Archive of Our Own

Daytime at Grillby’s tended to be different from the night. It was quieter— as most regulars were at their jobs—making the only customers be pairs of friends catching up, or families. Grillby had little use for the bar, save for a few Shirley temples.

…and Sans’ seat. 

During the day, the bar was empty—yes. Every seat free besides the rather worn out one on the far right. 

So, despite not needing any tending to, Grillby would quickly cook up whatever was ordered and come back to the nearly deserted counter to talk with his most frequent customer—and boyfriend.

Sans watched him work gladly, and Grillby enjoyed the company. 

Every now and then, he’d offer once or twice to help out with the orders—to which Grillby declined each time with a smile. It was sweet. Where Sans used to do anything to get out of work, he was now wanting to do whatever he could for Grillby. 

Grillby would always decline, however, unless he was sick or the lunch rush was far too much for him. He liked the independence of running his own restaurant, he always had…

Though he still dreamed of running the establishment with Sans. The two of them, working together to run what was Grillby’s first taste of real life.

“Ah, excuse me!! Over here!!” A determined looking small child waved Grillby down from her table near the big window, where her baby brother and  her mother—who was obviously embarrassed—told her to sit down and eat.

Grillby smiled at them, and glanced at Sans. Nowadays, every child who came through the door with their parents made Grillby think about… them. About one day. All it did was make him smile, because this time—one day would come. He was sure of it, however it would end up happening.

And with that thought, he passed by Sans and—pretending to whisper in his ear—snuck a small kiss to his cheek. He unfortunately couldn’t see much of the light blue that would then flush the skeleton’s face, but he knew it had happened from the bashful murmuring he heard as he walked away. Point for him, if he was still allowed to count.

He helped the girl and her mother. After them, it was a few friends, a few singular people looking for a quick bite, and another few batches of families and friends and such. All of these people were served until the sun had fully set, and the regulars had begun to pour in to reclaim their spaces.

Since moving to the surface, Grillby had even gotten a few human regulars. These people, surprisingly at first, blended right in with the monsters. They shared interests, jokes, beers—it was a big step for monsters, even. Human news stations had given him a lot of traction during the first few weeks of him reopening. The amount of human support had been… quite surprising. Though, very very welcome. His restaurant had been a staple of monster integration for the books…

Celebrations aside, now, that rush has rather died out. However, it’s given him a wonderful start on the surface from then on—and he would forever thank the stars for that. Also, of course, he thanks Sans—who had made sure he could get his restaurant open for all of that to happen. The one who stuck by his side since the very first day in every aspect.

Now, it was nighttime in the establishment, and there were drinks to serve.

Noise filled the room, hefty laughter and clinking were a constant, along with the sound of cards being shuffled and just conversation. It was very loud, but the sound of people gathering, having fun, and feeling so comfortable in a place of his made him feel almost ecstatic. 

He rushed around the room easily, quickly made perfect orders, and served them to their respective people. Throughout the day, he would also make time to talk with Sans, who would only order a new bottle of ketchup every now and then.

“Are you sure you aren’t hungry?” He asked, perfectly portioning the liquor and fruit juice of Drunk Bunny’s drink as Sans playfully scoffed at him.

“-nah, I’ve been eating a few Oreos from my pockets every now and then,” he said very casually. Grillby unfortunately believed him fully, which wasn’t a good thing. Though it was a bit funny, being honest.

“………I will make you some fries………you will eat them……” he stated, and Sans froze with wide eyes and a dumbfounded and frozen expression.

“i- grillbz, you don’t have’ta do that, i’m fine-“

Grillby shook his head—oh, sans… “I will go deliver this and be back...”

He quickly brought the rabbit monster her drink. She very sluggishly thanked him, the slurring almost unintelligible. He wrote in his notepad briefly to remind himself to cut her off if she asks. He nodded with a smile to her thank-yous and headed to the kitchen.

Sans rested his elbow on the counter, the tip of the ketchup bottle rested in his teeth, though he didn’t absorb any of it. Lost in his mind, he scanned the wall of alcohol, contemplating getting a real drink or two. Just for the sake of it, though he could honestly go for a mock-tail the same.

At the moment, Grillby was busy in the back making him fries—and as hungry as he really was, he couldn’t help but feel this twist in his soul for making him do more than he really had to. 

