Just a sneaky beaky look at the 'meanwhile' section of what's going on. a well overdue meeting haha, someone needed to do it. Thanks for all the support so far guys xxx

They've had a comfortable routine in place for about a while now, and Sans has started to come downstairs during actual opening hours. It honestly made Grillby glad, he was worried that the skeleton was going to stay in his self-imposed bubble forever. He got on well with the locals, and they had taken to him quickly. Mind you, Grillby knew first hand that when he put his mind to it and made an effort at socializing, he was probably one of the most likeable people you would ever meet. Puns aside, that is… although they went down well with people who didn't have to hear them 24/7. It was musing over this while on a restocking trip that it gave Grillby an idea.
"...comedy show, huh?"
"Well, it's a thought. If you're making everyone in the building laugh, why not make a few g off of it?"
"after your back rent or something?" He smarms, and Grillby replies with a laugh.
"Or you could pay your tab off, as a start." Which starts Sans off laughing. "But seriously… I think you'd do well. It'd just be the people here in Snowdin, so what's the harm? You could start getting yourself…" he gestures vaguely, they both know how devoid the room is upstairs of any real personality. He wonders about that sometimes, but dares not ask. If time has proven anything, it's that there's no getting answers before he's ready. "Something. Anything."
"...i've got what i need." He shrugs casually, the act of which Grillby had been around him enough to know that meant he was uncomfortable. Maybe it was because they both had the same problem of inexpressive faces that they had both learned to read the smallest of inflections off of each other, and quickly… probably more so than either expected.
"And there's a difference between needing and wanting, Sans. Maybe you should try it." He waves a flaming hand, dismissing the statement as it came from him to take the sting out of the layered meaning. "But it was only an idea; you've got a floor space if you want to try it."
Sans pauses, phalanges tapping thoughtfully for a moment. "i'll think about it, okay?" He taps a couple more times before the grin turns an honest edge. "...thanks, grillbz."

From the sparse pieces of information he had gathered from the skeleton, he has a feeling that 'wanting' was either a foreign concept, or a forgotten one.

All things considered, between the amount of time they spent together and how they'd learned to read each other, there wasn't much Sans could pull out of the bag to surprise him any more. So for him to pull three in a row was enough to nearly dust the old flame. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The first was when he was tending bar, and with no ceremony or even warning whatsoever Sans came downstairs with a man like a purpose a few nights after their discussion, dragged a bar stool over to where the Jukebox was, flicked it off and sat in the corner turning out puns and one-liners like they were going out of fashion. Grillby set up a hat on the bar without pulling Sans' attention for tips, and (this was less of a surprise) the hat ended up full by the end of the night. Surprise number 2 was when he accepted the money at the end of the night when Grillby offered it to him without any argument.

Suprise number 3 was the biggest though.

"Sans... why a trombone?" He's not even going to question the lips thing, the skeleton defied all leaps of logic as far as anything related to anatomy and physiology, "And I swear to God if you just spent money to make a bad joke-"
"hey, whatever i wanted, right?" His eye lights radiated excitement, and Grillby found it hard to look away from them. "but apart from the obvious pun there, which is never a bad thing, i figured it was time to start learning something new."
"...You did, huh?" Grillby's flames burned slightly brighter without command in response to the leap of joy in his soul. He was glad to see Sans finally seeming to start properly healing. It had been a long road, but he was finally putting whatever happened behind him. He knew he still had a Papyrus-shaped hole, and Grillby was still very delicately handling that situation on his end, but it seems it was finally starting to scab over and scar over. Deep wounds don't heal prettily, anybody knows that.

