#rivethart

               Rivet Hart sucked in a deep breath through her muzzle, only to completely lose it as she burst into yet another gale of laughter. It was bad enough that she had to grab the nearest table to stay upright, nearly knocking over a row of beakers as she did so. Alpha-Clan Gaster grimaced and, with a slight twitch of one of his four ghostly hands, moved the tray away from the hysterical deer. The scientist sighed as the younger monster ended up slipping and landing on her tail on the floor, most likely bruising her rear but not caring in the least as she shook with laughter. On the table beside him, several small voices sighed and one swore in annoyance.

               “Okay, okay, I’m good!” Rivet pulled herself up and grinned widely at the group of monsters standing on the table. And they were standing on the table, despite there not being enough room. Well, there wouldn’t have been enough room if they had been the correct size. But they weren’t the correct size – they were tiny.

               “You done, bitch?” Itty-bitty Red sneered at her, arms folded over his chest. Even at four and a half inches tall he was a ball of anger. Beside him were four other skeletons, each in varying states of disgruntlement.

               “Not even close, asshole.” Rivet smirked at the angry little skel, moving to stand beside their table and leaning over, propping her elbows on the top and resting her chin on her fists. Beside Red, Mobsy (as the deer had taken to calling Mob Clan Sans) smacked Red on the back of the head.

               “Show ‘er some respect,” he demanded in his thick accent, threatening despite being the same height. He was still dressed in his sharp pinstripe suit – whatever had caused this had, thankfully, shrunk their clothes alongside them.

               “Easy, mob-man,” Orange pulled the cigarette from his teeth and blew the smoke away from the group.

               “Mob-man?” Gaster Sans nabbed the cigarette from the taller skeleton and stole a drag. “Heh, I like ‘Mobsy’ better.”

               Orange pulled another cigarette from the shrunken package in his hoodie pocket and lit it with a flash of his eye. “Heh, Mobsy. Nice and manly.” He winked at the aforementioned Sans, who bristled.

               “Look, ya punk…”

               “Okay, that’s enough!” Sans – Alpha Clan Sans, clad in his signature blue hoodie and slippers – pushed his way to the middle of the group, looking less than pleased. “Cut it out, all of you. There’s no call for short tempers.”

               As the Sanses (and one Papyrus) either cracked up laughing or began yelling at each other, Rivet twisted her head to look at Gaster, who had moved to stand beside her.

               “Okay, serious talk, how?”

               The scientist heaved a sigh and pointed to the far corner of the lab. There was soot staining the floor and walls, except for five small imprints where she guessed the five had been before Gaster had found them. “They were experimenting.” His voice was deep and had a heavy undertone of calm, despite the annoyance in his eyes. “Something went…wrong.”

               “Really?” When he shot her a rather terrifying glare at the sarcasm, Rivet back peddled and tried to look apologetic. “I mean, uh, yeah. Sorry. So why call me?”

               “As the owner of the only Reader shelter in the city, I figured you would know best how to handle creatures this…small.” Gaster sighed and ran a hand over his smooth skull. “It will take me several days to figure out what they were doing and find a way to fix it. It would be best if they were not underfoot during that time. Although we have never formally met, you are the only one I would trust with this task.”

               Rivet straightened up, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “You want me to babysit them while you fix their mess?”

               “Well, I would not say it like that…”

               There was a flash of light and a weight settled on Rivet’s shoulder. With practiced ease she twisted her head and peered down her muzzle to Sans.

               “C’mon dad, you want her to babysit us. No need to sugarcoat it, even if she is a pretty sweet monster.”

               “Sans!” Gaster snatched his son off the deer’s shoulder and deposited him with the others. “Look, I am more than willing to pay you for your help,” he told Rivet, who suddenly looked much more interested. “I know the shelter is a non-profit, but I would be happy to make a very generous donation if I were able to get this fixed without five miniature skeletons underfoot.”

               “It’s probably a good idea,” Orange chimed in from where he’d teleported to the top of her head, laying between her antlers without a care in the world. “Knowing those two,” he jabbed his thumb at the group on the table, “Sans and Red might start blowing stuff up just for the hell of it.”

               “If you’re getting cigarette ash in my hair, I’m going to lock you in the glove compartment of my car,” Rivet threatened the skeleton, who immediately stubbed his cigarette out on his boney palm. “That’s what I thought.” She sighed and nodded to Gaster, making Orange yelp. “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on them. How long do you think it’ll take for you to fix it?”

               “No more than a week,” Gaster promised, looking relieved.

               Rivet looked at the four on the table, who still looked unhappy with their predicament. None of them spoke out against the idea though. “Alright, guys, let’s head out so dear old dad can fix this all up.” She held her hands out, but wasn’t surprised when instead both Sans and Gaster Sans (she would have to shorten that…Gast? Gast would work.) teleported to one shoulder, making themselves comfortable there. Red and Mobsy, not to be outdone, copied them, and two weights appeared on her other clavicle. The deer rolled her eyes and retracted her hand.