He sighed, and actually took a sip of his ketchup. How did a guy like him deserve a guy like that? 

Now, for the first time after a thought like that, he smiled. He’d just have to prove himself. It would be his biggest commitment next to comedy, but Grillby was worth it. He was worth 

The door chimed along with a gust of cool air. Sans didn’t look to see who it could be, since it couldn’t be any regulars—as they were all there. It most likely was a new person coming in for a drink or two, nothing much to note.

He very clearly heard the steps approach the bar despite the amount of noise in the air, and once they reached the area… it suddenly got really hot. Unusually hot for even Grillby’s hotter temperatures.

Sans couldn’t help but look now, and was then met with a… sight.

The warmth was easily explained, the monster beside him was made of magma—almost like how Grillby was made of fire. However, instead of mostly being semi-transparent like Grillby was, the man was solid.

Each move he made resulted in a quiet but noticeable shuffling sound, rock against rock. Magma rock. The only things muffling this sound were his clothes: a red bomber jacket, a slightly torn and stained white tank top, and cuffed jeans. 

So, magma monster. He seemed a bit on the bitter side, but that was normal for Hotland monsters—Grillby being an exception. So, knowing this, he just engaged him like he did most people. Calm, collected… and comedically.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before, come from fire away…?” He joked, crossing his arms on the counter to lean on them.

The man side eyed him, “mm… not exactly.” He said, not quitting that serious expression on his face. Sans awkwardly glanced at the direction the other was staring at—the alcohol—then back at him. Not much for small talk, okay, yeah—sure. Some people just weren’t into that. 

“Righty,” he said with soft suspicion. He dropped the tone and shrugged, “Gonna have a fuel drinks? I personally recommend—“

The magma monster then suddenly raised his left hand in a cavalier shushing gesture. Sans was now taken back—rude much? 

Okay, so if he wasn’t a fun buddy, he would just have to be an annoyance buddy. Those were the two options, nothing more nothing less.

Sans smirked at his new plan, it’s been a while since he’s had a newbie to torment. Since monsters had become widely accepted in Ebbot City, there’s been hardly anyone to get on the metaphorical nerves of. He’s a bit rusty, to be honest. 

“Wow, no need to give me the cold smoulder. I mean, I get trying to control your tember, but you could be a bit nice about it—instead of getting all fired up…”

His magma then began to smoke, but the guy still didn’t look at him. All he said, “you know, this place has a bunch of really dangerous drunks that could really hurt someone like you, okay? You should probably scram.”

Sans jaw could’ve dropped right then and there, but instead he just stared at the man who now apparently decided to blatantly ignore him.

Excuse me??—He wanted to say. The fuck???—He wanted to exclaim. However, he just grimaced at him and sipped his ketchup, “….mh, no, actually. I won’t, but thank you very match for worrying about me. I think I’ll be just fine.”

Watching this conversation, dumbstruck and honestly frozen—was Grillby, holding Sans’ tray of fries. 

Right ahead of him was his ex boyfriend, Hans, from ten or so years ago. He wasn’t just any ex either. 

This one was ballistic.

After initially breaking up with him, Hans had hammered on his front door for a day straight, even weeks afterwards—after the constant torture and Grillby’s pleads for him to leave—he’d tried to splash Grillby out in public, ending with him in the hospital.

In other words, Grillby had a very serious restraining order placed on that man. 

Despite the honest fear he felt somewhere in his soul, he approached the bar. Sans had no idea who Hans was, and Hans had no idea who Sans was.

If Hans did figure out who Sans was…

He sighed a puff of smoke as he placed Sans’ tray down gently, though he still caught them both off guard as they jumped. The recognition was quick for both of them…but one’s gaze made him feel safer, loved—the other made him remember.

“You need to leave…” Grillby hissed as calmly and as low-key as possible. The better thing to do was get him out without causing any commotion, though it was unlikely.

Hans smirked, coming out of whatever default personality he took on to speak to strangers and fazing into his real self, “Grillby!” Hans greeted him, “Been a while since we talked, you know…”

“Leave.” Grillby stressed again, his voice crackling further. Sans now had concern in his eyes, glancing between the two hotland monsters. Of course he’d catch on—

“Oh, come ON!” Hans scowled and slammed a fist onto the counter, causing the dishes around the area to clink and clunk from the vibration. Sans jumped, hands flying up to his chest before the impact… And all that had made Grillby want to do was grab the man by the neck and drag him out himself.

