Chapter Text
At first, it seemed like it might have been sunlight that trickled through the windows and fell on Grillby’s face, just as it did most mornings. Back home, he had placed his bed by the window on purpose, so that every morning the sunlight fell across him in warm stripes and gently stirred him into wakefulness. This morning felt different. The light lacked the golden hue of the sun, and did not kiss his skin with warmth. Most notably, Grillby passively recognized as he slowly returned to consciousness, he was lying on a couch, not a bed. The blanket over him was woven of heavy yarn, worn soft with time, and smelled faintly like woodsmoke. As he opened his eyes, the memory of where he was came back to him and he smiled. The faded red fabric on the slightly saggy cushions beneath him gave as he shifted onto his side and looked at the scene around him.
On the worn wooden floor beside him, Windy was sprawled into one of those positions that surely could only be comfortable to him: his gangly limbs strewn every which way as he laid amongst the mismatched blankets and pillows that had been spread out the night before. Despite the bizarre position, Windy slept soundly, and the steady rise and fall of his chest made Grillby’s heart stir. He had never been so happy to simply watch someone breathe. Dust motes caught in the light that came through the smallish windows on the back wall, behind the sofa Tempest slept on, and reminded Grillby how still and peaceful the world was with his friends safely near him.
As his gaze drifted from Windy, he landed on Asteri, who was curled up happily on Windy’s other side with her eyes still closed. Grillby doubted she was actually sleeping still; she had always been an early bird. Despite this, she appeared content to lie there and soak in the feeling of being surrounded by people she loved. Grillby could certainly relate.
Last night had been a rush of adrenaline and exhaustion and chaos, and there had hardly been time to process everything. His mind was still catching up to the reality of the situation. So much must have happened to his friends in four years. It was visible, written into their bodies. It was something he was still accepting, despite seeing it with his own eyes. And so Grillby took the opportunity that the morning stillness afforded him to really take in the sight of his friends, living and safe and here beside him.
Asteri looked wrong that thin, he thought. She wasn’t dangerously thin, or anything even approaching it. She was, by all accounts, perfectly healthy-looking. A good number of wrongly informed people might insist that she was now more healthy, simply because she had lost weight and now more closely resembled what their society had considered “acceptable” for a woman to look like, if she wished to be afforded basic decency. That thinking would be incorrect, of course, on many levels. The technicalities of her physical health aside, what worried Grillby was what the change must mean for Asteri’s state of mind. According to Toriel, there was a perfectly functional civilization here— which presumably was not experiencing a famine— so there were no such drastic reasons for her to have lost so much weight.
One thing he knew about his friend was that anxiety made her lose her appetite. It would be understandable for her to have been anxious, here for a year without knowing what happened to Windy. But if it had been three years since that, shouldn’t she have recovered? What could have happened to make her lose so much weight so permanently? She had looked mostly the same for the seven years or so that he had known her. Besides that, she was one of the most confident people Grillby knew (though Tempest had wriggled himself into a close second place) and the last person to care about societal standards. He couldn’t imagine that she suddenly decided, after all these years, that she was going to go on some weight loss journey when she was the picture of health. And in a cave, no less.
She looked almost comically small, lying there next to her husband. Which was an odd thought, considering that “small” had never been a word Grillby would have used to describe her in any capacity before. She was tall, and she had a presence that lit up the room when she was in good spirits, and for as long as he had known her she had been some degree of fat. Before now, she was never “small”— not in height, not in build, and not in personality.
Grillby frowned as he studied the skeleton beside her. (Who, he noted absently, was breathing just like the rest of them. Weird.) Her weight didn’t have anything to do with that, did it? Having married a skeleton? That would be stupid. Besides that, this Wingdings guy was uncannily like Windy. If they had anything in common, then he would never push his own preferences on her appearance.
And if he had, well, then he had another thing coming.
It made Grillby uneasy, looking at his friend now. What must have happened to her? She wasn’t sick, was she? That would be horrible. She still looked in decent shape, but what if she wasn’t? What if something was wrong but they couldn’t figure it out and she was wasting away? What if monsters didn’t know how to take care of humans? Gaster— Windy wasn't that kind of doctor, and Grillby was pretty sure that whatever the medical needs of a skeleton or fire creature were, they weren’t the same as a human’s.