               “You’ve got my number, right?”                Gaster nodded, patting his coat pocket. “Yes. I will call you when I know something.”

               “Good luck!” With a wave, Rivet left the lab with five small passengers. Once in her car, she made sure they were safely in the carrier she always kept in the back, strapped into the passenger seat, and were settled before dissolving into laughter once again.

                  “She’s a fucking banshee,” Red muttered, rubbing at the side of his skull as Rivet’s random snorts and giggles interrupted the quiet night drive. It was late – just past midnight – and the passing streetlamps lit up the inside of the carrier as the car sped past them.

               Orange and Gast were sharing a cigarette, and the former blew smoke at the Underfell skeleton. “Chill, shorty,” he muttered, “it could be worse.”

               “How? How could this possible be worse?”

               “She could be making size-related puns.” Gast pointed out. Across from him, Sans feigned offence.

               “How dare you!” He rested a hand daintily over his chest. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’re all being so small minded.”

               Mobsy barely grabbed Red in time, yanking him backwards when the little ball of anger lunged for Sans classic. “Stop baiting him,” he growled to Orange, “and hand me a damn cigarette.”

               “Didn’t think you liked ‘em,” Gast tossed him the box and watched as he fished one out, fingers a bit clumsy.

               “I prefer cigars,” Mobsy grunted, throwing back the box and lighting his stick, “but we don’t have any of those, unless yer holding out on me.”

               “Nah,” before either of the reasonable skeletons could stop him, Sans made his pun, “Cigars are in short supply.”

               Red crashed into Sans with a wild snarl, and the two were quickly tumbling head over heels about the carrier as the other three watched, in varying states of amusement and annoyance.

               Outside the carrier they heard Rivet sigh, giggles gone, and quietly wonder what she had just gotten herself into.

                  “Alright, house rules,” Rivet announced as soon as she entered the backroom of the shelter, the five skeletons sitting on her shoulders and head. “No fighting, no yelling, no screaming matches, no swearing, no harming each other OR my Readers, no destroying anything, no smoking inside, no explosions, and no summoning any of those floaty-skull-things that fire laser beams.”                “Gaster blasters.” All five corrected her at once.

               “I don’t care if they’re lollipops, no lasering my stuff.” Rivet stopped by her bed and pointed to the messy nest of pillows and blankets on the floor beside it. “Okay, rides over, last stop, get off of me.” Any affection she’d had for the cute little skeletons had been squashed when one of said floaty-skull-things had been summoned by Red and nearly took out the engine of her car.

               Obediently the five teleported to the pillows and blankets, and the deer flopped on the bed. “All of the Readers are asleep right now,” she muttered past her pillow, pulling out her phone and checking the time, “since, y’know, it’s three in the morning. I expect you five to stay back here and sleep until I’m able to explain everything to them.”

               “Sure thing, Rivet.” Sans flopped back on one of the pillows, and was out like a light in seconds. Orange and Gast (who had given up their cigarettes when they entered the building) laid down near him, both beyond tired after the day’s events. Red laid down a few pillows away, muttering idle threats about a certain punny skeleton beneath his breath.

               Mobsy kept an eye on Rivet, who in turn watched the others settle down to sleep. When she caught him staring, he gave her a slight smile and teleported to the mattress.

               “What are you doing?” The deer asked as he made himself comfortable leaning against the edge of her pillow.

               “Keepin’ an eye on my favorite monster.” He shut his sockets and rested his hands over his stomach.

               “Papyrus isn’t here,” Rivet settled her head down as she spoke.

               “Heh, right. Then I’m keeping an eye on my second – no wait, that would be dad…third is Alphys…fourth is Asgore…uh…”

               “Goodnight, Mobsy.”

               She was asleep before he could finish counting her place on the totem pole of favorite monsters.

              “A mouse, eh?” Sans sipped his ketchup slowly, free hand tapping the bar top. From his plate of fries came a similar ‘hmmm’ sound as his Reader mimicked his pose, stroking their chin. Ever since Papyrus had brought the skeleton a Reader as a present, it was rare for them to be apart. Grillby had gotten used to seeing them just as much as seeing Sans.

              “Yes,” Grillby set the sparkling-clean glass on the shelf below the bar, before leaning on it, hands folded on the polished top. “I have noted food disappearing from the kitchen and storeroom. There have been noises in the walls, and more than once I have seen something moving along the baseboards in the dark.” His fanged mouth was twisted down, a tight white line across his face. “I am not sure the best way to proceed. What do you use at the lab?”

