Chapter Text
“See you later, Grillby!”
The bell atop the door rang as it clattered shut, the glass Grillby was cleaning squeaking with each wipe of the rag. He paused, staring at where the patron had gone. A few seconds passed with him, hoping, waiting for someone to walk through that door. Waiting for something different.
He waits as he stares at the door, waiting for something that he knew was likely to be impossible. As he stares, he raps his knuckle against the counter, and he sighs a few moments later, lowering the glass while staring at the still dirty island counter.
Naturally, nothing arrived. This past day, nothing would or hasn't happened. He was aware that there would be no customers in his bar, that there wouldn't be any chaos like the Royal Guards are known for, but isn't that the strangest thing? He shouldn't be expecting that kind of thing because he can't simply predict business.
But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?
Grillby’s been having a problem as of late.
The same patrons have been coming to his bar.
A still quiet lingered in the bar, too silent for his customers’ earlier bustling movement. That was normal, though, for his bar to be quiet around this time.
It was always 5pm when everything would be silent; a single moment of peace the day would grant him, before the inevitable flood of customers later in the evening, either for dinner or simply to drink.
He remembers when some parents had gotten on him about the fact he allowed kids in his restaurant, that he was allowing children near drunk patrons, or just near a bottle of alcohol. It was an understandable concern, but it wasn’t as if monsters could truly get drunk, anyhow. Not like how humans could.
To get “drunk” in a way a human would, monsters would need certain substances that react with their biological nature, for Grillby, that’s gasoline, for monsters like Sans, it’s distilled vinegar. Then again, when a monster is drunk, it only creates a lightheaded, easing effect, tempering down a monster's emotions, but it doesn’t change their attitudes. So, really, a monster can’t truly be drunk.
Today, he kind of wishes he could get drunk like how a human can. Today was different. Everyday is always different, but today is just different.
He knew that today, later in just a couple of hours, a large celebration would force him to keep his bar open until the early hours of the morning, just several hours after closing time. He placed the glass on the counter, leaning his hip against it and staring intently at the bottles on the shelf brackets.
But that’s just what the problem was. It wasn’t having to keep his bar open; it was the fact that it was because he’s been keeping it open, keeping it open for the same amount of time for the same people, serving the same drinks and food, and hearing the same conversations. That today isn’t going to be different at all. That today is going to be like yesterday.
While it could’ve easily been disregarded as something insignificant, something even beneficial for him. The issue is that specific customers have been coming to his bar at the same time of the day, conversing about the same topics, ordering the same drinks and food, telling the same jokes, for four days.
It’s definitely concerning, to say the least.
That wasn’t to say he didn’t think of this as a prank at first. There were a lot of monsters who would pull this type of prank on him. Have pulled this kind of prank on him.
Then again, pranks of this level don’t typically involve more than an entire town’s worth of monsters.
Pranks of this level don’t involve the barrier being destroyed.
Pranks of this level don’t involve humans.
And that’s just where the issue with that prank theory lies, isn’t it?
For four days in a row, Sans has towed a human child into his bar.
Grillby clearly didn’t think the kid was a human at first. Why should he? It’s been centuries since any monster with a short lifespan has encountered a human. It’s been years since Grillby has seen a human wander into his bar, nevertheless a kid.
And yet that same kid destroyed the barrier without any long-term consequences. Destroying the barrier didn’t kill the king, the human, or the underground denizens. In fact, the kid’s been nothing but friendly, if a bit of an oddball.
But that’s just it.
It’s the fact he’s seen the same human for four days in a row, having gotten familiar with them; that he’s seen the same customers four times, seen the same surface four times, served the same food, listened to the same conversations, spoken with the same individuals, and cleaned the same dishes four times.
Yet nothing has changed.
He felt like he was repeating himself with just how odd this situation was.
Grillby exhaustedly wiped his face, disgruntled.
It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together and figure out that the day was repeating itself.
But that’s just what the problem is.
A day couldn’t loop itself; it was theoretically impossible. It went against nature itself. It went against the fundamental understanding of even magic. At least with magic, there was some science behind it, or at least a sort of understanding as to what it was. But maybe this loop was caused by magic, and Grillby didn’t have a full grasp of what magic truly was. Did anyone? Maybe some more than others, like the royal scientist, but did even she understand what magic was?
He sighed, hand going to twist a bottle on the shelf to show the label. He wasn’t too concerned with that thought process; didn’t want to concern himself with the kind of philosophy that made him question life. Grillby was never the philosophical type; philosophy required too much thought, too many questions to truths he didn’t want.
And truth be told, he never liked existentialism.
Sure, he thought about his own existence on occasion, but who doesn’t? Thinking about it gave him too much anxiety delving too deeply into such issues. He only wanted to do his job, and that’s it.
Why think about the why of things when that only complicates matters? Besides, contemplating why monsters exist, why magic exists, and what the meaning of life was wasn’t in his job description.
His job is to serve food and drinks, clean tables, open and close a bar, and that’s it.
Still, he wondered all the same.
Tossing the rag he was using to clean the dishes, he grabbed another hanging off the sink tap, turning the tap and wetting it slightly, before wringing out excess water and wiping down the island. His rag goes over the surface, wiping away at nothing.
He wakes up, and just before he heads to his bar, he’s confronted by the Royal Guard. They question him, he’s free to go, and then he meets with the same patrons. He sees the same faces, hears their same greetings, and then meets the human for himself, even when it takes him a moment to realise that a human had wandered into his bar.
Rinse, repeat.
He wakes up, and after leaving his home, he’s met with the faces of the Royal Guard. They question him, he’s free to go, and then he hears them talk about the same things as they did yesterday—the second loop, he supposed.
