It was late, very late. Or early, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Grillby preferred to see it as a late evening - after all, he hadn't been to sleep yet. It didn't count as early in the morning until Grillby was waking up, he figured. So, it was late enough that the bar was closed and the patrons were gone. Early enough to be called morning, though Grillby was quite obviously in denial of that fact, and jaded enough from the alcohol he'd been drinking to not care too much either way. Grillby didn't normally drink, really. He preferred mixing drinks to having them. But tonight was a special occasion, and he wasn't drinking alone, so he figured for once he could indulge.

And he did. He indulged a lot.

He and Gaster were slumped in one of Grillby's recently washed booths, drinking carefully enough to not spill anything across the table but still brash enough to scuff and clink their glasses and fill the room with their miserable dissonance. This was a hard day. A special day. Grillby had nearly closed his bar and not come into work, it was so special. Gaster had called off work, in fact. But Grillby had decided, for once, he'd rather not pine the entire day away like he did every other year. This year, he'd dragged himself out of bed with the same grim determination he had once dragged himself out of his tent on the surface. He'd donned his bartender's uniform just as solemnly as he would have his armor. He cleaned every glass with the care he could have put into tending his sword, his shield. He'd tried to stifle the tense ache in his chest, an ache that never seemed to completely dull away.

Grillby had walked through the snow to work, Gaster in step beside him, and neither of them spoke. They didn't speak for most of the day. It was a bit too risky to speak on this particular day, not until enough of the misery had been dwelled in. Not until there were enough drinks to stifle inhibitions and dull judgement. Not until all the prying eyes were gone, the glares that watched and never completely understood, the gossip that hissed and whispered and spread.

Not until they had reached that hour in between days when the world seemed less real, and they themselves with it.

"Thirty years," Gaster said, swirling his glass lazily in his hand and watching the ice break apart against the sides, "We've been stuck in this mess for thirty years."

"Time flies," Grillby replied noncommittally, taking a second to drain away the rest of his drink before pouring another. At this point he'd forgotten what he'd mixed in the tall bottle he was pouring from. All he knew was it tasted sour and strong, and burned his chest and buzzed his head. Every time he swallowed another drink his flame would cascade in a short burst of blues, and now he watched as the reflection of it glanced across the polished tabletop before it flickered out into yellows and oranges again.

"We're going to die down here, aren't we?"

Grillby shrugged, "As opposed to what? Being dusted up there?"

Gaster laughed, a half-hearted sound that wheezed in his ribs, and ushered in the elemental's direction with his drink, "You make an excellent point. T'was a sight fuck'n prettier up there though."

"You know what I miss?" Grillby asked, "I miss rain."

Gaster spat another laugh, "You're kidding. Don't you still have nightmares about that shit?"

Grillby waved his hand dismissively, "Gods yes. I don't miss storms at all. But like… you know… just… rain? A light drizzle or something? The way it sounds when it hits canvas. The way it pricks at your core just… like little pins 'n needles? And the smell?"

Grillby sighed out a curling breath of smoke, "I'd drown myself in Waterfall just to smell it. But all Waterfall smells like is wet garbage 'n… I dunno. Rocks. A lot of rocks."

"Miss the breeze too," Gaster hummed, finishing his own drink and slamming the glass haphazardly on the table, "And just… open. It's claustrophobic as hell down here. Everything's got a fuck'n ceiling now."

"Sunsets," Grillby added, "Those were pretty nice."

"Yeah those were good," Gaster agreed.

"Frost," Grillby drawled, staring down at his glass and trying to decided if he should finish it off again - which he did, if for no other reason than to see the changing colors, "Or those really thin wispy clouds. Sky angels or whatever you call 'em."

"Seasons," Gaster said with a dreamy sigh, "Watching trees bud in spring? Or… or watching wheat fields turn yellow? Plants are just cool like that, y'know?"

"Being someplace so high you can see where the horizon starts to turn white."

"Those weird red flowers that always grew where battlefields were."

"Knowing a monster came from somewhere you'd never been just because of how they talked."

"Like… the eight thousand languages people used to speak."

"Spices from countries you couldn't even pronounce."

"Those crazy old sailors who talked about like… giant water dragons 'n shit."

Grillby crackled a miserable laugh, "Sitting in the sun and feeling warm. Gods I miss the sun."

"The moon," Gaster sighed, his voice starting to quiver, "Shit. The stars Grillby. I miss the stars."

He reached his skeletal hand up towards the ceiling, tracing shapes that didn't exist anymore. Grillby watched his hand move, mesmerized and miserable.

"Constellations," Gaster rambled, his voice getting tense and shuddering, "There was… like.. D-draco. And. Orion. And… Polaris the north star. And like… how you could tell a planet from a star because… stars kinda flicker a little and… and if you stare long enough you can… you can tell they're all different colors and…"

Gaster let his arm drop limply into his lap, his ribcage moving in a tired sob, "And I'm gonna… d-die down here before I ev-ever see the stars again…!"

Gaster slumped forward onto the table, crying pitifully, "We're gonna die down here."