He scowled at the thought. He was going to need to have a word with this “other Grillby” about the state of his friends.
It was still such a bizarre thought. Another him. But, well, he wasn’t about to address the threatening existentialism just yet.
Instead, his gaze shifted back to Windy, and he frowned again as he studied his friend’s face. God, those scars were wicked. What the hell had he been through? Grillby’s mind flicked through different scenarios, trying to come up with what could have possibly caused scars like that. No matter how he tried to spin it though, the only explanation that seemed reasonable for their placement and how straight they were was that someone had hurt Windy on purpose.
It made his blood boil.
Grillby wasn’t able to seethe over it very long, though. He didn’t hear the door open, and so didn’t realize the presence of the other Grillby until he noticed the light shift and brighten behind him. He turned around, pulled out of his brooding before it could rightly start, and there saw the other-him in exactly the sort of sleepwear he himself might choose: a sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts. Other-Grillby turned to look at him, and their eyes met.
Well, not exactly eyes? Grillby wasn’t really sure what, precisely, a being made of fire might have that would constitute eyes, but he certainly felt like their gazes met. Other-Grillby paused for a moment, and then signed a slow, “…Good morning.”
Grillby blinked at him, and then sat up properly to sign it back. “Good morning.”
His counterpart nodded at him in return, then turned to go about whatever he was doing. Grillby watched him the entire time. How could he not be curious? Other-Grillby seemed unfazed by this and ignored him as he casually made his way around his home, silently attending to this or that, and then exiting the room into the restaurant kitchen shortly thereafter.
After thinking on it for a few seconds, Grillby grabbed his glasses and one of his hearing aids— for the ear with the least hearing; he wanted to save the batteries where he could— and slid off the couch as quietly as he could manage. Asteri stirred at the sound of movement anyway, and lifted her head to look over her shoulder, barely awake. When her bleary eyes focused enough to recognize who was up, she caught Grillby with a tired but incredibly warm smile.
“G’mornin,” she signed, barely comprehensible. “You okay?”
“Good morning,” he smiled back. “I’m fine.” With a nod in the direction Other-Grillby had gone, he added, “Wanna talk to myself.”
Asteri blew a quiet laugh and nodded once in understanding, then turned back over. Apparently too groggy to say anything else, she let her head flop back down and snuggled up against Wingdings’ bony body. That didn’t look remotely comfortable, Grillby thought, but who was he to judge? Asteri had always had… interesting tastes.
He stepped carefully around Windy and made his way out of the room, wincing every time he put his foot in the wrong place and made the floor creak. He tried to lean his weight onto any nearby furniture where he could. (Why did someone made of fire have a house made of so much wood? Well, Grillby couldn’t really complain; the decor was very much to his tastes.) Fortunately, it seemed both Gasters were equally dead to the world while asleep, and Tempest either slept the same way or was simply too exhausted from the last few days to wake up yet. (He was just sleeping; Grillby had noted his breathing after standing.)
Out of the living room and into the restaurant kitchen— which was apparently the residential kitchen as well— Grillby stepped through the heavy door and shut it softly behind him. There, he found his counterpart in elbow-high rubber gloves, reluctantly reaching into the sink to lift what looked like a coffee pot full of water.
Oh, right. Water. Fire.
Other-Grillby turned to look at him as he entered, and they stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Grillby wondered if other-him found this equally unsettling, and if it might be for all the same reasons. He did want to speak with this other version of himself, but truthfully he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He felt like he should have a million questions ready to ask, meeting some other “him.” Yet, he struggled with that notion in and of itself too much to move to the next step. There were too many things that came up into his mind, none of them more than nebulous feelings not so easily formed into words. This was absolutely him, yet, was it really? He had countless swirling reasons of why or why not, all flustering and frustrating him with their oppressive yet inarticulate presence.
“Want help with that?” Grillby decided on asking instead, eyeing the water and the gloves.