              “It depends,” Sans set down his bottle and leaned against the bar, deep in thought. It was nearly closing time, and the bar was empty save for them. As soon as his arms were down, his Reader scrambled up the soft fabric of his hoodie and plopped down on his shoulder. He gave a lazy snort and handed them one of his fries. “Have you run experiments on these mice looking at the effect of magic on non-magic based souls that ended up giving them three-inch long fangs and daddy issues?”

              His Reader choked on their fry, while Grillby felt his jaw drop. “Just what kind of experiments are you guys running?” The Reader demanded, giving him an incredulous look.

              Sans shrugged and winked at them. “Top secret, sorry. The mice were okay, if that’s any consolation, Pipsqueak.”

              “A bit…” Pipsqueak muttered as they bit into their fry.

              “Anyway,” Grillby crackled, “I believe these are simply some house mice who had found their way into my walls.”

              “I would just trap ‘em then. Once they’ve found a place to nest, they’re not gonna leave.”

              “I was hoping to avoid harming them,” Grillby admitted.

              Sans patted his shoulder. “Aw, you’re such a softy, Grillbz! But they’re just mice. If you don’t kill ‘em, they’ll find their way back and just start eating all your food again.”

              The flame huffed but nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are correct.”

              “I think we have some extra traps at the office – I’ll bring ‘em by tomorrow.”

              “Thank you, Sans. I will see you both tomorrow night, then.”

              The skeleton tipped his bartender a wink and stood to leave, patting his Pipsqueak on the head when they leaned against his cheek to keep their balance.

              “See ya tomorrow!” The Reader waved as they left, mimicking Sans casual toss of the hand. Grillby rolled his eyes at the two and began to scrub his bar down, hoping to discourage the mice from trying to get into his kitchen once again.

            You just wanted a snack – a nibble, that’s all. You’d given up on scrounging up three full meals a day a while ago – a month, maybe two or three? How long had you been living in the walls of this bar, anyway? You ran a hand along your shirt with a grimace – you could feel every rib, and where had once been a rather poke-able belly was now a hollow stretch of skin.

              BUT! That didn’t matter. You didn’t need lots of food to survive – just a table scrap every two or three days was enough. Sure, it was a bit hard to find that much with the fastidious bartender and his cleaning habits, but you made due. It’s not like you had a choice, anyway – despite it being nearly April, it was still cold and windy out. No place for a little Reader like yourself. Besides, the walls of the bar were insulated and kept away the chill of the air, and thanks to a past family of mice that had lived there, you were able to sneak in through holes chewed in the baseboards.

              You were certain that’s the only reason the bartender – Grillby, you’d heard him be called – hadn’t found you yet. You were easily able to slip from one room to another without being seen, as long as it was on the ground floor. You were intimately familiar with the bar, the kitchen, the store room, and his office. His apartment on the second floor was a complete mystery – you’d never managed to get up the stairs, and honestly you didn’t want to. It felt invasive enough to be living in his walls without his knowledge or permission – the least you could do was grant him his privacy.

              Some part of you wanted to jump in front of him and wave your arms and holler a hello. You constantly squashed that part, sternly reminding yourself that what you had was enough. You’d asked for too much, and that was how you ended up alone and hungry in the first place. You were terrified of making the same mistake again.

              The bar was quiet and dark – it was far past closing. You prowled along the tables and chairs, searching for any table scraps left by the customers. There was normally something left by the guard dogs that visited every evening to play cards. The floor beneath their table was scrubbed clean, though – in fact, the entire restaurant was oddly clean. You paced behind the bar and found…nada. Zip. Nothing. You wrinkled your nose at the dust-free floor and climbed into the wall through a hole behind the shelf of liquors and wines on the shelf behind the bar.

              A quick walk to the storeroom showed the same level of cleanliness – not a speck of dust or crumb of food was left on the floor or lower shelves. Chewing on your thumbnail, you left the storeroom and headed for the kitchen.

              The hole to the kitchen was hidden behind the fridge, near the stairs that led to Grillby’s second-story flat. You had to climb out on your stomach, squeezing under the thick power cords from the fridge. Even this tiny space was squeaky-clean, void of dust and dirt. You climbed to your feet, dusted yourself off out of habit, and stepped out into the kitchen.

              The kitchen was dark, Grillby having already gone to bed. In retrospect, you should have realized something was off, or at least looked around before stepping out into the open.

              As soon as you’d moved out from the fridge, there was a loud, metallic snap, followed by a second, squishier snap. The sound echoed damningly in your ears, as an odd numbness began crawling up your left leg. A sharp, hot pain began to lance up the limb, shuddering through both bone and muscle. You tossed your head back, smacking it hard against the floor. Wait – when had you fallen to the floor? You’d been standing, hadn’t you?

