Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He might have been a soldier, in a different life. Had things worked out a little bit differently, he might have been one of the monsters on the battlefield below him, and not crouched on a nearby hillside, using his knee to help keep his camera steady. One, two, three- click, the shutters snapped shut- another beat to be sure he got the shot before he lowered the camera and stood. 

Grillby was good at what he did. His pictures were clearer, and he got closer, than the other photographers out documenting the war they’d been plunged into, and he took pride in that. A fighter he was not, had never donned armor or held a sword, wore only in vest and carried only camera and a first aid kit. But he was determined and stubborn and fast; that was enough most of the time. He had a job to do, and he was good at it. He’d been taking photos since the war started, however many months ago that was now, and there was some natural talent there. 

He was moving closer, trudging ever onward, when the world was taken over by a shade of green, a green that turned his flames and sent painful prickles through his body. A shudder ran through him, and his grip on his camera tightened as he took off running, closer to the battle. To find a source, to catch it on film. It only grew more intense as he ran, prickles turning into sharp stabs of pain- and he was surrounded by others, running the opposite direction, flooding past him in waves. Raising his camera, Grillby snapped a photo, taking several steps back before he snapped another, and another. 

He was raising his camera for one more when he was grabbed around the waist, yelping once- and was suddenly in the air, scrambling to hold onto his camera even with the strap around his neck. A glance back as wind whistled through his flames revealed- 

Gaster. General Gaster, Asgore’s Top General. Angry and scowling and pulling him through the sky, away from the battle and the green auroras. “What are you doing here?! Explain yourself! Now!”

Grillby’s expression flattened, hard mouth and stubborn eyes as he all but glared right back, holding up the camera clutched in his hands. “My job.”

Huh- he didn’t think Gaster’s glare could get worse; but if looks could kill and all that. "Oh, your job. Your job was to wind up a pile of dust on the field? Even your film would corrode under this; get out of here!" The landing was rough, Grillby unprepared when they hit and falling flat on his back on the ground. Not that he particularly minded when the next sound was metal on metal, swords meeting as Gaster was attacked on sight. The three autonomous suits of armor seemingly came out of nowhere; stamped with the Crest of the Green Lord. Grillby was on one knee in a minute, getting at least one good, clear shot as the skeleton before him dispatched of the suits in minutes, green magic ‘blood’ swirling in the air around them as the suits dropped. Gaster lowered his sword to focus his attention once more on the photographer. "Are photographs worth your dust?"

Grillby lowered the camera slowly, rising to his feet once more. “.. Maybe,” he settled on. He hadn’t really… thought about it. 

"No. Not maybe, I want an answer. Yes or no, are these--" The camera was wrenched away from him, strap pulled over his head as purple magic enveloped it, settling in Gaster’s hand. "Worth your own life? If I killed you right here, would you say it was worth it because of what's recorded here?"

Slowly, he narrowed his eyes, squaring his shoulders. “Yes. Yes, it would be. If I have to give my life to spread the news to those that matter, and preserve the history so this doesn’t happen again, I’ll consider it a worthy sacrifice. Now. Give me my camera.” 

Gaster’s gaze was steely, hard as it took in the elemental before him. "I'm glad you think so, because I could have just as easily carried one of my own men to safety had you not been the first I saw. For their sacrifice, I certainly hope you get what you want." The camera was tossed back, Grillby reaching both hands out to catch it and draw it into his chest. "Fortify whatever it is that constitutes a brain for your species and stay out of this area. I don't want to see you anywhere near the front again."

Rolling his eyes, Grillby turned, moving away from the general and the front lines. He’d gotten enough pictures for that day- there would always be another.

Chapter Text

It would not be the last time the pair saw each other; far from it, it seemed like they couldn’t stay away. Grillby was always there, closer to the front than other photographers, even if he stayed behind the battle itself. And Gaster was always there leading the charge. 

When it wasn’t the battlefield, it was the camps. Interviews and conversations with the surviving soldiers, photos taken of groups together- letters home shoved into his hands on more than one occasion. Gaster didn’t want him there any more than he wanted him on the front lines. He’d heard it more than once; Gaster ordering him away, snapping about how ‘the battlefield was no place for someone like him.’ Grillby coming back, a few days later, with more questions and another notebook and more film, and he’d make it an hour or so in the camp before Gaster would catch him and throw him out once more. 

“Get out.” Gaster stood before him, arms folded over his chest. 

“No. I have mail for the soldiers.” Grillby held up a stack of envelopes and scrolls, bound together with twine, pulled from the bag on his hip. 

"Oh, now you're the mailman as well? Congratulations on the promotion~!" The sarcasm was thick, dripping from Gaster’s tone. One hand reached out for the stack. “Leave them with me and I'll see them delivered."