Unfortunately, whatever scene Grillby had tried to avoid was now becoming imminent. People were starting to turn heads, some games were being silently paused, and the dogs were on alert—not that Hans noticed any of this. Things would undoubtedly get worse if Grillby couldn’t shut this down soon. 

For the sake of tonight, he needed to ignore the loud blaring noise of panic that he felt throughout his entire flame. He couldn’t let Hans see that he was scared—he’d take advantage. He couldn’t  let Sans see that he was scared—he would try to step in and get hurt too.

Hans took in a sharp breath, then smugly smiled again, hardly trying to keep his composure “come on, Grillbies, you really still think I’m coming here to try and put our relationship back together?”

He spoke so confidently, but the truth was no. He hadn’t thought that at all, and that seemed to be understood throughout the whole restaurant—because he just had to draw attention.

“No, I do not-“

“Look, babe, I’m in a whole fucking relationship now! This hot chick, you know her—back from highschool! We’re really serious now, so you can’t keep chasing me like you have.”

Grillby stared completely aghast. He needed maybe…hours to process what was happening before him—but he replied despite that, bewildered, “what in the world are you talking about………?”

Hans suddenly held his palm up and out in a halting motion, “look, you need to find someone who can bear you, yeah. I was perfect for you, sure.” He laughed, sending an anxious flicker through Grillby’s flame before Hans’ tone intensified, “It just isn’t my fault you burn everyone who tries to love you!—“

“Okay I’m sorry—who the fuck do you think you are?” Sans exclaimed quietly, at his own volume. Grillby couldn’t tell if this was a worse or better situation. He decided on worse. This was bad—Sans didn’t know what he was getting into.

“Sans…it’s alright.” He 

“No it isn’t, actually—because I’m pretty sure you’re a loser douchebag who can’t take a hint—“

“Then who the fuck do you think YOU are, punk!?” Hans stood up as he raised his voice, towering over Sans—which Grillby recognized as an attempt to make Sans feel small…er.

Unfortunately for Hans, Sans didn’t care for threats like people tended to in the magma’s presence. 

“—The one who’s telling you to get out of his partner’s restaurant. He told you to go. So, why don’t you head out.” Sans grumbled as he pointed to the door. Grillby noticed his eyelights were out, and his smile a grimace. 

It was silent for a few seconds, the usually lively customers shocked into silent horror. What broke the silence was a soft laughter from Hans, which grew and grew until it was scarily manic. 

“Hah—oh go fuck yourselves! All of you assholes!-“ he shouted, until a strangely strangled noise broke his sentence, and Grillby realized Sans had summoned his soul, holding it with blue magic.

Hans stared down at Sans with a searing hatred that Grillby had seen before but couldn’t make out what to do with that recognition. 

“Go.” Sans finished, and he let go of Hans’ soul, the magma monster’s body slacking with the freedom. Hans glanced at Grillby, then back at Sans, and stormed out the door, angrily knocking down an unoccupied chair before he left.

It was quiet when it closed behind him, people still recovering…until…

They erupted into cheers. 

Around the room he could hear curses directed at the door and Hans, praise for Sans and Grillby, and plenty of variations of “good riddance!” 

As the cheers went on, Grillby nearly collapsed from the spike of adrenaline wearing off as quickly as it had come. He sighed roughly as his upper half weakly dropped to lean on the counter. His head swam—why did he still get like this even after all these years..?

“Yo, hey, Grillbz—it’s alright… You’re okay.” Sans comforted slowly, now sat on his usual bar stool again as if nothing had happened—the only indication something had happened with Sans was the subtle rattle of his bones that was barely audible. Grillby wasn’t very acquainted with Skeleton biology, so he wasn’t sure what the rattling could mean. Anger? Fear?

He let out a shuddering sigh and looked up from his arms to see said skeleton. He loved Sans, and Hans couldn’t do anything about it. 

The night went smoothly after that, the—rather minimal as many had celebrated Hans’ leave—non-intoxicated crowd actually helped clean their spaces and the other less capable people’s spaces as well. Grillby did his best to make it light work—and he really did appreciate their help more than anything that night—almost. 

