Toriel had decided to get them all a room at the inn. Frisk and Chara were tired from all the walking and the brightness in Toriel's eyes was stemming more from exhaustion than excitement. Their dual encounters with the odd monsters and the one monster who spoke sign, as well as their anxiety attack, had drained them. Even Chara was sleepy, quieter than they had been before. They didn't even clamor to ring the service bell at the desk, although they washed Frisk in a sense of satisfaction when they rang it.
"What a lovely day," Toriel says now. They're getting dressed for bed in the bathroom while Toriel is finding her nightgown in her bottomless bag. "I did not know that you knew Sans. You must have forgotten to mention him. He is a funny young man, is he not?"
"Young?" Chara scoffs as Frisk pushes their head through the neck of their nightshirt. The little spirit had woken up a little when Toriel had mentioned dinner. "The guy's like forty, Mom." Frisk pulls their hair out of the nightshirt. "Granted, Mom's been around since before the war, so he probably looks like a babybones to her."
"And his brother is such a clever puzzle maker! He invited us to visit sometime, did you know that?" Frisk plucks a little at the lace on the collar. It has little flower patterns stitched in it. Toriel's knock on the door startles them. "Frisk? Dinner is ready if you are."
Dinner is sandwiches and vegetables, eaten over a picnic blanket with both of them in their nightshirts. Frisk bites into a carrot and writes on their notepad 'Eh, what's up, Doc?' The joke goes over both Chara and Toriel's heads however, so it was a bit of a waste. Still, the carrot's delicious, sweeter than sweet and very crunchy. In general, the food is wonderful. Frisk eats three sandwiches. Toriel eats four and they can hear the snail shells being crunched between her teeth, hardening their resolve to not eat any of the sandwiches she offers them from her side of the bag.
Together they brush their teeth and crawl under the covers. Toriel takes a book from her bag. "Children, would it bother you if I left the light on for a few moments? I had intended to read my book."
Frisk shakes their head and rolls over, closing their eyes and opening the ones underneath.
Chara is sitting across from them, dressed in a white nightshirt and rubbing their eyes. "Whaddya want, Frisk?" they ask tiredly, but not unkindly.
'Did you recognize either of those monsters?' Frisk inquires.
Chara waggles their hand from side to side and a shadow of the slime monster rises up between them, only about as tall as Frisk's bare foot. Chara is better at manipulating the mindscape and Frisk can only assume they learned the skill from the monsters. "I liked this one best," they say, "but I didn't know them." They reach down and scoop up their projection, patting it with one finger. The little monster squeaks a higher version of its static screech and Frisk laughs.
'Chara, stop that.' The little monster nods decisively at Frisk's words. It must be demeaning for it to be poked and prodded.
"Frisk, this isn't the real guy," Chara laughs. "This one's part of me. I can do whatever I want to it. Doesn't hurt the real monster."
'Still,' Frisk protests, trying not to laugh when Chara snaps a bowtie onto the creature. 'It's mean.'
Chara throws their arms into the air in exasperation, hurling the tiny goop monster into the air, much to its surprise. "If you don't like the way I run my side of the head, you should just go to sleep."
Frisk catches the tiny monster and holds it to their chest protectively. 'Was that person Asriel?'
"What are you talking about?" Chara's immediately on the defensive. "Don't be stupid. Neither of those things were Asriel."
'I mean the one with you when I woke up. The blurry one.' The goop monster dissolves as Chara's control slips. Frisk has hit the nail on the head.
"Go to sleep, Frisk." Chara's wall goes up and no matter how much Frisk presses at it, it won't give.
They return to the world just in time to feel Toriel brush a kiss against their forehead. "Good night, children." Then everything gets a little darker.
Frisk dreams of sunlight.
…
When they wake up, Toriel is sorting through her bag, humming. They listen to her for a moment in the blissful quiet of their mind, then they surge upwards, shaking off the warm pressure of blankets.
Toriel hears them moving and looks over with a big smile. "Good morning, children!" she says, standing up and putting one knee on the bed so she can kiss their forehead. "Did you sleep well?"
