#ofgrillbys

Eyes dart from the glass he cleans to the door that chimes, allowing him the knowledge of someone entering. There’s a murmuring of ‘hey, Sans’ from the two at their booths, and the dogs bark out a cheery ‘what’s up Sans’. There's a question of ‘didn’t you just come by here for breakfast?’ from Doggo, and Sans gives his normal Cheshire grin, along with the answer of ‘Nah. It was too early for breakfast; you must be thinking of brunch,’ which causes that normal uproar whenever there's even a slightly funny retort from the skeleton. Everyone did it on purpose, but most actually found it funny. They all want him to smile, and he always seems to brighten for a little while whenever they laugh at his comebacks. Sans pulls himself up to the bar with that grin on his skull that shows, at first glance, happiness and joy, but Grillby knows better. He knows Sans better -- he always has. After all, the name that the skeleton goes by is the one he gave him when they were younger, before tensions rose -- before humans became the puppets of their own DETERMINATION. At first, Grillby allows him to believe that this will be just like every other day, that he’ll grab a bite to eat (even though it goes right through him) and he’ll leave with a joke that leaves the bar in an uproar. He carries himself as if the weight upon his shoulders were nonexistent, as if he were the same as ever -- as if nothing about him has changed since the war, since the humans began to fall, since Papyrus had... The bartender snaps to focus as Sans moves to get off of the bar stool, and his hand shoots out to stop the other from moving further. There’s a shock, he knows, that moves through the skeleton, as there are two vastly different type of magics coming into contact, but it does effectively stop him in his tracks. “... Stay until after hours, if you wouldn't mind.” His voice seems to startle the other, but he stiffly nods and climbs back onto the stool, pulling his hood over his blue tinted skull tightly.

A smile crosses over Grillby’s features for a few moments, thanking the monster softly as he moves to attend to the other customers. However, before he can get too far away, or away at all, Sans moves his hand over top of his own and he snaps to look at him again, unsure of how to react. The blue tint on the other's features has now begun to turn into that of a blueberry, and he can’t help but chuckle a bit, gently moving the hood of the jacket away from Sans's skull to place a sweet, but firm kiss on his forehead, causing him to let out a sound somewhere between a hiss and a coo, therefore making him pull his hand away and lay his head on the counter, thinking that the bright blue hue could be hidden from him. Another small chuckle forces itself from his chest and he shakes his head, taking a tray and walking over to the dogs to take their cups from them, walking to those in their respective booths and striking up some mild mannered conversation, briefly glancing over to the seemingly nervous skeleton every now and then. When the dogs leave, Doggo hesitates in the doorway and looks in Grillby’s direction, giving a thumbs up and a wink, before heading out to follow his ‘pack.’ The activity of the bar trickles out slowly, and the elemental lets out a soft sigh of relief, looking at the bar from his place near the door. ... Sans is trying to escape again, it seems. He’d have been long gone by this time if he actually wanted to leave -- if he didn’t want to talk to him as well. His hand shoots out and grabs the skeleton’s hoodie, eliciting the beginning of a string of expletives before he quiets, shifting nervously.

“Alright, alright, I get it Grill’. Can’t leave just yet. Now hands off the merch’ if you would?” There’s a moment’s hesitation before he lets go of the hoodie, but gesturing for his best friend to go back over to the bar with him, not saying a word but knowing that the other will understand. Of course, there’s a huff of thought-of defiance, but he goes back over there regardless, carpals tapping repetitively against the wooden counter. The motions hitch as the elemental sits down next to him, body and mind focused entirely on the skeleton who's changed so much in what feels like so little time. “What’s up? Did somethin’ happen with Fuku? You know, she's a sweet gal -- very bright, too. If she needed somethin’ to do, I'm sure I could convince Alph’ to find her a job. If that’s all good with you.” Grillby recognizes this procedure. He did it before, back when the war was just ended and Sans refused to admit defeat and averted all questions about him away from him and onto the other person. He always did it when he doesn't want to think about himself, when he’s scared, when he’s upset, when he doesn’t want to face facts. As much as he wants to allow Sans to smile and laugh a little more, as he is the skeleton’s long time best friend, he can’t allow this to continue any longer.