              A strange keening sound reached your ears. It was very annoying – you wanted to yell at whatever mosquito was making it to shut the hell up, but the pain had burnt away all the numbness in your leg, and your mind was otherwise occupied. It wasn’t until you stopped to gasp for breath that you realized it was you making the pathetic noise.

              You bit your lip, hard, to stifle the sound. You couldn’t afford to be that loud – not with the bartender right overhead. Whimpering between your teeth, you forced yourself to sit up and see just what, exactly, had happened to your leg. The answer almost surprised a hysterical giggle out of you.

              A mousetrap. An old-school, wood-and-wire mousetrap. You had stepped right into it, left leg catching the trigger and sending the bar snapping down on your shin. Blood bubbled up around the bar, which had bit deeply into the skin and bone. You tried to wiggle your toes, and were relieved when they moved.

              Okay, you could figure this out. You were a smart, resourceful Reader. Mary had always said so, and Mary was never wrong. You leaned forward and hooked your fingers under the wire bar. The metal was cold against your skin as you tried to lift it off your leg. It shifted a bit, but all you succeeded in doing was sending another sharp shock of pain up your spine. Cursing your wimpy muscles, you slammed your hand against it in frustration, which only made more blood slide down your leg to pool against the wood base.

              You were 100% caught. No, 100% trapped. Obviously, Grillby had figured out you were nicking food from his storeroom and bar floor. You didn’t think he would try to hurt you, though – after all, it was just a little bit, and it was only every few days! You weren’t stealing full-course meals or anything. It was honestly disconcerting – you’d never thought Grillby would be one to act violently, even if he did double as the bouncer for his bar. Obviously, someone messing with his food made him angry enough to resort to more…finalmethods.

With a pained huff you fell onto your back, head bouncing off the wood once again. You yelped in pain, but quickly stifled yourself again as the urge to begin crying grew in your chest.

              “Sans, if I have told you once I have told you a thousand times, my ketchup stores are off limits!” The light at the top of the stairs flicked on. Wait, no – that was just Grillby, standing on the top stair, wearing pajama bottoms that were patterned with hot dogs. He was rubbing at his eyes as he descended the stairs, seeming annoyed at being woken. You had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from whimpering as the bartender came to stand on the last step, a towering inferno to your small form.

              The elemental opened his eyes and looked around, then blinked when he didn’t see any short, punny skeletons in the kitchen. He scratched the back of his head in confusion, then glanced down in thought. You met his eyes, hand still over your mouth to keep from making any unnecessary noise.

              It was interesting, watching the flame figure out what exactly he was seeing. He tilted his head ever-so-slightly, the thin, jagged line that was his mouth opening a bit as his brain caught up with his eyes. The flames on his head flickered sporadically, rising higher in shock as his eyes widened.

              “Oh my Stars.” He leapt off the last step and fell to his knees beside you, looking surprisingly upset at having caught you. Your pain-addled brain found that a bit odd – wasn’t that his goal in setting out a trap? You’d think he would be happier. The flame looked far from it, though – his eyes were wide (easily seen since he’d left his glasses upstairs), brows sloped in distress. His hands hovered over you as he examined the trap, fingers curling and uncurling as he thought.

              “Hold still,” he finally said, grasping the side of the mousetrap that didn’t have you in a death grip (hah!) with one hand. Curling the fingers of his other hand under the wire, he slowly lifted it. A new wave of pain rushed down your leg and you couldn’t help but yelp in pain as the nerves that had been suppressed began firing all at once. The fire elemental swore before – actually swore, you’d never heard him say any curse words while skulking around the bar – and pulled the trap away from you. He turned away from you as the wood base caught fire in his fingers, and he tossed it into the large sink a few feet away.

              While he was tossing it away, you nope’d out of there. Luckily the trap had been right by the fridge, and despite the pain you dragged yourself behind the appliance, suddenly happy for the squeaky-clean space. You knew, somewhere, that it was stupid to moveaway from help, but at the moment the fear and pain was in charge, and millennia of evolution was telling you to get to a small, safe space to recover.

              The dark space was illuminated as Grillby smooshed his face against the wall in order to peer at you. You bumped against the thick power cord and gave it a dismayed look – there was no way you could climb under or over it with your leg. The bartender leaned back, though you could still see his knee through the crack. There was some shuffling of fabric, then electronic beeping.

              Grillby’s soft voice seeped into the space, but you weren’t able to make out what he was saying. Instead, you focused on your leg. Ugh, you wished you’d been wearing jeans when you’d left. They would have given you a lot more protection than the shorts. You grimaced and shifted to lean over the cut – well, gash – and break. There was a smear of blood following you from where you’d been trapped to where you were now, the only mess in the pristine kitchen.

              “Hey.”

