"Abuelo, no!" Isabella Garcia-Shapiro broke out into a sprint upon seeing the ambulances parked out front the old suburban house. Phineas Flynn, his mind going back to the day his own father died, rushed after her and caught her by the waist, restraining her from pulling a reckless and possible consequential move. She fought her boyfriend, but he wrestled her and they fell to the ground, where Isabella began to wail out those two words over and over.

Phineas watched on in heart-wrenching despair, his mind trying to process what was going on as he saw the stretcher with an immobile figure lying atop it rush out the front doors. They loaded him onto the vehicle and rushed off, the sounds of the engine nothing but a distant memory in mere seconds. Isabella began to sob uncontrollably, her tears dripping down onto the red head's fingers. She fell against him, her twilight black hair falling limp and lifeless to her sides. She wanted more than anything to rewind time from when she had started the beautiful afternoon stroll with Phineas, and simply visit her grandfather one last time.

He had been feeling not well for weeks now, but he waved it off with the usual airy comments about how healthy he was. It only seemed to worsen, though, and Isabella's mom finally convinced her father to visit the doctor's. What they found was neither healthy nor comforting. His white blood cell count had nearly doubled, as it should when one is fighting infection or disease. They ran tests, but they couldn't figure out what was wrong.

He had been scheduled to enter the emergency room tomorrow; his health simply couldn't wait that long.

As Phineas gently pulled her upwards, his hands encircling her hips and trying to calm her down as they began to walk down the street, Isabella began to tune everything out. She was suddenly four years old again, and it was Christmas morning.

Opened presents and ripped gift wrapping littered the floor around the family, her mother's grandmother staying with them that glorious holiday, her husband in the hospital with cancer. They said he was supposed to be okay for a couple more weeks, so she'd be visiting him in the afternoon. Though she was Jewish and celebrated Hanukkah, Isabella's parents still enjoyed to put up the trees and buy a few presents. She smiled toothily for a picture when the phone rang. Her mom walked into the kitchen and picked it up; for a moment, there was nothing but muffled silence. Then, Mrs. Garcia-Shapiro walked out into the living room, her hands shaking slightly and tears streaking her cheeks.

"Mom, it's the hospital, they want to speak with you…" Isabella stared up at the two women, clueless. It was like watching a movie; how her grandmother slowly turned off the phone, walking away and sobs coming from her throat. She looked on in confusion as her mother fell into her father's arms, her voice only strong enough for one sentence: "What happened to a few weeks?"

8 years later

The foyer of the home her Abuela had been placed in was warm and cozy, and Isabella kept her mind entirely focused on the puzzle she was trying to complete. She had been here since 3am, and she had tried hard to busy herself with anything outside of the room where her father's mom's dying breaths could be heard. She had gone in there twice, and she wasn't sure how many more times she could take seeing Abuela, so frail and weak, sitting on her death bed.

She wasn't supposed to be here; she was supposed to be at a volleyball tournament at her school, though she wouldn't be playing due to a sprained ankle. This wasn't supposed to have happened; they said she had more than six months! Why couldn't the employees here have done their jobs and made sure her bed gates were up? Why was it that Abuela had to fall out of the bed and break her ribs, and not be granted surgery because her lungs just weren't functioning anymore? Why did this have to happen?

Why did Abuela have to smoke.

Isabella checked the time; 4 pm. She had been here for thirteen hours, and she asked herself for the same question for the millionth time that day.

Why was it her Abuela could get medication to keep her leave painless for her, but none of the ones she loved could do anything for their breaking hearts?

Isabella buried deeper into her boyfriend's torso, her eyes rimmed red. She replayed all the times she had with her Abuelo; fishing on the river, playing board games with him as Abuela went to church, reading her stories and bouncing her in his lap, even at fourteen. He was the only connection to her father she had left, and that wasn't even the main reason she was distraught. For her whole life, whenever she visited or called, he treated her like he would if they were best friends. He would make jokes at her expense, tease her about Phineas, and speak Spanish with her when no one else wanted to. She didn't mind any of the insults though; she knew they were just to push her buttons.

When it came time to hang up, or it was late at night and she had to return home, there was always the simplest gestures that showed how much Isabella's Abuelo cared about her. Not a day went by where he didn't kiss her forehead and tell her that he loved her and he was so proud, not once where he wouldn't ruffle her hair.

As the couple neared the hospital, Isabella suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to clutch those she had close and never let go. She looked up at Phineas and kissed his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder, her tears never ceasing as she let out a shuddery breath.

"What was that for?"

"I don't know when the last time was that I kissed Abuelo on the cheek. Promise me you'll never leave me, Phin?" She felt his lips press softly on her forehead, and he opened the door to the emergency room for the two of them.

"I promise."

I know I should be writing All I Feel Is You. But somehow, with the fact that my Pepere (grandpa in French) has to check into the ER Monday morning, I honestly wasn't feeling it.

Everything save what happened to Isabella's Abuelo happened in my life. My grandpa on my mom's side died Christmas morning when I was four, my Memere on my dad's died of cancer two years ago. And now my Pepere… I don't know. He isn't even gone, much less with much risk. But he's already had a heart attack and I don't know what's going on and I feel so alone with my family because they don't seem that worried. So I put on the smile and act like I'm fine. But I'm not.

You guys don't understand what he means to me; I'm so worried, and so afraid, and I don't know what to do.

I was talking to Batmarcus, and he really cheered me up. Thanks, I really really REALLY appreciate it, you're a great friend. *heart*

But in the eight minutes I was left alone I had time to think, and I realized I needed to get this out. Jaida857 once told me that whenever the inspiration comes, you should write one-shots because it helps. So I did. And I cried.

Please, please don't ask when the next chapter for All I Feel Is You will be up; I was hoping tomorrow, but with everything that's happened… probably not. Sorry.

sistergrimm97