Other-Grillby appeared to bob slightly. His flames flickered brighter for a moment and sparked a little, and some purple-magenta color wove ever so subtly through them as they did. He made a quiet whooshing sound at the same time, and of course Grillby didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. But he was pretty sure the body language of an amused chuckle was fairly universal, if nothing else.
Other-Grillby stepped back from where he stood and carefully removed the wet gloves, draped them over the edge, and then gestured to sink as if to say, ‘All yours.’ Then, as the human stepped closer, he leaned back against the counter beside the sink and mused, “…Only do this for Gaster. …Too much hassle.”
Well, that certainly seemed like something he would say, Grillby thought as he lifted the wet pot and brought it to fill the coffee machine as directed. Beyond being a hassle, it also seemed like a lot of unnecessary risk for someone made of fire. He wondered what it must be like, living an existence where just touching water— even running water— could harm you. Hell, it made Grillby’s fear of drowning seem downright silly.
“What happens if you get wet?” he asked after filling the machine, figuring that he might as well be blunt if this really was just “himself.”
“……Hurts,” Other-Grillby answered simply.
Grillby shot him an unimpressed look as he leaned against the opposite counter. “I could’ve put that together.”
The same quick, quiet whooshing sound and split-second brightening. Then, after a second, Other-Grillby offered a better answer. “………Extinguishes me… if it’s too much…” He shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. “……Evaporates if I’m hot enough…… Still hurts though.”
Grillby nodded, but really that answer had only given him more questions. Then again, if humans had sealed monsters down here and all that, then maybe asking anything along the lines of ‘what would it take to seriously harm or kill you?’ wasn’t the best idea. Instead, Grillby shifted his weight and studied his counterpart— seemingly being studied in return— and frowned in scrutiny.
Other-him was the typical orange of woodfire, redder at the edges and slightly yellower toward the center. The flames on his head burned calmly; not as still and shapely as a candle, but not as chaotic as a bonfire. They didn’t reach too high, but curled and twisted in ways that were, in fact, not at all unlike Grillby’s long, wavy orange hair. (“Mermaid hair,” Asteri called it.) Unlike Windy, Grillby didn’t have all that much body hair, but what he did have that was immediately obvious managed to be reflected in his counterpart: Small licks of flame flickered up from Other-Grillby’s arms and legs. Also like Grillby, he was difficult to read, though for an entirely different reason: he didn’t have a face. Which kind of pissed Grillby off, honestly. It seemed like the universe was making fun of him and his friends. Gaster was skinny and tall and worked himself to death, so he was a skeleton— how original. Grillby had a temper and was always told he was difficult to read, so he was a fire with no face. Goddamn hilarious. The only indication other-him had something like a face at all was the glasses, which was almost more insulting.
After several tense seconds of looking other-him over and trying valiantly to be a little more objective rather than let himself get irritated over something that was no one's fault, Grillby uncrossed his arms and asked. Because it was going to keep pissing him off until he got an answer, otherwise. “Why the hell do you wear glasses if you don’t even have eyes?”
The rush of sound this elicited from the fire monster made him flinch away in surprise and fear: a loud roar, as if a whole tree bough suddenly went up in flames. In all but a blink, Other-Grillby was blazing brighter, and hotter, and his flames were billowing, and there was something that looked like the holes you could burn in paper suddenly gaping where his mouth should be, and it scared Grillby for one frozen, heart-stopping moment. Then he realized that Other-Grillby’s shoulders were shaking, and his head was tilted back, purple and brighter yellows twisting through his flames.
He was… laughing.
Oh.
Other-Grillby ran a hand through the flames atop his head as the last of the laughter rolled out of him in staggered, softer whooshes. He seemed to sigh as he composed himself, fire growing brighter with the intake of breath and then dimming back down with the exhale. Rather than answer Grillby’s question directly, he took his glasses off and stepped closer, stoking into hotter, brighter oranges that made the human squint from the heat. But, as the fire monster leaned forward, Grillby saw that he did have eyes— and even freckles, somehow. All brighter yellow-white against the orange of his fire. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a face; his features simply didn’t stand out enough to be easily identifiable when he was burning dimmer.
