(Notes: I know there are no chairs around the tables in Grillbys in the game but I'm going to chalk that up to rpg limitations. There are chairs now.
Also, if you want to know what a fireplace bellows sounds like there are videos on youtube, what a world we live in. Otherwise just consider it a silent laugh.)
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Chapter 2: Ember
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Grillby was gone when Frisk woke up. They coughed faintly but felt better than they thought they would, espeacilly after walking through the Snowdin cold. Frisk followed the sound of a faint clatter out into the hallway and then to the second door. They peeked inside and found that it was the kitchen, with large, sturdy appliances along the walls and in the middle a big table with thick metal legs and a wood top. Grillby was standing at the table, a large knife in hand slicing a tomato.
He spotted them out of the corner of his eye, straightened up and waved for them to come in. Grillby met them at the doorway, putting a somewhat stained, green apron over their head. It was too big and he had to fold it up to tie it snuggly around their waist. Once that was done he steered them to the corner of the kitchen where there were two short stools, a small bucket, and two baskets, one empty and one full of potatoes.
Grillby grabbed a peeler from the counter and picked up a potato, peeling of a large amount of the brown skin with one elegant twist. He put the peeler into one of Frisk's hands, the potato in the other and guided them through peeling a bit more off.
Frisk wasn't very excited about peeling potatoes but they were grateful for all he had done so they screwed up their face in concentration and did their best.
He watched them.
Once the potato was mostly peel free, Frisk held it up for inspection.
Grillby looked at it critically, pointing out a spot with a big patch of rough brown skin still on.
Frisk dutifully peeled it off and held it up again.
He nodded with approval, pointed to the empty basket and returned to his kitchen prep.
Frisk placed the potato in the empty basket. The kitchen settled into a deep and comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room were of Frisk's clumsy peeling and Grillby's knife slicing through vegetables with practiced ease.
Frisk picked up their fourth potato. Faintly, they heard Grillby's flame start crackling but not in a random campfire snap and pop, it had a rhythm to it; like he was humming as he worked.
It was nice. Frisk smiled to themselves, it felt like they knew a secret.
Grillby finished slicing the last tomato and the crackling stopped.
Frisk glanced up. He had gone very still and Frisk was almost certain his flame had more red in it. Frisk did their best to pretend they hadn't noticed.
Grillby came over to their little potato corner, sat down on the other stool and began working beside them. Every now and then Frisk would glance up to admire his technique, Grillby peeled about three potatoes for every one they managed, but Frisk kept at it with dogged determination.
When there were only a couple potatoes left in the basket, Grillby stood up, taking two peeled potatoes with him. Frisk kept working, peeling the last of the basket contents as they listened to Grillby grate and slice. A faint whomph of flame made them turn their head to look as Grillby put a large skillet onto a strange cooktop, it reminded them of something they'd see in a museum from the times before electric stoves, made with thick black iron and fire boxes. The flames that curled around the bottom of the pan were the same color as Grillby's flame.
Frisk watched him work with fascination.
He looked over and gave them a pointed look that shifted to amusement as Frisk fumbled for the last potato and began peeling it hurriedly, cheeks hot at being caught staring.
Frisk heard something that sounded like a fireplace bellows and glanced at Grillby from the corner of their eyes. He was laughing, they were certain he was laughing! They tried to keep a straight face but couldn't help smiling. They had another secret.
The kitchen was starting to smell wonderful. Frisk cautiously breathed as deeply as they dared. Their stomach grumbled faintly. Frisk pursed their lips and focused on the last potato, peeling it to perfection and setting it in the basket with the rest.
At a sharp crackle from behind them made Frisk jumped to their feet. Grillby held out a plate with eggs, hash browns and a slice of bread. Their stomach growled even louder as they took it. With one hand, he spun them around, untied the apron and then lifted it over their head, hanging it on a hook by the door.
Grillby's eyes crinkled and he nodded towards the door, heading out himself.
Frisk followed close behind, plate clasped tight in their hands.
Grillby went to the bar, setting his plate on the polished wood. He pulled a few bottles from under the bar, ketchup, mustard, salsa, a dish of butter, and sat them on the polished surface.
