Chapter Text
Excluding the most important holidays, there was only one other day a year that Grillby’s was closed. The lights inside would be turned off, the shades drawn and the doors locked. That this day was a day Grillby’s was closed was normal for everyone by now. It had been a constant for nearly twenty years now. The regulars were out of a place to hang out for the day, but it was okay. Grillby didn’t ask for much, just that you pay for what you eat and don’t cause a ruckus in his restaurant, so everyone was more than willing to give him this day.
If anybody had bothered to go to Grillby’s and look inside by peering through the gaps in the shades (which no one ever did), they would have seen that the lights were indeed off, but there was still light inside. It came from the fire elemental that was seated at the bar, alone, his flames dimmer than normal. Grillby was quiet by nature and by choice, as his voice was more of a whispered hush than anything deep and resounding. The normal hustle and bustle of his restaurant resulted in noise too loud to be heard over, so him being quiet was never an indicator that something was wrong. Normally only Sans could perceive small changes in him and his mood, and recently, Sans had seemed distant and quieter than normal.
Grieving for the death of a loved one in the underground was different than in the human world. Grillby remembered the years before the war began and they were driven underground quite well. When a human would die, the family and friends of the human would attend a funeral, and the other members of the community would not be affected. When a monster died, the shattering of their soul, the absence of their magic, was something everyone was able to take note of. All monsters would be there to give support to the dead monsters family, even if they didn’t necessarily know each other.
Maybe that was what made all this so hard. The lack of solidarity in his grief meant that he carried all of it all on his shoulders, with no support from anyone.
The lack of solidarity was due to the fact that no one remembered. No one remembered the man who had saved them from a life of darkness and cold, and even from an illness that had threated to destroy their entire population.
No one remembered W.D. Gaster.
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When the war had raged on the surface, everyone had lost someone. Attacks from humans in the beginning often meant many monsters – both soldiers and innocents – perished. One of these had included Gaster’s partner. She had been sickly and weak anyway, especially after she had given birth to both Sans and Papyrus. She had died in a fire when their village was attacked during the night.
Grillby had been friends with Gaster since they were children. Naturally he was there to comfort him. They were both called to serve on the offense as the war began to reach its peak. Sans was left to raise Papyrus largely on his own. Gaster regretted that for the rest of his life. He had never wanted to leave his boys alone. Grillby and Gaster came home as often as they could (home was Grillby’s house. The humans hadn’t yet gotten there, and with nothing but elementals around, they sure seemed hesitant about coming). Grillby had no family, not anymore, but the water elemental that lived near him (she was nice, even if she was made of water) helped look after the boys.
Grillby loved the boys, just as much as if they were his own children. Sans had begun calling him ‘Papa’. When he had first done it, Gaster’s face had been dusted purple, and Grillby couldn’t stop laughing. He was happy he was able to be a part of the boy’s lives, even if it was like this.
They lost the war. Grillby and Gaster had known they would. They were forced underground and sealed within.
As they moved into Home, the both of them found the newly established town of Snowdin to be the best fit for their home. Grillby’s was opened, Gaster became the Royal Scientist, the boys were put in school, they each had their own houses. They were happy, despite the occasional fuss Grillby raised over the fact that Gaster was neglecting himself by maintaining his duties as Royal Scientist and as a father. During those times – usually during weekends – the boys stayed a night or two at Grillby’s so Gaster could rest and recoup. Often times, Gaster would come and join them for dinner before the boys went home.
It was nice. So nice.
With this close contact, their history, and the fact that the boys loved Grillby – their ‘Papa’ – it was no surprise they eventually fell for each other. It had been an awkward and rocky start, since Grillby was so quiet and Gaster was so reserved. But they had known each other for a long time. They knew how to communicate with each other without very many words. They could read each other’s body language and the subtext in their words.
For the first few weeks, it was all about getting a feel for each other’s comfort zone in terms of intimacy. Grillby was by far the most affectionate. He had no qualms ‘kissing’ Gaster in public, and was the first to link their hands together when they were walking side by side. Gaster, while he had every intention to do these things, was much more shy and often times had no idea how to properly initiate them. Grillby didn’t mind. Feeling how Gaster held him when they kissed or when he squeezed his hand as their fingers fit together was everything he needed.
The weekend stays at Grillby’s had become less of a sleepover and more of a vacation. Grillby loved spoiling the skeleton family, Gaster included. And at the end of the day, when the boys were asleep in the guest room, Gaster curled up with Grillby in his bed. The comfort and the warmth was unlike anything else in the world.
It was like a dream.
And like dreams, they eventually must end.