Grillby sighed, gulping down the tightness in his own chest. Fuck. This happened every year - last year it had been Grillby sobbing on the table first, crying about 'all those fuck'n nightmares he had for nothing, goddamnit, why'. Really they should know better than this by now. But here they were again, just like they were every year. Pining away over a fate they couldn't change.

Grillby wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders, "Hey, we're gonna make it through this."

"Yeah fuck'n right," came the whining, dramatic answer, "We're gonna turn to dust Grillby."

"I mean… that would've happened anyway."

This earned him a sloppy backhand across the shoulder and a tear-streaked glare from Gaster, "You know what I mean, smartass."

He stabbed his hand towards the bottle they'd been pouring all night, and by some miracle of reflexes Grillby snatched it up first.

"Nope!" the elemental chimed patronizingly, "You're being cut off."

"Oh no, somebody help, he's using his official bartender voice," Gaster spat with a dramatic roll of his eyes before reaching for the bottle again, "Well tough luck! Yer fancy mom voice doesn't work on me. Now gimme that."

"Nop, you are too drunk sir, I cannot!" Grillby laughed, shoving Gaster back with one hand and holding away the bottle with his other. He was way off-balance, and wondering how long it would take for Gaster to realize once he stood up he would definitely be tall enough to outreach the shorter elemental.

But Gaster just hiccuped a miserable laugh instead, "Excuse me? You sir are also drunk!"

"Yes but I'm not doing the weepy drunk thing," Grillby chided, "And you are."

That was when Grillby's foot slipped - the only thing keeping his dramatic lean away from Gaster a lean instead of a headlong tumble - and with a shriek he fell out of the booth, Gaster falling with him when his support was gone. The bottle went rolling - it was a matter of luck that it didn't shatter. For a few seconds the two of them laughed from where they had fallen on the ground, quieting slowly to giggles, and then to silence.

"We should go home."

"You are… indeed really correct, sir," Gaster said with a final giggle, "We should go home."

Then his teeth clenched back into a frown, "... that's another thing I'll ever see again."

Grillby tilted his head to the side, watching as his flame reflected wickedly against one of the cracks in Gaster's skull.

"I'll never see my hometown again," Gaster said, his voice getting quieter with every word, "I'll… never get to visit my parents' graves or… show any kids I have where I grew up or… you know… do… home things."

Grillby sighed and tottered to his feet, "Okay come on, we're leaving."

"I don't wanna."

Grillby ignored the skeleton, dragging him to his feet anyway, much to Gaster's whining chagrin.

"Come on," the elemental insisted, "You are bad drunk. We said last year we weren't doing bad drunk again."

Gaster gave a half-hearted giggle, "Too late."

Leaning against each other, the two struggled outside into the snow. Grillby didn't bother locking up. His hands were a little too shaky and his vision a little too wobbly to bother trying to turn a key through a keyhole. He doubted anyone in Snowdin would bother stealing from him anyway - and even if they did, he had nothing of real value other than booze, which he could care less about losing right now.

The two swerved and swaggered, sometimes mumbling, sometimes laughing. Twice Grillby almost fell into the snow and felt the sting of cold and wet tug annoyingly at his hp. God it was troublesome being made of fire in a snowscape. He offered to walk Gaster home like any good, sensible drunk should, to which the skeleton protested profusely.

"But Waterfall Grillby!" he'd gasped with a loud whisper, "Water is bad for you. I don't want you to dieeee!"

"I'm not going to die in Waterfall."

"Waterfall Grillbyyyyyy….!"

Oh well. Grillby didn't really feel like spending the rest of the night alone anyway. It would be nice just to have someone else in his house. So he set Gaster up with a glass of water and some blankets on the couch, and Grillby curled up on the couch beside him. They talked until both of them fell asleep, Grillby doing his best to steer the conversation away from thoughts that were too miserable.

The next morning Grillby awoke sprawled out on the floor with Gaster hovering over him, telling him to wake up wake up please! The nightmare was colors and haze before Grillby could completely grasp what it had been about, but the smoke on the ceiling and the burns on the floor said it had been a bad one. Gaster said Grillby had been screaming in his sleep.

Gaster called into work for a second day in a row, nursing a migraine and self-loathing. Grillby kept the bar closed, hardly managing to put up a 'sorry for the inconvenience' notice before his first patrons knocked on the door.

The next day was back to business as usual. Time for Gaster and Grillby to pretend everything was normal.

Except Grillby was still holding onto their conversation, clinging to the words that were said. Gods, they really needed to stop doing this. The war was over. They should have moved on by now, accepted their fate and started coping. But both of them were still having nightmares and regrets. Both of them were still scared and alone even in each others' company. They were messy and stupid and… so many things they shouldn't be.

And Gaster still missed the stars.

After work that day, Grillby donned a long coat, snatched up an umbrella and started walking. He had his soul set on something now, and he refused to let it go until it was done. He needed to finish something now, while he was still feeling impulsive and strong. But first he needed some help.