Chapter Text
Something is different this time. You are not yourself. You are swimming through memories that are precious, held close. But they are not yours. They are his .
Places you’ve never seen before dance before your eyes. Vast, green meadows and hills with grass so long that each gust of wind paints waves over the land before you. Cows with shaggy coats and long horns peacefully graze as you walk by. One of them approaches you, its soft pink snout sniffing curiously under the thick curtain of brown hair that covers most of its face. You hesitate before slowly reaching out a hand of flame to pet it. It leans into your hand, huffing out a deep throated ‘ moo ’.
You laugh with soft joy and it comes out in his wispy crackle of flame.
You stand before a city nestled against the ocean. It is old, older than anything you’ve ever seen before. Stone and living trees spun together in wondrous harmony, with bright paints and flags adorning many of the higher towers. Even from outside the gates, you can see the countless monsters that swarm about inside. You hear their voices, some bright with joy, others heavy with unbearable sorrow.
You feel a touch on your arm. You turn to look but there is no one there.
When you turn back, you are before a great bonfire. Figures dance before it, tapping feet, paws, tentacles or whatever they can to distinctly celtic music of drums, flutes and strings. You sit on a log at the edge of the celebrations. There is…sadness here. A mourning that bleeds into the celebration. So many lost, but so many saved. So many survived the war and continue to live and dance and press on. Your Soul swells with the bittersweet sensation of knowing that more should be here, but proud of those who have carried on.
Your attention is called. You look up. There is no one there. But you extend your hand regardless and it is met by an achingly familiar touch. You are pulled to the fire, bidden to dance, so you dance with the one who is not there. You dance and you breathlessly laugh and lose yourself in the music. Your eyes close, soaking in the feeling.
When you open them, you are in a place that you’ve never seen in person before but recognize immediately.
It’s Grillby’s restaurant. Not the one you know, but the one that he and so many others called home in the underground. It’s smaller than the one on the surface but almost cozier. Every seat is filled, the chatter of voices an accent to the jazz that plays from the jukebox in the corner. A gaggle of little kids rush the bartop, a mixture of various monster types. They wave a bag of marshmallows at you. You take the offered bag, extracting one of the sticky treats. It almost immediately softens under your touch. It takes the barest thought to direct a rush of heat into your hand, the sensation like crackling sparks running down your arm. The marshmallow is instantly toasted, to the great glee of the monster children.
A gentle bell rings at the door, signaling the arrival of more monsters. You lift your head from the now chanting group of children to see Sans and Papyrus at the door. Sans waves, his usual cheeky grin on his skull, while Papyrus pouts dramatically. Your fire brightens, and you raise your hand in greeting.
But…
Someone is…missing?
Knock.
Awareness creeps in. Cold. Icy.
Knock.
Ah, you’re dreaming, aren’t you?
Knock.
You are yourself again, standing in front of the bar. You glance back, watching as Grillby returns his attention to the marshmallows, toasting them in his palm and handing them out one at a time. Sans and Papyrus walk past you, unaware that you’re standing there.
Knock.
The front door is open. The knocking comes from beyond it. You are moving, not quite walking, not quite flying. The feeling of cold only grows as you approach the open door and then-
You are in a forest. Every inch is covered in thick snow. Thick pines groan under the weight of it, their bright green needles poking out like a skirt beneath a white bodice. Up above is a distant cavern ceiling, glistening with streaks of ice. You look behind, only to find more forest. Grillby’s has vanished and you are alone.
Knock.
To your left. Your head turns to it and there, there it goes again, louder now. Right. Time to get some answers. You stride off towards the sound, barely noticing that your body feels more tangible now. You’re too focused on following the sound because you’re getting really tired of the constant knocking without ever finding out who…or what is behind it.
You have to know. You have to find out.
The knocking grows louder, louder, faster as you push through brush and snow and you’re close now, you’re almost-
You break out into a clearing. It’s quiet here, snow glistening from the dim light that falls from high above. Dead center of the clearing, completely out of place, is a payphone.
Confusion makes you pause. What is this, a knock off Narnia? What the heck is something like that doing out here in the middle of the woods?
Well, it is a dream. Suppose it’s not the weirdest thing it could be.