Rinse, repeat.
In a few hours, he’ll hear a cry—
“The barrier’s been destroyed!”
—or not, and even then, it’s difficult to truly recognize if it was the same cry he’s heard before. If that cry came from the same monster, or if he had truly gone crazy from his self-isolation he’s imposed on himself.
It’s not, though, and upon hearing the cry come from outside of his bar, he doesn’t bother looking up as he continues wiping the counter. Even if his work would reset the next day, or rather, the next loop, he still had to appear orderly to anyone who was going to stop by later that day.
He barely looked up to see the commotion going on outside through the window, watching from the corner of his gaze as monsters curiously looked outside of their homes, the few lingering around curiously looking at where they heard the cry come from.
It didn’t take long for monsters to wander to the barrier, a few running, most sauntering, as if in disbelief. That notion didn’t shock him; he was in disbelief the first time as well.
But Grillby didn’t move from his spot, looking back down at the counter he was wiping.
There wasn’t a point checking out the surface, not when he would wake back up in the underground, and not when he’s already seen that same sunset three times. Might as well let someone else get the chance to see it.
His movements slowed when the commotion outside got noisier, a heavy feeling lacing his chest. He heard curious yells, shouts, and laughter. There was snow crunching beneath feet, and doors being slammed as the talking got louder in volume.
He began to scrub with rougher motions, staring hard at the counter and trying fruitlessly to ignore the chattering from outside.
It was cruel, unfair, to have a taste of that freedom only for it to be taken away from him after he sleeps. Then again, it was cruel for him, of all people, to be trapped in a time loop. It was unfair for anyone, really.
But there wasn’t much he could do about that, not when time itself was beyond his comprehension and control. If this problem doesn’t go away on its own, then he’ll need to figure something out.
For now, he was just going to have to wait it out and see what happens. Waiting to see if a monster will pop out from a house and say “surprise!” before revealing everything was a prank, or if this was a new show Mettaton was trying out. Even if this wasn’t some kind of prank, he wanted to see if he’ll wake up tomorrow, and that monsterkind really was free.
The streets had quieted down to light conversation as he busied himself minutes later, Grillby shuffling through the bar, unmoving. There was a slight pull in his chest, a longing. He wanted to see the surface, truly, he did, but he could see it another time… loop now, he supposed. Was time nonexistent in a time loop?
He crouched down to take an empty wooden crate left in the corner of his bar area, holding his arms around it while stifling his flames to prevent burning it while hauling it to the ‘fire exit’, as he affectionately called it.
He pushed his way into the makeshift storage room, revealing a kitchenette with storage space on the other side of the small room. The “fire exit” room wasn’t large by any means, and was only used for cooking breakfasts or dinners or storing supplies such as food, drinks, and the occasional human alcohol beverage meant for the “elite” who could afford it.
While some might think he jokingly named the area a pun, there actually was an exit to the outside, hidden behind a shelf.
If he pushed the shelf aside, he could easily reach the exit. Though, he never needed the fire exit, which was ironic and dangerous given that he was a fire elemental. He lived in a cold place, was surrounded by monsters with winter-themed magic, and had an exit in the front, with one of his frequent customers being the Royal Guards. The one and only time he’s ever needed the back exit was to escape from Jerry, and for the rare smoke break that he would hold off until when he returned home.
Perhaps he'll fix up this old fire exit someday. However, that someday wasn't today, so he hefts the crates onto a stack of other empty crates before heats himself up to remove the access splinters the wood left on him. Once he leaves the room, closing the door behind himself quietly, he finds that there's no one left on the streets.
The bar was spotless, with no newcomers even when he hoped, somewhat expected, there to be, and he walked back to the counter to see if there was anything left to do. He inspects the counters for marks, the shelves for any lingering dust, the dishes for food stuck to the plates, or the cups with splotches of dried liquids, and when there’s nothing, he stills.
A second goes by.
Then two.
Then five minutes.
Everyone has gone for the day—whether to check out the barrier, to thank the human, to speak with Asgore if this is true—no one is going to come to his bar, and Grillby leans against the counter, sighing.
There wasn’t much he could do to entertain himself right now; he couldn’t watch TV because the only channels were either about the barrier or belonged to Mettaton, who wasn’t exactly functioning right now after being blown up on live television.
He couldn’t drop everything to go to the surface. He didn’t want to see the surface; just how mocking it was. He didn’t want to surrender his being to its wit, and he slowly taps his knuckle against the counter, impatient.
Reading? No, he didn’t feel like reading, most of his books were at home currently, and the books here were books he’s read a numerous amount of times already. He wasn’t about to talk to his neighbours either, other shopkeepers were out of the question since he had no reason to speak with them, nor seek out his patrons for something like conversation. They were his customers, after all, not his friends.
His gaze goes to the bottles on the shelf, thoughtful. Would it be unprofessional of him to drink from the shelf?
Silence reigns.
Yes, it would be.
He wasn’t going to close the bar early either, and he wasn’t going to leave it unattended, leaving it unattended, even if he had done that for the first three loops, was nervewracking enough. There was going to be a party later, anyway, and he would need to be better prepared for it.
So what can he do?
Grillby taps the counter for some minutes, staring outside while the few monsters that lived in the Ruins occasionally rushed past his window, some ushering each other forward. He didn’t wonder if they were going to see the barrier, or ask the king questions, he didn’t feel the need to, already knowing the answer.
The clock on the wall ticked, and the drumming of his knuckle pauses a minute later. Grillby then bent over against the counter and sighed deeply for what was the fifth time that day.
He truly hoped this problem would go away on its own.