#utshippingpridemonth

“Aw, c’mon, Gri- hic! -llby! Just another round,” the drunk slurred, grinning in a half-pleading fashion as he nursed his already warm drink. He had been persisting at this for a good five minutes, and wasn’t about to lose when he still had G to spend. The bartender, however, was done. “I don’t want to hear it,” Grillby huffed, persisting on shooing the drunken monster away from his seat. The tipsy monster slurred something unintelligible before slipping and crashing out of his seat with a groan. The chair broke due to the force of the fall, breaking one of the small beams connecting the legs and causing a leg to crack into two. The flame felt his anger rise as he began to turn a deep shade of red, ready to finish the monster on the spot, but calmed himself just in time. Instead, he growled in frustration and bent down, grabbing the monster’s wallet. “For damages,” he grumbled, taking out the stash of G and tossing the emptied case back to the drunk still struggling to get up. He seemed sober enough to understand what had just happened, though, as his complaints were immediate. “H-hey! Gimme my m-moneeey back!” he slurred, wobbling on his two feet. “Oh please. You were going to waste it on booze, anyway. Probably going to get yourself killed as well,” Grillby sighed, storing the G away. “Besides, you’ve stayed way past your welcome and you broke my stool. I’d say you deserve it.” The bumbling fool stumbled toward him angrily. “You can’t do that!” he growled, looking as though he was preparing for an attack. However, he was caught off guard by Grillby grabbing him by the neck. “Listen, It’s five in the fucking morning,” he warned, his voice low. “I am done with all of you. Now get out!” And with that, he threw the monster out the front door, giving a huff as he went back inside, taking a moment to survey his establishment. It wasn’t as messy as some would think, but there would definitely be clean up involved. Might as well start now.

As Grillby was finishing picking up the place a good fifteen minutes later, he heard the doors open. A faint smile appeared in his flame as his hearing recognized the slow, stiff, almost calculated steps of his favorite patron.

“I don’t suppose you have a bit of time for one more drink, hmm? Perhaps two?” Gaster hummed, already taking a seat on one of the intact stools. The flame forgot about the broom he had been handling, dropping it off to the side to pay attention to something a tad more interesting. “Oh, only if you have the G,” he chuckled, moving to his place behind the counter, folding his arms on the counter. Tired red eyelights flicked up the the bartender, his left phalanges drumming rhythmically along the surface of the counter while his other hand fiddled with his dirtied coat, stained with a faint red here and there. “G? Well, I’m afraid I must have left my money at home,” he sighed, feigning sorrow. “Perhaps a trade would suffice?” With a small grin, the skeleton quickly pulled a glass bottle of liquor, the bottle itself rather thick and intricate in design. It must be something good. Grillby took it up, unable to help the smile that tore though his usually smooth surface. “Well, as much as I appreciate it, I am a bartender,” he chuckled, glancing away from the bottle. “Then let’s call it a… small gift, then,” Gaster compromised, waving a dismissive hand. “Besides, it’s one hundred ninety proof.” That seemed to catch the other’s interest. A higher proof alcohol was a treat for most heat-based monsters, as the drink contained more alcohol than it did any other substance they threw in. It was like drinking rubbing alcohol. “Really? Now how on earth did you get you slimy, bony fingers on something like this?” he asked, tempted to pop the bottle open for a sip right there, but decided to save it for a more special time, when he was feeling in the mood for a treat.  

“The trash heaps of Waterfall,” Gaster answered, folding his hands as he gave a small yawn to show his readiness to sleep on the spot. “Since you can’t exactly look yourself, I have to look for the both of us.” Grillby put the bottle in his inventory, the torn smile forming a smirk as he turned to pour the skeleton the usual: a small, square glass of Scotch, no ice. “Oh? Is the genius and evil Gaster becoming soft? Giving presents and such?” he teased, causing the skeleton to just roll his eyelights as he took his drink and had a few sips. “Nevermind you. So, how’s the bar?” he asked.

“Fine enough,” he replied. “How’s the lab? I see you’ve worked another tireless night.”

“Disastrous, but still successful all the same. How is the girl?”

“A brat as always. How are the boys?”

“Sans is being difficult with the tests, but otherwise fine. What’s with the broken stool.”

“A drunk. Nothing special. What’s with the red stains?”

“I’ve been experimenting with a new chemical. So a dull day for you?”