Frisk nods and runs their fingers through their hair to settle it, grimacing when they hit a knot. Their hair is always impossible in the mornings, either fluffy or matted beyond reason. They remove their fingers and crawl to the edge of the bed. Toriel returns to looking through her bag and Frisk looks over her shoulder. Then they have to get off the bed and check that the bag isn't bigger than it is. They recheck the contents of it. It simply doesn't make sense.
"Since when does everything have to make sense?" Chara asks groggily, the tone of their voice making Frisk think of a cat stretching after a nap in the sun, long and languid and grumpy above all. Sleep was precious to the spirit and Frisk's confusion had inadvertently woken them up. Their focus flits to Toriel's bag, their interest piqued. "What's for breakfast?"
Frisk groans quietly. They can't even think about being awake right now, much less about breakfast. But their stomach is growling, as they'd had sandwiches and some pilfered fries for dinner some- they look at the clock- ten hours ago.
Chara's mother must hear their stomach's complaints, for she asks "What would you like for breakfast, children?"
Frisk makes note of their appreciation for the fact that she addresses them both before they turn their attention to breakfast. "Toast with jam," they sign and mouth.
"I want strawberry jam," Chara requests, although it's more of a command.
"Strawberry jam?" Toriel questions, the corner of her mouth tilting up. She couldn't have heard Chara, but she must have remembered from when they were alive.
Frisk nods and goes digging through their knapsack for their clothes. They had worn one of Chara's nightshirts to bed and now they were going to put on one of Asriel's big sweaters and a pair of Chara's pants. All this stealing clothes from dead people is a little weird.
"'S not stealing. Me and Azzy can't wear them anymore. Well, I can, but I don't think he'll fit in any of his clothes."
Toriel goes downstairs to talk to the innkeeper and they change in record time, transferring their pocket treasures from the pocket of yesterday's shorts to the pockets of today's shorts. A quick knock on the door lets her know it's okay to come back in, then they run and jump on the bed, giggling soundlessly.
She knocks back, then pokes her head around the door. "Children, I did not pack breakfast food. Shall we go over to the restaurant and see if they serve breakfast?"
Frisk bounces in agreement, then Chara reaches for control, hurling them off the bed and into Toriel with all the grace of a bullet. She stumbles, then lifts them into her arms, kissing their nose. "Good morning to you as well, Chara."
It's just as cold outside today as it was yesterday and Frisk practically drags Toriel across town and into the restaurant. Heat washes over them like a welcoming embrace. There's a girl made of green fire whizzing around with plates balanced neatly on her forearms. "Hi!" she calls as they walk in. "Welcome to Grillby's! Have a seat wherever you'd like and I'll be with you in a moment!"
They sit in one of the booths, Chara leaning into the comfortable cushions with a sigh. The fire girl rolls up to them and Frisk realizes that she's wearing roller skates. "Hi! My name is Fuku! Can I get you some drinks?" She passes them both menus and Toriel requests tea as soon as she sees it. Frisk orders hot chocolate by pointing at it, Chara wriggling with delight at the prospect of something nice and sweet with which to start their day.
"Gracious," Toriel says as Fuku speeds away. "She's so vibrant. What a lovely girl." Frisk nods and scans their menu to find toast and then snags a strawberry jam packet from the table's rack of them. Before Toriel can stop them, Chara's spooned half the packet into their mouth and is grinning widely, the sticky sweetness decorating their mouth. Frisk complains briefly, but is then too interested in the flavor to protest more. All the food in the Underground seems more flavorful than that on the surface. They had noticed it with Toriel's pies and the Nice Cream, but they had just assumed that it was her cooking or the trademark recipe, respectively. If something as simple as a jam packet was this good, they could see why Chara had an objective to eat everything.
Frisk enjoys the jam while Chara takes Toriel's scolding, tuning in every once in a while so they could pretend to be listening as well. It is when the jam is almost gone that they hear Asriel's name and they snap to attention. "Asriel never does this," Toriel points out, unaware of her slip into present tense as she searches for a napkin. Fuku had given them silverware, but she must have forgotten that.
"Yeah, right. Azzy used to eat butter. Like, with a spoon. At least my way is more normal," Chara scoffs, making Frisk laugh.
