#anyways. will keep thinking and mulling this over and collecting scraps of evidence

[salemoleander]

I am BARELY resisting going full red-strings-corkboard on this season. And by barely resisting I mean not resisting at all here is an extremely long list of the events those pins would be marking out.

BigB getting a Task that was a different color than everyone else's. It's not just a randomly assigned Hard Task, bc Scar rerolled for a Hard Task and his was also just a white envelope. It's fundamentally different.

That task taking BigB away from socialization, and seemingly being an incredibly time-consuming and dull request. Of profound disinterest to any watchers.

The phrasing of his Task!!

Dig a big hole. All the way down. At least 3x3. Make it your base if you want.

Everyone else's are direct and formal - the only one with more than one sentence was Skizz's, with the rule clarification of "One attempt only." Bigb's Task is four short abrupt sentences. It is also the only Task to contain extraneous information, 'Make it your base if you want.' The requirements (at least 3x3) feel like an afterthought to mimic the numerical/specific demands of the other tasks.

Evo symbol on the face of the Secret Keeper statue.

The fact that there's a statue at all; the fact that there is a physical representation of what is assigning tasks that everyone must complete, when previously everything was always handled via commands and unseen RNG.

Grian talking to the statue, and (bc of his Actual Role as game organizer) acting as a mediator for the impartial decisions handed down, speaking for it.

Grian making one last bad joke and saying he doesn't know if it counted or not- depends on whether we the audience laughed.

Grian asking for task recommendations from the audience. The watchers are making the tasks. The Watchers are making the tasks.

Again I could be off-base, and I'm not usually even that smitten with bringing in Evo lore. I don't want a Big Bad really...but. It feels like something very unusual and intentional and cool is happening in this series. And I'd guess we'll know if theres something going on once we have more than one data point.

My largely unfounded suspicion is that there is another being (maybe Listeners, maybe something else) trying to reach out to the Players via decoy Tasks, and BigB was the first recipient. Get them alone, make them of disinterest to the watchers, and tell them something we don't get to know.

Because that's the really, really fucking cool part (if my wacky theory is remotely right): We're the bad guys. We're the ones giving out tasks - hell, we're the ones actively brainstorming harder and crueller tasks in Grian's comments!

If they actually made a story where the Players have to keep secrets from us I will be delighted. Bc that is the same genius bullshit that made Evo Watcher lore so fun

[themanicmagician]

The Hand that Feeds - Chapter 2

Summary: 

“Sans, please. I’ll do anything. Whatever you want me to do, just say it and I’ll do it.” Sans considers him. “Anything, huh?”

Contains stray dog adoption, lasagna, and bad times for Papyrus.

When Grillby returns from the kitchen with a plate of steaming food balanced on a tray, there’s a new customer by the bar counter: Sans’ younger brother. He hasn’t hopped up on a barstool; instead, Papyrus hovers by the edge of the counter, nervous and out of place. He rarely visits without Sans.

Hopkins—a regular—leers at him from her stool. “Hiya, cutie.”

Papyrus’ smile is stiff.

Grillby delivers the order to an eager, salivating customer before returning behind the bar. Papyrus eyes him. His mouth half-opens and closes, but he’s evidently unable to summon the courage to speak.

Hopkins, not quite drunk yet but getting there, waves her glass in the bartender’s direction. He refills her drink, and she mumbles her thanks.

“Can I help you with something?” Grillby asks Papyrus.

Despite his gentle tone, the skeleton flinches at being addressed.

“Um…” He consults a scrap of paper. “C-Can I get a burger and fries, with extra ketchup and n-no onions? To go, please?”

Sans’ usual, then.

“So Sans was too busy to fetch his own meal today?” Grillby jokes.

The lights in Papyrus’ eyes shrink. “Oh—no. It’s just, it’s not like I was doing anything important anyway, so…” He trails off, shrugging.

“Give me five minutes.”

Grillby tightens the strings of his apron as he heads back into the kitchen. He can hear Hopkins heckling Papyrus as he leaves, dragging brief but polite responses from him.

They become inaudible once Grillby is inside the kitchen. He retrieves a patty from the fridge. As it sizzles on the grill, he collects the other ingredients. He manipulates the food with a practiced ease, and as the burger cooks he allows his mind to wander.

The one speck of unrest in their bucolic town is the enmity between the skeleton brothers. Sans is all smiles, jokes, and good company at the bar, right up until Papyrus shows to bring him home. His mood sours instantly, and Papyrus is all too easily cut open by barbed words. It’s uncomfortable for everyone present, but who are they to interfere? The brothers’ constant fight is an open secret in Snowdin, but none of them are close enough to either of them to really intrude on the family matter. They’re all just hoping the brothers will be able to work whatever it is out themselves, eventually.