Grillby felt silly, relieved, and amazed all at the same time. “Oh.”
Other-Grillby’s eyes squinted in an amused smile, and as he dimmed and stepped back to replace his glasses, he made that quiet whooshing sound again. (Grillby was almost positive now that it was a chuckle.) Now that he knew his counterpart had eyes, he thought he could faintly make them out still, even now that they weren’t bright enough to be obvious.
“…Pupils too… if I’m the right colors,” Other-Grillby informed him pleasantly as he settled back against the counter.
Grillby inclined his head, thinking about all of that. What a weird thing to be, fire. Fire with a head and a face. A body and limbs and hands. But maybe it wasn’t some big cosmic joke after all. Maybe there was more to it. Why fire, though? And, how? Toriel was some strange, unsettling goat thing; Wingdings was a really big skeleton, who might have been similarly unsettling if he weren’t so familiarly Gaster; Other-Asteri was… some kind of lizard? fish? bug? thing…? He wasn’t actually sure what she was. Still, they all seemed like pretty normal “monsters." But what was he? What kind of being could be made of fire and not burn up right out of existence, or light everything else aflame with a touch? How did fire have eyes and freckles and a body that stayed in shape?
“What are you… exactly?” he asked, in something between wonder and caution.
Other-Grillby flickered cryptically at him. “……A monster.”
Oh come on. Was he really this frustrating? Or was it just because they were the same person? Other-Grillby seemed to be amusing himself by being difficult on purpose. Grillby huffed a sigh and frowned at him, though it lacked any real weight. He couldn’t find it in himself to be truly annoyed again so soon after realizing the universe wasn’t laughing at him.
“…Fire elemental,” Other-Grillby answered at last, though in no less pleasant spirits.
Grillby had heard the word before, and was vaguely aware of the concept of “elementals”, but the term didn’t really mean anything to him. Maybe he shouldn’t question the logic of anything too much, given what he’d already been through so far. So he just nodded in response, feeling unsure of where to take the conversation from there with how his mind was still spinning. “And… your Gaster’s a skeleton.”
This being an obvious statement, it got him no response, just a continued stare from his counterpart, who he was pretty sure was still entertained by this entire interaction.
Another several seconds went by as the coffee percolated.
There was one more question that had been rolling around in Grillby’s mind since last night. He figured now was about a good a time to ask as any. “You’re hearing, right?”
Other-Grillby tilted his head almost imperceptibly, then nodded.
Grillby frowned a little. What a weird difference to have. He couldn’t say he was pleased about that discrepancy. “Why do you sign, then?”
The elemental stood from leaning against the counter and gestured nonchalantly outward as he began making what could only be described as “fire sounds.” It sounded like someone was holding a microphone up to a house fire as it spread. This went on for a few seconds, and then Other-Grillby looked at him expectantly. Grillby blinked uncomprehendingly.
“……Most can’t… understand elementals…” Other-Grillby translated, after a moment.
“…You called someone on the phone last night,” Grillby pointed out with another frown.
Other-Grillby flickered violet, longer and more fully than before, and what was visible of his eyes crinkled slightly. “…Gaster understands.”
Grillby sat with that answer for a few seconds. Gaster— Wingdings— understood this Other-Grillby. He supposed if they were best friends as well, like himself and his Gaster, then it made sense. He wondered if his Gaster— if Windy could understand this Grillby too, after three years. For some reason he wasn’t going to examine too closely, he felt something sour at the idea, and hoped that wasn’t the case.
“……Your Gaster says,” Other-Grillby began, simply using the same familiar sign rather than spelling out Windy’s name, “…you can’t hear...”
It seemed more like a question than a statement. Grillby tilted his head side to side in a gesture that indicated the elemental was only partially right. “Hard of hearing,” he corrected, and tapped his right ear. “Can hear more on this side.”
Other-Grillby nodded thoughtfully, then pointed to the hearing aid in his counterpart’s left ear. “…Helps?”
That got a nod.