"Since I was already heading this way, might as well! No reason for multiple people to wander into your camps." He was quick to pull the letters back, away from Gaster’s reaching hand. "No, I don't think so."

Gaster’s expression only darkened, another scowl. Grillby wondered vaguely if he could make any other expressions. "Of course you were heading this way; you can't do as you're told and stay away from this godless place at all, can you?! Why can't you just photograph the damned battlefields half a mile back? Why do you have to be in a place where you could endanger the life of my soldiers if not yourself!?"

"I don't answer to you. And you may not like what I do, but I don’t care.” He arched an eyebrow, casually looking him over. Gaster could keep him out, if he wanted, could probably get his press pass pulled, but he wasn’t actually afraid of the skeleton before him. “So if you’d kindly move, I'll pass these out and be on my way." Grillby pushed forward, making his way past Gaster and into the camps. He’d learned most of their names at this point, so passing out the mail was easy. A few quiet words here or there, bringing information from families and taking notes to pass back. Asking questions for interviews and even getting a few pictures. He was good at his job- and the soldiers were much more willing to humor him when he was holding a letter from a loved one. 

It was several weeks later when Grillby was back, a new bundle of letters in hand. He didn’t expect it to be easy to enter the camp again- it hadn’t been a single time thus far- but he wasn’t prepared for the purple magic that wrapped around the letters and pulled them from his hand, Gaster glowering at him. “Well that's a tad immature."

"You can whine about my treatment when you get rank, which you don't have. You do answer to me; this is my camp. I'm the general in charge, and I'm telling you that you cannot be here. You are a citizen; I don't care what you have to say about photographs and whatever else. Do you even understand the position we're in?!"

Eyes narrowed, he was quick to snap back, the carefully put together persona fracturing just a little. “Obviously I do! I'd wager I've been to as many front lines as you have. I've been attacked, I've given first aid, I've carried last messages from dying men that never would have been heard before. So yes. I do." He took a breath, attempting to calm himself. Shouting at this general wasn’t going to get him anywhere- if anything, it would just make it more likely that he’d be restricted. "Do not think that because I carry a camera and a first aid kit instead of a sword means I am not invested in this war."

His little outburst was met with a golf clap, the words just as sarcastic "Oh, congratulations, but did it ever occur to you that this is beyond that stage?!" Gaster was fast, in Grillby’s face in a matter of seconds. "I couldn't care less about your accomplishments when there are REAL soldiers suffering and dying; people you're putting at risk while you run around the battlefield like an insect."

"They're lives aren't any more at risk with me here than if I wasn't!" He wasn’t going to back down. Job or no job, pride or not, this was one argument he wasn’t going to let go of. "Because I don't get in their way, I’m not in front of them on the front lines, and I don't expect them to save me. And it's not like I'm after some award or something! I dont care about my accomplishments or whatever the fuck you call them. You may not see the importance in what I do, but I wouldn't even be out here if I didn't have the King's permission." 

The pair glared at each other, each breathing heavier from the yelling between them. It was a tense few seconds before Grillby rolled his eyes and backed away. “If you’re not going to give me the letters back, then you’d best start handing them out,” he snipped, ignoring the snarl from the skeleton general as he turned and left. Even Grillby could recognize that he’d pushed too far, and a bit of distance would be needed before Gaster took his head off.

Chapter Text

He was not supposed to be here. 

He knew it, he really knew it. Grillby had done a lot of things in the name of the ‘perfect shot,’ but this was… bad. Very very bad. He had just meant to take shots of the countryside, really; showcase the world the war was taking place in before the battles could completely destroy it. Sure, he was always good at finding trouble, but really- he hadn’t meant to stumble his way into this. 

Grillby crouched into the shrubbery, breath catching in his throat as he watched the several human soldiers stepped forward, clad in the armor of Belus, the Orange Lord. He was known to be the most ruthless, his soldiers the hardest to bring down, and the Lord himself never far from the front lines.. He didn’t move for a long moment, trying to figure out what they were doing here, in the middle of nowhere- 

Movement caught his attention, and he felt his soul stop beating in his chest as a collection of monsters stepped free from trees in front of him, clad in armor of various ranks from Asgore’s armies, ranks as varied as the monsters- though he was sure he picked out a least one or two with general bars. Slowly, he lifted his camera again, steadying his breathing as he took the first picture. 

Watching through the camera lens as the groups conversed, watching the monsters just hand over plans, taking shot after shot from the traitors before him. Part of him couldn’t even be.. surprised. This war had been going on for so long already, and Grillby couldn’t say he was that shocked that some had turned against their own kind to try and better their standing. He only stopped when the film finished. Slowly, so slowly, he attempted to back out of the shrubbery he had found himself in. 

