. Isabel hoped he would fix that soon, she knew broken glass could be very dangerous.

Oh well. Rick didn't care. He never cared about anything. He was probably fine right now. Isabel turned to walk out, soberly deciding to just leave him to sleep.

But she was almost to the door when something caught her eye.

The base of the power bulb was on the floor by the shelves. Instinctively, Isabel went over to it. She planned to pick it up and throw it away so nobody would trip on it.

Searching for the trash can, she found it next to the work table. She tiptoed back over, praying that she could throw it away without waking Rick up.

But just as she was about to set it in the trash, something else caught her eye. Something even more unsettling than all the other things put together.

There was another base in the machine.

Why did Rick use two power bulbs? Judging by the size of the residue pile on the table, he would have only needed one.

Isabel's precocious young mind began stringing everything together…

One bulb powers one blast. One blast is enough. Obviously one blast was enough here, if whatever Rick was trying to destroy had put up a fight, ashes would be everywhere instead of concentrated in one area. So he wouldn't need two…unless he…

Wait…one bulb for a test run and the other for…HIM?

Oh god.

What if Rick tried to blast himself?

OH GOD.

Rick tried to kill himself.

Isabel suddenly found herself unable to breathe. Tears welled up in her eyes as she backed away in shock and fell to her knees.

Her grandfather had attempted suicide.

Why? Didn't he want to be part of the family? Didn't he care even a little bit? Aren't grandpas supposed to love their families?

Isabel let a few tears fall. This was too much. Her grandpa had come home from an adventure obviously internally distressed and tried to commit suicide once he was alone and she was the only one who even thought to check on him. She knew Rick was hurting on the inside, but why wouldn't anybody tell her why?

With no knowledge of Rick's inner pain, the little girl always just tried to show Rick that she loved him, no matter how much he pushed her away. All of her school art projects came home with a "To Grandpa Rick" tag on them, she never left him out of the goodnight hugs she gave everyone in the family before going to bed, and she always left him some ibuprofen, light food, and water or lemonade if she knew he was going to wake up with a killer hangover. She never expected gratitude for these things (she didn't get it most of the time anyway) but how could Rick do something like this knowing he has a home and grandkids that love him?

Isabel looked up at Rick, who was blurry through her tears. Maybe he just needed convincing that he still has so much to live for. Maybe she wasn't trying hard enough. How could she show him she loves him now of all times?

Wiping her eyes, Isabel walked over to the shelves and pulled a box from the bottom shelf. From it she extracted a blanket. Rick's favorite. It was dark green, and it was old, and it probably needed to be washed, but it was his favorite.

With shaking hands, Isabel unfolded the blanket, slunk over to her sleeping grandfather, and threw it over him.

She stepped back and watched him for a moment. The old man sensed the warmth of the blanket and his dreams seemed to settle. She wanted to run back into the house and tell her parents and siblings what had happened here, but her conscience told her not to.

Bel, you're doing the best you can. Grandpa Rick is hurting a lot, but he knows you love him. He knows Summer and Morty do, too. That's probably why he didn't go through with it. You want to help him right now? Leave him in peace to sort out his thoughts. Put two Advils, a slice of buttered toast, and a glass of water on the table tomorrow morning. Don't tell Mommy or Daddy or Summer or Morty what you saw. They'll just make things worse for him. Hopefully he won't even remember this in the morning. But above all, never stop trying, Isabel. Those who hurt need to be loved, not hurt more.

Not caring if she woke him up, Isabel threw her arms around Rick's middle. He grunted slightly but seemed to settle back to sleep. Isabel squeezed her eyes shut and let his lab coat soak up her tears as she whispered…

"I love you, Grandpa Rick. Don't leave us."

A/N: Yes, Isabel understands most of what goes on in the family even though she's only eight. This is because a) reasons not covered here but will be covered in a story arc I'm working on and b) well it's the Sanchez-Smith family.

Please review! No flame.