As drink orders slowed, though still continued, he stopped in front of Sans as he made a drink, “Sans…?” He said to get his attention, which he did, “Thank you… Thank you—I- I don’t-“

“-Don’t mention it, Grillbz. Honestly, fuck that guy. I love you, alright? You don’t burn me, you are…” Sans paused, and smiled brighter at Grillby, “…you’re more than just bareable.” He smiled, then continued with a light tone, “You’re loved. Not just by me— all of us.”

Grillby felt his soul sing at that statement, and he finished shaking the drink. He placed it on the counter, came around, and hugged Sans tight.

“Thank you……” 

Sans gave Grillby a strangled hum from the hold, and in an equal tone, “no problem—ah-“ he said, sighing heavily when Grillby let go. “Heh, are the thank yous gonna be like my sorrys? I’d hate to make it a competition but…”

Grillby softly laughed, “how in the world would you win such a competition?”

Sans then delved into the obscure rules of the competition, then used it as a pathway to get Grillby out of his head—which the flame noticed and appreciated.

Sans was there for him. Sans had gone to protect him. He got mad, which was entirely out of character for him. 

Sans made him feel safer, which would seem silly to anyone else considering what they looked like on the outside, but it’s not like they would need to understand.

The final customer closed the door behind them, leaving just Sans and Grillby in what was the cleanest after-closing version of Grillby’s that the man himself had ever seen. Sure, the floor needed a mop, but they had all worked to make sure he had less on his shoulders.

Grillby was truly grateful for that. Their appreciation of him was one of the highlights of his career.

All who was left was Sans, helping sweep… before he got a call.

Sans picked up, said a few “ok”s and after a pause—he ended the call and put his phone back into his pocket. He picked up the dust pan and broom, walked to the large garbage bin, emptied out the contents of the dustpan, and leaned the broom against the wall. 

“Ah- sorry, Grillbz, I gotta go—Paps is getting on my case about unpacking my stuff,” he shrugged, and Grillby choked on a snicker.

“I- wait—you mean unpack from the underground..? Sans, we’ve been up here for months,” he smiled incredulously, and Sans gave him a silly smile back.

“Eeyup,” he attempted to say normally, but laughter snuck into both the former and the next sentence, “heh— I’ll see you tomorrow, Grillbz,” he said. He then took a small shortcut, and landed across from where Grillby stood at the counter. He leaned over, quickly gave Grillby a peck on the lips, and shortcutted to the door where he appeared with a nice smile on his face.

His smile didn’t stick around for long though, before it began to waver with uncertainty. Grillby’s smile faltered as well with confusion.

“Think you’ll uh,” Sans frowned, and turned to look at the door behind him and back to Grillby, “think you’ll be alright…? Maybe I should stay—“

”I’ll be just fine, Sans… I’ll call you if I get bonely,” He said, not sure if he really would be fine. Sans’ cheekbones glowed a soft, just barely noticeable blue as he smiled again. Grillby smiled back at him, but before he could leave—

“—wait, Sans….?” He called after him, and Sans paused in the middle of turning around, curious.

Grillby suddenly felt flustered, but he continued.

“I’m glad……you don’t burn……so we can be together as we are………” he hesitantly referenced the argument from earlier, because despite who had finally said it out loud for them—he really was glad.

Sans’ gaze was lost for a few moments, but then he smiled softly again, “I would’ve figured it out for you, G…“

And then he left.

Such a sweet note, and yet…Grillby just couldn’t shake a strange sour taste from his mouth…

Sans left the building, still truly smiling even on the inside. He checked his phone another time to see that Papyrus had texted him, but it was just the same “GET HOME SAFE!!” He’d said on the call.

Sans slipped it back into his pocket and leaned against the wall beside the restaurant door in thought. 

Grillby’s was located between plenty of other stores and studios that made up Ebott city. It was the type of city where cars would still fill the streets far after dark, where there were a few apartments above establishments—the one above Grillby’s being where the man himself lived. 

Tonight’s streets were a bit on the emptier side, with nobody walking around much and just a bit of traffic by the main roads. Quiet night… Sans almost wanted to do all the work of walking home just to breathe and live the night air. 