CRACK!

He froze as his heel came down on a stick. Everyone in front of him was on guard at once, dozens of eyes focusing on Grillby’s hiding spot- not very good now that they were looking at him, and he was viciously aware of how bright his flames were, how much a camera and plain vest stood out amidst shrubbery and trees. He was up in the next second, bolting through the foliage, tripping his way through shrubs. Something caught his shoulder, a burst of pain that sent him stumbling forward, crashing into the ground and shoving his fist in his mouth to muffle himself. A quick glance revealed the arrow sticking out from his clothing- but he had no time to worry about it, just grabbed it and yanked as hard as he could to rip it free before he was up again. 

Grillby ran. Tripped and tore his way through underbrush, avoiding being killed by dumb luck, arrows just catching his arms or legs before shattering against the trees he ran past. There was exactly one pause; a handful of seconds as he came across a river bank before he clenched his jaw and plunged in, hissing as water soaked through his pants and boots. That would scar later, surely, but he had no time to stop. It was well into the next day when he slowed down, batter and bruised, limping his way along. Gaster’s camp wasn’t far from here, he knew- and who better to pass his images along?

Steadily, he made his way, eventually limping his way into Gaster’s camp to beeline it for the skeleton soldier. A quirked brow bone was all Gaster had time for before Grillby was shoving his camera into his chest. “Get the film to your king. It's important.”

Gaster caught the device, holding it for a moment before stepping back. “You look like shit. Go to the medical tent, get patched up- I’ll take care of this.”

He could only nod, relaxing for the first time in days as he staggered his way towards the medical tent. A medic grabbed him the instant he pushed the tent flap aside and directed him to a cot to take a look, the warm green glow of healing magic soothing the water burns along his legs, bruises and scratches fading as the medic dressed the arrow wound in his shoulder. 

Grillby was still in the tent a couple hours later when they all heard the rumbling sound, all felt the pins and needles of distant magic. A resting soldier next to him groaned. "Who pissed Gaster off??"

Grillby pressed his palms into his eyes, rubbing them slowly. “Oh. Me.”

The tent flap was opened, pulled so hard they could all hear it rip. Gaster stormed forward, the soldiers and medics around Grillby shrinking away as he cut through the tent, a direct war path to Grillby. 

And punched him in the face, hard, all his strength behind one swing that snapped Grillby's head back. “General!” The medic fretted, moving forward to see if they could get a look at the damage. “He’s healing!”

By the time they got close Grillby was coming back on line, slowly dropping a hand from his face. “... Yeah. I deserved that.”

"Oh no, you deserve a lot more, but I'm the General and as such I must perform some kind of restraint." He sneered, tossing the camera back. Grillby caught it, opening the film compartment and noticing that the film was new. "As such, I'm here to do you a favor!"

Cradling the camera close to his chest, Grillby looked up towards Gaster again. “Is something being done about... the photos.” 

"Oh yes! They're developed; Asgore's been briefed on the matter; the involved party has been apprehended. You stopped them! I suppose you can tack this event onto the list." Gaster walked through the tent; picked up some grieves; a helmet; some chainmail, armor Grillby couldn’t even begin to name, in various sizes. Each addition was placed down in front of the elemental. "But, I had a nice chat with our King, and it turns out that you've only been telling me half-truths, isn't that right? Mm, yes. You were given permission to photograph the war, but I knew Asgore wouldn't have let some civilian get as close as you were the day we met. And I know nothing I've said prior will get you to leave, so I'm giving you a choice, you annoying little firefly." Armor gathered, Gaster’s focus fell on Grillby again, pinning him in place with a hard stare. "But first I'm going to ask you one more time. Is this enough to warrant risking your life? Yes. Or. No." 

Grillby watched, silent as armor pieces were collected and deposited in front of him. Despite what Gaster clearly thought, he wasn’t an idiot- he already had an idea about what this meant. His soul gave a hard squeeze in his chest, something like nausea and something like fear crawling up his throat. "Technically he never said how close I could get. Just that I could capture active battles.” He shrugged, refusing to give Gaster the satisfaction of knowing he was terrified. "So I'd say that's at least 3/4s truth. I already have risked my life. And I'm going to continue. So yes." Slowly, he raised his eyes, meeting Gaster’s defiantly. 