The burger cooked—medium rare, as Sans likes it—Grillby adds the additions, piling on ingredients before enclosing them all in lightly-toasted buns. He sinks a toothpick into the finished burger to keep its structure secure. It drips with grease, ketchup, and flavor. After wrapping the burger up neatly along with fresh-cut fries, Grillby rejoins his customers.

Hopkins, who has already finished her refreshed drink, is slurring advice to Papyrus. The skeleton is listening intently to her drunken knowledge, like a student before a sage. “…takes it all right off. Like floatin’ on a cloud. Too far to care about whatever. You know?”

Grillby sets the to-go bag on the counter as Papyrus mulls her advice over. Hopkins, looking woozy, rests her chin on her folded arms.

“Right.” Papyrus nods. He turns to Grillby, a spark of excitement about him. “Mr. Grillby. I’d like one alcohol, please.”

Hopkins snorts into her sleeve.

“…Right.” Grillby says. “Have you ever drank before?”

“No. But I…” Papyrus puffs up, just a little. “I’m an adult. I can drink if I want to.”

“Give him a shot of fireball. On me.” Hopkins nudges her empty shot glass over to Grillby. “And while you’re at it…”

Grillby pours out the cinnamon whiskey and slides the glasses back over the bar counter.

Papyrus picks up his glass like he doesn’t know the proper way to hold it. He sniffs it, dubious. A disgusted look flits across his features before he schools his expression into one more neutral.

“Down it in one.” Hopkins instructs, before doing just that herself.

“Don’t—” Before Grillby can finish warning him, Papyrus knocks it back.

As soon as it’s down Papyrus is coughing, sputtering. He not-so-subtly wipes away tears from his eye sockets. “That was…great?” Papyrus’ enthusiasm is as weak as his voice.

Hopkins laughs. Grillby glares until she gets the hint and quiets.

“Wait here.” He tells Papyrus.

“Oh,” Papyrus shifts his weight uneasily. Angling himself for the door. “I think I’ve had enough for today—”

“It’ll just take a minute.”

Grillby heads back into the kitchen. He prepares a different beverage, one he’s fairly sure Papyrus will actually enjoy. He adds more milk than the recipe demands—but Papyrus could use it. As a monster who’s made his livelihood feeding others, he’s always been bothered by the brittle, pale look of the skeleton’s bones. He needs to eat more.

Grillby returns to the bar with a tall glass. The frosty drink is already melting from his ambient heat, so he sets it down in front of Papyrus and backs off.

“What is this?” Papyrus eyes it, curious.

“A chocolate milkshake. I think you’ll enjoy the taste of this better.”

Papyrus reaches for it, but then snatches his hand back, contrite. “I’m sorry, but I just have enough for Sans’ food.”

“It’s on the house,” Grillby dismisses. “Think of it as an apology for the fireball.”

“You’re sure?”

Grillby nods, but Papyrus hesitates still.

“Really, Papyrus. It’s fine.”

Finally assuaged, Papyrus takes a cautious sip from the shake.

It’s like a flip has been switched. Papyrus’ face flushes with healthy color, and his eyelights sparkle.

“Wowie! It’s delicious!”

Papyrus finally takes a seat at the counter, and happily drinks the shake. It’s amazing how his demeanor has perked up in such a short span of time. Grillby feels a curl of satisfaction; that’s what good food will do for you.

Hopkins signals Grillby for another glass. She grumbles when he serves her water, but doesn’t insist on more whiskey.

The Dogi enter the bar, woofing hellos to the room. Papyrus startles at the sudden noise. His gaze finds the clock on the wall, and he’s galvanized into action.

“I need to get going.” Papyrus rummages through his pockets and pulls out several gold coins. He counts them out with shaking fingers and hands them over to Grillby.

The milkshake glass is still half full. “Do you want me to get you a cup for this?”

‘”No, no. It’s fine. Thank you. I have to go.”

Papyrus grabs Sans’ food and hurries from the bar.

Grillby circles around the bar counter, making his way over to the dog couple to take their order.

Papyrus is certainly an odd one. Shy, skittish, awkward. But still, there is something about him that’s endearing.

~*~

When the clock nears one in the morning, Grillby shoos his remaining customers out, and, from beneath the bar, pulls out an old beat up radio that doubles as a cassette player. He salvaged it from the Dump years ago, and has slowly but surely amassed a modest cassette collection. The cassette he slots into the radio today has old tracks, from early 19XX. The gentle swing tunes drift through the bar. One day he’ll shell out and get a real jukebox, but for now, he makes due with his scavenged prize.

