Archive of Our Own

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.

Chapter Text

The flames on Grillby flickered as he shuffled awake, tilting his head to the side to look at his alarm clock.

Eight in the morning, as it usually displays now, and he turned his head to look back at the ceiling.

The seventh loop is a quiet and unassuming day, barely a noise from outside aside from the occasional laughter of a monster. Typically, normal for this part of the day too—has been normal since waking up in these loops.

It’s the weekend currently, and there aren’t going to be any kids awake at this time. He isn’t sure if that’s something he should be grateful for or not, considering waking up to yelling at kids isn’t exactly a pleasant experience for anyone.

Grillby pushes himself to a seat. He shouldn’t be in much of a rush to attend work, there wasn’t much cause for concern if he was late seeing as no one would remember tomorrow, and nor was he expecting any guests or visitors today. But he felt he needed to be professional and orderly despite the fact that no one would remember his lack of attendance.

It could be pride that he's trying to stick to his routine from before these loops, or a desire to ground himself in the familiar, but he knew there was something uncomfortable about having to step outside of that zone right now. Having to acknowledge that he was looping brought more intolerable emotions that he didn’t want to deal with as of now.

Grillby wiped his face before he tapped the top of his dresser, feeling the cool metal surface worn down from the years of his body temperature. After a second, his fingers brush against the cool texture of his glasses.

After slipping them on and adjusting them, he looks around his somewhat bleak room slowly. He wears them merely to let monsters know he's looking at them, even though he doesn't really need them—they essentially just give him a better view of distant objects. He knows that if he doesn't at least try to make eye contact with the customers, he'll come across as impolite, and that is something he can’t afford in his business.

He stretches his neck while his gaze roves his room, looking over at the circle window across the room that displays nothing but forest scenery. As he went to stand, he stared at the trees covered with snow like they were hypnotizing him, his mind detaching from his body while in thought.

He always wondered how trees could grow underground; he knew they needed the right supplements like oxygen and sun to grow, but how did the trees here in Snowdin grow? Magic? But magic wasn’t always the answer for everything, like everyone assumed.

If magic were the answer to every problem, Grillby wouldn’t be stuck in this situation. Unless magic truly was the solution, and Grillby was overthinking things because of his current situation. But what type of magic would help him? The powerful type? The boss type?

His flames sparkled, lighting the room in a dim orange. It didn't really matter at the moment, he concluded.

His current objective is to find a way out of these loops.

He’s given these loops three days to figure themselves out, and now that he has confirmation he can’t simply wait them out, he’ll need to learn more patience while he comes up with ideas.

He’s already a patient man, even he can admit that, but given that he’s been hearing the same conversations over the past week, or the equivalent of a week for a loop, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that he’ll be hearing them more often than he can remember to count. He will therefore need to maintain his composure while he tries to resolve this issue.

That was easier said than done, though.

Heading to his closet while in thought, he takes out a dark brown turtleneck and slacks, and a black trench coat that’ll hang loosely off his body. His uniform wasn’t the norm for bartenders, but then again, today wasn’t exactly a standard day either.

Aside from that, he didn't think anyone would be shocked if he wore something different from his usual wardrobe. Being acquainted with Grillby made it fairly clear that he preferred to dress to impress for a casual outing.

He removes his shirt and slides on the turtleneck, the cotton lining feeling comfortable against his body’s natural heat. He then begins buttoning the bulky, soft trench coat after pulling it over. Then, looking into the mirror, he flattens the trench coat to soothe any wrinkles.

Grillby leans over to take a pair of black-brown gloves off a shelf in the closet, sliding them on before wrapping on a wristwatch that was dangling on a jewelry hook.

He looks over himself in the mirror once he finishes, twisting to look at his back, then his side. The coat was a little too large for his form, but it wouldn’t stand out too much unless someone was experienced in fashion, and there were only so few people underground who cared for that.

Grillby takes himself in the mirror once more, and his chest lifts as he takes a deep breath. He prepares himself before he leaves for the day, readying to listen to the same conversations and orders. He should consider himself lucky he doesn’t have their orders memorized yet, and hopefully he never will.

But, it isn’t pitiful that he finds himself hesitant to leave the safety of his home. He isn’t sure if he’s prepared to head to his restaurant, to his job he’s had for many years, standing stock still as he stared at himself in the mirror.

In fact, he’s terrified that everything will be the same as yesterday.

There was just that underlying fear that he’ll hear the same noises as he did yesterday, the same conversations, watch the same TV channels, read the same words on his little notepad at work.

It’s irrational; he’s well aware he’ll find everything to be the same when he goes to work. This entire situation is irrational and terrifying and so mind-bending that it’s beyond the realm of understanding.

But the thing that terrified him the most? The one thing that really had him trembling? Was that he’ll get used to those noises, to those words, to the same orders.

Because the second he’s used to those orders? To those small conversations? To every single face in his restaurant? It means that he let himself forget about the urgency of the situation.

Any sort of living being wants and wishes for routine; animals, monsters, humans—and if he were to get used to this routine of going along with this time loop. He wasn’t sure what would happen to him, how he’d be able to deal with the fallout, or if he’d lose himself. He doesn’t want to know, and he’s trying his hardest to not find out.