              You jolted back against the power cord and stared at the gap leading to the kitchen. Grillby was gone, replaced by a tired-looking Reader wearing shorts and a white t-shirt with a skull and crossbones drawn on it in Sharpie. Looming behind them was a skeleton monster you’d seen several times at the bar, sitting on his knees and squishing his face against the wall to peer in with one eye socket. How were the bones of his face squishing like that? It didn’t make any logical sense…

              Somewhere in the room, Grillby flicked on the overhead light, which was enough to illuminate you hiding place and you. The Reader gasped when they caught sight of your leg, and behind them the skeleton winced and made a sympathetic noise.

              “You got this, Pipsqueak?” The monster asked.

              “Yeah, go check on Grillby. He looks like he’s about to combust.” The Reader gave him a bright smile and waved him off before focusing on you once more. The skeleton got to his feet and you listened as he spoke softly to Grillby on the far side of the room. They turned back to you and flashed a strained smile. “Hey. I’m Pip.” They slid into the gap and crouched in front of you, wincing when they saw how screwed up your leg was.

              You managed to give them a pained grimace in return; you didn’t want to open your mouth for fear of making that odd keening noise again.

              The Reader glanced back at the entrance of the gap, where a small bag was waiting. “I know you’re probably not up to moving, but I can’t help you back here. Can you come sit by my bag?” They held a hand out for you. When you hesitated, their smile softened and became more genuine and less stressed. “I know Grillby and Sans are a little scary at first, but they’re both huge sweethearts, I promise.”

              You weren’t really sure about that – Grillby had set out a trap to kill you, after all. But the pain in your leg was clouding your rational thought, and blood was beginning to pool beneath your leg, soaking into your shorts and making your skin sticky. You grasped the strangers hand, wincing as you smeared their skin with your blood. They didn’t seem to mind, however – they simply hauled you upright and immediately wrapped your arm around their neck.

              “Here, put all your weight on me.” They instructed as they helped you limp out of the gap. True to their word, they helped you sit down against the wall right beside the bag, still next to the fridge. Sans and Grillby were standing by the door to the bar on the other side of the room. The two monsters glanced at you, but Sans quickly distracted Grillby with a bad joke, pulling the attention off you.

              Pip sat on their knees in front of you and pulled out a smashed piece of monster candy. “Eat this,” they shoved it into your hands, “it’ll help you heal faster, I promise.”

              You recognized the colorful splinter of sugar – it was pink, which meant strawberry flavor. Without hesitation you popped it into your mouth. Your tongue immediately began to tingle as it melted and dispersed healing magic through your body. There was an unsettling, sharp ‘crunch’ noise as your tibia and fibula snapped into place, accompanied by a weird, unpleasant grinding feeling that brought goosebumps up along your arms. The gash stopped bleeding, though the skin didn’t knit together.

              Pip was prepared; they’d pulled a plastic box with a red cross drawn on it from their bag. You recognized it – they were emergency med kits sold at the Shelter and some corner stores that carried Reader goods. They popped it open and quickly pulled out some foil squares.

              “This is probably going to hurt,” they warned as they unwrapped an alcohol swab, “but it’ll keep it from getting infected.”

              You grimaced but didn’t say anything, merely leaning back and bracing yourself. Pip gave you an encouraging smile and began wiping the blood off your leg. They cleaned the area around the gash before daring to gently run the cloth over it.

              You nearly bit through your lip at the sharp, stinging pain. You whined through your clenched teeth, and Pip flashed you an empathetic glance. “Almost done,” they promised as they wiped the rest of the blood away from the gash. If you’d eaten in the past few days, you would have been sick – you could see the white of your newly-healed bone between the slash of muscle and skin.

              “Ugh,” Pip looked away from the injury, busying themselves with finding sterilized gauze and bandaging. “Yeesh, how are you being so quiet? I’d be screaming my head off by now.” They asked, a tint of humor in their voice as they laid the gauze carefully over the cut and began to wrap the bandage around your leg, pulling it tightly to make sure it wouldn’t come undone.

              “There, all better!” They patted your leg gently, making sure not to touch the cut directly. “Well, mostly better. You won’t lose your leg, I’m pretty sure!” They joked. You gave them a weak smile, then glanced over their shoulder at the two monsters. Sans had looked back over while his Reader attended to you. You quickly looked away, hunching your shoulders around your ears. The skeleton grabbed the bartender and pulled him from the kitchen, into the bar proper.

              Pip moved to sit beside you, leaning against the wall as they used another alcohol wipe to clean your blood off their hands. “Grillby was really scared when he called Sans,” they confided, balling up the swab and tossing it at the med kit. “He thought there was a mouse in his bar, sneaking food. None of us every thought there would be a Reader wandering around.”

              “A…mouse?” You asked, licking blood from your lip.

