It was raining again tonight, but honestly it always seemed to rain here in autumn. A rumble of thunder peppered the landscape, sleepy and muffled and distinctly warm against the deeper, resonating hum of machinery that bubbled up from the valley and mountain below. Occasionally that hum was broken by a louder explosive rumble, controlled and purposeful in its making. Other times it was the distant wail of a train whistle, either incoming or departing to the rugged cluster of movement that clung to life at the base of the mountain.

Grim and alive this mountain was, wreathed in mist and rain that snagged smoke and ash on it's way up to the heavens, forcing it to hang low and heavy about the tiny mining town. Like the blunt and scraggly teeth of a sleeping giant, buildings huddled in clumps and gaps, a telling sign of their hasty construction and layout. Snaking about them and up the mountain face itself lay railroad tracks, once glittering and new, now dulled with the dark stain of coal.

Ebott the mountain was called, the town at it's base all covered in grit and smudged in clinging coal dust was known officially as Home, so named by the baron who had founded it - who seemed a bit lacking in the ability of naming. Out of either love or spite, most of those living within called it by a much truer name, one that tumbled off the teeth and tongue in much the same fashion as the thunder that now rumbled its way through the hills.

They simply called it Calamity.

That's not to say the mess of creatures that lived there believed themselves unfortunate - at least, no more unfortunate than any other mining town that sprung to life in the hills and mountains around them. But mining was proud and dangerous work, the mountains though beautiful, unforgiving. Calamity struck here quick and often and harsh, and so they honored it. Besides, it seemed more fitting for the graveyard in a town called Calamity to be so large and quickly growing - more fitting than any place named Home.

When the baron was in town sure they blustered and crowed about this place called Home, but in his absence they shrugged their shoulders and smiled wearily the truth.

Calamity it was.

Now, late in the evening with the rain smothering the hillside, Calamity seemed lifeless save for the hum of it's workers in the mines deep below. The streets, though few, were empty. Businesses had closed already for the day. Some creatures stayed home entertaining children in their cramped houses. Others slept, or spoke with family and friends huddled around stoves and bundled up in blankets.

Most though, most found themselves in a much brighter and cheery atmosphere, warm and loud and comfortable. Voices shouted and cheered. Drinks clicked and clanked against each other. It was very nearly the only place that seemed to be vibrantly alive on such a dreary evening. A place where monsters and men mingled together, one of few places in the world they could do as such without the regular judgemental stares and division that the rest of the world seemed to harbor.

It was Grillby's bar, active and lively and positively brimming with people. Grillby himself stood behind the bar, polishing a glass as he surveyed the rowdy mess of creatures before him in a lull between drink and food orders. To his right, a few dog monsters battled against a handful of humans in what was quickly turning into the most rule-ignorant game of billiards in the history of Grillby's bar, though they each laughed and jeered and elbowed each other in turn when something or another went amis. The whole lot of them seemed to be stained in coal dust, gathered in the hard to scrub wrinkles of human faces and dying the tips of fur in black. Against the far wall there drunken men were getting worse and worse at hitting the mark on a few dart boards. Just hitting the board now earned a round of cheers from the onlookers and a round of drinks for the man who'd hit.

High and joyous amongst the talking and laughing creatures rang the sharp plink of piano music, winding from the off-key player piano to Grillby's left. Or rather, it would be a player piano had the mechanical parts for it not already failed. So much for bargain shopping. Instead of playing itself Fuku, Grillby's daughter, picked out a happy tune on its keys instead. Wreathed about her stood children, flipping through the only two piano books the town owned, eager to request the next song. And looking rather out of place amongst the grit and joy and bawdy laughter sat the newest member of their little community, resting on a barstool with the evening paper in his skeletal hands, an ignored drink just within his reach should he ever stop his reading to take it.

His name was Gaster, and he was likely the biggest force of change this town had seen since the mine had opened fifty years ago this month. Every day he shambled into Grillby's bar, newspaper in one hand and briefcase of paperwork in the other. In the evenings when he visited, the skeleton monster was always dressed up in a stiff black suit, looking professional and no-nonsense, and about as out of place in Grillby's bar as an undertaker at a birthday party. During the day though, Grillby more than once had glanced the serious looking gentleman stalking his way up the mountain dressed in the same soot-stained gear as the other miners who slaved away in the tunnels.