They stood in silence for a few more long moments, not staring at each other but not exactly looking elsewhere either. Just thinking, maybe. While he tried to process everything he had learned in the background of his mind, Grillby noted the layout of the kitchen and whether it differed from how he might have arranged it. (It didn’t, save for a few things.) The space was long but somewhat narrow; the door out to the restaurant and the door back to the residential space weren’t that far apart, but the kitchen extended quite a ways off to the side, with the cold storage at the far end. That was one of the things he would have chosen to put elsewhere, if this were his restaurant. There were cupboards above and below, and great big counters, and plenty of storage and light. It lacked the stainless steel of his restaurant kitchen back home, but something told him that was because this place was much older.
Before Grillby could think much on how that could be possible, Other-Grillby turned around unannounced and leisurely began pulling out dishes and cookware. He didn’t seem overly concerned about being quiet; Either he expected everyone to be up soon, or the door blocked that much noise. In the process of pulling things out, Other-Grillby offered him a cup of coffee, but he declined. (He wanted to drink it slow, with his friends next to him.) Nonplussed, the elemental left the coffee in the pot and set about pulling out ingredients, apparently content to get to what he was doing on his own, without any further discussion. Grillby wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he didn’t want this not-quite-a-conversation to be over yet. Instead, he offered to help with whatever Other-Grillby planned on making for breakfast.
It was far more than a single dish, but Grillby would have questioned whether this was actually “him” if he’d skimped on cooking something elaborate for an occasion like this one.
They conversed a little as they started prepping. Other-Grillby had far fewer questions for him, but he supposed that made sense, given that Windy and Asteri had probably talked about him in the years they’d been here.
“…Talk to your family?” Other-Grillby asked, at one point, after he’d set some fruit on a cutting board.
“Sometimes,” came the response, through the noise of the elemental’s rapid, skillful dicing. “Mostly just my sister and niece.”
Other-Grillby’s knife slowed to a stop. His flames dimmed and maroon flicked through them, just briefly. “……Nephew?”
Grillby shot him a confused look and set down the mixing bowl he’d just picked up. “I don’t have— Well.” He tilted his head in thought. “I do have nephews old enough to talk to. But not from her.”
There was a pause, and Other-Grillby just stared at him. He didn’t seem confused, Grillby thought. Something else. But it was hard to tell what he was feeling.
“…………Younger… than I thought……” the elemental said after a few more seconds, his signs slower.
Grillby frowned. What was that supposed to mean? “How old are you? You talk to your family?”
“Gaster is my family,” Other-Grillby answered immediately, easy and certain. It struck Grillby as very out of character. He certainly didn’t disagree with the feeling, but to just say it so readily?
The elemental continued, after a pause. “……Have relatives in——” He signed a location name that Grillby didn’t know. “…Don’t talk much.”
He finished cutting the last of the fruit, then motioned the human over and swept it into the batter Grillby had been mixing.
They continued cooking, and Grillby mulled over what he had learned. It felt like he finally had those million questions, yet still so few of them formed into anything coherent enough to ask. As a result he felt an overall, irritating sense of confusion, which was rapidly growing into directionless annoyance again. As he tried to sort his thoughts, he belatedly realized that Other-Grillby had never answered the question about age. Hmph. Well, it didn’t matter, he supposed. The most important questions he had were about his friends. They had been through something, both of them— even besides the horror of ending up trapped underground in a different universe. But they shouldn't have had to go through anything beyond that, ever. Not with other-him so close. Grillby didn’t care what universe it was in, it was his job to take care of them! So if this universe’s version of him hadn’t managed that, then they were going to have a conversation.
But, in the interest of being fair, he shouldn't assume that it had been in negligence. For one, being friends with Gaster this long had taught him that not jumping to conclusions almost always worked out better in the end. (Either Grillby was wrong and it was good he didn't act on instinct, or he was right, but Gaster was happy and proud of him for waiting to learn the facts anyway.) For another thing, Grillby knew that if someone showed up out of nowhere claiming to be a different version of him, and accused him of not taking care of the people he loved, well... then he might revert to some old tendencies from a time before he met such forgiving friends. In this case, the "him" in question being made of fire, Grillby really didn't want to know what those same tendencies might look like with magic and flames involved.