"Then you can risk it properly, and if not you can get the FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Grillby almost flinched away- they had had their fights, but he’d yet to be on the receiving side of Gaster’s yelling, and the recovering soldiers around him covered their heads and cowered away, medics taking visible steps back. He was a General, after all- one of the best. He knew how to silence a troop with just his voice. He was quieter when he next spoke. "If the photos that were on your camera that day were worth more than a life then that's the truth you'll have to hold onto going forward. I thought you were some stupid civilian and carried you to safety when I should have grabbed one of my own men, because it turns out that you're just an idiot with a hero complex."

He gestured to the armor that was piled between them. "If you want to continue doing what you're doing, try on armor until it fits. You're taking the place of the soldier I should have carried; life for a life. You'll get a bird's eye view of the war from there. It's either that, or fuck off." 

Grillby was quiet, holding Gaster’s gaze for several long moments before rising from the cot to crouch before the pile of armor, digging through bits and pieces, trying on various armor sets until he found something light enough he thought he could still move in. Fastening the straps and buckles, he caught his camera strap and dropped it over his head, settling it over his shoulders and clipping his first aid kit to his waist. before meeting eyes with Gaster again. He never spoke. 

Gaster narrowed his sockets, looking him over before drifting away. "As long as you continue to feed that complex of yours, you answer to me. You go where I tell you; you don't stray from the group; you don't fuck around with your camera when you should be protecting yourself or others. Take as many pictures as you can when all's clear for all I care, but only then. If you see that green circle, you drop what you're doing and run or you're dead.. and I won't be saving you like that again unless you're the last one on the field." He turned to walk out of the tent. 

"Oh, and no more 3/4 truths. We'll be heading back in tomorrow. Hope you can swing a sword."

Grillby just watched, keeping completely silent as Gaster left the tent. Slowly, he took a deep breath, turning to smile and thank the medic that had helped him before ducking out of the tent to find a sword. He’d never held one before, and wound up spending several hours that night attempting to learn how to use the damn thing. He didn’t regret his choices, none of them, but… even with a few of the others offering him pointers and taking the time to teach him the basics, Grillby knew he was way over his head. 

He knew he’d be lucky to survive the first battle, but he was determined to prove Gaster wrong, if nothing else.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take him long to find out; his first battle on the actual front lines was chaotic and stressful and it was only because he was quick on his feet that he made it out with barely a scratch. That- and it, luckily, wasn’t large. A skirmish, really. With the other soldiers around who actually knew what they were doing, he was more or less safe enough. 

He walked away from one battle mostly unscathed, his first aid kit significantly lighter from quick field medics. Going back, later, to take pictures of the field, of the damages left behind. Quiet, he made his way back to settle in with the others, watching them interact, not quite part of the group and not quite an outsider 

The second was not so lucky; larger, more chaotic- and Grillby was a novice at swordplay at best. A couple of nights and a handful of hours taught by fellow soldiers that either sympathized, or had appreciated when he would bring letters and gifts too and from their homes, did not do nearly enough to prepare him for an actual battle. He did everything he could, his style far from good, but he was quick and self-sacrificing and if that meant putting himself in the way several times over then that was what he did.

He limped away with knicks in his armor, blood on his sword, an empty first aid kit. But walk away he did- and once he was patched up he made his way back, standing in the middle of an empty battlefield to take picture after picture of the carnage, of destroyed nature and remnants of magic, of human bodies and dusty monster armor. 

Things continued on much the same for the next several battles Grillby found himself in. Attacks, injuries, patching up fellow soldiers on the field, and coming back to document the hell he’d been through. He found himself in the way of danger more and more often, throwing himself into it with reckless abandon. Gaster called it a ‘Hero Complex,’ Grillby just couldn’t forgive himself if someone next to him got hurt, or if he left someone injured behind. 

It was battle 9 or so when the green circle of magic appeared again, and there was instant chaos, running and shouting and Grillby let himself get pulled along with the crowd. 

Until. Until he saw him. Lord Alastor, the Green Lord, standing, protected by his soldiers, underneath the green circle, amidst swirling green tinged magic. He could see Gaster nearby, hacking his way through the soldiers- and he could see every other monster nearby start to melt underneath the necrotic magic. 

He’d said he’d run at the first sight- but this had to be known. People had to know this, had to know what the so-called ‘Kind King’ was capable of. Dropping down to one knee, Grillby aimed his camera, framed Alastor in the center, and pressed the button two or three times before he was up and moving once more. 

Someone grabbed his ankle, and he tripped, hitting the ground and whipping around to see what had grabbed him, trying to yank himself free. 

A monster lay on the ground before him, clutching to his ankle, babbling about wanting to be saved, begging for help. And Grillby could really only watch, frozen for just a moment, as the monster before him melted, as he started to dissolve from the magic he had just been in. The painful prickling from his and Gaster’s first meeting was back, normally yellow flames tinged green from the magic in the air, and Grillby could only try and pry himself free from a dying monster he couldn’t help. 