He took a look around, taking in a deep breath of said air. The inside of Grillby’s was still the same—so familiar, yet the outside was so foreign. However, instead of  discomfort, Sans felt pride. Grillby deserved this, to be in this big city doing what he loved.

Especially without creeps showing up. 

Sans frowned, mind slipping from the nice trance of the city atmosphere. The night had started… messily. That guy was definitely not right in the head, and he bothered Grillby to the point where Sans was almost positive he should’ve seen him in the Hall for judgement, at least at some point. He hadn’t though… why?

Did Grillby never report this dude?…And why? This was definitely not their first interaction—Sans wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a person cause those colors in Grillby’s flames—fear colors. There was something more to just this—something wrong. Ex or not, 

Sans suddenly felt sick at the thoughts his mind suggested, and he felt an urge in his soul to head back inside—postpone unpacking to another day, stay the night just to make sure…

He was fumbling with his phone before he could even decide, immediately opening it and heading to Grillby’s contact…

—until he felt himself get grabbed so quickly that he almost exclaimed in capitals. However, nothing came out, as whoever grabbed him immediately went to cover his teeth.

His shouts came out as muffles and his struggles were small squirms in their grasp. The person walked back with him deeper into the dark of the alleyway, until they—for a moment—dropped him, then shoved him against the corresponding wall to Grillby’s.

The stench of long-gone-bad garbage and smoke filled his nasal cavity as he attempted to make out the person in front of him through blurry vision. Struggling to catch his breath, he looked up at the blob of low, red light. It was a monster for sure…

The monster struggled to grab the collar of what used to be Grillby’s shirt on Sans. Sans did his best to breathe despite the smell and what was now becoming pressure on his ribcage from their wrists pressing down, deep into his chest.

“you…” said a gravelly voice, audibly out of breath with either exertion or blind rage—and just then did Sans realize who this was.

That guy from before.

Breathing was becoming more of a struggle now as Hans applied more pressure. 

“You fucking stole him from me!” He raised his voice, and with that, he harshly slid Sans further up the wall, leaving his feet to dangle and his slippers to fall. 

Sans made a pathetic, choked noise, trying to say anything—but he failed, and only seemed to make the man angrier.

“I worked… I—” He gasped manically, in disbelief. “I worked for YEARS TO MAKE HIM MINE AGAIN—BUT—BUT YOU!”

Then Sans was moving again. He was thrown onto the ground, gasping for air after the fall onto his back registered as white hot pain. Whatever air he’d had in him, knocked out. However, the pressure was gone. Blinded with confusion and pure survival instinct, he gasped desperately to try and reclaim any oxygen.

During this breather, his eye flashed a bright blue. Without his own input—or even his mental strength to realize he was doing it—The Judge instinctively took the opportunity to check the magma monster to gain as much information as possible. 

700 HP

2 LV

[wants to scare you, but it won’t hurt any less.]

…Great, he won’t die, not enough intent for that. It was just going to—

The other grabbed Sans’ collar again, bringing Sans’ upper body closer to his face. He began sputtering different intelligible words and sentences—well, intelligible at least to Sans, who could hardly hear him over the ringing. 

Sans’ eyelights fizzled out like a mosquito lamp.

—Hurt.

Grillby hummed quietly to himself as he mopped the well-swept dining room. The after-closing process was usually a bit difficult, but today… because of all the love from his customers and friends—it was easy. Easy on himself and his soul.

Until he then gasped at the sudden pain that pierced said soul.

He doubled over, knees becoming weak underneath him when it struck. He clung onto the mop handle to stabilize himself as it left as quickly and as abruptly as it had come.

What in the world………?

As he stood up straight, he rubbed at his chest to work out the leftover sting… What could that have been?—

He gasped then as the pain came again. Visions flooded his mind and sight—an alleyway, a low, red glow on stone walls, a torn jacket sleeve, and—

Hans.

Somehow, someway, Grillby knew where to go. 

He dashed out the door, looking left and right for any sight of Sans. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was looking for Sans, but his entire being—it was like some force was silently screaming to him to help—

“Oh you motherfucker!— I WONT LET YOU—“ 

Grillby flinched at the sound of his voice, but what was especially shocking was that it was coming from just around the corner, between his building and the neighboring Chinese place. He ran to the edge of the wall to not-so-discreetly peek around the corner…

His body locked up on him as he saw it. There Hans stood, the collar of the shirt he’d given to sans a while back bunched up in his fist as he shouted and cursed. Sans himself?…

Oh, Stars, he looked lifeless.