              “Yeah,” Pip laughed, “a mouse. That’s why he set out mouse traps. He didn’t mean to hurt you – he’s really upset.” They glanced at the sink, where the unseen mouse trap was still smoldering and giving off light gray smoke, which was curling towards the ceiling. When you didn’t respond, they kept going. “So, what are you doing sneaking around Grillby’s, anyway?” Their tone wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

              You shrugged uncomfortably, but when you looked down you saw the neat bandaging around your leg, and figured you at least owed them an explanation in return. “I was hungry,” you admitted, leaving out that you had gotten hungry three months ago. When she gave you a concerned look, you hurried to defend yourself. “I didn’t steal anything, I promise! I just took whatever fell on the floor!”

              “You what?” Pip gasped, “Oh my goodness, you poor thing!” They threw their arms around you and hugged you tightly. “How long have you been hiding out here?”

              You winced, wishing they hadn’t asked but still feeling like you owed them an answer. “Uh…since New Year’s?”

              “New Yea – that was three months ago!” Pip let go of you, then pressed their hands against your stomach and ribs, easily feeling them through your thin shirt. “Oh my stars. SANS!”

              The skeleton monster immediately poked his head through the doorway, Grillby hovering worriedly behind him. “Yeah, Pipsqueak?”

              Pip leapt up and pointed at you. “They haven’t eaten in three months!”

              “Wait,” you hurried to correct, “I’ve eaten since then! I’d be dead if I hadn’t!”

              Sans pushed the door all the way open and strode in, Grillby behind him. The bartender was frowning and flickering in distress and worry. “What do you mean?” He asked in a soft, prompting voice.

              “They’ve been here for three months!” Pip revealed, pointing to you dramatically. “And have been eating off the floor!”

              You flushed brightly and struggled to your own feet, leaning against the wall to stay upright. Your leg gave an unpleasant twinge but held, the broken bones a mere echo of an ache now. “I didn’t steal anything, I promise!” You rushed to reassure the bartender. “I just took a little bit when people dropped it, just what they weren’t going to eat anyway!”

              Both the monsters and Pipsqueak were staring at you now, expressions flickering between horror and disbelief. You hunched your shoulders and looked away, squirming uncomfortably beneath their gazes.

              Bare feet crossed the room. You glanced up and watched as Grillby approached you and Pip. The other Reader smiled, but you shuffled back a step, so your back was safely pressed against the wall. At the last moment he stepped to the right and opened the fridge, the door swinging back and blocking him from sight. You could hear something – most likely ketchup bottles and the like – being clanked against each other as he rummaged around. After only a moment he moved to one of the counters, his body and the fridge blocking you from seeing what he was doing.

              Pip gave you a reassuring smile, though they looked a bit confused as well. They glanced at Sans, who shrugged at them with a grin, a motion they returned. The three of you weren’t confused for long, however. In only a few minutes, Grillby turned back from the counter, holding something in his hands. He moved back to the fridge but, instead of ignoring you, he knelt behind Pip. He didn’t speak, simply rested his hand between the two of you, palm up. Resting on the warm, flickering skin were two sandwiches, complete with cheese, tomatoes, and turkey.

              “Oh, midnight snack time!” Pip had no trouble moving closer and grabbing one of the sandwiches from the bartender’s hand. It was much larger than a proper sandwich would be – more like a flattened, layered pizza in their hands. Grillby must have cut the bread and fillings as small as he could handle without squishing it all. The Reader immediately took a big bite and melted, making a happy ‘mmmmmm!’ noise as she chewed. “It’s even grilled! Heh, well of course, it’s a Grillby’d cheese sandwich!”

              The flame rolled his eyes, though there was a pleased smile tugging at the edge of his line-like mouth. He moved his gaze from Pip to you, and the smile fell a bit. You were still standing against the wall, a good monster-sized foot away, shoulders hunched as you stared at the food on his hand. “Take it,” he insisted in a soft voice, shifting his hand a bit closer, “you need a proper meal.”

              You wanted to hesitate and refuse, but the smell of melted cheese and warm turkey hit your nose and you slowly, almost reluctantly, picked the sandwich up. It was a bit awkward to hold, but thanks to the bread being toasted it didn’t slump about the middle like an actual pizza-sized-pizza would have. You hesitated a moment, before bringing up to your mouth and taking a small bite.

              Instantaneously, your taste buds and stomach rejoiced at having warm food for the first time in months. You scarfed down a good half of the sandwich before a deep, rolling chuckle made you stop mid-bite. Your eyes flickered up and, to your surprise, met with the skeleton monsters. He’d come to sit down beside his Reader, leaning against the fridge as he watched you both eat. Pip was showing much more decorum, sitting on his knee and taking small, measured bites. Self-consciously you pulled the food away from your mouth, trying to fight down the blush clinging to your cheeks.

              “Don’t eat too fast there, kid,” he winked, “You’ll end up with a monster of a stomach ache.” On his knee, Pip choked on her sandwich and smacked his knee.