Part of him terrified he was about to meet the same fate. Another vaguely glad that the monster before him didn’t have to die alone. Finally, finally, he wrenched himself away as the rest of the monster turned to dust. A tsunami of death before him, Grillby watching the earth scorch under the intensity. 

Gaster’s words rang in his ears again, an order to RUN or DIE, and he snapped himself out of the horror he felt, scrambling back to run again. 

He wasn’t fast enough. 

Just a second, maybe two, he knew what it felt like to burn, as his SOUL was turned to ash. 

It was dark. It was quiet. There was nothing and he felt nothing and Grillby vaguely wondered if this was death, and if it was- why was he able to still think at all?

And then there was a voice, Gaster’s voice, quiet in the darkness. "Is what you do important enough to try again?"

He was confused- what was this, where was he? But the voice that could only be Gaster’s had asked a familiar question, and there was only one answer "... Yes! Yes, it is."

A flash of light and he was back in his body, back on the battlefield, lowering his camera from taking a picture of Alastor. There wasn’t time to question, to even try and understand, because for fuck’s sake he was not going to die again. Scrambling to his feet, he ran; his mind filled in where he had been grabbed before and two steps to the left was all it took to prevent it from happening again. 

It was a somber moment, when the remaining soldiers gathered once more; maybe half of their number had made it out, and those that did were barely holding it together, injured and holding each other up and a handful crying silent tears. 

"FUCK the Green King!" One of them howled out, receiving hollers of support. "Five-hundred lives gone in two minutes!"

Camp was pitched, eventually. Gaster made his return long after the rest of them. Grillby helped with the injured with the small remains of his first aid kit, refilled days ago, when they’d had a moment of quiet. He knew, deep down, that he’d have to go back out to the field and take more pictures, that the one he had of Alastor casting the magic wasn’t going to be a complete set without the aftermath. It took him… some time to gather the energy to do it, to face a field he had died on and calmly take pictures, needing to minimize the shakiness in his hands for a clear shot. 

“Gaster wants you,” someone told him upon his return, and he could only sigh and nod, making his way back towards Gaster’s tent. Hesitating for a moment, he pushed the tent flap in, stepping just inside and letting it close behind him “You.. wanted to see me?”

The general before him looked exhausted, fingers threaded together and elbows resting on a table before him. “I’m not talking across the tent. Come here. And tell me what you shot.”

Slowly, he crossed the room, resting a hand over the camera. "I got a couple of when the Green King showed, a couple of the... mists. I just came back, got what I could of the destruction." He paused, unsure for a moment. Gaster had been able to get close in a way that no one else had, did he… want anyone else to know that? "... you aren't in any of them, I don’t think,” he settled on. 

"It doesn't matter if I am or not, but that you got Alastor in some of them..  is good. He'll go down in the history books like the tyrant he is." After a moment, he lowered his hands to pick up a pen, look over a long list of tiny naps. He started to cross them out. 

He watched, silent, able to make out, upside down, a handful of names he knew. "I have a couple very clear shots of him. There's no mistaking who he is." There were both silent, Grillby waiting to be dismissed before leaving. 

"How was it, anyway? Your first real taste? A lot different from catching the tail-end, isn't it. That magic attacks the soul, not the body. It causes it to gradually erode away like sand on the shoreline until it can't sustain itself, and the body follows suit in real time.” He crossed off another name. "If you're out in time, you're lucky.. but if not. Well. You saw it."

Grillby’s hand twitched, and he fought the urge to ball it into a fist. He’d felt it; knew, intimately, what it was like to be taken apart like that. “Yes. I saw.”

“And you still want to persist? Even though you were neck-deep in Hell earlier?"

"Yes. Of course.” Just as easy to answer here as it had been in that void hours earlier. "... I don't think I have much of a choice anymore."

"You've always had a choice. You're one of the few people here who does."

Chapter Text

Each day continued on much the same. Things were quiet, for a little while; as if the universe decided that maybe they had earned a break. The now much smaller battalion continued on, marching through enemy territory, fighting battles as they came- but none were as terrible as when they faced the Green Lord’s army. 

There were many chances for photos, Grillby finding moments to catch both the battle fields and occasionally the fighting, and peaceful shots of the nature around him. He’d yet to come anywhere as close to death as he had that first day- it weighed heavy on his mind, but there wasn’t any opportunity for him to test it out anymore. He was easily distracted, often staring off into space and missing when someone said something to him, needing to snap back into reality. 