“Sans.” There’s a wince that Sans tries to cover up, but since Grillby is more attentive than ever on him, it’s not even close to being able to be skimmed over like it was a trick of the light or eye. His head raises, gaze locking with his own, a look in his eyes that was so familiar he could easily say it was like yesterday he saw that. It had been centuries since that day, and even longer since the other had been so scared to show that look. It was the look he had given him the day Grillby found him crying and alone, cringing at every word spoken to him as if he'd soon be struck. It was the day he found out that Sans was a project -- a test, and not a living being. At least, that was how Sans had put it, and with such a bright smile, as if he liked being a project. That was the day he almost had a tantrum over hearing what the other had to put up with, and gave him the name he goes by, even after all these years. That look... he wanted to see to it that the look he’s seeing now would never be graced with the light of the crystals in the caves of Waterfall ever again. “You don't have to lie to me.” That look seems to intensify a bit before it blurs behind those large tears that look like water balloons, threatening to fall from his eyesockets, making him look younger than he is. He desperately wishes to pull the other close and assure him that it’s alright, that he’s here for him, but he has to address the issue first. “I won’t tell you that it's alright, because I know it isn’t for you. From what I can see, it hasn’t been alright for a while.” The words that he wishes to say -- and you didn't come to me for help -- are the ones he swallows and skims over as if he hadn’t thought to utter them in the first place. “I just... I want to help you. You’ve helped me time and time again, even when I told you I didn’t need it. So, Sans, please...” A familiar feeling of something that’s sadness, pain, and determination together swells inside him and he gives the other a smile, placing his hand over his friend’s. “Allow me to help you. Talk to me. Let me be the friend I know you’re certain I am. Tell me what's wrong.”

There’s a silence after that, one that’s deafening where it should be soothing, one that’s terrifying where it should be calming, and the motion of Sans moving his hand to grasp his own alerts him to the fact that he’s soon going to speak. Sure enough -- “Grillby.” His voice is broken, as if he were on the verge of crying. “You remember... what happened to Papyrus, right?” The question is rhetorical, the bartender can tell, but he nods regardless, knowing that this conversation will help the both of them get through rough times. “... Well... the pla-- er... the human child. They... after she killed my brother, she started crying and ran over to me, which is -- she wasn't... supposed to do that. I wasn't supposed to be seen. She ran over to me and started apologizing and said that she didn't want to do this ‘run’ - that she was only trying to get the dialogue for what I said at the end, when only Papyrus is dead and... she said that she's sorry, over and over... but I was so mad, that I didn’t believe her. I tried to kill her, I didn’t even care that we were in broad daylight, I wanted to kill her. I would have enjoyed killing her. Grillby, she -- she didn't reset.” Confusion was heavy in his stature, and he desperately wanted to ask what he was talking about... but something registered, clicked inside his mind. Every child that came down here, he always felt a certain deja vu about them when they came to visit with Sans. Every child seemed to know exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to go about everything, as if they’d seen everything before. Sans chuckles and then lets out a relieved sigh. “So you do know about the resets. Well then, this’ll be a little easier to explain. She -- Marie. Marie said that her friends had dared her to play the Queen Undyne ending.” Queen Undyne? Ending? "Yeah, I was confused at first too. But, you see, you’ve noticed that something’s up with me. Everyone else thinks I’ve always acted this way. So you’re immune to the way resets affect people. ... Grillby, when she said those things I think something broke. Something major. Every night I've been having to hold onto something or I wake up in the morning with my skull melting, my body glitching in and out of existence and --” The shaking is obvious in his friend’s posture, and the tears fall, which makes him feel guilty... but it’s for the best.