Grillby stared at himself for a moment before tearing his gaze away to focus on his doorway.

Right, since he hasn’t taken any action yet, there was no point in contemplating that currently.

Furthermore, it was impossible to predict if this loop would end on its own or if it was merely a magic thing.

Additionally, he could always talk to the Royal Scientist, but he really only plans to do so if he’s desperate.

Trotting down the stairs as he straightens his clothes, he goes to leave his home. The halls and living room are illuminated by the flames that formed his head, and the wooden floor creaks with every weight applied.

Since he’s a sentient light source, he never really needed any kind of light, so neither the lamps in his house nor the chandelier above his head had light bulbs. The lamps on tables and the lights in the kitchen and bathroom served only as decoration, and the only outside light sources were few and far between, seeing as there was no sun or moon in the underground and only lampposts that lit the streets.

It wasn’t much of an issue for Grillby either, considering he never had visitors. There wasn’t anyone he was exactly close to, or at the very least, comfortable inviting into his home. Grillby didn’t mind, and no one ever mentioned the issue to him, so he wasn’t bothered. They were only customers, just a blip in his day from a swarm of other responsibilities he has.

As he opened the door, he felt the chill of Snowdin waft against his face, the cold air dimming his light by a few. He stood still, waiting for just a moment, and he waited, a second passing, then another, when…

“BLEGH!”

Monster Kid came barreling out of the bush beside his front porch, the kid falling face first into the snow after tripping over a stepping stone on his porch, while Snowy laughed at him from a little distance away.

The kid tears his face away from the snow and leaves an impression of his face on the white ground, looking up to give Snowy a scowl, all while Grillby stood in his doorway as he waited for the little scene to end.

“That’s not funny!” Monster Kid complained to his friend, his voice whiny and high-pitched.

The little monster was a few minutes earlier than usual, though that could’ve been because Grillby had been taking his time getting dressed for the day. He was well aware of the two kids’ plans, how they were attempting to “prank” Grillby. Of course, with Monster Kid’s clumsy tendencies, it fell through, and that left an embarrassed Monster Kid and a laughing Snowy.

He watched the kid silently, waiting for both him and his friend to notice he was standing there, and while he did so, he looked up at the icicles above the three of them; the crystals glistening and hidden by the shadows. The icicles hang on the cave’s ceiling, serving as makeshift stars, and he tilts his head to the other side.

“Your face looks stupid.” Laughed Snowy.

’No, it doesn’t!’ Grillby remarked thoughtlessly, still staring at the icicles that stood motionless.

Someday, just as it’s a bit warmer, those will come down, though today wasn’t that day. Today would never be that day.

Ah, but that’s a pessimistic attitude, isn’t it? He shouldn’t think like that.

“No, it doesn’t!” Cried Mk.

He looked back at the scene that was still playing in front of him. It was like this as well for the past loops; in fact, it was among the first things he noticed about the third loop. However, in the first loop, instead of crashing to the ground, he collided with Grillby’s side instead, knocking both him and the kid into the snow. It was an easily forgettable interaction, but it was what came after that had him intrigued.

No matter if the kid fell on the ground, or if Grillby managed to dodge him, Monster Kid or Snowy would always say the same thing afterward, it doesn’t matter who says it, what happened, or how the situation occurred. It seemed as though they would always say the same thing regardless of what Grillby did to alter the action.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t completely avoid the two, but no matter what Grillby said or how hard he tried to modify the scenario, they would always say the same thing. The other monsters were not exempt from this, even if Grillby cursed a monster out and they’d be angry at him for the entire day—not that he hadn’t done that, that would be unprofessional—they would always go back to the way they were acting, like they were on a script. It’s one of the reasons he suspected this being a prank at first.

Whether he caught Monster Kid before he fell, inquired about his well-being, or dodged Monster Kid, they would always have the same response. It was strange, but there wasn’t much Grillby could do considering his limited knowledge of why his day was even looping.

Grillby shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Mk shifted from where he was sitting after hearing the brief noise, looking up at Grillby with an open mouth expression. They both stare at each other, and after a moment, the younger monster cracks a nervous smile, scrambling to stand; all the while, Snowy’s eyes went between the both of them.

“Hi, Mr. Grillby Umm.” The younger monster stammers out. The lizard monster gives a quick nod while stuttering, and then turns to run, muttering a swift. “Sorry.”

Before Grillby can nod, the child is running back to Snowy, and he watches them leave with an impassive gait soon after, hearing the two of them yell at each other that the one or the other were stupid for trying to prank Grillby.

He could feel his flames trying to extinguish as the cold began to set in, but he stayed motionless, waiting for the little conversation the kids still had to share to finish itself. His hands are behind his back, staring with no indication that they’re aware he’s listening to them.

Just before the two of them turn the corner, he hears a muttered, “Dude, he’s so scary…” Though he isn’t sure who said it, he doesn’t exactly care, either.

It wasn’t that the kids found him truly scary, if that were true, they wouldn’t have been bothering to prank him in the first place. The majority of monsters in Snowdin were well aware of his affinity for the snow, and he’s never hid his love for the snow, either, always saying it’s the main reason he had moved to Snowdin in the first place.