And Grillby would put up with all the bum notes in the world for that.
There was a lot of them, enough that a few times Grillby really questioned his commitment to that thought. But whenever he reached the end of his tether and did go and open the door, seeing the room with spread out books and music sheets, made him give an encouraging thumbs up and leaving the room again with an internal smile. When the 'music' stopped for a few days, Grillby had worried that he'd gotten discouraged and he was going to just put it aside, but he should really have known better. He doesn't know what happened in those few days, as Sans barely left the room even for food, but the next time he played, it was better. Still not a hundred percent, but better, and within a month he was playing like he had done it his whole life. He remembers when they used to stay when they were just 'babybones' as Sans says it, how he would learn in much the same way. Just be real stubborn until it clicked. Grillby still wasn't sure why the trombone of all things, but the question was irrelevant at the end of the day. What mattered was the music, and how he looked while he was playing it. Sans obviously enjoyed it, and he was free of all the tension hiding in his collar bone, spine, and shoulder blades and joints. That. That's what was relevant at the end of the day.

"hey, grillby? how come the jukebox ain't working anymore?" It was an evening where Sans was down and wasn't entertaining - knowingly or not. Grillby had fallen into the habit of keeping the Jukebox off since the trombone had got better and the comedy routines started. If he wasn't down here earning some money for who knows what else, he was upstairs playing and people had become quite used to hearing the soft music drifting down from above. Nobody complained on the nights it was quiet, either. He offered Sans a shrug in response as he thought to himself Recent disuse, probably. It was already getting old when I got the place. "do you want me to take a look?"
He shakes his head. "I'll get a new one if I need it."
He never did get round to it, though. It just never seemed necessary, whether it was in the music drifting through from the floor above or the comedy act turned out once a week below, the bar had an energy and an atmosphere renewed when Sans was around, and the quiet days where he stayed upstairs or went out hummed off of an invisible slipstream that seemed to carry them by. He had noticed that on the comedy days, they were slowly getting more visitors in from further afield. If it bothered Sans, he never let it show, and he didn't say anything to Grillby. And he didn't hesitate before setting up in his corner and commanding the room, no matter how many people came. The difference between the comedy and the music was, Grillby noticed, was that underlying layer of tension. He knew nobody else could see it, but he saw the way he would sweep across the crowd as he was talking and the more subtle ways he manipulated the crowds into laughter with careful facial expressions and gestures. The comedy was a front, something he was good at and something he could control, the music was a truth and a passion, something he'd learned from scratch because he'd wanted to and something he enjoyed - raw and honest.

Grillby could listen to him play every night if he would, but the fire elemental wouldn't ask him. Instead, he decides it's time to visit an old friend. He just has to wait for his moment.

Grillby had gone to check on Sans and found the room empty. The bar was yet to open for lunchtime and Grillby decided that he had an errand to run that was more important. Lunchtime wasn't busy anyway, most of his regulars being sentries meant that they were on duty. DB would just have to start her usual binge later on than normal. Or start at home which would more likely be the case. He makes his way to hotlands with purpose in his stride, the low simmering anger that he'd held for a while now making his flames burn hotter and brighter than normal.

He knew exactly where he would find him.

He makes use of the open door policy that had always been in place for him, glad that the team hadn't changed much and he was greeted genially. He spares enough time for a wave before making his way to his destination. He still knew his way round well enough that he found the private office with no issues.

He greets Gaster with a well-deserved right hook.

The hands are summoned and start speaking along with the voice, and confusion is in both. "Grillby? What-"
"You are an asshole."
Gaster takes a minute to look at him, and he notices how bright he's flickering. He's only seen him wound up this much enough times to count on one hand, and realisation settles within him. He only got this wound up when he was in protection mode. "...he came to you, didn't he? I knew he was around the area, but…"
"Where else did he have to go?!"
"I was doing what I thought was best for him!" Gaster loses his own temper, the signs comping through choppy and sharp.
"I am sure you did." He crackles and hisses at him, crossing his arms to resist the urge to swing for him again. "You never could turn off your scientific curiosity enough to see the effects your actions have on people though, could you?"
The words dig into Gaster like fish hooks. He couldn't deny it at all. He sighs heavily, letting himself slump onto his desk in defeat. Grillby doesn't move at all. "No. I tried my best to… but at the end it was like I was always saying the wrong things have no matter what."