“I keep calling the child the ‘player’ now because that's what they are. They’re -- they’re a player. Grillby, I hate saying this, but if the child comes back before next week, you won’t remember any of this. And I’m scared. I don’t want to wake up at the house again, waiting for my brother to call but he doesn’t because he’s not there anymore. I don’t want to wake up to the same five voicemails from Undyne and Alphys. I don’t want to waste three hours of the morning again crying my soul out because I have to watch over another kid without knowing if they’ll go on to kill everyone -- kill you, Doggo, GD, A -- I literally mean everyone... I can’t do that again. I can’t do it. I did it with every other kid, and the ones who thought that they could save everyone always called me their brother... I have nightmares about them whenever I fall asleep for longer than five hours, calling my name, blaming me for their deaths, telling me that it's karma that my brother's dead, saying that I should join them... most days I try to do just that.” Worry flickers over Grillby’s features and his grip tightens ever so slightly on his best friend’s hand, unsure of what else to do. “Most days, I almost go through with it. But then I remember you. I remember Alphys. I remember how my brother would want me to continue on in his legacy and I gather just enough DETERMINATION to stay alive but... I can’t keep doing this. Grillby, the more times I do this, the less DETERMINATION I can gather.” There’s a pause in his tone, as if he was about to say something, but then his free hand moves to the zipper of his jacket, unzipping it and pulling up his shirt to show a plethora of cracks in his ribs and a barely glowing, dark blue SOUL -- but just as quickly as it’s shown, it’s gone, hidden behind fabric that looks as old as the war.

Grillby doesn’t make him say anything else, only pulling him closer and trying to stay calm, wishing that he knew how to help. There’s a squeak of surprise from the skeleton, but, after a few moments, his arms wrap around him as well, grabbing fistfuls of the suit he always wore. “Sans,” He finally says, voice hoarse and whispered, as if speaking any louder would break him. “You can always talk to me. I won’t forget like everyone else. I want you to rely on me. I’m not going anywhere any time soon. Please, Sans... please, let me be the friend you know I am.” There’s a gentle sob, and the skeleton takes a deep, shuddering breath, allowing the harsh pounding of his SOUL to be felt. ( Admittedly, he may be turning a light blue. Why? Well, that's a story for a different day. ) It takes a few minutes for a response to be had, but there is one and that’s good enough. The response, at first, is a simple nod of the head. A simple confirmation of what should be evident. But then he speaks.

“Okay. ... Okay, Grillby. I promise.” They spend the next thirty minutes in the silence that should have been before, but is relieving all the same, and when the two can finally breach another subject, Sans is the first to speak, laughing gently, even though he sounds tired. “Hey, wanna go back to my place to nitpick about Mettaton’s new drama series coming on tonight?” Grillby's mouth quirks upwards in something resembling a smile before he full out grins, laughter shaking his stature, practically lighting up. He puts Sans back down on his barstool, and he nods, still chuckling under his breath. As he moves to stand, Sans leans up to grab his collar, pressing a kiss directly to where his mouth would be. Ever so quickly, he moves away and off of the bar stool, hands in his pockets and turning to look back at the rather flustered bartender only when he’s nearing the door. His grin parts into what really does resemble a mouth, and there's fangs there, as well as a blue tongue. Grillby finds himself startled enough for his face to start turning blue and a shock to pass through him. Sans, of course, finds this absolutely hilarious, and snorts, going back to his normal appearance. “C’mon slowpoke. Mettaton’s show won't be on all night.” With that, the skeleton leaves the establishment, leaving the elemental to himself for a few moments.

He, too, starts to chuckle, and his hand moves up to where his cheeks would be, shaking his head. He slips off his apron and folds it up neatly, placing it neatly behind the counter, before glancing at the picture of his daughter underneath the top of the bar. He smiles thoughtfully, sighing. “You’ll enjoy this story, won’t you, my girl?” With that, he’s out of the bar, flipping the sign and looking at the skeleton waiting outside. “Shall we, Sans?” He stares at the elemental for a moment before laughing, shaking his head in a playful manner.