While the music plays, he gets to work. He pulls on thick waterproof dishwashing gloves, before filling a bucket with water and soap. He dunks a cloth into the water, and wipes down the bar counter, the tables. Checks the undersides of both for trash and stubborn gum. As he straightens up from bending under each table, a stabbing ache develops in the small of his back. He rubs at the spot of pain and wills it to ebb.

Once the bar is spick and span, it’s approaching two and he’s feeling weary, but there’s more still to be done. He heads into the kitchen and thoroughly scrubs every used dish and utensil, before taking out the trash for the day in the alley behind the bar.

Exhaustion weighing heavily upon him, he heads home after locking up. His house is one in a row of quaint, quiet homes.

When at last inside he yanks off his apron, tugs off his tie, and lets them both drop haphazardly on the floor. He checks his phone; there’s a missed call and a message from Fuku.

“Hi, Uncle Grillby!” She sounds like a teenager now. When had that happened? Grillby feels a stab of guilt. “Dad wanted to know if you’d be coming to the Gyftmas party.” Then, hushed: “Mom doesn’t think you’ll show up. She says she’s not even putting out a place setting. Think how funny the look on her face would be if you did come!” Fuku laughs, tinny through the speaker. “But, yeah. Let me or Dad know if you can make it. Later!”

The message ends with a click. Grillby’s finger hovers over the redial—he’s seen her Undernet posts at odd hours of the night, she’d still be awake despite the late hour—but he ends up powering the phone down. He’ll deal with it later.

Not bothering to change, Grillby collapses onto his bed. A soreness pulls at his back. Grimacing, he grasps for the bedside table. He snatches up the half-full bottle of pain pills, and dry swallows down two of them.

He seals the bottle and tosses it off the bed.

He curls on his side. For so long he’s been content in his decision, fueled by his passion. But lately, every day folds into the next, near-seamless copies. The usual, the regulars. He’s tired.

~*~

Grillby imports most of his ingredients wholesale from New Home, but today he’s run out of coffee creamer. So before opening up shop for the day, he has to make a quick stop at the General Store for this dire necessity.

Usagi’s floppy ears point upwards as he enters.

“Well hello there!” She chimes, cheerful as ever. “What can I do for you today, hun? Come for one of my cinnamon bunnies?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.”

She’s always heavy on the cinnamon. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her. He finds the creamer and brings it to the register.

“2G.” Usagi says, punching the item into the register. After a moment of thought, Grillby grabs a bottle of pain pills and places it on the counter as well.

“7G, now.” Usagi frowns. “You’re not taking out your back at that bar of yours?”

“It’s fine.” Grillby hands over the gold.

“I had the same problem before my sister’s kids started coming in to help with closing.” Usagi’s fingers drum on the counter. “You know, that skeleton has been asking for work lately.”

“Sans?” The idea that his slovenly regular is willfully looking for extra work seems unbelievable. Besides, he’s seen his house—it’s not like he’s strapped for cash.

“No, no. His brother! The tall one. He’s been buying kibble lately. Got himself a dog, he says. Been begging all over for work to help care for it.”

Grillby frowns. From what he knows of Sans’ jobs, he could easily afford Papyrus’ pet. Well, he is the older brother. Maybe he wants to teach Papyrus responsibility.

“Why not throw him a bone?” Usagi suggests. “Hire him as a waiter or something.”

Usagi is always nagging him to hire on more staff, but for once he’s actually considering it. His back has been bothering him lately, moreso than usual. And someone who could clean dishes without layers of protection would be useful.

Grillby leaves the General Store with coffee creamer, pills, and an emerging idea.

~*~

He has his chance when Papyrus returns to his bar a few days later, asking for Sans’ usual once again.

“Papyrus.”

The skeleton jumps at the sound of his name.

“Usagi told me you were looking for work. Would you be interested in a position here?”

Papyrus’ eyes brighten with interest, but then the twin lights are abruptly snuffed.

“O-Oh, I shouldn’t. I’m not good at crowds, and people and…”

“You can stay in the back.” Grillby assures him. “Really I just need someone to help with dishes, prep work. Keeping an eye on the fryer. Things like that.”

“I…I don’t know,” Papyrus mumbles. He hunches, trying to look small. “I probably wouldn’t be any good at it.”

“I’m not trying to force you into anything. I just wanted to let you know the offer’s available.”

Papyrus looks at the floor. Grillby feels befuddled, and admittedly put out. He’d thought Papyrus would leap on the opportunity, and was looking forward to another set of hands.

“If….If I said yes.” Papyrus rubs his arm. “Do you think you could keep my job a secret from everyone? Especially Sans.”