              “That was awful.”

              “Yep.” Sans leaned back and shut his eyes, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, looking mighty pleased with himself for the bad pun.

              “That truly was bad, Sans.” Grillby had returned – you’d barely notice him leave after you took the food – and he sat beside the skeleton, across from you, gracefully crossing his legs. He handed Sans a sandwich identical to the one in your hands. The skeleton opened one eye a smidge and accepted it with a grunted ‘thanks.’

              “So, you got a name, kid?” Sans asked through a mouthful of grilled cheese and turkey sandwich.

              You hesitated, taking another bite of your own food to avoid answering right away. It was silly – you should have been able to answer right away, ‘off the bat’ as Mary would say. Not that Mary was saying anything anymore…

              NOPE. Nope. Not going there. You swallowed your bite hard and slid down the wall to sit against it, knees drawn to your chest as you set the sandwich down beside you. Sans and Grillby’s expressions turned concerned, but Pip just nodded at you with an understanding look in their eyes.

              “Kid?”

              “…Lamb.”

              “…No, I think it’s turkey.”

              The dead-pan delivery surprised a snort of laughter out of you. “No,” you corrected, “my name is Lamb.”

              “Lamb,” Grillby cut off whatever joke Sans looked ready to make, “I do not wish to upset you, but where is your Monster?”

              You didn’t meet any of their eyes, and he made a soft ‘huff’ noise of understanding. Pip slid off their monster’s knee and moved to sit beside you. They didn’t say anything, just leaned against you as you stared at your knees.

              “Sans,” Grillby spoke softly, “could I perhaps borrow some of your supplies?”

              “I dunno,” Sans’ voice was teasing, “how much of my tab will it cover?”

              “Sans…”

              “Hey, just kidding, Grillbz! I’ll be right back.” There was an odd, soft popping noise, and the kitchen suddenly felt much emptier. You glanced up, and saw only empty space where Sans had been. Your eyes darted to the door leading to the bar, which was completely still.

              “Where…?”

              “He does that,” Pip reassured you, “So, uh, how did you get the name ‘Lamb’?”

              To their surprise, you snorted. “My monster was named Mary; she was an ewe. She – she liked jokes. You know the nursery rhyme, ‘Mary had a little Lamb?’”

              “Oh!” Pip easily caught on, and grinned against your shoulder. “So you were her little Lamb!”

              “Heh, yeah.”

              Grillby chuckled as well, his voice soft and pleasant to listen to.

              There was another pop, different than the first – this time air was pushed out of a spot all at once, followed by a skeleton that took up said space. He had a cardboard box in his hands, which had the ‘HEINZ’ logo printed on the side. He handed it to Grillby, who took it with a nod.

              “Thank you, Sans,” the flame glanced through whatever was in the box with a pleased expression. “I’d say this is almost enough to pay off your tab.”

              The skeleton grinned cheekily, before glancing down at you two. “Alright, Pipsqueak, I think Grillby has a spark of an idea on what to do. I’m betting we could get about ten more hours of sleep before we gotta get up for work.”

              Pip nodded and stood. You quickly followed, your leg giving only the barest of painful throbs as you put weight on it. The other Reader went straight over to the skeleton, who crouched down and scooped them up to sit on his clavicle. To your surprise, he didn’t straighten right up – he reached out and ruffled your hair with a finger. “Nice to meet you, Mouse. I’ll see ya tonight.” With that, he vanished, leaving you hair in a whirlwind of tangles.

              Grillby sat the box in front of him, drawing your attention. You met his eyes, which were squinting through a pair of square-framed glasses now, and immediately looked down at your feet. You were embarrassed to have even thought the kind bartender would deliberately try to harm you – it was obvious, thinking back now, that the mouse trap was set for just that – a mouse.

              “Lamb,” the bartender was leaning forward a bit now, but you still had to tilt your head back a bit to see his face, “Am I correct in assuming that your owner has…fallen?” He spoke the word with soft reverence, and you gave him a single nod. “And I suppose you have nowhere else you can go?” You shook your head, reaching up to run a hand through your tangled locks (and finding the remnants of the web – darn it, no wonder that spider had been so mad! You must look like a cotton-candy cone from hell…).

              Grillby was frowning now, and he looked at you through half-lidded, sad eyes. “You are more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you wish,” he offered. You didn’t nod or shake your head – you just stared at him, jaw dropped.

              “W-what?”

              “You are in need of a home,” the bartender explained, “and I am more than happy to provide it. I have ample room and food to accommodate a small guest.” You mouthed the word guest at him, and his lips twitched up in a genuinely amused smile. “No one should be forced to scrounge for food when living in a restaurant.” He pointed out, and moved to rest a hand, palm up, in front of you.