Fuku comes zooming by, dropping off their drinks and a stack of rumpled but clean napkins en route to the next table. Toriel uses one of the napkins to dab up a few drops of hot chocolate, then snags Frisk's hands as Chara reaches for their chocolate. Only when they're free of jam does she release them, Chara just about shrieking for their drink. Luckily, Frisk steadies them before their greedy headmate knocks the mug straight off the table.
They're so focused on the rich flavor of their drink that they almost don't notice Papyrus until he's right beside the table. "HUMAN!" With a greeting like that, they spit their mouthful of chocolate right back into the mug, choking in surprise. A big hand pats their back, the enthusiasm in the touch telling them it certainly isn't Toriel.
The tall skeleton is wearing his armor, as usual, but pinned to his scarf is a bowtie. Frisk is reminded of Chara's antics and giggles into their mug. "HUMAN!" Papyrus shouts again. "MISS TORIEL! HELLO AND WELCOME TO GRILLBY'S! I'M THE GREAT PAPYRUS AND I'LL BE YOUR SERVER THIS MORNING! HAVE YOU MADE YOUR DECISION OF VICTUALS?" Here he whips out a small notepad and a stub of pencil, which he poises over the paper, waiting.
Frisk makes a few experimental hand signals, seeing if Papyrus has the same level of understanding as his brother. "Hello, Papyrus, how are you?"
"Greetings, Frisk!" he signs back, tucking his notepad under his arm. "What would you like for breakfast?"
"Toast, please." If they weren't already so inclined to like the skeleton, they'd adore him just for his willingness to sign.
"Coming right up!" He pulls his notepad back into his hands and turns to Toriel as he jots their order down. "AND FOR YOU, MISS TORIEL?" he booms.
Toriel contemplates her menu a moment more, then requests a snail substitute and mushroom omelet. Papyrus nods and beams before tucking their menus into the crook of his arm and bounding back into the kitchen.
Frisk props their head on their arm as Chara slurps some more hot chocolate. It had never occurred to them that people might have jobs other than the ones they'd seen previously. They'd thought that Papyrus and Sans were only part of the Guard. The idea that Papyrus is also a waiter is one that they're going to have to think about.
When Papyrus comes leaping back, they ask "How long have you been working here?"
His big grin falters a bit. "THIS IS MY FIRST DAY. AM I NOT DOING A GOOD JOB?"
Toriel, who understood only Papyrus's question, laughs and reaches out to administer a comforting pat to his arm as he puts their plates down. "Do not worry, my dear. You are doing a wonderful job." She gives Frisk a warning look, suggesting that whatever they said to upset him needs to be taken back.
Frisk nods, giving the skeleton a big smile. "You're doing great," they sign encouragingly.
At their praise, his big smile returns full-force and he ruffles Frisk's hair. "GENUINE COMPLIMENTS! THANK YOU, FRISK! THANK YOU, MISS TORIEL!" he booms. "ENJOY YOUR MEAL!" With that, he's leaping off to the next table, whose occupants seem a little bewildered to find a skeleton bearing down upon them.
Frisk reaches for their plate and pauses. Papyrus has given them two plates of toast. They look up at Toriel and raise one eyebrow. She puts down her forkful of omelet and laughs. "Let us not bring it up, children. I will help you eat it if you wish."
Chara shakes their head decisively and dumps another couple packets of jam over their triangles of toast. Frisk resigns themself to eating more than their stomach should rightfully be able to hold, but halts Chara a second before they can dig in.
Closing their eyes, they concentrate.
*The taste of good food with good friends.
*It fills you with Determination.
With that, they open their eyes and pounce ravenously on the food, suddenly starving.
…
When Sans wakes up, he has no idea where he is, or who is shaking him. His eye flares blue and his body bristles under the blanket. In return, he catches the scent of wood smoke and relaxes. "morning, grillbz," he yawns, rolling onto his back. The fire elemental's crouched over him, flickering face wearing an expression of amused exhaustion. He's holding a chipped mug in one hand. The other hand is resting on Sans's shoulder.
"You're missing your shift, lazybones," he says, bringing back his hand to rest his elbow on his knee.