“Why?”

“Because. I—I’m trying to save up. For a gift for my brother. I don’t want him to know. And if his friends knew, they’d tell him I work here.”

A flicker of surprise runs through Grillby. If Papyrus wants to go to such lengths, it’s possible he’s trying to patch up his relationship with Sans.

“Very well. If it means that much to you, I won’t say a thing. You can work in the kitchen exclusively, and leave out the back if you want.”

“Then in that case, I accept!” Grillby is bemused as Papyrus clasps his hands in his own, his eyes gathering with tears. Above grateful, he’s acting like Grillby just saved his life. “Thank you, Mr. Grillby. Thank you.”

“…Sure.” He certainly is odd. “Can you start tomorrow?”

Papyrus nods so hard he rattles.

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

~*~

Snowdin is dark in the early morning. The festive lights strung up around the town are set on a timer, not meant to go off for hours yet. Smothering a yawn with his hand, Grillby reaches for his keys as he nears his bar. He stops short near the entrance.

Papyrus is already on the front stoop, shivering in his short-sleeved shirt.

“You’re here early.”

His new hire looks at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Oh! Did y-you want me to come later? I’m sorry, I should’ve known to—”

“It’s okay.” Grillby assures him, before he can lather himself into a panic. He’d told Papyrus to come in the morning. Thinking of Sans, he’d assumed Papyrus wouldn’t appear until much later. “I can show you my set up procedures, since you’re already here.”

Grillby lets them both inside. He raises his body temperature a fraction, to heat the room faster for his companion.

“Let me show you around the back.”

He leads his new employee past the door by the bar, into the kitchen. Grillby gestures around the space.

“This is where you’ll be doing most of your work.”

The appliances aren’t top of the line, but Grillby has taken pains to treat them well and clean them frequently. The kitchen is broken down into sections: a space for the grill and fryer, another for the oven, a long counter to prepare cold meals, and a dishwashing station. Various cooking utensils line the walls, and a well-stocked fridge sits in one corner of the room.

Grillby waves a hand in the direction of the sink, several dishes from the previous night piled in it. “That’s mostly where I’ll have you working. I’ll also start training you on daily prep lists, once you get used to the washing.”

Papyrus nods, listening so raptly Grillby’s almost surprised he isn’t writing this all down.

In addition to the door they entered in from the bar, there’s a second near the back of the kitchen. Grillby opens it for them, showing Papyrus inside. “This is the back room. Think of it as a break room.” It’s furnished with an old but cozy couch, and another radio.

“And past that door at the back there, that leads to behind the bar. If I ever need you to take out trash, you’d go through here.”

The tour concluded, Grillby brings Papyrus back to the kitchen, to get started on the dishes. He grabs an apron from his inventory, as well as gloves.

“Put these on.”

Papyrus’ petite frame is swamped in Grillby’s clothes. The apron’s width is more than enough to wrap around Papyrus’ body and then some. The gloves creep up near his shoulders.

Grillby walks his new employee through the basics; which tools are best depending on the food residue and cookware, the level of cleanliness that’s expected of him. Grillby then hands him one of the dishes to start. Papyrus takes to the task eagerly, scrubbing with enthusiasm.

Grillby leaves him to it. He gets to work on his own task, prepping vegetables for the day’s orders. He glances Papyrus’ way occasionally as he crosses out items on his prep list.

He’s dicing green peppers for the daily special when he hears a crash.

He looks up, alarmed. Papyrus’ soapy gloves are outstretched, and there’s a pile of broken porcelain at his feet.

“Are you hurt?” Grillby asks, looking him over for any nicks or scrapes. Papyrus seems fine, merely rattled.

“I’m—I’m so sorry.” Papyrus’ expression is as shattered as the plate.

“It’s alright, Papyrus. Really.” Grillby emphasizes to his flappable employee. “Just try to be more careful, alright?”

Papyrus nods fervently. He bends down and reaches for the shards. “I’ll clean it up right away.”

“Hold on.” This skeleton has no sense of self-preservation. Grillby fetches him a broom and dustpan. “Use these. Don’t cut yourself on anything.”

Papyrus starts cleaning up the mess. Grillby can tell his presence makes Papyrus anxious, so he makes himself busy in the front. He buffs at stubborn stains on the bar counter with an old rag.

The skeleton brothers had shown up in town one day, over a year ago now it has to be. Sans fit right in at once. He has a charming air about him that makes it easy to carry on pleasant conversation. The type you always look forward to seeing again, knowing he’d have more crazy tales to spin the next time.