Hans raised a fist as his volume peaked—

“HANS, STOP.” Grillby shouted and crackled before he could strike, fear seeping through what he meant to be an angry, fearsome voice. Hans’ head whipped around at the sound, and he carelessly let go of Sans. Grillby winced and tensed at the crackling sound he heard that was Sans’ skull hitting the pavement, and he feared—he feared—

A slight groan and roll of the head let Grillby know it wasn’t over yet.

But it could be over soon, he had little time.

“Grillby…? Grillby!" Hans said, seeming…excited to see him. Grillby didn’t reciprocate the feeling.  

“Hans, I have a restraining order placed. I would’ve let go of you coming to my restaurant today—but I am calling the guard. Step away from him.” 

Hans’ excitement faded into a frown, “you wouldn’t. You’ve never called the guys on me—you’re not like that.” He stressed, frown now becoming a disbelieving scowl.

“Hans, step away.” Grillby warned, slowly and carefully pulling his phone out. He would call the guard this time. He wouldn’t let Hans push him around, he wouldn’t let him control him with fear.

Because he’s hurt Sans now, and Grillby wouldn’t, couldn’t allow that. 

But before Grillby could dial the number, Hans froze in place, then ran like a teen from an abandoned building. As soon as he was gone, Grillby turned into the Alleyway—still a bit confused—and all of his fear hit him like a freight train. Sharp, gut-wrenching—

“Oh-oh oh stars—SANS!” Grillby called upon realization. Sans wasn’t moving. He wasn’t—

Grillby sloppily ran to his side and dropped to the rocky alley floor. Hovering his hands over Sans’ unconscious body, his mind raced as it tried to figure out what to do.

Cautiously, he picked Sans’ skull off the floor to take it off the rough ground. He went to survey his face, but was struck with horror when dust and little chips of bone fell onto his hand from the back of Sans’ head. Eyes wide, he quickly tried to brush the dust off of his hand, lava-like bile in his throat, dousing flames to create a burning feeling.

“No…no- no, please…” Grillby pleaded to nobody, breathlessly. Desperately. “Please, please, please…” He choked. He  looked to Sans’ face, eye sockets open, but hollow. There was no trace of those  lively and hopeful eyelights Grillby had seen recently, no matter how much Grillby looked for even a pinprick.

No trace of Sans other than…

The rise and fall of his chest.

Grillby couldn’t feel relieved yet. Hovering a hand over Sans’ chest, continuing to gently hold his head above ground, he performed a check on Sans’ soul. 

2 HP

[he’s in there, and when in your arms, sensing it’s you… knowing it or not, he lets himself breathe.]

Two. What was a good day for Sans months ago was now a horrible low. Recently, he’d been averaging an eight or ten even—not even close to that of a whimsums, but now…

Nevermind. He’s not dead—

1.5 HP…

Grillby had little time to work with. Sans had little time.

Sans’ eyelights flickered on weakly, taking on a fuzzy, static shape. They looked into the void, then to Grillby. Sans’ breath staggered, and Grillby’s check was suddenly and forcefully dispelled. Grillby pulled his hand away, unsure of why.

“Sans…?” He whispered to the other as those eyelights stared up at him not with their usual love, but with fear. His fire—he thought he was-

Then the look faded, and he seemed calm. Recognition was what Grillby took from it. Sans let out barely audible hum as he closed his eyes again.

Grillby—eyes blurred from molten tears he hadn’t realized he’d cried—left that alleyway with Sans in his arms. 

Sans hadn’t wanted to open his eyes. The pounding in his skull rang loud, and every bone that made up his fragile body screamed at him for help. Where was he even? Home? This certainly wasn’t his bed. Too tall, too soft.

Despite the headache and exhaustion, those last two questions were ones he’d learned to listen to. They were crucial to any sort of survival in his condition.

His vision was blurry immediately upon opening his eyes.  Disoriented, he couldn’t help but groan from the uncomfortable pain. His eye lights didn’t feel right either, so whatever happened must’ve fucked up his head enough to mess with them too. 