But that didn't mean he had to be happy about the whole thing.
Once several things were cooking and they had another moment’s pause, he set his hands on his hips and turned to face his counterpart with a wide, no-nonsense stance that said he wanted answers. “What happened to my friends?”
Other-Grillby’s flames seemed to reflect something along the lines of raising an eyebrow. For a moment, the human thought he’d be difficult again and tell him to be more specific. But instead, he took the question for what it was and posed one back. “……Why ask me?”
Grillby shot a mighty glare at him, actually disgusted. “What kind of “Grillby” are you if you have to ask that!?” he snapped, movements sharp.
It did not succeed in getting a rise out of the elemental. Rather, he calmly, patiently stared at Grillby for as long as it took until the human scowled and crossed his arms. “……You have to talk to your Gaster,” Other-Grillby replied at last. “…Not me.”
That was annoyingly perceptive of him. With equal annoyance, Grillby had to acknowledge that it was also the smarter thing for his counterpart to say. He huffed. He was already planning on talking to his friends about everything, obviously, but Windy wasn’t going to be forthcoming about this particular subject, he could already tell. With nowhere to dump his irritation, he threw out one last jab, juvenile in its pointless spite. “What happened to yours, then?”
It was mostly asked in pettiness, so he didn’t expect an answer. So Other-Grillby’s delayed, deadpan explanation of, “Steam vent,” was one that Grillby couldn’t place as being serious or not. It definitely sounded like something Gaster would be working on, but that fact itself made it prime material for a joke answer to lighten the mood, or a lie to get him to drop it. And given how difficult the elemental had been earlier for no reason other than to amuse himself, plus Grillby’s reluctant internal acknowledgment that he also relied on being hard to read when he was trying to get someone to give up on pressing a topic he didn’t want to discuss… Well, he couldn’t pin the answer one way or another. Either way, it didn’t tell him anything about his Gaster. He huffed out a frustrated breath, then took a deeper, slower one as he forced himself to let that part go for now.
Windy was only one part of his question.
“Asteri, then," he said, when Other-Grillby turned back from stirring something on the stove. Grillby's mind drifted back to how small she looked next to Wingdings, and how wrong she felt in his arms when she hugged him last night. “What happened to her? Why has she lost so much weight? Is something wrong with her?” He leaned forward, the same concern from earlier beginning to overtake the irritation. As he stepped closer and closer to his counterpart, worry etched itself into his features and his signing grew quicker with each question. “Is she overexerting herself? Is she sick? Is she not eating enough? ”
Other-Grillby patted him on both shoulders and gently pushed him back from how close he was standing. “……Not my business,” he signed softly, when he let go. “…But…… I think…… she missed your cooking.”
...What?
Grillby blinked, taken aback by the answer. “My cooking?” He frowned. Not in frustration this time but in confusion and, secretly, a little bit of disappointed resignation. Of course he'd hope his friends would miss him in such a personal way, but... It didn't make sense. He didn’t see how it could be possible, Asteri missing his cooking. Not when... “You’re me.”
Other-Grillby tilted his head a little, and the soft rush of sound he made didn’t sound like a chuckle, but maybe something more like a sad sigh given the body language it was matched with. It wasn’t accompanied by the brightening or the purple flickers that the laughing was. This sound had cooler reds and dimmer light. Even so, it was only a split-second change. Then he was warmer, honeyed yellows, and a gentle hand was on Grillby’s shoulder again.
“You’re you.”
Other-Grillby let the words hang there for a moment, then brightened enough that Grillby could see his eyes smile. “…No replacement.”
The pan beside them started sizzling, and the elemental stepped away to take care of it, leaving Grillby staring at some point he wasn’t actually seeing. No replacement… He was himself, and there was no replacement. Not even another him. Not to the people who mattered.
It was a lot to be hit with all at once.
But he didn’t get much chance to think about it, because not 30 seconds later, Asteri kicked the door open, shouting his name like she was heaven's wrath come to reckon with a sinner.