Papyrus, on the other hand, seemed more ghost than skeleton, with how easily he blended in to the surroundings. Thinking back now, Grillby doesn’t recall seeing him about town often. Maybe a few times, in passing, they’d brush by each other. Grillby, on his way to work, and Papyrus heading for the forest that bordered Snowdin’s western edge. A group of children frequent the woods, but he couldn’t see them mingling with Papyrus. What does he do out there, all alone?

Grillby can’t help a swell of pity. With just a few hours of working with him, it’s clear Papyrus is painfully shy. It’s no doubt kept him from reaching out to other members of the community and making friends.

When he gave Papyrus the milkshake, when Papyrus allowed himself to relax, it was like his true personality peeped out of its shell. Papyrus had been goofy, in an endearing way. A lightness of spirit.

Grillby wants to see that part of Papyrus again.

~*~

As the month progresses, Papyrus proves to be an unexpected blessing. After a few bumps in the beginning, Papyrus’ nerves settle, and he becomes more comfortable in his position. He’s a model worker, always on time, always pouring 110% into everything he does. Grillby has to urge him to take breaks, sometimes going as far as to shepherd him into the back room himself to make sure he stays there.

With Papyrus’ quick and efficient work, Grillby is able to close up the bar and retire to bed much earlier than he used to, with a lot less aches and pains accompanying him.

As Papyrus masters tasks, Grillby introduces additional ones. This morning, they’re working side by side, preparing vegetables for a stew. They’re close enough that their elbows brush as they work. Soft jazz plays from the radio, and Grillby hums along gently.

He glances sidelong over to Papyrus to assess his progress. He’s dicing vegetables with a manic precision.

“You’re good at this. You cut very evenly.” While Papyrus is like a kicked puppy when criticized, he lights up at the simplest praise.

“Thank you,” Papyrus murmurs, a pleased smile on his face.

“Do you cook often in your spare time?”

Papyrus shakes his head.

“You have a very steady hand, then.”

Papyrus doubles down on his work. Grillby thinks it might be the end of their short conversation, when Papyrus pipes up again.

“…Sometimes, I like to make dioramas. Layouts of puzzles and traps on different terrain. I have to cut a lot of small pieces.”

Papyrus is a history buff? Grillby wouldn’t have guessed he enjoyed something so traditional.

“Have you built any traps? The dogs would probably let you set one up in the forest.”

“Oh, they’re not that good, really. I’m sure if I put up a trap a human would walk right past it.”

Grillby frowns. He tries to engage him from another avenue. “Usagi mentioned a while back that you have a pet. A dog, right?”

That perks him up. “Yes! A small white one, just two years old. Although sometimes I wonder if it’s not a dog at all, but a demon!”

“Oh?”

Papyrus reaches for another pepper. It’s more prep then they’ll need, but Grillby says nothing. Papyrus chops away.

“Yes!” He scowls, but his tone is fond. “The pesky canine stole all the socks from my drawer the other day. Every. Single. One! I was looking everywhere! And guess where the dog stashed them all!”

“Behind the couch?” Grillby guesses.

“Beneath the kitchen sink. It built a nest from my socks. Now there’s dog hair on everything.”

“So, what did you do when you found the dog?”

“Well, I meant to scold it. But then it licked my hand in apology. So, being the better monster, I let bybones be bybones.”

Grillby laughs at the mental image of Papyrus chasing a tiny dog around.

“Nyeh heh heh.” Papyrus giggles with him.

Grillby’s soul warms at the sound.

“What?” Papyrus asks, and Grillby realizes he’s been staring.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard your laugh before. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” Papyrus’ cheekbones flush a pretty orange. He’s suddenly very interested in the prep work, scooping vegetables into plastic bins.

Despite Papyrus’ embarrassment, he leans a bit closer to Grillby. They work with arms nearly touching, Grillby’s flames licking harmlessly against Papyrus’ sleeve.

~*~

Grillby frowns at the clock on the wall. Papyrus is normally idling at the bar before Grillby even gets there, but ten minutes have passed since he got in and there’s no sign yet of his employee. Maybe he’s sick, but Grillby has no way of knowing. Grillby asked before if he had a cellphone, to keep in contact with about his work schedule, but Papyrus said he didn’t. Maybe he could call Sans, instead?

Grillby is halfway through a text to the skeleton brother when he stalls. Papyrus wanted to keep his job a secret. Asking Sans where Papyrus was would arouse suspicion.

Right as he finishes deleting the half-formed message, the front door opens.

“Welcome, Papyrus.” Grillby greets him.

Papyrus’ body language is oddly stiff. He’s keeping his gaze down, angling himself away from Grillby.

“Hi, Mr. Grillby.” He sounds subdued. “Sorry I’m late.”