"i'll just call in sick," he replies, closing his eyes again. He and Papyrus had spent the night at Grillby's. It looked like they were going to spend a lot of nights at Grillby's, in the apartment above the restaurant. Grillby had dragged out a bunch of blankets when they'd refused to take his bed and Papyrus had crafted a nest out of them and a few of the couch's throw pillows.
Papyrus…
Sans sits up, nearly smacking heads with his friend, who reels back just in time. "where's papyrus?"
"Downstairs, working. He's a very good waiter." Grillby rocks to his feet, straightening his tie. To look at him, you'd never reconcile the image of this dapper young monster with the one who, when in college, had possessed an unfortunate habit of forgetting to wear pants over his boxers when he was studying. Sans, who had been around for both phases, smirks at the thought.
"that's what you mean by shift, huh?"
"Yes. As in if you don't shift those bones of yours, I'm going to be short a server."
"what? fuku's already gone?" Grillby's little sister liked working in the restaurant in her spare time and sometimes she brought her friends. Apparently, having a big brother who owns a bar gives her high school social status a massive boost.
"Mam has been emphasizing the importance of education since my cousin dropped out. Besides, she's got a date tonight and if the school calls again, she'll be too grounded to go."
Sans props himself up on his elbows. "technically, we're all grounded."
"Keep that up and you don't get this cup of joe that I have lovingly crafted especially for you." Grillby wiggles the mug a little and Sans hears a muddy sloshing.
"ketchup added?"
"Of course, you oddball."
"give." Sans accepts the mug Grilby's handing him and a long strip of black fabric, which turns out to be a tie when he shakes it out. "when did i sign up for this?"
"Last night." Grillby rocks back and forth on his heels, hands clasped behind him. "You were telling me that you owed me and I tried to tell you that it was fine, but nope, you insisted. So here we are."
"well, if i insisted." Sans puts his coffee down and stands, crouching to pick it back up once he's free of the blankets.
Grillby outright beams, which, for Grillby, is when his eyes turn into white slits in his face and his flame blazes yellow. "See you downstairs." He strides across the room to the stairs, which from Sans's point of view, are concealed by the half-wall. He watches Grillby's head go bobbing down and then pop up again as the fire elemental walks back up. "Don't go back to sleep, Sans."
Sans splays a hand across his chest and looks wounded. "who, me?" Grillby knows his tricks and stares at him until he raises his hand. "sentry's honor, i won't go back to sleep."
Grillby is waiting for him in the kitchen when he finally trudges down the stairs. Papyrus comes flying in, the door swinging behind him. "GRILLBY, TABLE SEVEN WANTS SOUP FOR BREAKFAST!" His exasperation indicates that he's tried to tell Table Seven that they don't serve soup for breakfast.
"That's George, right?" When Papyrus nods sulkily, Grillby elbows him in the shoulder, careful not to touch him with his dough-covered hands. "Don't worry your head about it, Papyrus. I'll make him some biscuits. He knows the drill. He's just trying to dissolve societal norms again."
Papyrus's jaw goes slack in outrage for a moment, realizing that the bear monster must have been messing with him. "WELL!" he exclaims, drawing himself up in an indignant rage. He's been practicing those so Undyne will take him more seriously. Before Sans can poke fun at him, he's marching back out into the restaurant's main area, ready to give George a piece of his mind. Sans knows he won't. Papyrus is all bark and no bite, a better policy for a tree than an aspiring Guard. Besides, Misha would most likely tell off his political-minded husband before Papyrus even got there.
When he comes flying back in, Sans is tying his tie around his neck and tucking the better part of it under his sweatshirt. It is only when Papyrus shouts his name that he looks up and nearly chokes on his mouthful of coffee. The human is hanging from Papyrus's neck, laughing silently into the back of his skull.
His first instinct is to rip them away from his brother. But Papyrus is laughing too, juking and jiving around and making sounds that resemble a horse. And Sans doesn't think that his brother would take too kindly to Sans killing his new friend. "SANS! I REQUIRE ASSISTANCE!"
"sorry, paps, i'm all tied up," he apologizes, indicating his fingers all wound up with fabric.