But he had to assume the reason they found him so “scary” is likely because no one could tell what he was thinking, or maybe it’s because he stays silent most of the time? There’s a high chance it’s even a mixture of those things; regardless, most found him a kind of intimidating presence to be around.

His lack of face made it difficult to know what he was thinking, add that with the way he moved when walking or running, and his lack of conversational skills, and it didn’t exactly mix well with a more social crowd. But he served them drinks and food, and provided a safe space for some, and that’s all anyone ever needed him to do for them.

Still motionless, he glanced up at the icicles once more before turning back to the path the children had vanished down. There was a second, five seconds more passing, and, after a minute of staring, he began to move along that path.

The snow crunched beneath his feet, the air humid and prickling his flames. In just four hours, a human will come stumbling into his bar with Sans, and after that, it didn’t matter all too much. Rinse, repeat.

The same customers will come in, he’ll hand them their orders, then the barrier will come down; before long there’s a party that will take up his stock. Rinse, repeat.

See the surface, go back to home, clean up his restaurant after everyone has long since gone home, and then wake back up to see he was still underground. Rinse, repeat.

While for other monsters, the barrier being destroyed would be the best thing to happen to everyone, that this day will forever be remembered in both human and monster history, Grillby couldn’t be sure.

However optimistic everyone is, no matter how good a kid that human is, that wasn’t how reality worked.

Grillby admittedly didn’t know much about human society, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were far more advanced than monsters were. With the very little technology that streamed into the underground from the waste, it was obvious the humans didn’t have a favorable outlook on monsters; villainizing them in their storybooks and erasing all mentions of monsters ever existing in their history books.

That wasn’t to say monsters hadn’t done the same to humans, either, seeing as humans were commonly villainised in their own books. Despite the human, Frisk, having been friendly to everyone and freeing the entire underground, there was still just that slightest animosity towards them that the human kid’s newly formed friend group didn’t seem to realize or care for.

Monsters, even with how optimistic the underground is, would always view humans in a negative light until this generation dies out.

So humans wouldn’t just accept monsters, and after monsters grew their own economy, their own networks, their own diversity and history down in the underground, what would it be like for both races to suddenly integrate that into modern society? What would the leaders or royalty or their own legal force say to that? What would they do?

Grillby didn’t know, not with how the day was looping itself.

On a normal day, Grillby would have been waiting for the King’s announcement, wondering if the monsters would be freed from the underground. However, he was stuck wondering when he would get the answers to those questions due to these loops. But those questions were for later, when he got out of this loop. For now, he’ll concentrate on figuring out a solution to these loops.

The forest was quiet, nothing but trees surrounding him, and very few homes he would pass on occasion. There were very few residents who lived on this side of town, most preferring to live in the center. The monsters were friendly, though much like Grillby, they preferred their solitude.

The path was clean, no dirt or mud that stuck messily to the makeshift pathway to the main town site, with the lampposts spread far from one another, creating a dusk atmosphere. It was a wonder how the lamps were ever manufactured.

The lights were automated for different parts of the year, going dim or during when it was “night,” and with curfew this time of year being at 10pm. From what he knew, that was to emulate the surface’s time schedules. Whether it was for the comfort of the monsters who lived on the surface before, or to help said monsters cope with being underground, Grillby couldn’t be sure.

He walked through the silence, hearing the creeping noises of the town site slowly approaching. There was the chatter of a boisterous voice, along with the soft replies belonging to a monster Grillby couldn’t identify.

It’s a wonder why these monsters chose his bar of all places to throw a party in. If he weren’t in these loops, a party wouldn’t be all that much of an issue for Grillby, but he was stuck in these loops, and with a week having passed, he can’t lie around and wait anymore.

Still though, he’s well aware that closing the bar early would be less than ideal. The monsters should be allowed to celebrate their freedom. Additionally, since this was free money for the foreseeable future, there was always a chance that this specific loop would break. Once the loop broke, he’d have enough cash to pay off the damages acquired and to get him by for the next while.

His current objective was to gather enough resources for the party later and then minimize damages; there wasn’t much he could do to keep himself busy, and it would also greatly assist him in his search for any clues to break out of these loops. Thankfully, preparation and keeping damages minimum shouldn’t be difficult, since the majority of Snowdin’s monsters were respectful enough.

Well, he shouldn’t be so avaricious.

Money in the underground isn’t important. It’s funny, really, that the underground’s populace is as large as a regular city, but once you know a few people, it’s like you know everyone.

So the only reason monsters even had money was just for convenience’s sake, or for the few elder monsters still alive who remember the surface. It wasn’t like everyone needed it, or even wanted money. If the economy were to suddenly take a dip, well, no one would make a fuss about it.

The underground already had a rich history without the need for humans in it, with even a few monsters being remembered throughout history as “heroes.” No doubt the King, the Exiled Queen, the Hammer of Justice, and the Spear of Justice were going to be, or are already, in those books. That goes without mentioning the Judge and likely the human later on.

So, however important money was to humans, no matter how deep their economy ran in their history, it simply just wasn’t important to monsters.

Maybe that was something the King was proud of.

Grillby didn’t care.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he finally approaches the entrance to Snowdin, houses becoming more varied and spread, with few monsters roaming early in the morning. A few waved to him, and he walked by with either a simple glance or a head nod.