Papyrus tries to brush past him and into the kitchen, but he’s not quick enough—Grillby sees what he’s trying to hide.

He sucks in a sharp breath and follows him into the kitchen.

“Papyrus, are you alright?”

“It’s nothing.”

Papyrus heads to his work station. Fiddling around and trying to look busy.

“It’s not nothing.” Grillby grabs Papyrus’ chin, angling his face to better see the bruising around his mandible.

“It looks worse than it is.” Papyrus says, but winces when Grillby’s fingers probe closer to the injured area.

“What happened?”

“Oh, it…” Papyrus colors. “I was just being stupid. As usual. I tripped.”

“You tripped?” Grillby reiterates, skeptical. That’s significant bruising for a fall.

“I was carrying laundry downstairs and I fell. I hit my face at a bad angle. It’s fine, really.”

Papyrus tries to back away, but Grillby keeps hold of him. “Hold still for a minute.”

The flames of his hand flicker green. Grillby transfers healing magic over until the pain leaves Papyrus’ face.

“That should speed along the healing process.” The bruises are still present, but will disappear faster.

“Um…” Papyrus croaks, face aflame, and Grillby realizes he’s just been mindlessly stroking Papyrus’ cheek with his thumb.

Grillby snatches his hand back. He clears his throat.

“I should get back to work.”

Once Grillby moves past his embarrassment, he offers to let Papyrus go home early, but he declines.

A slow afternoon becomes a busy evening as regulars pack the bar to spend their paychecks for the week. The bar may not have a jukebox yet, but it’s plenty loud enough with all the chatter from the bar’s patrons. The royal guard pack crowd around one table, playing their weekly poker match. Big Mouth slurps a milkshake. Hopkins sits with Scarlet at the bar, the two chatting about their love lives, or rather, lack thereof. Greymane sits in his usual corner with his leather jacket on despite the bar’s warmth, taking pains to look the part of an enigmatic bad boy.

The front bell jingles as another enters their midst. The patrons all turn to look, and cry out in joy.

“Sans!”

“Hey, Sansy!”

Sans gives the crowd a cheeky grin and a half-wave.

Grillby watches him weave through the bar, going from group to group. He tosses bone attacks to the dogs, tells jokes that make even Greymane crack a grin.

Finally, he hops up on his customary bar stool. He winks over at the girls, sending them into fits of tipsy giggles.

“Where’ve you been lately? We’ve been lonely without you, Sansy.” Hopkins pouts.

“Oh, you know. Just up to one of my usual hare-brained schemes.”

Hopkins guffaws. With the objectivity of sobriety, Grillby thinks that was far from his best pun.

Sans props his head in his hand.

“Heya Grillbz. Lookin’ hot today.” The same joke as always. Grillby finds he has less patience to humor Sans since Papyrus started working for him. Papyrus is sweet, gentle—what cause does Sans have to be so cruel to him?

“Burg and fries, if ya would.” Sans slides a stack of bills over. “And just keep the beers coming.”

Grillby pockets the money before entering the kitchen. Papyrus has heard Sans’ arrival, that much is apparent in the stiffness of his posture. He keeps his head bowed as he scrubs furiously at phantom stains on a bowl.

“If he’s bothering you, you can go home early, if you’d like.”

“I’m fine.” Papyrus flashes him a wan smile. “But thank you.”

Grillby returns to the bar before too long with Sans’ order. The skeleton dives into his burger, smearing ketchup on his face with a greedy bite.

He frowns. “You feelin’ ok, Grillbz?” Sans shows Grillby the burger. It’s past well done, blackened. “Little charred today.”

Grillby reaches for the plate, apologetic.

“Nah, it’s fine. Kinda smokey.” Sans takes another bite, more content now that he’s expecting the taste.

It’s odd of him to mess up an order like that. When he first started cooking as a cinder, he had many a misfire. His fluctuating magic levels produced dishes anywhere from tepid to molten. One night he attempted to cook dinner for his family, and emerged from the kitchen with a heap of ashes. Oh, how his sister had laughed.

Grillby learned to control his flames and to leave any negative thoughts from his mind when he worked. Evidently he’d been too careless tonight.

Sans doesn’t mind too much, and his mood mellows further when he gets a few beers in him.

As the hours go by, slowly the crowd disperses until the only one left is Sans. Fast asleep, his head pillowed in his arms. No doubt there’s a puddle of drool forming on the counter.

Usually when Sans does this, Papyrus comes by to pick him up. Occasionally, Papyrus would poke his head in and Sans wouldn’t be at the bar, meaning he’d left his brother alone without telling him where he’d be and when he’d be back, leaving Papyrus to worry. Grillby had always thought it rude Sans would force his brother to guess his location.