              He was so genuine, so honest, in his speech, that you barely hesitated to step onto his palm. You sat, carefully, a bit surprised that his warm, flickering skin didn’t burn you. It felt like sitting on a warm, scratchy blanket. Grillby tucked the box Sans had brought under one arm before carefully standing. His fingers curled up, and you automatically leaned against them. They were longer and thicker than Mary’s had been, and the way they curled slightly over you as you sat back gave you a sense of protection and safety much different from the ewes.

              Grillby flipped out the kitchen light (though being right in his hand, you couldn’t really see a difference when he did so) and mounted the stairs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit excited – you hadn’t been upstairs, after all, and the idea of seeing something new was a bit exciting.

              The stairs led to another doorway, which opened into a small living room. A kitchenette was to the left, while to the right was a door that led to what appeared to be a bedroom. It was simply decorated with warm colors mixing in blankets and pillows over white furniture. You noted several large bookshelves against one wall, full of culinary books and television shows.

              Grillby took a right to the bedroom, which was decked out in the same warm colors. A large bed took up the middle of the room, on either side of which were dark wood nightstands. He set the box down on one of these, and thanks to your height in his hand, you caught a glance inside. There were a few pieces of clothing, some Reader-sized books and a Rubik cube, and a small med-kit like the one Pip had used to help your leg, as well as a clear bag full of more monster candy shards.

              Grillby set his hand down on one of the fluffy pillows at the top of the bed, and you obligingly slid to the plush surface. You flopped down on it with a soft sight – it was much nicer than the nest of napkins you had hidden by the hole that led into the kitchen. The flame raised a brow at the pleased noise you made, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he rounded the bed and laid on the other side, tucking himself under the blankets to dim most of his light. The room was immediately much darker, and you rolled over to watch him as he settled in.

              The elementals flames had dimmed as he made himself comfortable, until he was less like a bonfire and more like a nightlight. He had set his glasses down, leaving nothing to obstruct your gaze of his soft white eyes, which were already heavy with sleep. “Are you alright there, Lamb?”

              You winced at the name – it sounded weird and foreign, coming from him. The flame noticed and sat up a bit, his fire sparking up a bit. “Are you alright?” He asked worriedly.

              “Yeah,” you quickly reassured him, “I - it’s stupid.”

              “I’m certain it’s not,” he insisted, leaning a bit closer so he could see you better, waiting for you to tell him what was wrong.

              “It’s just…hearing that name now feels…weird. Mary gave it to me, but she’s – she’s never gonna be able to – she’s…” To your horror, the corners of your eyes began to ache as tears gathered, and you dashed them away with a quick move of your fist.

              A warm hand surrounded you on all sides. Grillby didn’t try to pick you up or pull you close – he just rested his fingers around your back, like a heavy, heated blanket. He rested his head back on the pillow and waited patiently for you to continue.

              “I’m never gonna hear Mary say my name again!” You finally choked out, tears dribbling down your cheeks. Grillby rubbed his thumb against your shoulder in soft circles, watching as you wiped at your eyes. “Why – why did she have to fall?” You demanded of the bartender, which was a bit of a lost cause, seeing how you doubted he’d ever met her before. She preferred cooking at home to eating out. “She never hurt anybody,” you continued, “She – she was the nicest monster in the world! She always gave cookies to everybody in the neighborhood, and babysat for the bunnies next door, and she was the first one to offer help whenever someone needed it!”

              “Why – why did she leave me?” You looked up at Grillby, to find his eyes sloped in sorrow and his smile gone.

              “It sounds like she was a lovely monster,” the bartender kept rubbing at your shoulder, his voice a soft, rumbling sauna that made your very SOUL feel comforted. “But everyone has their time, and there’s nothing we can do when it comes. I’m sure your Mary knew that. She must have told you about what happens when a monster grows old.” You sniffled a bit and nodded. Grillby’s thumb had moved to rubbing at the back of your shoulders and neck, which was calming your thumping heart.

              “I’m certain she misses you as well, Mouse.” He put a bit of pressure against your back, coaxing you into laying down on the soft pillow. His hand shifted to lay on top of you, a warm weight that evaporated the tear tracks on your cheeks.

              “Mouse?” You asked, happy for the distraction. In the three months you’d been scrounging for food and making yourself a home in the walls, you hadn’t had time to think about Mary. You still weren’t ready too – it was still too painful, the sight of her dissolving to dust clearly imprinted on your mind.

              Grillby’s flames had calmed once more as he settled back down amongst the blankets. “Is that alright?” He asked. “It is what Sans called you when he left.”

              After a moment’s thought, you nodded. “Yeah, I – I have been acting like a mouse,” you gave him a small smile. “It fits.”

              The flame returned the smile with his own equally-small one. “Goodnight, Mouse,” he bid, flames dimming once again.