“Mostly,” he sighed. “But you know how I enjoy the business. Sure, there are a few annoying ones, but that’s natural. Besides, the day always tends to get better once you come along.” Gaster blinked and looked away for a moment as a smile grew, his skull flushing a tint of red. Once he had looked back at Grillby, he was slightly surprised to see him leaning in close, a devious smirk crossed over that face, with a wanting look in the eyes that topped over the glasses he wore. “I’m about to close up,” the flame informed. “Finish up and give me what I want, Gaster. Before we head out.” Gaster gave him a sly look, but was quick to comply, gulping down the rest of his drink before leaning in to meet him for a kiss. It lasted only a second, but the drug-like affect it seemed to have in the skeleton seemed to be proof of its work. Grillby seemed satisfied and began to close down the bar. Gaster followed suit, leaving his stool, straightening his coat, and waiting by the door for the other to be done.  

Soon enough, the bar was closed. It was almost six at this point, and Grillby was looking forward to a nice date with his bed after sending his girl to school. Gaster exited the establishment, with the purple fire monster in tow. However, just as Grillby had turned the last lock to the building, he blacked out for a moment.

The next thing he knew, all he could feel was pain. For once, he felt cold. Nothing but cold. He was lying in the snow, vision blurry, but he could still feel his own body diminishing with every second passing by. He could hear a muffled should of surprise, barely able to concentrate on anything anymore as he felt as if he was about to fall.

Gaster barely had time to process anything. One moment, he’s watching Grillby close up the bar, and the next, a monster appears from behind the corner and throws a bucket of water on them. Not even half a second later, he heard and unnatural, gurgled screech as his friend fell to the snow, the bright light that had once illuminated be dark space now fading, and fast.

From pure instinct, Gaster grabbed the soul of the perpetrator. He recognized the fiend as some drunken monster, a frequenter of the bar. That didn’t matter. His sockets flashed a deadly red, something large already forming behind him, and before the monster could even get a word or beg out, he was immediately incinerated by a summoned Gaster Blaster. Dust fell to the ground scattering in the snow.

Now onto more important matters.

Grillby was dying. His flames were barely even half his original size now, growing smaller and smaller as his body shut down from not being able to sustain itself the only real solid part was the purple soul, which was quickly beginning to fade into white from the cold snow. Gaster cursed loudly, scooped up the soul to try and keep it warm, and quickly wretched a piece of wood from the window frame, as anything on the ground would bee too wet. He hurriedly wiped it of snow and steadily placed it near the rapidly depleting flames of the discoloring soul.  

“Fucking hell, Grillby,” he whispered when the flames wouldn’t take to the wood at first. “You better not die on me. Please don’t die on me.” The flames still didn’t take. “I need you,” he whispered. “Your kids needs you. Don’t you did on me. Not now.”

Slowly, the tip of the wood began to blacken, a good sign. Eventually, the wood began to burn, and a small purple flame appeared on the end. Gaster gave a gasp of relief, quickly unlocking the door to the bar and shutting it with a slam; locking it. He moved at a brisk walk, shielding the small flame and soul with his hand so the wind wouldn’t blow them out. “Don’t worry, Grillby,” he whispered, moving to the broken stool and grabbing the shattered leg. “I won’t let you die. I’ve got you.” He grabbed the bottle of high proof alcohol he had gotten him, popping out the cork and dribbling it along the plank of wood, causing the fire to grow in size considerably. The soul was quickly placed in the fire to warm it. He added the leg to that fire, watching it slowly burn.

“I bet you really regret moving to Snowdin now, don’t you?” he grunted to the steadily growing fire. The soul was still a very faded purple, almost a soft lilac. Gaster’s soul gripped at the thought of Grillby having already fallen; he couldn’t lose him. Not now and not ever.

He got up to get more wood, and once he came back, he was shocked to see the soul even more discolored than before, a sign of a dying monster. He sat close to the fire, trying to stoke it as much as possible with wood and fire, but he soul wasn’t getting any better. Gaster wasn’t ready to give up, though.

“Y-you’re going to be fine,” he said to the flames, his voice shaking slightly. “I won’t let you die.” To his surprise, the flames rose a bit more. Gaster smiled. “I won’t let you die, Grillby. I need you,” he continued. “Me. Your daughter. We both need you.” Without much thought, he stuck his boned hands into the flames, gently wrapping around the dying soul with a gentleness he hadn’t shown in decades. “You’re safe with me. You’re going to live, or else I wouldn’t be able to live without you. You’re not dying on me. Not today.” Words like these were repeated, not minding the burning of his bones. To his glee, when he took another peek at the soul, some of the color was restored. This seemed to be doing the trick. He continued his words of assurance and devotion, feeling that once empty soul of his pulse once, almost in sync with the soul in his hands. “You’re not going to die,” he continued to whispered. “Not now. Not ever. I won’t let you.” He closed his sockets, a smile creeping up on his skull. “I need you just as much as you need me right now.”