Superstitious as miners were, it hadn't surprised Grillby one bit when the first day Gaster had made that steep climb up the hill, the miners had chased him right back down again. A skeleton in a mine? And one with the Union to boot! If the monster weren't bad for the miner's souls, for sure he'd be bad for their wallets. The coal barons in these hills were notoriously, and harshly against the Union. More than one skirmish had broken out because of it, and dust and blood had been spilt. It took nothing short than a visit from Asgore Dreemur himself to calm down the workers long enough to let the skeleton explain his business.

It was a long wait in Grillby's bar for Asgore to arrive that day, and ever since Gaster had been a regular customer - glad for the refuge amongst the superstitious sideways glances.

"What's the news of the day, ill omen?" Grillby asked, as was his habit, tilting his head in the skeleton's direction. Gaster shrugged his shoulders, ruffling the stiff pages in his hands as he did so.

"Oh, ominous," Gaster replied with a sigh through his teeth, "But when is it not?"

His voice was bright with a tired smile as he let his newspaper fall against the bar counter. Grillby caught a glimpse of grayscale photographs scattered about the heavy black text. The only headline of interest that Grillby saw was a disheartening one - there had been a small mining disaster a few counties over. It left fifteen unaccounted for.

"You really think you can keep that from happening here?" Grillby asked, and Gaster shrugged.

"That's the plan, anyway," the skeleton said with a smirk, leaning his head tiredly in his hands, "Just got to finish a few more checks, see how much new equipment will cost-"

"See if old man Dreemur will actually pay for that fancy new equipment..." Grillby reminded and Gaster shrugged.

"Look, he called me out here," the skeleton chided, "We'll hope he at least planned to spend a penny or two fixing up the place."

Grillby couldn't stop the skeptical flicker that glinted it's way through him, "You'd be surprised."

The bartender set his glass down and leaned forward, propping his elbows against the counter before him and lowering his voice just a tad, "Ever since Toriel left him he's been a mess. That's half the reason the mine's in the state it's in already."

By some miracle of magic, Gaster managed to wrinkle the his face in a grimace, "You'd think a man could learn how to keep his own books without his lady watching over his shoulder all the time. Toriel must've been quite the lady I take it?"

Grillby nodded, his flame lilting into a slightly brighter hue as he managed a soft smile, "She was the heart and soul of the place, honestly."

"Why did she leave, if you don't mind my asking?"

Well… that was quite the question wasn't it? And one that sent a shiver up Grillby's spine at the memory. Grillby lowered his voice a bit more.

"Well you see, about ten years ago-"

A shout and the heavy crunch of a breaking table cut the bartender off mid-sentence. Grillby scowled as he swung to face the direction of the noise, sparking at the group of drunken dart-throwers in the corner. It was beyond the bartender how they could manage to both look sheepish and indignant as they dragged a friend to his feet from where he'd staggered and fallen heavy into one of Grillby's older tables. He was a big man who apparently held his balance as well as he held his liquor. He'd nearly cracked the table in two.

Grillby huffed out a smoking sigh, shot Gaster a world-weary look that the skeleton chuckled at, and then went to clean up the mess. An hour or so later the bar began to empty as families finished meals and drinks and the last dregs of some cigarette before braving the drizzle to amble home. Gaster stayed long enough to bit Fuku and Grillby a goodnight after the bar had mostly emptied before he too slipped off into the night.

Somewhere deep and dark and silent, just beneath the haggard skin of the mountain, the earth shifted.


Author's Notes:


If you follow me on Tumblr you'll know I've been on some weird and obsessive coal mining kick and that has somehow devolved into a new mess of an AU. Yes I know it's weird. No I'm not sure I care? I dunno we'll figure that out as we go ahaha.

Like all my stories though this one comes chock full of research, so even if this isn't quite your thing and you decide to read it anyway, know you'll be learning a bunch along the way - mostly about the condition and treatment of West Virginia mine workers in the late 1800's, early 1900's. And also possibly about magic-based auto-immune diseases? We'll get there.

Anyway, enjoy...?