Snow trickled from the cave ceiling, and the air was chill with a cold touch. There was light chatter that echoed throughout the forest, the snow that crunched beneath his feet bouncing off the dense trees, as the only sound in close proximity to him were the crackles of the flames that made up his being.

The path way in front of him became expansive before he was met with a flattened trail, snow having been stamped and condensed from years of use.

As the trail became expansive, he passed a pair of rocks and he instinctively looked up to see a pair in matching black hoods. They stood near the entrance of Snowdin, their axes tall and lean by their sides. The gate entrance to Snowdin was open wide, with the few monsters that walked past the gate giving friendly smiles to the Guards who paid little attention to them.

Dogamy and Dogaressa, it would’ve been difficult remembering their names if they weren’t common customers at his restaurant. They weren’t bad people, and he never had much of a problem with the Royal Guard as far as the group being made up mostly of dogs went.

The Royal Guards were courteous enough to remember their manners; loyal to boot as well. Though the Royal Guards were sticklers for the rules, never making a mess of his restaurant after Undyne ordered them to clean up after themselves.

Though…

Grillby’s eyes wandered to the right himself, and he contemplated if he should just take a shortcut through the forest. He’d ruin his pants, but he wouldn’t need to deal with the couple in this loop.

He never had a problem with the couple, that much was true, and he truly did like them, but he didn’t feel like going through the trouble of them sniffing him for any “dangerous weapons.” As if his magic weren’t a weapon itself.

Then again, if he tried to avoid them, they’d only track him down and tackle him into the snow to ‘identify yoursmelf!.’ Cute pun, but he was covered in slobber, and from rolling in the muddy snow, it ruined his outfit.

That wasn’t without mentioning the horrendously long, tedious process of having to identify himself to the Guards that ended up with the rest of the Royal Guards treating themselves to his restaurant as an “apology.”

“Nrraaggghh! What did I tell you two about tackling monsters! That’s unprofessional!” Undyne had berated the two.

Grillby was standing behind Undyne, his flames flickering and his light just a bit dim. His HP had gone down by a few, though he didn’t have the heart to tell any of them, seeing as the two dogs had already looked upset, with their heads bowed and their tails tucked between their tails.

It was a cute sight if Grillby wasn’t covered in slobber stains, and his pants hadn’t been completely soaked from the snow.

From where he stood, he could see his hand prints engraved on the two dogs’ clothes and their fur, with scorch marks over their bodies. The flame elemental doubts he had done enough damage to lower their HP by much, thankfully, though he suspected it would take some time for their fur to grow back to normal again.

“He didn’t identify himself!” Dogaressa defended, rubbing her cheek from where Grillby had burned her. “We didn’t know… we thought he was some crook!”

“Yeah! We told him to tell us who he is! He stayed quiet and tried running away!” Dogamy added, clutching his axe while looking sadly at the floor, pointedly avoiding Grillby’s gaze.

As they spoke to one another, Grillby went to check his HP. 210/176. The damage wasn’t terrible at least, though he would’ve been severely bed ridden had he been in the snow for longer.

Coarse laughter came from behind Grillby, and the fire element snapped out of his thoughts to turn to look at a scruffy looking dog. “My eyesight's shit, but even I know who Grillby is. He’s got a gas smell to him, ‘long with that flaming head of his, ya better remember that.”

What was this guard’s name again? He wanted to say Doggy, but that couldn’t be right. Doggo? He hoped that was correct, seeing as he saw that certain Royal Guard around, often hanging behind buildings or lingering just outside of town near the Ruins.

He watched with mild interest as the cigar shaped like a dog bone whittled down from the deep puff the dog took, the dog’s head tilting up to let the smoke plume from his mouth.

Dogaressa huffed as Doggo did so, placing her elbows on his knees and cupping her chin. “How would we have known that, Doggo? What if he was just some weird smellin’ human.”

“Obviously he ain’t human! Look, he’s got weak arms and no large weapons!” Undyne argued.

Grillby would take offense to that, but he really just wanted to get changed out of his uniform and head to work already. He was already behind by a few hours. He also didn’t feel like speaking to them anymore.

“We know who he is now…” Dogamy responds dejectedly, looking at Grillby who’s staring at the scene with what he hoped to convey annoyance. Though he doubts that, considering his lack of something everyone so commonly has that’s called a ‘face.’ “Do you… need us to drop you off?”

The four waited for him to respond, and when Grillby lacked a response, the silence stretched for an awkward moment.

The quiet went on for too long that Grillby wondered if he should’ve left minutes earlier, when Undyne abruptly spoke up.

“He’s been shocked into silence you dimwits!” Undyne proclaimed, taking hold of Grillby’s arm while speaking. “Come on, quick! Let’s go to his restaurant!”

Undyne had gathered the other Royal Guards while running him to his restaurant, and while he had lamented his peace for the rest of the day, it hadn’t been as taxing as he assumed it would’ve been with the Royal Guards gathered in his restaurant.

They had played a game of cards, ordered a light snack, and even cleared their table after they had finished, giving him their thanks and apologies before heading on their way.

They were good people.

But on the other end, they were noisy.