Frisk put their plate down next to his and climbed onto the stool. Grillby offered them a fork and, after some rummaging around, a can of apple juice.
Grillby walked around the bar and sat beside them.
Frisk hesitated then tugged on Grillby shirt. They swallowed hard and whispered in their faint disused voice, "...thank you..."
Grillby's whole face seemed to soften as he looked down at them. He patted their head and, with a mischievous look on his face, picked up his slice of bread and pressed it between his two hands.
Frisk stared, eyes wide. They smiled excitedly as the smell of toast began to fill the air.
He lowered his hands and opened them dramatically, revealing the golden brown slice of toast.
Frisk stared wide-eyed and grabbed the piece of bread from their plate, holding it out hopefully.
Grillby smiled and took their bread, lowering his hands to their eye level.
Frisk tilted their head so they could watch between his fingers. When he parted them Frisk gasped and grinned, taking the hot toast out of his hand while he laughed with gentle huffs of hot air.
Frisk hurriedly dug in. Butter soaked into the hot toast, running down their fingers as they took each bite. The eggs were light and fluffy, tasting rich and yolky. Salsa perfectly offsetting the delicatly seasoned, crisp, golden hashbrowns. It was the best meal they had ever had.
After they had both eaten, Grillby took their dishes back to the kitchen. Frisk trailed after him. He 'washed' his dishes by bathing them in flame and wiping the ash off of them with a cloth.
Opening time drew near and Grillby returned to the front and began taking down the chairs. Frisk tried to help too, lifting a chair from the big center table but lost their grip as a cough caught them off guard. Grillby grabbed the chair with one hand, pushing it back on the table, and squeezed Frisk's shoulder with the other.
Frisk wrapped their arms around their chest, pressing their mouth tight together and fighting down each cough as is curled up from their chest and out their throat.
Grillby held their shoulder, firmly but gently, putting his other hand on Frisk's back. The spasms calmed as the heat settled in their lungs and worked its magic. Once Frisk was able to stop coughing Grillby led them to one of the booths and had them lay down. They wanted to help him some more but he gave them a stern look and Frisk laid back with a sigh.
Frisk stared up past the worn orange-red booth fabric up to the dark ceiling, arms folded over their chest. They could hear Grillby moving around the room, taking down the last of the chairs, wiping the tables down. The flames in the sconces arrayed along the walls brightened noticeably as Grillby flipped on the open sign and unlocked the door. Before long the regulars began to trickle in and drift towards their favorite seats.
Frisk wanted to stay. They were tired and scared and Grillby's magic made them feel better when it got hard to breathe. They felt safe here.
But... they couldn't stay. They had to reach the barrier. Frisk didn't want to die, not for real. Was... that selfish? Were they being selfish-? Trying to go back even though-
There was the soft clink of a cup and saucer on the table. Frisk slowly sat up. Grillby smiled at them faintly before walking back to the counter, customers shouting orders as he passed. Frisk wrapped their hands around the heavy white cup. It felt hot but Frisk was certain Grillby wouldn't let it burn them and took a sip. It was honey and lemon with a touch of ginger and eased the faint tickle in the back of their throat before turning to magic and disappearing as they swallowed.
...They wanted to stay. Frisk lingered over their tea, drinking it as slowly as they could. When the cup was empty they slipped out of the booth and walked to the door. Grillby was busy mixing something at the bar. Frisk waited for a second, hoping he would look up, but he didn't. They waved, even though he couldn't see, and went outside, shuddering as the cold air hit them.
Frisk hurried towards the edge of town. The snow began to fade and the area became thick with a misty fog.
"HUMAN..."
Frisk froze, dread settling in their gut.
A silhouette became more clear in the fog, "ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU ABOUT SOME COMPLEX FEELINGS. FEELINGS LIKE..."
Frisk listened to Papyrus' grand speech. He went on and on about friendship and Frisk hoped he would just let them be his friend. They didn't want to fight. But it wasn't meant to be, Frisk's whole body tensed up for the worst as he declared his intent to capture them after all.