Sans snores gently. Maybe Grillby’s being unfair to him. He doesn’t know Sans’ situation—for a talkative guy he’s surprisingly secretive—but he always had the feeling Sans is grappling with a heavy personal issue. Once he gets one too many beers in him, there’s a weariness to him. Maybe Sans is doing the best he can under his circumstances.

Grillby meets Papyrus as he returns from taking out the trash.

“I think your brother is ready to go home.”

“Oh. I’m sorry he’s always so…” Papyrus trails off, embarrassed on his brother’s behalf.

Grillby shrugs. “It comes with the territory.”

They return to the bar together, after Papyrus stashes his work apron into his inventory.

Papyrus’ frame is too slight to carry Sans home without waking him. He shakes Sans’ shoulder.

“It’s time to go home, brother.” Papyrus says, softly.

“Shut up, Papyrus.” Sans groans. His eyes open to a squint. “Why are you always so fuckin’ loud?”

Papyrus slings Sans’ arm over his shoulders and pulls him from his bar stool. Grillby wants to help, but he doubts Papyrus would let him take over, so he does what he can and gets the door for the two of them.

Some nights Sans goes quietly along, but tonight he’s belligerent. He’s struggling with Papyrus, trying to grope at his hip.

“Sans, knock it off.” Papyrus scolds him with a hushed whisper.

“C’mon, give me a beej.” Sans slurs. “Fuckin’ cocksucker.”

Well, that was a new one.

Papyrus’ flustered gaze snaps up to Grillby.

“I’m so sorry. S-Sans is just—he’s been through a lot lately.” Papyrus says in a rush. “It’s stress from work. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.”

“Do you need help getting him home?” Maybe he’s more drunk than Grillby thought, if he can’t recognize his own brother.

“No, no, I can do this. Goodnight.”

Papyrus all but drags Sans from the bar. Grillby watches them go from the doorjamb. Sans tries to paw at Papyrus, who knocks his hand away.

Grillby resolves to be firmer with Sans’ alcohol limits. He hadn’t been paying attention tonight, and it wasn’t fair that Papyrus is stuck dealing with the fallout.

Once the brothers are out of sight, he returns inside.

~*~

With a dollop of whipped cream, Grillby finishes off his newest milkshake. He wanted to branch out in flavors, and try something more unique than the standard vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. Slowly he’s been introducing new desserts to his menu. For this shake, he blended scoops of ice cream with frozen bananas, crumbled walnuts, and caramel made from scratch.

Grillby can’t really enjoy frozen treats himself; the food melts before it even reaches his mouth. Papyrus has become his taste-tester in his stead, before the dishes make their way out to the public.

He’d prepared the milkshake in time for Papyrus’ arrival (a sugary breakfast, but he’s sure Papyrus won’t mind) but his employee is running late today. He sets the finished milkshake in the fridge to await his arrival.

Grillby takes a seat on the couch in the back room, waiting for Papyrus to arrive. His leg jiggles as he watches the door. Today’s the day, he’s decided. Well, yesterday was the day, and so was the day before that. But today. Today for sure will be the day that he finally asks if Papyrus would like to go out with him. On a date.

He’s been working with Papyrus nearly every day for the past two months. He has no delusions that if he asks Papyrus out they’ll be swept up in a passionate whirlwind romance. He’s a simple enough monster. Papyrus is shy, quirky—but he’s kind, caring, and adorable, too. Grillby looks forward to spending time with him at work, and when he’s home he finds himself thinking over things Papyrus said, or replaying the sound of his laugh in his mind. Grillby thinks it’s worth a shot, to explore if they could mean something more to each other than employee and employer.

When Papyrus enters, Grillby dismisses his apology and explanation for his tardiness (his dog thought it’d be fun to run away with one of his shoes) and brings him into the bar.

“I wanted you to try this.”

Grillby sets the shake before him, and Papyrus’ eyes light up. He scoops up a mouthful with a spoon and eats it.

“Do you like the taste?”

Papyrus nods.

“Everything you make tastes wonderful.” Papyrus compliments him, shyly.

It’s now or never. Grillby leans across the bar counter, trying to broadcast confidence.

“Papyrus, I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Something important.”

“…Yes?” Papyrus asks, when Grillby doesn’t follow that up. He’s trying to think of the best way to articulate this—why didn’t he write it down? Why didn’t he actually prepare something instead of just thinking about it?

“I—”

The front door rattles. Someone’s trying to get in, but Grillby hasn’t unlocked the front door yet. Papyrus just about leaps out of his metaphorical skin, and scurries into the kitchen before he can be spotted.