They hadn’t noticed him yet, and his gaze goes to the right of himself. He still has time to duck through the trees before the couple notices him.

Grillby didn’t have that much of a problem with the Royal Guard, they were common customers. Though after having interacted with these two in particular this past week, all he wanted to do was head to work and go back home, and sleep off this time loop.

Of course, things were never that simple for him, and the two guards—unfortunately—looked in his direction.

He didn’t move towards the couple, letting them approach him first while his hands balled into fists within his pocket. He stared at the couple stalking towards him, tilting his head for a better hear of the slight muttered words that were shared between the two.

“It’s a strong smell.” Muttered Dogamy.

“A strong one, like gasoline.” Dogaressa muttered.

“Make sure.” Dogamy added.

The two stood just below his eye level, and he let his gaze linger with a blank look. Not that they would be able to see his expression if he even had a face to begin with. How he mourns being expressionless sometimes.

“Who are you? Identify yoursmelf!” Dogamy demanded, clenching his axe with a deepening frown.

Dogamy’s other approached Grillby steadfastly, and he let her. He knew better than to avoid the dog couple, not unless he wanted a repeat of that incident when he first met them. Fortunately whenever they, rarely, stumbled into Grillby, they’d give a couple sniffs before letting him go. It was a simple interaction that only lasted a minute.

He feels Dogaressa sniff his cheeks, then his neck, going down to his arms and the base of his neck. She took another deep sniff before she straightened, bounding to her husband’s side in a cutesy manner.

“Sweetie, that’s Grillby!”

Dogamy perked, and he went to sniff Grillby himself, his grin widening.

“How’s it going, Grillby? You getting along well?” The dog instantly questioned, his grin wide and toothy. He doesn’t wait for a response. “You know, it’s weird seeing you walking around this late in the day, usually you’re at your store early! Ruff morning?”

“You know, Grillby, me and the fellas were thinking about dropping by later! We’d be happy to help you with cleaning up! Maybe even clean up your storage room later?” Doggeressa adds the last bit quietly and somewhat snarkily.

He, once again, does not get a chance to respond.

He’s thankful they don’t wait for responses now so he doesn’t have to stand in awkward silence, but that didn’t exactly stop the inquiry about helping with cleaning up his restaurant—more often than not asking to clean the storage to prevent any fire damage to his or nearby buildings, no matter how much Grillby argued that the kitchen and storage were separate rooms—or standing “guard” outside his restaurant while waiting for scraps after Grillby’s finished with work.

While it would’ve been odd for Grillby to be feeding grown adults the scraps of the food left behind, and while he didn’t see the Royal Guard’s often, what with them and him being busy for all hours of the day and the Royal Guards being only his customers, that didn’t mean the Royal Guards weren’t only Royal Guards.

Monsters, much like humans, had the instincts of their counterparts ingrained within them. So much like dogs, most of the Royal Guard tend to appreciate being treated as such.

Even when they were entirely different races, they still acted the same way as a dog would, at least from what he’s seen, seeing as there’s only so few domesticated dogs down in the underground.

So, Grillby treated them like he would a dog. No one’s told him not to if they’ve noticed, and the Royal Guards don’t seem to be bothered by how he treats them since they’ve never brought it up. Sure, there’s a good chance they don’t understand he doesn’t treat them as people, but where’s the harm when they get good food and treats every once in a while, right?

The Royal Guards were the dogs that came by for scraps, they were customers, and as much as the Royal Guards have taken a liking to him, at the end of the day, they were only people he served food to. Scraps, drinks or otherwise.

“We should be letting you go!” Dogamy told him, eyes peeking through his hood to look at the flame who stared back without a single movement.

“Smell ya later, Grillby.” Dogaressa added, chipper, waving to him and lifting her axe from out of the snow.

The two back away from Grillby, making space for him to walk through between them. He looked at Dogamy and nodded, before looking at Dogaressa and loosely waving to her, motions practiced from the seven other times he had repeated that process in the past seven loops.

He moved through the gates, the area lighting up and opening to a little town with Christmas lights and lamp posts strewn about.

There was a giant tree in the center of the place, and a stone path stretched far beyond where Grillby could see. Snow dripped from the ceiling, creating a snow flake effect, and he pushed through the small crowd that had gathered just some feet away from the gates where the Royal Guards stood.

“What a handsome couple,” a tan bunny spoke softly, a little bunny in her arms that shifted to look at Grillby, their little expression pinched from being squished in the tan bunny’s arms.

“How long have they been together for? About 13 years, innit?” Another monster questioned, their voice slightly muffled by their clam head.

“It’s gotta be 14, at least. I think they got together after their parents, y’know…” The tan bunny had lowered her voice to a mutter. “had fallen down and their dust just never showed up again?”

Grillby paused mid-movement, peering his head over his shoulder to listen to the two speak to one another. His gaze turns to the couple, and he could feel the flames on his body flutter just the slightest bit in thought.

“It’s sad.” The bunny said, continuing to speak in a low tone. “I don’t think the Royal Scientist ever got back to them, either.”

Right, the amalgamates. What a twisted thing to call them.