He started out sending three small bones gliding through the snow like dorsal fins. Frisk carefully side stepped them. They smiled at Papyrus, winked clumsily and did finger guns, hoping they could charm him out of fighting.
"WHAT!? F-FLIRTING?" Papyrus stuttered, flustered, "SO YOU FINALLY REVEAL YOUR ULTIMATE FEELINGS! W-WELL... I'M A SKELETON WITH VERY HIGH STANDARDS!"
Frisk swallowed hard, wondering why everyone always insist on speaking so much, "...I can make spaghetti..." they said hoarsely.
Papyrus gasped, "OH NO! YOU'RE MEETING ALL MY STANDARDS!"
Frisk smiled hopefully. Maybe they wouldn't have to fight.
Papyrus continued, "I guess this means I have to go on a date with you...? Let's date later!" He sent another three bones at them.
Frisk grimly dodged out of the way. Apparently the flirting wasn't enough. Papyrus waited for them to attack. Frisk shook their head, coughing into their sleeve.
"SO YOU WON'T FIGHT..." Papyrus said, "THEN LET'S SEE IF YOU CAN HANDLE MY FABLED BLUE ATTACK!"
Huge semi-translucent blue bones appeared all around Papyrus, they cut across the ground and flew through the air towards them. Frisk stayed still and held their breath as the bones passed through them. Unlike the other blue attacks they'd endured, these tingled unpleasantly.
Frisk stumbled, their soul turned blue and began to pull them down. The weight seemed to drag on their whole body. They gasped and coughed, desperately trying to stay on their feet. They didn't even see the small bone, the size of a drumstick, until it ricocheted off their shin, making them whimper in pain.
"YOU'RE BLUE NOW!" Papyrus said proudly and laughed, readying another attack. He sent a wave of three small bones.
Frisk stumbled out of the way, gasping; each breath felt too short. They braced their hands on their knees and coughed. The bones got taller. Frisk didn't see them until it was too late, they threw their arms up instinctively, bones smacked off their arms and chest, bouncing over their head. Frisk sank a down with each impact, ears ringing. The last bone forcing them onto the ground. They knelt on the wet ground, arms wrapped protectively over their head, breathing in short painful gasps between sporadic bouts of coughing that shook their whole body.
They didn't hear what Papyrus said next, only felt when he threaded his arm around the chest and picked them up. Frisk weakly tried to twist away, his grip on their chest made it harder to breath. Their struggles becoming more frantic with every step he took, they felt like they were drowning.
Frisk gasped when he put them down on a wood floor and left them, closing the door behind him with a click. The floor was rough and dirty. Frisk lay their for a long time, until they could stop coughing as hard, could stop trembling and shiver instead. It was cold. Their lungs rattled with every breath.
Frisk slowly sat up and glanced around. They were in a shed, a small cold shed with nothing in it but a dog bed and bowl of dog food. Frisk blinked back tears and wrapped their arms around themselves.
They carefully got to their feet and left, walking out of the too wide bars and the unlocked door. Frisk crept back towards the fog, peering into it to see if Papyrus was still there. He was. They hurried back to the shed, opened the door and then slammed it as loudly as they could before running back and hiding behind a clump of frost covered bushes.
They muffled their breathing with their sleeve and forced themselves not to cough, even as it itched in the back of their throat, as Papyrus' boots crunched past them in the snow. Frisk waited until they heard him open the shed door to leave their hiding spot and hurried down the path as fast as they dared.
The mist slowly dissipated the further they went and it became a little warmer. Frisk looked around hopefully but with every step they saw more water, dripping down the walls, running alongside the path, raining down from everywhere. The air was thick and cloying with humidity. Their breath shortened and began to wheeze and rattle as their lungs seemed to suck in the moisture like a dry sponge.
They spotted Sans ahead, sitting in a small sentry station, reading a car magazine that looked like it had been dropped in the bathtub at least once. Frisk tapped on the counter with their knuckles and glared at him, feeling betrayed that he would act like their friend but let his brother be so mean to them.