Papyrus gives a shriek of rage as he dances around the kitchen, the human's stubby legs flying out behind them like Papyrus's scarf in a windstorm. Grillby, whose hands are once more deep in the biscuit dough, watches with amusement. "GRILLBY, ASSISTANCE!"
"I'm in the middle of a sticky situation, Papyrus." Sans clicks his fingers at Grillby, who winks back at him.
"THE TWO OF YOU ARE VERY FIRED!"
The kitchen door swings open again and Toriel stands in the doorway. When she sees all of them, she raps her knuckles twice on the door.
"who's there?" Sans says, more out of habit than anything else, but her eyes light up as if he's doing it just for her.
She hums a bit and then says, "Orange."
"orange who?" he answers, falling into the act as easily as if there had never been a reset.
"Orange you glad we're not stuck talking through a door anymore?" she manages, just before bursting into uncontrollable giggles. This lady. She acts like every joke is the best one and she means it.
Papyrus throws himself onto a table and moans in exasperation. Grillby hooks a foot around his spine and pushes him gently off, but not before the human has pushed off Papyrus's shoulders and onto the table surface themself. They're careful to keep their feet off the polished surface, but they're still curiously scooting over to Grillby's side, examining the mass of dough. He raises one floury hand to wave at them and gestures to the dough.
The kid makes a quick couple of hand gestures that Sans understands, even if he doesn't know how to move his own hands that way: "Can I help?"
Grillby extracts his other hand from the dough with an unpleasant slurp. "Certainly," he signs back. "Wash your hands first." Out loud, he says "Papyrus, can you go manage the front please? Sans, you too?"
Sans grimaces and leaves reluctantly. The next hour is a blur of taking orders from monsters who are definitely not morning people, as well as wiping down tables. There's a reason he doesn't like working for Grillby and it is comprised of two words: health codes. A house can be as filthy as its inhabitants desire as long as they don't have children. Sans is the king of untidy and this constant cleaning is against all his principles.
When he next sees the kid, they're carrying out a tray of golden biscuits, Papyrus imitating a triumphant trumpet as he follows. Grillby exits the kitchen door next, carrying a second tray, while Toriel has a third. This strange little procession winds its way around the restaurant, Frisk dishing out piping hot biscuits to whomever they pass, including Sans himself, although the child makes sure not to touch him. The final plate of biscuits is placed in front of George, the bear in the very orange jacket.
He picks up his spoon, scoops up the top biscuit, and takes a bite out of it. He chews thoughtfully, his husband staring at him the entire time. "This is wonderful soup," he announces to the restaurant. They burst into applause. The kid punches the air in their excitement and leaps into Papyrus's waiting arms. He hoists them above his head, seating them on his shoulders. It would be astonishing, the amount of trust Papyrus has already put into this tiny human, but it isn't. That's just how Papyrus is. No matter what happens, he believes the best of people.
Sans bites into the biscuit, holding it between his teeth as he scrubs at the surface of an already shiny table. He catches a glimpse of his reflection and rolls his eyes at it. His tie is slipping. With a finger, he pushes the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and chews as he fixes the knot. The knot he finishes with would put the Gordian knot to shame. He picks up the cleaning cloth again and swipes at his reflection, calling on a little magic to do the same to the chairs with the extra cloths. When he finishes, flicking the used cloths into the garbage can with a stretch of his fingers, he sees the shape looming behind him in his reflection. He freezes, cold magic rushing through his bones like blizzard wind. The side of his face begins to itch and burn and he sees flashing cyan and gleaming gold in his reflection, warped to a massive size. The cloth in his hand drops to the floor, but he doesn't notice, already halfway out the door.
He stumbles around to the back of the restaurant and into the forest behind it, walking as far as possible. His path is marked by blue droplets sizzling holes through the snow, and by his unsteady footprints. Murmurs seem to dog his every movement, as if the trees are calling his name. When he deems himself far enough away to not be dangerous anymore, he sits down with his back to a tree and closes his eyes. A word comes unbidden, a word he doesn't recognize. He uses it, calling it into the darkness behind his eyelids.
And there is the monster from last night, standing before him in the middle of the dark.