Sans doesn’t remember much. In fact, he’d say he was forgetting things more and more as time went on. Things dropped from his memory, only to be picked up in the occasional reminders, but otherwise left behind. It wasn’t that his amnesia was getting worse, bit instead that he just didn’t find the need to remember them in the first place. He could vaguely recall flashes, some of a robot or a bit about the past king. Sometimes they’re about a kid, but he has trouble with that one the most. Still, he sectioned that all off as not mattering in their situation; and so, they were dropped.  

However, despite all that, there was one monster he had never forgotten.

“Sans! Where are you? I need your assistance right away!”

Sans flinched at the gratingly loud voice. Sockets half lidded, he groggily glanced back down the snowy path he had been walking. Sure enough, there was that faint outline of his brother. Out of everyone in the Underground, he remembered Papyrus the most. He supposed it only made sense, as they were siblings with only each other to count on. There was also Toriel, who lived behind the purple doors, but it seemed she made no plans to come out anytime soon.

It was just him and Papyrus.

Just him and his loud, grating, obnoxious, needy, demanding, sporadic, dangerously kindhearted, bleeding heart of a baby brother.

“Hey, bro,” he greeted, sauntering up to his sibling. “Ugh, lazing about again, I see,” Papyrus huffed, looking down at Sans. His voice was still as boisterous as always, causing that splitting headache the smaller couldn’t bear as his brother began to ramble.

As you may have noticed, Sans wasn’t in the best of moods when it came to Papyrus, but don’t let that define their relationship. Once the hunger set in, and his “accident” had passed, any sympathies or once morals wasted away with time. That didn’t change how he felt about Papyrus for the most part; he still loved his brother, but if five years of his new life had done any good, he had at least grown a bit wiser. It took a good bashing to the skull for him to realize his brother wasn’t the complete dumbass his old self once thought, and nor was he as innocent.

Sans grimaced for a moment, as he was still remember the pain and anger his old self had felt when Papyrus had come home with a messy and broken smile from a particular night of Undyne’s training. He could also remember that Sans’ reluctance to do anything about it. It was an odd feeling, getting angry at someone who was him and yet not him at the same time.

Papyrus had definitely changed a lot from what he could collect from fragmented memories. While he certainly wasn’t dumb, killing and eating humans had definitely done a number on his psyche, as his shrunken sockets showed. He fidgeted more, couldn’t control his volume or strength, and at times Sans wondered if his brother could even tell the difference between right and wrong anymore. Well, he went around feeding the people of Snowdin, so it was obvious he had some sense, even if it was very weak. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill a human if it meant getting food for his friends. Speaking of which…

The older skeleton blinked in slight surprise, tilting his skull as he watched Papyrus intently as he rambled. The younger had his gloved hand to his mouth, his phalanges close to those crooked teeth of his.

Sans had also picked up on a few cues over the years. His brother would look down at his boots whenever he felt some resemblance of shame. He giggled and hopped in place whenever he felt happy. He only sat down when he felt tired, which was rare. He stared intently whenever that hint of sadism rung inside him. He had the tendency the chew, as well.

Not just chew, but to gnaw.

The smaller tilted his skull in slight worry, grabbing his little brother’s arm with a strong grip. Papyrus jumped slightly, looking down at him curiously. His long, spindly fingers were already within his mouth, his teeth having already begun to bite and chew at the leather-bound gloved. He couldn’t help it; his teeth continued to gnaw at the sturdy material and bone with little hesitation.

“Bro, when’s the last time you ate?” he rasped, his grip tightening.  Papyrus seemed to realize his faults and removed his hand as once, looking down at his boots for a moment as he contemplated the question. “A… few days,” he replied honestly. “I may have lost count, to tell the truth.” He looked back up at Sans. “Perhaps even a week or so.” Sans didn’t take to that fact too nicely, the red iris of his constricting as his permanent grin stretched even wider. While his brother wasn’t everything he used to be, he was still too kindhearted for his own good, especially when it came to the wellbeing of others. With so many monsters to feed, it was obvious that there would times that his baby brother wouldn’t have enough food for himself. While he was able to make spaghetti, it was the meat that really did the trick. Sans internally cursed himself for not seeing the obvious signs of the other’s state. To be fair, Papyrus had always had a talent at hiding his own inner turmoil, but Sans had let himself become oblivious sometimes, putting his own problems before his brother’s. He could still remember hearing that sickening crunch of bone when Papyrus’ hunger had reached it’s breaking point, the cracking still audible even through the thick gloves.  