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When the CORE had been constructed and activated, everyone had praised Gaster’s genius. Energy had been brought to the entire underground, save for some of the more remote places, and things were getting better. Grillby and Gaster couldn’t be happier. Both boys were in school now. Sans was advancing through his studies quicker than the rest of his classmates. He had inherited his father’s mind, as well as his tendency for terrible puns. Papyrus loved school, but he was so much more naïve than his older brother. Due to this and his exemplary kindness, other children tended to pick on him or make him the butt of their jokes. Needless to say, the first time Papyrus came home crying, Sans, Gaster and Grillby took care of it quickly.
One of his customers – a regular for a long time – had mentioned it to him. They had asked when he was going to marry his sweetheart. Grillby had honestly never thought about it. Neither he nor Gaster had felt that marriage was necessary for demonstrating love for one another, but they weren’t against the idea either. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Gaster wouldn’t be just his boyfriend. He would be his husband. Grillby had flushed a bright blue then.
He was closing up the pub when he felt it. The sudden ripple around him, the electricity that tore at his flames and brought them from their normal bright color to a dark, deep red. The constant magical presence that had become such an important part of his life, that had become a part of his soul, was gone.
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The Royal Scientist, W.D. Gaster, was dead.
No one but Grillby remembered him. Not even Sans and Papyrus. And when he had braved the wet conditions of Waterfall to go to Gaster’s lab, no one remembered him there. And when he went to New Home, to see the King, no one remembered him there. No even the king, who had been one of the few people Gaster considered his friend.
Grillby was alone in his grief. His lover was gone. He was alone again. Sans and Papyrus stopped coming over to his house after that, but Sans came to his restaurant to plague him with puns and drink all his ketchup. It broke his heart all over again. Each pun reminded Grillby of Gaster, and it made Grillby miss him all the more.
And so now he sat alone at his own bar, wishing more than anything the seat beside him, as well as his empty hand would be filled. A single cupcake with one lit candle sat beside him. Gaster didn’t like sweets, but he let Grillby make him one once every year. It was a special occasion. Grillby would make it, then Sans and Papyrus would decorate it. They were much better at making it look as good as it tasted (Grillby was terrible at making the icing look nice, though Gaster would often comment that he doubted Grillby could make food that tasted terrible even if he tried).
Grillby reached in to the pocket of his vest and pulled out a small photo. It was one he had taken months after they had gotten together. Sans and Papyrus were in it, both of them beaming, the latter keeping a firm grip on his brothers hand. Grillby was standing behind Sans, and beside him was…
Was just a black smudge, a shadow, barely an outline of who had been there before. If Grillby really focused, he could just barely see the outline of his smile. His arm had been wrapped around Grillby’s waist, while the other hand had a firm hold of Papyrus’s free one. Grillby knew if the image was clear, he would see Gaster leaning into his shoulder and holding him tight, looking down at Papyrus with a fond smile and a loving gaze.
With each passing year, the image of the man he loved grew fainter, and Grillby dreaded the day when it disappeared forever. Everyone else had forgotten Gaster, even his own sons. Who was to say, with enough time, Grillby would start to forget him too? He was afraid he would forget his smile, his laugh, the feeling of his hand in his, the feeling he got when Gaster would kiss him. That he would forget the drowsiness in his voice when he first woke up, the tender look he gave him right before he said “I love you”.
God, he didn’t want to forget.
The picture was pressed against his breast, handled with fingers made of fire as if it were the most precious thing on earth. With the pain that lingered in his soul, his memories, this photo and the turtle neck sweater that still hung in his closet, he knew he had the power to remember for a while longer. Maybe that was one good thing about no one else remembering; no one else sharing in his grief. The sting would last a lot longer, and it would remind him every day of the man he had lost.
“Happy birthday, Gaster,” he whispers to the empty bar, his voice only barely disrupting the complete silence of the normally loud establishment. If he could cry, he thinks it would make him feel better. That was something Gaster had told Sans once. That crying didn’t mean you weren’t strong, and it would make him feel better if he did. Right now, it felt as if coals were filing his chest, restricting the flame and making it tight and hard to speak.
How he wished he could cry.
At some point during the night, he took the cupcake from the counter and put out the flame. He couldn’t eat it. There was no one else that would. He burned it up until all that was left was a handful of ash.
Walking home in the snow was so much more lonely than he could have ever imagined possible. In the past, he would close just before dinner time, and Gaster was always there to walk back home with him, hand in hand. He would close early so he could spend dinner as a family, with Gaster and his sons. Gaster had always told him that they were his sons, too, but ever since everyone forgot, he didn’t dare let himself think that way.
It hurt too much.
The turtle neck sweater was still there, in his closet. He took the sweater from the hanger and settled into bed, holding it against his chest. His bed was too cold. Too empty. He was too alone. He hated it. He missed the socially awkward, reserved and brilliant scientist, the caring, loving and happy father, and the beautiful, sweet and adoring lover.
He fell asleep well past midnight, a tightness in his chest and an irreparable pain in his soul.