His chance has closed. Grillby clears away the milkshake before letting the customer inside.

It turns out to be a slow morning. Papyrus shoots him curious looks every time he reenters the kitchen to grab something, but Grillby holds off on providing an explanation. He still wants to ask Papyrus out properly, like he deserves.

At noon, the quiet mood of the bar is shattered as a herd of children rush inside, two beleaguered schoolteachers trailing after them. A New Home school insignia is on their uniforms.

“You serve food here, don’t you?” Asks one weary teacher.

“Of course.” Grillby brings out the menus he’d recently had laminated at the library, updated to include dessert options. He also taps into his rarely used stash of crayons and puzzle sheets, which the children take to with enthusiasm. Some fill out the puzzles, but most just scribble all over the page.

One of the schoolteachers reads out menu items to the children. They raise their hands when they hear something they like, and Grillby jots it all down. The teachers give him their orders as well, bringing the total to fifteen.

Grillby steps into the kitchen. Papyrus is idling by the empty dishwasher.

“There’s a class field trip in town from New Home.” Grillby explains as he shows Papyrus the long order. “Let’s get these orders out fast before the kids get antsy.”

Being children, they’re drawn to sweets. Many ordered shakes and ice creams. Papyrus works on the cold treats while Grillby fires up a bunch of sliders.

They work quickly; Grillby is soon back out the door with a tray of food, with Papyrus following behind him, balancing his own plate of sweets. Normally Papyrus remains in the kitchen, but the children need to be served simultaneously or they’ll liable to have a riot on their hands.

As soon as the food is set down the children set upon it like ravenous animals. The teachers look relieved for some peace from the commotion, and dig into their own meals.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

The front door bell jingles.

Grillby looks up. “Welcome to Grillby’s—”

The greeting dies halfway out.

“Hey Grillbz, just figured I’d stop by for a quick bite.” Sans winks at him. “But jeez. Don’t think I’ll be getting fast food with this crowd in here.”

Papyrus tries to sneak back out into the kitchen; Sans follows Grillby’s line of sight and spots his brother. Something in Sans’ expression shifts.

“Papyrus?” Any emotion, good or bad, is squeezed from his voice. But his eyelights are snuffed out.

Papyrus, face pale, flees into the kitchen. Grillby feels compelled to explain for him in his wake.

“He’d said that he’d wanted to surprise you with a present.” Grillby says, trying to mask how Sans’ hollow eye sockets unnerve him. “So he’d asked me to keep his employment a secret.”

Sans has no cause to be angry with his brother. Grillby won’t stand for it; Papyrus had been trying to do something nice for him.

The fires reignite in Sans’ sockets. The grin returns to his face. “He really shouldn’t have.”

Grillby wants to ask him more—finally press about their fight, something—but before he can get a word out, one of the teachers is sidling up to him with a rather sticky-looking child.

“Excuse me,” She’s breathless. “Our table could use some napkins.”

“I’ll find lunch somewhere less popular.” Sans heads for the door. “Have a good one, Grillbz.”

And he’s gone.

~*~

Color doesn’t return to Papyrus’ cheeks despite the rigorous cleanup in the aftermath of lunch. Grillby offers twice to let him go home, but Papyrus remains obstinate. Once the dinner rush ends, it’s just the two of them in the bar.

“I can handle the rest of this.” Grillby gestures to the remaining cleanup. He really would appreciate Papyrus’ help, but the skeleton looks dead on his feet. He can’t in good conscience keep him any later.

“Mr. Grillby, what had you wanted to ask me? Earlier.”

“I don’t think now is the best time—”

“Please.” Papyrus is right in front of him. This close, he can see the slight flecks of amber in his eyelights.

Well. Guess it’s now or never, then. Grillby squares his shoulders.

“As we’ve spent time together, I’ve found that I…enjoy your company. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in going a date. With me.”

“I…” Papyrus swallows. “Why?”

“Why what?” Grillby asks, bewildered.

“I don’t understand. Why would you like me? You—You can’t.”

Before Grillby can say anything, though, Papyrus heads for the door.

“Wait—”

Papyrus leaves, shutting the bar door behind him. The cheery jingle of the bells mocks him. Grillby urges himself to move. He can catch up to Papyrus and…do what?

Papyrus isn’t interested. Grillby clearly made him uncomfortable. The signs he thought he saw—the furtive glances, brushes of contact—had been embellished in memory. Wishful thinking on his part spoiled his friendship with the skittish skeleton.

Feeling like dirt on the bottom of a boot, Grillby finishes cleaning up the bar by himself.

The following morning, Papyrus doesn’t show up to work.