Grillby found himself outside, late one night. He wasn’t usually put on night patrol- he was fire, he stood out, and it made keeping hidden difficult at the best of times. The scar from the arrow in his shoulder spoke to that. But he did find himself unable to sleep, sitting outside to look over the stars. Silent and dimmed, legs drawn up to his chest and arms crossed over his knees. 

Tipping his head to rest on his arms, he spotted Gaster, walking the familiar patrol path. There was the faintest green glow coming from the skeleton, but as their eyes met, neither said anything. Gaster continued on his way, and Grillby closed his eyes. 

The next time he was killed was very sudden. Things were going surprisingly well in this battle, Grillby holding his own amidst comrades and enemy soldiers alike. One moment he was lunging forward, throwing his sword up to catch an incoming attack headed for one of his friends- the next he felt icy-cold magic stabbing through his chest, and he barely made a sound as he dropped to the grass. Each breath was agony, eyes glazing over in the sunshine. Something cut into the light, blanketing him in shadow… Gaster? Gaster, crouched over him and trying to help, though whatever he was saying was lost to the roaring in his ears. 

He tried to offer a little grin in the few seconds he had before everything went dark. Standing once more in the darkness of that Other Place, he was once again asked a question. 

“Is it worth trying again?”

“Yes, yes of course it is!”

He opened his eyes several minutes before his death, camera in hand from taking a shot of the incoming troop of human soldiers. He knew better, this time, and threw himself into the battle with once more, able to skirt just out of the way of the magical attack that had struck him before and land a killing blow against the mage that tried. 

A million ideas were swimming through his head when they made camp that night. Somehow, he managed to keep focused through set up, through dinner and the faint conversation at the end of the night. But when he finally was able to rest, Grillby couldn’t stop the thoughts from keeping him awake most of the night. 

He couldn’t… die. Not for real, not permanently. He could feel the pain and he could remember dying, but if he was going to come back with each death… 

There was so much he could do. 

Three days later there was another battle- and this time Grillby was ready for what was going to happen, a few days to think it over was enough for him to think he was ready. He still had no idea what was actually going on, why this was happening to him of all people, but he sure was going to take advantage of it. He saw a human going for Silas, a cat monster locked in combat, twin daggers against a light sword, and Grillby threw himself forward to catch the attack, battle them back. Growling under his breath- a little too slow to avoid taking the hit himself, and down he went. 

“Are you going to try again?”

“Yes!”

Up again, just before the battle- he had been taking pictures of birds, he remembered, and shoved his camera aside to ready himself for the battle. Just the slightest shift in the battle was all he needed to keep the cat monster alive, winding up on their left instead of their right and killing the human before they could even raise their sword. 

The same thing, again and again- a photograph taken shortly before a battle, throwing himself recklessly in the way of attacks. Dying. Saying yes each time the Gaster-like voice asked if it was worth it. Learning the strategies and battle tactics of the human battalions they crossed, time and time again until Grillby was confident he was saving as many people as he could.

Even if it meant becoming incredibly familiar with how each weapon felt against skin and muscle, how different magics snuffed out flames, the almost comforting cool darkness of a void that meant his death. 

He was careless- or perhaps not careless enough, depending on one's point of view. He'd gotten in the way once again, moving to take a hit for Knox, a darker elemental that had been the first to welcome him into the fold. Ducking forward, attempting to catch the attack with his sword and missing spectacularly, he cried out as the sword cut across his face

He couldn’t see- he couldn’t see, the world around him blurry shapes at best as he dropped to his knees, wracked with pain. He heard Knox above him, the shouting as swords swung over his head before the crash of metal on metal started to settle. Someone was pulling him up- Knox, he thought and then- Gaster? Yeah, that had to be Gaster, pulling his arm over skeletal shoulders as he was hauled away from the battlefield. 

There was the warm tingle of healing magic around his face, soothing the pain and bring some things into sharper focus- but everything was still a blur at best, shades of color over the vague shapes of fellow monsters as Grillby stumbled forward, leaned into Gaster to stay up. 

How was he… he couldn’t take photographs if he couldn’t see, and that sent a cold shot of dread through his body. That was the only thing he was good at, how was he- his thoughts were spiraling out of his control. Grillby hadn’t been good at most things, he’d struggled his way through life as an orphan, clawed his way off the streets and if he couldn’t take pictures he didn’t know what he was going to do anymore. 

Gaster pushed him onto a cot in what had to be the medical tent, feeling more than seeing skeletal fingers around his face before the world went dark. Bandages, his numb thoughts provided. Bandages carefully wrapped around his eyes. 

“What do you need?” Gaster- surprisingly soft, more gentle with Grillby than the elemental had ever heard. 

"... I.. need a minute. If that's.. Okay..?" HIs voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. 

"Right.. of course. With enough time, I can probably heal.. one of your eyes, perhaps."