Grillby wasn’t sure where the Royal Scientist was hiding their parents, he knew that those… things, as distasteful as it is to call them that, were somewhere near the scientists labs. Though tracking them down would be difficult to near impossible. It would take time and patience and a lot of lying and stealth that Grillby neither had the time, skills, nor resources to do so.

And truthfully? As terrible as it sounded, Grillby felt the amalgamations families should lay them to rest after getting them back; their parents don’t deserve to live that way, being forced into conjoinment with one another and acting as mindless creatures with brain trauma that renders them like animals.

They were living things, things with memories and a past and relationships and people that Grillby spoke to during some point in his career. He wasn’t close with any of them, that much was true, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t leave a sour taste in his mouth seeing his once neighbors act like… that.

Slobbering, animalistic creatures with only shared thoughts and no voice to speak for them that wasn’t a mutation of several others.

It also wasn’t any of his business, either.

At the end of the day, those monsters will appear because of the humans doing, and all Grillby can do is watch and wait, and see what happens to those “amalgamations.” If this whole “waiting out the time loop” thing works.

Grillby turns back around and makes his way to his restaurant, ignoring the smell of dogs that seemed to linger in his clothes.

There wasn’t anything different or thrilling from the other days he went to work.

Everyone still had the same things to say, the same things to ask, the same music they wanted to listen to, the same seats they sat at, and the same TV shows that played. Although, that last part never differed even outside of the loops, seeing as there were only so few television programs available that weren’t just garbage noise or owned by MTT.

The glass squeaks as Grillby washes the cylinder cup, gently rubbing the rim so that it wouldn’t scratch the delicate surface or leave a smear that would be difficult to get out without washing it again. 

But yet…

No matter how often he washed the cups, made the same orders, poured the same drinks, or watched as the human dove and twirled on MTT’s “final” show, knowing the exact order of how the human will move, predicting exactly what the outcome will be.

He’s well aware he can’t keep up this facade any longer.

Well aware that he can’t keep doing the same thing when nothing will change.

But what can he do? He doesn’t have any hints, no purpose, no reason to leave his bar and search for clues, not unless he went against his own policy and skipped out on work. Though, having to leave his bar unattended for so long left a sour taste in his mouth.

For as long as Grillby has owned his bar, he’s never been absent from work unless necessary, and seeing as the flame element had no friends or family to worry for, failing to arrive for work is rare. That isn’t to say Grillby’s never been “sick” before.

Monsters don’t get sick in the way humans have their illnesses; majority of the time, monsters fall ill due to the nature of their being. He first fell ill as a result of the weather change after moving to Snowdin, that being the first time he had closed his bar after operating it for some months.

He had ended up harming himself from the cold until he had to rest unless he wanted to risk dying. It was the first time he ever felt like it was a mistake indulging in his desires for once—his desire to see the snow, to sit in the weather and enjoy the cool air that seemed to have it out for Grillby, trying to suffocate his flames.

The same applies to the other occasions when he had to shut down the bar for the day. He’s heard someone try to speak to him about living in Snowdin, heard many questions aimed towards him for why he won’t live in Hotland, though he could tell his answer was never satisfying.

“I like the snow.”

He enjoys the cold, the snow, the way it sticks to trees, and the way it glows in the light from the lamps. He could list a lot of reasons why he enjoys the snow, but there aren't many words to express how much he loves it.

But they kept asking, and Grillby had only learned to ignore them. Thankfully, those occurrences where Grillby grew “ill” had only become less frequent as Grillby remained in Snowdin, ultimately rare after so many years of residing in Snowdin.

But recently, when the barrier was destroyed and monsterkind was set free, he left his bar unattended for the first time after years.

“—This is the beginning of a bright new future…”

Grillby’s soul sank to the bottom of his stomach, and he stared over the cliff with a sense of weariness. The sun hung over the tree line, a city that had noises echoing throughout the forest heard from where he stood, and he felt his breathing increase.

Three times he’s seen the surface, the first and second day, and the third day, which is today.

The first time he had seen the surface it was soon after the news had spread, and most monsters had gone to the surface to view everything. He wasn’t sure of the young man’s name, though he remembered the way the man looked—a blue bunny. He sold ice creams if he remembered correctly, a positive outlook with terrible marketing skills.

The rabbit came running through the underground, yelling that the barrier had been destroyed, as most monsters ran to the barrier with a type of baffled curiosity. Grillby had luckily been the first few to view the surface.

It was like his breath was taken away from him when he laid his gaze on the sunset. It was so beautiful, so hauntingly gorgeous and vast that Grillby had wondered if what he was seeing was a dream. He felt like the moment could last forever, that the view could be something infinite.

The air tasted so wonderful, it wasn’t stifling his fire, and for the first time, Grillby had learned to breathe.

He felt so wonderful, so consumed by the surface air, so unbound by the caves supply of used oxygen that rolled through the underground that he had to wonder if this, standing outside, free, was something that could last forever.

The second time the underground was freed, he was hesitant, curious. He still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that everything the day before might’ve been a dream. An accurate dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Yet there was the surface, accessible, but so far from touch. Its air was as free as the first time. He felt like his breath, instead of being taken, was punched through him. He felt so devoid of the first taste of being able to breathe that he had to ask if he’ll ever breathe again.