He let go of his arm, giving his battle body a small pat. “Go home, Paps,” he instructed softly, moving his hand to hook inside his empty socket. “I’ll be home in a few hours, ‘kay? I’ll get us a bit of food.” Papyrus gave an almost kid-like squeal of joy and went to embrace him, but Sans quickly stopped him. As much as he knew his old self enjoyed the hugs, with Papyrus’ new lack of control of his own strength, he could easily end up breaking the smaller’s spine in one squeeze. That’s usually why Sans did most of the hugging.

With another pat on the younger’s lumbar, he watched him quickly run home. After he disappeared down the path, the older turned and walked towards the large purple doors. Time to get some dinner.

Luckily Toriel wasn’t tending to any of the humans at the time. She was there when his fist rapped on the door. A quick explanation of the situation had her complying in an instant. “Wait an hour,” she told him, before her footsteps faded. So Sans sat at his station, gently drumming his phalanges along the tabletop of the station. If Toriel was one thing, she was a lifesaver. As deranged as she had become, she still cared for her subjects more than Empress Undick ever bothered to. Well, that was true as far as he could remember, anyways. She loved her “children” to the point of obsession, but she was always willing to let one or two slip at her friend’s request.

It wasn’t too long before Sans heard the double doors creak open. His grin broadened, his fingers not stopping their rhythmic tapping. He brought his other hand up to hook his empty socket once again, as his own hunger became apparent.

The human that stumbled out was an older girl, looking a bit more aged than most that came out but still fairly young from what he knew about humans. With dirtied and tattered garments and an obvious injury to her leg, she stumbled out of the doorway.  

This was usually when Sans would wait for the girl come by or possibly do the good spike-in-the-hand trick, but not this time. He wasn’t going to let Papyrus wait any longer.

She didn’t even see him coming. He decided to use his axe he kept behind his station; he didn’t want to waste his magic on an easy kill. He easily lobbed off her head with a quick swing. Her body dropped to the ground, and he took a moment to contemplate her corpse. Perhaps back when he was someone else, he would feel something for her. Maybe a twinge of regret, pity, or even remorse would have stilled his soul. However, all he could feel right now was a faint hunger and the need to feed his baby brother. He made sure to pick up the head as he began to take the body back home. Papyrus’ favorite parts had always been the squishier organs, like the eyes. He seemed to like to chew and gnaw on the more inedible bits, causing Sans to assume that with how violently his teeth had been torn out and shoved back, it might have caused the larger skeleton to develop a sort of oral fixation.

Papyrus had been sitting on the floor before the couch, those large legs crossed as he watched the dead channel on the screen when Sans came in. He gave an excited gasp before popping up to his full hight, running to the door to meet his brother at the door. “You brung food!” he cheered, helping to bring the still warm body into the house. The smaller skeleton grinned up at his brother, handing him the decapitated head of his victim. “I told you I would, didn’t I?” he chuckled, before lifting up his axe. Papyrus got the cue and held the body towards the blade, allowing him to cut down the girl’s chest and open up her stomach, miraculously avoiding damaging most of the organs. Usually they would carefully section the body into pieces before Papyrus would work his magic in the kitchen. However, right now it was obvious he was too starved to even bother cooking the meat. Sans didn’t mind this, of course. He found that he preferred his meat bloody. The younger dropped the body onto its back on the stained floor, not hesitating to peel the skin on the abdomen away and to rip out a large chunk of the muscle that lay underneath.

Sans didn’t get any food right away, instead preferring to watch his baby bro tear into the meat with crooked, broken teeth. His giggly, excitable, supportive, caring, precious, wounded monster he called his baby bro.

He went over behind his brother, fixing that tattered scarf that hung loosely around his cervical so it hung on a little tighter. A momentarily wondered if his brother would mind if he tied it into bow. A silly thought for sure, but he couldn’t help but think of Papyrus like that. So instead, he leaned over his brother, wrapping his arms around his vertebrae in a gentle fashion, so unlike the nature his usual actions. Papyrus paused for a moment, his hands sunken deep into the intestines of the body. He turned his head slightly, a blank look cross over his skull, but Sans could still recognize it as confusion. Still, the two remained silent, so without an answer, Papyrus went back to pulling out the bundle of small intestines. Any confusion or lingering emotions were dropped as he decided to concentrate solely on sating his hunger. Remembering his own need for food, Sans removed himself from his brother to sit down beside him, using a sharp bone to tear out a chunk of muscle. A sharp pang of hunger shot through him now that he was right before his food. He wasted no time in digging into the raw food. He hadn’t realized how starved he had been until he was actually digging in. He blamed it on his brother; he always seemed less hungry when his thoughts were on Papyrus.