Grillby watched the strange, dusty creature shuffle out of his empty bar. It looked like a human, but it wasn't one. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it looked like something wearing a human. No naturally born creature looked like that.
Sadness filled him. He blinked at the depth and breadth of it. He knew no reason that he should be feeling that emotion. So then, why was he?
As soon as he started questioning it the feeling shuddered. The glitching, patchy effect reminded him somewhat of a phone call interrupted by the interference of the CORE. Excitement joined the sadness at that thought, like another voice in a choir. Excitement that was somehow familiar.
-Gaster?-
Grillby fought his own hands' resistance to complete the signs.
A melted form flickered in his peripherals. The flaming bartender instinctively did NOT look at it. He knew that would make it no clearer. A flame creates the greatest distortions looking into its center. It is at the edges looking out that things become clear.
-Why are you hurting so, old friend? I have not seen you for ages, and yet here you are same as the day we met. Just as burdened by sorrow, too.-
The form moved, slowly enough for Grillby's turning head to keep up, over to the Dog Squad's usual table. Not one of the canines had come in today. It did not take long for these facts to add up.
-Oh. The creature?-
The form nodded. Grillby stared at the door absently.
-And Papyrus will doubtless try to stall them at the cloudy place.-
The form nodded again. Hesitant hope backed a vague question in through their much-strained, ancient bond.
-No. He wouldn't listen. I am afraid your son inherited your stubborn nature. He would not listen to Asgore, should the old goat leave himself enough to issue an order, let alone me. It is futile to try.-
Resigned acceptance merged with sadness. Grillby moved, his body always facing partially away from the fractured form, over to the bar. He reached up to the top shelf, moved aside one narrow bottle, and drew out a single bottle of high-end scotch. Two glasses were reverentially poured. Grillby then carried them over to the mourning father and slid one across the table.
Silent thanks was the only bright note in a bar that had once held so much joy. Perhaps it would again, in some other lifetime. For now, only sadness lived within.