He misinterpreted their expression. "what? haven't you seen a guy with two jobs before?" He shoved the magazine under the counter and stood up, stretching, "fortunately, two jobs means twice as many legally required breaks. i'm going to grillby's. wanna come?" he asked.
Grillby's. Frisk nodded without thinking.
Sans shrugged helplessly, "well if you insist-" he walked around the station- "i'll pry myself away from my work." He started walking further up the path, nodding for them to follow him, "over here. i know a shortcut."
Frisk hurried after him, they blinked and suddenly the air was warm and dry, the walls lit by flickering flames.
"fast shortcut, huh?" Sans grinned, turning to the room to joke and talk with everyone as he headed towards the bar.
Frisk stared at Grillby, polishing a glass behind the bar. They grabbed the edge of their shirt in both hands, squeezing it tight, trying to blink back tears. A cough choked out of them and turned into great gasping sobs as tears began to roll down their cheeks.
"kid?" Sans turned back to them.
Grillby slammed the glass down and rounded the bar, his flames licking high and red in the sudden dead silence.
"whoa!" Sans held out his hand, backing towards Frisk, "grillby, the kid's not gonna hurt any-"
Grillby pushed Sans aside. He knelt in front of Frisk, catching their chin and tilting their head up. Grillby frowned, his brow furrowed.
Frisk tried to rub their face dry on their sleeve with a sniffle that turned into a horrible hacking cough.
Grillby pressed a hand to Frisk's forehead. His frown deepened and turned on Sans with frightening intensity.
Sans flinched backward.
"...whooo...?" Grillby hissed, his voice a crackle of fire and sputtering sparks.
Sans' eye lights shrank to specks, "just a little sparring, he'd never-"
Grillby snapped, "...they're...sssick!"
Frisk reached out took Grillby's hand and squeezed it, it felt too hot.
When he looked at them Frisk shook their head. "...s'ok," they whispered.
Grillby huffed, his flame flaring briefly and then subsiding. He stood and picked Frisk up in one smooth motion. Startled, they clung to his shoulders, wrapping their legs around his waist. Grillby didn't seem to notice Frisks nervousness, holding them up easily, with one arm under their legs as he walked back to the bar.
Frisk slowly relaxed, curling their arms around his neck and laying their head on his shoulder, careful to use their sleeve to catch any stray tears.
They felt safe.
The whole bar stared in complete and utter shock.
Grillby picked up a cleaning cloth and began wiping down the bar with his free hand, aggressively ignoring everyone.
Sans slid onto his stool at the bar, trying not to draw attention to himself, glancing at Grillby from the corner of his eye and trying to gauge when he might have cooled off.
The bar slowly started talking again in hushed tones.
"...i don't suppose i could have a burg?" Sans asked, keeping his tone light.
Grillby gave him a pointed look, reached under the bar, pulled out a ketchup bottle and set it loudly and deliberately in front of Sans.
Sans shrugged, "i can see why you like them, nice kid, really quiet." he picked up the bottle of ketchup, "i'd just heard you didn't care for humans."
Grillby didn't reply. He tilted his head slightly to check on Frisk who was half asleep, tears of relief slipping down their cheeks and into their sleeve.
Sans toyed with the bottle, letting it rock back and forth on its round bottom, "i'll talk to my brother. he wouldn't have fought them if he knew they weren't doing so well."
Grillby's perfect circular wiping motions paused for half a breath then continued, his brow drew further together.
"i mean how many monsters would know what a sick human looks like? assuming they knew what a normal human looked like..." Sans put the bottle down and slowly slid off the barstool, "so, uh, just put a burg on my tab, for the kid, for when they're feeling better." he waved over his shoulder, his casual scuffling steps speeding up as he neared the door and hurried out of the bar to find his brother.
Grillby put the cloth down.
He sighed, and rested his hand against Frisk's back.
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(My other story, A Cast Shadow, also updated today! It's pretty neat if I do say myself. Why not take a look?
Next Update: I wanted to do something for the first anniversary of Undertale so next week there will be another chapter of this story, wednesday 9/14/1, then it'll go back to bi-weekly updates. )