He tried to move his arm to push himself up, but all he was met with was pain. Searing pain. He whined as it spread like a frequency through his bones, and instantly let the arm go limp—

“Don’t move… your dust hasn’t healed fully yet…” a familiar voice spoke to him, and he felt his mind just… melt. He was safe. He was safe now.

He shakily turned his head just enough to try and see the flame. Grillby was obviously sitting in the chair in the corner by the head of the bed—yet Sans couldn’t seem to focus his eyelights to make him out. It looked enough like him in color and shape for Sans to assume.

“G….Grillbz?” Sans’ said with a husk of a voice. The name, for some reason, came out slower than he’d intended. Slurred by exhaustion or the possible concussion? That was irrelevant…maybe. Disregarding the delay for now—or forever—in the end he couldn’t say much more than that, it all just hurt so much.

Sans noticed a small streak of purple crackle through Grillby’s flames, though it quickly disappeared. He wasn’t sure of what that color meant yet…maybe he could ask sometime later.

“………yes.” Grillby said breathily, “it’s me……..” he sighed, shifting in his seat. 

Sans blinked, as if it would clear his vision. He then took a deep breath, but it had caught—and he began to roughly cough. The pain in his chest had been dull before now, now where every choke felt like lightning. The force and the shock from the coughing had him sitting up, despite the dizzying effect the position had on his already throbbing skull.

Grillby’s blur of color rushed to his side, and a warm hand was placed on his back. He coughed lightly as the bout of hacking lessened to a quiet huff. Once he felt okay enough, he made a strained humming sound to clear his voice. 

“I………I wasn’t sure what to do……Healers don’t take you………” Grillby said softly. 

…It was unfortunately true. Any healer—since Sans had been born and especially any healer since Alphys’ experiments were revealed—would refuse to take him, even just for observation. They were scared of him, ironically. Nobody wanted to deal with the dying, and no healer wanted to be the next Alphys.

Through the still pounding headache and the pain he now had coursing through his body like lightning, Sans found that he could still think to himself with guilt, Grillby must’ve been so scared.

“I’m sorry…” Grillby started, and Sans heard his shuddering inhale as he then choked, “you’ve been hurt and I should’ve reported him years ago. I was scared—and I thought that when I saw him again I’d somehow be ready but I wasn’t—” crackles and snaps obscured his voice, and Sans understood.

“—hey- hey, no—it’s ok. It’s ok, Grillby you did nothing wrong,” he comforted. And as he spoke, he took the arm that had been dangling off the side of the bed and signaled for Grillby to come close. Grillby hesitated, but he slid off of the armchair and lowered himself to the floor to keel by Sans’—or well, Grillby’s—bedside. 

Sans gently held Grillby’s jawline with the same free hand. The flame sighed, and brought his own hand up to hold Sans’ in place.  The flame leaned into it, calmer now, but his face still felt hotter than usual.

“It’s not your fault.” Sans stated sharply. He’s gone, we’re still here. We’re in this together.”

“I can’t let you get hurt like that again.” Grillby whispered amongst the quiet wisps of guilt that flickered amongst his fire. Soft, doubting. 

“You don’t need to worry about that, alright…? He was like… the first person in years to somehow catch me off guard.” Sans’ tiredness unfortunately presented itself in his voice, but he was careful to enunciate well enough to seem well enough.

”—but because of my negligence—“ Grillby started with strain.

“I can take care of myself, Grillbz…” He smiled to try and comfort the other, “and hey—“ he brushed a stray flame with his thumb, hand still in place, ”it’s my job to take care of you too.” Sans smiled.

Grillby seemed unsure, but even then he still did softly smile back at him, “and that you did.” 

Sans tried his best to nod, “…ditto.” He replied, then in a more serious tone…”We’re in this together. You won’t have to deal with him again. You can always talk to me too, okay?”

Sans didn’t get a verbal response, but Grillby sighed and shifted his head to lean further into Sans’ hand. Another time…

They sat in comfortable silence, Grillby’s warmth a soothing balm to Sans’ wounds. Compared to how cold he’d been before he’d passed out—this, being with Grillby, was heaven. Sans wasn’t really sure of what Grillby could be thinking, but with the way they were—he was sure it was along the lines of—

“—I’ve got you, Grillbz.”

“…………”

“You don’t burn me.”

“…………”

“And you deserve so much more than just that, always.”

“…So do you, love.”