One. One eye, maybe. No. No, that… That wouldn’t do. "... well. I guess my time as a soldier and a photographer is over."

".. I just said that I could probably fix one of your eyes! Are you seriously giving up now!?" There he was- that was the Gaster they all knew, all hard edges and stubbornness. 

Slowly, Grillby picked his head up, turning his face towards the sound of Gaster’s voice in the darkness. "Not yet." 

“Good.” Grillby heard footsteps, heard the tent flap open and close, and assumed that Gaster was leaving him be. Giving him that minute he asked for. He knew what he had to do. He could go back again, before this all started back to the last picture, the last ‘save’. His hands were shaking when he drew his dagger from his belt. 

Darkness. The same question, the same answer. 

He took a deep breath as he opened his eyes, a chill running through him and shaky hands tightening on the camera in his hands. 

Chapter Text

Gaster was being… weird. Grillby didn’t notice at first, shaken both from his death and the battle, but a couple days in- Gaster was… odd. Flighty, almost, in the way he moved around him, in how he spoke. Nicer? Less yelling, less… spite and snark in his voice when Gaster had to talk to him. Orders had less of a bark and the glares had softened just a little. Just enough that Grillby noticed, once he had his head on straight once more. 

He let things go for a while; had enough on his plate. If Gaster was less on his case, then that was fine, great, he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. But he had always been curious- it was how he got here in the first place. No one just decided to go photograph a war without a heavy dose of curiosity on their side. So one night, a few days later, when Grillby’s hands had stopped shaking and he could speak without his voice breaking, he found Gaster. Cornered him one night when the general was doing patrol to ask why he was being so… different. 

"I don't know.. I just- thought you could use a bit of slack, I suppose." Gaster shook his head, once, looking Grillby over with one quick glance. 

He blinked, surprised. That was.. Not really what he was expecting him to say, not really. "... oh. Okay.. I.. thanks. I appreciate it." He turned, about to walk away, when he felt fingers around his wrist and had to fight the urge to flinch.

"What's been going on with you? Has something happened..?” Concern, in Gaster’s tone, and for a moment Grillby was back in that damn tent, blind and asking for space. 

He sighed, softly, shaking the thought away and turning back towards Gaster. “... I’m just.. tired. Sorry.”

“... Is this another 3/4 truth?” He asked, watching him closely. Grillby knew he had changed, that he was losing the spark and sass that he usually greeted Gaster with, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. “Maybe I should order you sent home. You’ve doubtless captured enough. 

“Hmm… we can call this one a half truth,” he said, with a weak little laugh. “I, uh… it's complicated. I think I’m in a little too deep to go back now.”

“Mmh. You’re the most stubborn soldier I think I have in my ranks, honestly. Look at you… a wartime photographer who participates??”

"Well, you were pretty determined to put me out of a job if I didn't. And now.. well. There's no point stopping now."

Gaster just looked at him for a minute before shaking his head. His wrist was released, and the skeleton moved onwards to continue his patrol. Grillby watched him leave- confused about what had happened, curious about where they stood. Ah, well. A problem for tomorrow. 

Things continued on. Grillby and Gaster were able to, slightly, get along. Less snapping between the pair of them as the war dragged on. They were not close, at all, but the banter rarely dissolved into fighting anymore. And Grillby would sometimes show him the softer pictures he took, birds and nature that hadn’t yet been ravaged by the war. And things were okay. 

Another battle, ducking between trees and under branches, tripping over roots as Grillby tried to stay in the fight. It was a hard battle already, everyone tired and battered, and the humans just kept coming. Popping out from behind a trunk, he was just able to catch Ryder, small and quick and better used for in and out sabotage. Now they buckled under the weight of two different human soldiers. Dashing forward, he brought his sword down against one’s back. Maybe things would be alright, maybe he was fast enough. Something cut into his back, burrowed deep into his side through a gap in leather armor, and he dropped, edges going dark as he was pulled away again. 

“Are you going to try again?”

“Yes!”

Grillby took a breath just a few minutes before the battle, shook his head to clear the pain from his thoughts. Okay- just had to keep Ryder from being swamped like that and things would be fine. He shifted over as the first clash of metal on metal rang out, placing himself a little closer to the rabbit-like monster. Rushing in again, finding himself farther into the fray than last time. He was quick to block the first swing from a war hammer towards his face, growling softly as he pushed back. He threw out a hand to send a fire attack after the soldier before him. His attention flickered to Ryder for just a second, making sure they were still okay, before something large crashed into him, knocking him off his feet. Scrambling up, a glance behind him told him it was Magnus, recovering from a magical attack that left him dazed on the forest floor. Reaching out to help him up, he was suddenly doused in an icy magic- water, water magic, cutting through flames and eating his HP in seconds before everything was dark again. 