The third time, he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t want to believe it. He was in denial. He didn’t want to think that the day was looping itself, didn’t want to believe that here, the first time he hasn’t had to actively keep his flames lit so he doesn’t die, the first time he finally felt like he could breathe, was only for a moment, only for a few hours if he was allowed it.

He stared at the vast space, and it was then that a voice broke through his increasing dread, his increasing pain and anguish and hatred and anger and denial. Because all of this can’t be true, that this, his air, his freedom, his life was ending and starting and restarting.

“Grillby! What’re you doing here?” Papyrus questions.

Too many eyes turn to look at him, and his voice is lost in his throat, head turning to look at each of the monsters. The King, a goat woman, Undyne, Sans, the human, the Royal Scientist, and just one too many people.

He stares, he isn’t sure how long he stares, but it’s long enough for Sans to give him an odd look before huffing and nodding at the sun behind him. He’s aware it’s the sun, has known for the longest time that the sun provides comfort and that Grillby will never be able to fully enjoy the comfort of the sun.

“Looks like we found your long lost brother.” Sans jokes.

“Brother? I didn’t know the sun was your brother!” Papyrus excitedly gasps while saying so, grinning from ear to ear.

Everyone was too joyful for the dread that hummed in Grillby, fingers trembling, and he knew if he had an expression to share, he was sure he’d be horrified, with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“Grillby?”

He wasn’t sure who spoke, it must’ve been Undyne or Sans, but he nods and straightens, turning around to move back to his restaurant and just forget.

“Must’ve been too in awe!” He heard Papyrus say before he disappeared back into the King’s throne room.

Seven days have already passed, four days since he last saw the surface. He knew he shouldn’t be so held up on his surface, not when he’s already dealing with these loops, but he was well aware of what would happen if he bottled his feelings.

He wouldn't be thrilled to emerge from his mental state to a burned-out house or bar; suppressing his emotions would only lead to him suffering. Letting his emotions run amok would also mean losing control of his magic. He’d rather deal with his emotions before he tries to see the surface again.

So, currently, he was just trying to pass the time by thinking of ways to deal with these loops. The day only lasts so long until he inevitably needs to sleep again.

As Grillby lays the burger down in front of toothy plant monster, Big Mouth if he remembers correctly—

“Wow! How’d you know I wanted this? Oh, right! I wanted to ask if you caught that new Mettaton episode?”

—he moves back to his counter soon after without giving a reply to the client, and if he had a face, he was well aware he would have a deepening frown, contemplating.

Just what can he do? Heading to the Royal Scientist is his last resort, telling anyone about his situation would be difficult without some trial and error, there wasn't anyone he was necessarily close with either, and attempting to change the now growing familiar routine would be just as difficult, if not more, then telling someone about this issue.

If he were to tell someone, he would need to prove himself by predicting situations that otherwise shouldn’t occur, that’s not without mentioning that he would need to actually speak to someone, and that was already difficult enough without the added pressure of these loops.

If he attempts to change the routine, the monsters will just sync back into their ready-made scripts. That toothy plant monster and those children from earlier being prime examples. Trying to change the inevitable would be like changing the way water streams down a river, possible, but incredibly difficult.

Unless…

Not unless he tries to change his own routine?

Looking up at the rapidly filling bar, the clock barely passing one in the afternoon, his gaze flicked to each individual monster with increasing trepidation. Every single monster here acted as if they were playing to a script, immediately diverting back to their roles if Grillby attempted to change anything.

Except Grillby himself.

He hasn’t followed a script, hasn’t been following a script since that first loop. Sure, he’s played along the first seven days, but that’s about it. He’s been dressing in different clothes, consuming different foods, letting himself indulge with mindless thoughts and has seen the surface more times than the average monster. Even if those times are limited to the first three days.

Grillby isn’t following a script.

What he’s supposed to do with that, he isn’t sure.

But he’ll be damned to not try anything.

“See you later, Grillby!”

The bell atop the door rang as it clattered shut, and Grillby stared at the last of the customers exiting his restaurant. He waits for a few more seconds, waiting just in case for someone else to enter his bar. Some minutes pass, and when nobody does, he shuffles away from the counter he’d been cleaning for the seventh time that week.

Grillby hastily makes his way to the fire exit door and enters the room before the next patron enters his bar, finally left alone during the passive hours of the day, right before the announcement that the barrier will be destroyed.

Five pm, that’s the time he usually has to himself during this part of the day, he needs to remember that for the next loop. He repeats those words to himself as he steadfastly heads towards the shelf where a clipboard was, moving without much thought, feet fast, as he tears away a piece of paper from the list of supplies he’ll need to buy in an hour.

He was well aware of the celebration being thrown later, and while on any other day he would be concerned with the condition of his bar, he needed to write down his ideas for how to disturb this growingly familiar routine of the loops. He was becoming increasingly desperate now that a week had passed, antsy.

Taking hold of a nearby pen with little thought if he damaged the ink cartridge with his heat, he stood, hunched over the shelf to write each idea down that he held onto all day. His pen scribbled across the paper, writing each idea down like every one of his desperation was seeping into the words. Maybe it was, but he couldn’t care.