Grillby sighs himself at the admission. "You need to pull your head out of your ass, Wingdings. You knew something about what you were doing was wrong. You must have done." The only answer Gaster has for that is burying his face in his hands. He'll take that as a 'yes' then. "Why did you lie about it? That's the worst thing about all this."

"I… don't know anymore. I told Papyrus that so he wouldn't… get scared of what was happening at the time or so that he wouldn't ask too many questions about Sans coming home, because he was so young, and then the next thing I knew that's what I had told everyone. It just all spiralled out of control before I knew what was happening."
"Gaster…"
"I know." Grillby's flames have died down, and he leans against the wall just looking at his old friend. "Nothing about this ended up how it was supposed to be."
"At some point, he's going to come looking to you for answers. Real answers. You need to know what you are going to tell him. 'I don't know' isn't going to cut it for him. Lies won't either."
"I know."
"After all this, did you even find the answers you were looking for?"
"Some of them, but there's still a lot about him that remains unknown."
"You need to tell him what you've found out."
"I cannot."
"That is not your decision to make. He deserves answers when he wants them. He already knows that you're not telling him everything you know."
"I cannot!"
"Bullshit!"
"Then you tell me how the hell I am supposed to tell him he's broken?!"

Grillby narrows his eyes behind his glasses at the choice of words as Gaster comes out from behind his hands, dragging them down his face in exhaustion. "He's not broken."

"You don't understand."
"Then explain. Consider it practice."
"The only concrete piece of anything we found was the reason for his emotional state. I'm sure by now you've seen the depression and the apathy he's prone to falling into. That's because his soul is broken. The only thing that's stopping him from becoming a pile of dust is what magic they transplanted from me to him."
"And he doesn't know this? Tell me this is one of your bad jokes."
"I wish I could."
Grillby growls at him, feeling his anger bubble up again. He takes a moment to tamp it down. "...you need to tell him."
"Now who's telling the bad jokes? Do you have any idea what it could-"
"That is also not your right to decide! The minute you made the discovery, you should have told him!"
"But-"
"No! Don't you dare. Something like that is not yours to hide. He deserves to know, and it's his right to know. You need to give him more credit. He might have a broken soul, but that monster is anything but broken." He spits the word, and it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. "And I swear on everything dear to me that if I find out you call him that to his face…" he lets the unspoken threat hang in the air.

"...I tried my best."

"I know. That's the only reason this place isn't ash by now."
Gaster nods, knowing that the fire elemental isn't one for making idle threats.

"...Can you at least… tell me how he is?"
"He's well. When he first came, he was scared of being found and of you dragging him back here. Now, he's getting there. Adjusting. It's a slow process, but these things are never immediate. He's finally coming out of his shell, as well."
"Sounds like he's doing well."
"He is. He's missing his brother, but he's too terrified of coming back here that he refuses to approach him in any form, although I have a feeling that's where he goes when he sneaks out. He's also not wanting to break the younger brother's rather idyllic life view by telling him the truth of things, by what I can gather. He's rather drunk whenever he talks about his brother." Under any other situation, the statement might have made Gaster chuckle. But not here and not now. "When the time is right, I am going to arrange a meeting for them both. You aren't going to interfere."
"...Of course not."
"He's also not ready to see you yet and until he decides he is... you are not welcome in Snowdin."
" But- no. No, You're right."
"And in the mean time, I suggest you take a long, hard look at the way of things and decide what it is you should be telling him when the time comes. Although I would recommend everything as a good starting point."

Gaster nods, too tired for anything more.

Grillby lets himself out, shaking his head. Once he's back to the bar, he repeats the word 'broken' to himself, rolls his eyes and shakes his head again before starting to take his frustrations out on the glasses behind the bar.

They've never been cleaner by the time the door sign is flipped to open.