“Are you going to try again?”

“Yes!”

Okay, okay. Attempt number three; he was quickly trying to add up everything he knew- staying by Ryder’s right side would keep them from being overrun, but too close and Magnus would be in the way, so maybe the left side would be fine this time around. Cutting through his comrades, Grillby positioned himself nearby, finding first Ryder and then Magnus. He knew he couldn’t save everyone- but he could try to save a couple of his friends. Friends who had families and loved ones waiting at home. Taking a breath as familiar sword on sword rang out, Grillby followed the crowd into the mess of bodies. Hyper aware of Ryder and Magnus as he brought his sword down again and again and again, a growing burn in his muscles and a tang in the back of his throat. Dashing towards the left, he shoulder slammed into a mage about to hit Magnus, knocking them back into an awaiting sword.

And immediately found himself on the other side of a war hammer, catching him in the chest, stealing his breath as he was sent back to crash into the ground several feet away. Fuck, fuck fuck, this wasn’t working. Struggling to get his breathing back, struggling to stand, he felt more than saw the ax that cut into his chest, and things were dark once more. 

“Again? Are you sure.”

“... Yes.”

Okay, this was fine. Grillby rubbed a hand over his chest and breathed for a minute. Take 4- already the longest battle of his life stretching forever onward. Pushing his way through his fellow soldiers, he placed himself firmly next to Magnus this time around. Metal clashed again, a symphony Grillby almost had memorized. Battle broke up again, soldiers rushing forward on both sides. Fucking- the mage, the mage had to go first, Grillby zeroing in on her and racing forward, ducking under another damn water attack to lunge forward, stab his sword forward again and again until she fell. Wheeling around, moving again, trying to cut off the group ganging up on Ryder. If he could even just get a couple before they were able to dogpile on them, they’d be fine. Grillby caught one, sword up to catch an attack, pushing a hand forward to grab for skin and burn it… when someone caught him from behind. Thrashing and grabbing at the hands around him, he was unable to stop the dagger that sunk into his throat, ripped through flame until he fell. 

“Ag-”

“Don’t even fucking ask me again, just do it.”

5. 5 attempts in and he was just so fucking tired. He rubbed a hand over his face and tucked his camera away once more. Once again pushing his way through the soldiers, focusing ahead. Each position he’d tried hadn’t worked, but what was he going to do? Just give up? He couldn’t. Striding forward, he found a new spot to stand. The group ganging up on Ryder. The war hammer. Can’t stand too close to Magnus or get knocked down by him. The mage. Someone with a knife.. Too much to keep straight. Metal hit metal, Grillby mentally counting out the sounds, and then he was moving again. Ducking around to stay out of the reach of the war hammer, out of Magnus’s path. Quick shoulder check into one of the humans coming towards Ryder, swinging his sword towards the next, keeping a wary eye towards Magnus the entire time as he plucked away at the humans around him. Things were going well- he was suddenly doused in an icy magic- water, water magic, cutting through flames and eating his HP in seconds before everything was dark again. Again. 

“Trying again?” 

“Oh fuck you!” Grillby was silent for several long moments, just existing in the dark. Trying to think, sort out what he was going to do. He couldn’t afford to keep dying, to die to things he already knew about. Several minutes passed before he nodded. “.. Yeah. Yeah, let’s go again.” 

Grillby opened his eyes once more, tired and pissed off and just so fucking sick of this battle. Gritting his teeth and hissing his breath out, he shook his head once before pushing his way forward, finding the place he was in last time again. Mage first. Take out the water mage while keeping an eye out on Magnus and staying out of the way of the hammer wielder, and if he was quick he’d be able to help Ryder. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He couldn’t afford to. Familiar crashing rang out, so familiar that Grillby barely registered it. It took seconds for him to find his least favorite mage ever, going after them with a viciousness that surprised even him. Once down, he was racing for Ryder, skirting around the edges of Magnus’s battle to lunge forward and tackle one to the ground, flame hands clawing at the throat. Onto the next, no time to think, both hands on his sword to plunge it into another, and another. With half down, he was confident Ryder could handle the rest, and he was on the move again. 

The battle was long- but six attempts in, Grillby walked out of the other side alive, leaning on Magnus, eyes on Ryder. Battered and bruised and so, so tired- but alive. 

Grillby stood before Gaster’s tent, staring at the flap for a moment before knocking on a post, waiting for the “Come in,” before pushing his way inside. Gaster glanced up from the scrolls before him, arching a brow bone slowly as he sat back waiting for Grillby to speak.  

“We need to talk.”