LOOP #7
Listen into customers’ conversations
Be exceptionally kind to customers
Stay awake
Directly speak to customers
Be rude to customers
Be late to work
Explore Snowdin for clues

Waiting

The ideas on the paper weren’t good ideas, but they were ideas nonetheless, and any idea to get him out of these loops is worth the note. He needed to keep hoping he’ll escape this loop, because hope, as hard as it was to come across nowadays, is the only thing that will keep him going.

Including patience.

“The barrier’s been destroyed!”

His pen halts mid-action, hovering above the paper he’d torn from the list of supplies. He raises his head a little, wondering if a patron will enter his pub at this time. He stands motionless for an instant, listening for the bell's telltale sign. When he hears nothing but the enthusiastic roaring and joyful shouting coming from outside, he turns back to the paper.

These thoughts were as good as anything else he could think of for the time being, but he'll organize them better in the upcoming loops. While he tests out one of his ideas—most significantly, staying awake—he can listen in on customers' discussions over the next few days.

It wasn’t anything significant, but it was better than sitting around waiting for this to solve itself.

With a clear goal in mind, folds the paper and shoves it in his pants pocket. Slowly, as he sighs, steam plumes softly from the flames atop his head. After the party, he’ll go home and stay awake, and after that, he hopes these loops will have been broken by tomorrow.

<p>Hopefully.</p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p><hr>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p><b><em>LOOP #7</em></b></p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Today marks the 7th day I’ve been stuck in this loop.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Seven times I’ve seen the surface.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Seven times I’ve seen the human.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>And seven times I’ve served the same customers.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Groaning loud, I lean back in my seat in heavy exasperation. My mind loops through the endless amount of inevitable's, the endless amount of parallels from other days as I stare up at my too vulnerable ceiling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>My ceiling, my home, which could easily come tumbling down if I were to be loose with my magic.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>An entire week. It was starting to become clear that I couldn’t keep doing the same thing. But what else could I do besides wait?</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>And after two more loops…</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>I got an idea: What if I just tried staying awake?</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>I figured that maybe staying awake might stop these loops.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>But of course, with luck like mine, it wasn’t that easy.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>At around 12AM, reading a book that I might as well have read plenty of times, I felt something odd. I felt like my center of gravity shifted, my head bowing in front of myself like there was something holding my body down. An invisible weight.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>I experienced a sense of vertigo, like I was falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p align="right">Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p align="center">Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p align="right">Falling.</p>

<p align="right"><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p align="right">Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Falling.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p align="center">Falling.</p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p><hr>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p>At least try to imagine something dark standing in the void, it’s waiting, and looking, and peering through the darkness as stories and legends and whispers of something else pass it by, it watches patiently with knowing, maybe sympathetic or empathetic eyes like it’s aware.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Now I want you to imagine a desperate, or at least he’s getting to be desperate, man proceeding through his day three times with little to no changes in his new life. He goes through the day three times individually. He stops, thinks, then proceeds without saying much.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Please imagine him sleeping.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Again.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>He wakes up.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Again.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>He wakes up.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Again.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>He wakes up.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Are you still following me? Don’t fall asleep, I’m still talking.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Imagine this man who keeps sleeping and waking up, and waking up and sleeping, and forgetting that he even woke up in the first place, remembering every detail of sleeping before he woke up and forgetting that sleep as well.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>He keeps trying, it never works, it rarely works. This idea is a waste of time, it’s useless to keep trying, but he keeps trying anyway because he has nothing better to do <em>but</em> try.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>It never works.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>Please follow along, okay?</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>For those three days, every person around him grows more worried. They ask and question why this man is being so distant, why he isn’t serving them the correct food and drinks they ordered, why he’s so in his head, so antsy.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>They ask these questions consistently for the three days, and even if they don’t remember these days, they only grow with more worry, and isn’t that fascinating? How they remember and react and try to comfort a man they have no recollection of?</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>This man doesn’t notice that. If he does, he doesn’t care for it because every single one of these truths could be lies, could be lies he can’t afford to not trust. No, he keeps trying because hope is something he can’t afford to lose.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>So he tries.</p>

<p><br />

<br />

<br />

</p>

<p>And then he wakes up.</p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p><hr>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

<p> </p>

Grillby shifts awake, already preparing to write down the number of loops he’s been through. He sits up, fully awake without shaking off the rest of the sleep that hung over his head, thoughtless.

He moves to the desk where a pen and paper sit innocently in the drawer, taking them out without any urgency. Like clockwise, carefully, he writes each of his goals and the number of loops he’s been through, including an update. His fingers move automatically, scratching the surface of the paper.

LOOP #10
Listen into customers’ conversations
Be kind to customers
Be rude to customers
Directly speak to customers
Be late to work
Explore Snowdin for clues

Stay awake
Waiting

He allows himself to breathe and unwind in the face of the desperation gnawing at his mind, each thought telling him that his efforts are in vain, that trying to escape these loops is impossible. He’s well aware it’s only him getting overwhelmed, and he settles his nerves.

Staying awake doesn’t work, only losing consciousness at 2 AM on the dot. Trying to fight his sleep only increases his nausea, and he doesn’t let himself groan at this failure. It was just one of many ideas, and he was confident that he would eventually discover a clue—or at the very least, a way out of this cycle.

He’ll escape. He has to.