You approach it slowly. It’s old and boxy, set on a thick metal pole buried in the snow. There’s no writing on it, though a broken chain suggests maybe there used to be a phone book or something. The phone itself is black and almost looks like it’s covered in oil or…or something gooey-
It rings. You jump. It’s not a normal ring. Instead, it blares with sharp knocking. You wouldn’t have realized it was coming from the phone if you weren’t standing right next to it. Again, a hollow knocking sounds out as you continue to stare at it. Knock, knock, knock.
You reach out. You have to. The phone is slick in your hand and icy cold. The knocking cuts off as you lift it from the receiver. Slowly, you bring it to your ear.
“Hello?”
There is nothing but static in your ear for a long moment. Then. A single, quiet inhale.
Everything is gone. The woods, the snow, the glistening cavern ceiling. Even the phone in your hand, and the box in the clearing has vanished. There is no floor, no walls, there is nothing but white . Not only that, there is no sound. Even the sound of your breath, your pulse and your very heartbeat are muted, as if instinctively afraid to break the quiet.
You look down at yourself. Hands, legs, arms. All of you seems to be in one piece at least. You should probably be scared, shouldn’t you? You’re definitely unsettled, yes, but not scared. This is just a dream after all.
“Hello?” you try to call. The sheer arrival of your voice seems to make the entire space around you tremble. Which is the weirdest sensation because there’s nothing to tremble except you and-
A door. You…how did you miss it? It’s literally just standing right there, it…
You know this door. You’ve seen it in your dreams and…the hallway! The hallway behind the restaurant, when you went to get those cans of flour. How did you forget about that? Why can’t you remember what was behind it?
Why is a cold sweat suddenly running down your spine?
The door is the same as before. Plain. Gray. Standing starkly against the white nothing all around it. You take a hesitant step forward, then another until you are close enough to the door to reach out and touch it. The handle, simple and plain as before, is right there, waiting for you to grab it.
Now fear starts to creep in. Now something inside your gut is trembling and locking your limbs in place. You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to open this door. You don’t know how you know that, but it rings in your head all the same.
There’s something you were never meant to see behind it.
But even so. You have to open it. You have to know. Because underneath the fear is a certainty that something worse will happen if you don’t.
You grab the handle, twist it, and pull the door open. It opens easily. Soundlessly.
You thought this place, this open whiteness was nothing. But what meets you beyond the door is more than simply nothing. It is dark. Darker than the blackest night. It is not simply the lack of anything, it is far more than that.
It is a void. There is nothing inside because there cannot be anything inside and yet it contains everything that has been or ever will be. You stand on the very edge of infinite darkness. Your vision begins to swim. Like light drawn into a black hole, you are inescapably pulled into it, your body tilting limply forward-
You’re shoved back. Hard enough that you trip over your own useless feet and fall hard against the not-floor of the white place. Whatever spell had trapped you shatters, and you gasp, scrambling away from the open door.
There’s something inside. You can’t see it, there is still nothing but that horrible, empty dark, but there is a presence there all the same. You get to your feet, not taking your eyes off the darkness. With your attention focused, you can sense an energy. It’s…magic, you think, but not like anything you’ve sensed before. It’s… huge . That’s the only way to describe it. Massive and shattered, glistening shards of broken glass and glitching code and terrible frozen loneliness and…
It’s staring at you.
This is who has been knocking. And you went and yanked the door wide open.
Goosebumps erupt over your skin. You grit your teeth against the shaking that threatens to overtake your limbs. Well. You wanted answers. And now you’re going to make sure you get them, one way or another. Besides, since it saved you from falling into the dark, it can’t be that bad.
Right?
“Who are you?”
The void inside the gray door sucks your voice into its depths. The Thing that stares at you does not answer. You don’t know if it can.
You very, very carefully approach the door, stopping just far enough away that you won’t get pulled in again. As much as you’d like to think this Thing would stop you from falling down into the dark again, you can’t count on that. “You’ve been trying to reach me for a long time, haven’t you? All the knocking. That door in Grillby’s hallway-”
The space around you shudders at his name.
That makes you pause. You frown. “Grillby?” you venture to ask.
Another shake, and a deep, structural groaning. The sound scrapes over your teeth like ice cold water. Duly noted. “Okay, okay! Just…just tell me what you want. You’ve been knocking and I’ve answered. So now, I need answers. What do you want from me? Why am I here?”
The Thing That Is Staring still doesn’t answer. But finally, something changes. The surface of the darkness inside the door ripples with soft movement, like a stone thrown into a pitch black lake. From the dead center of that space, something emerges. It’s a white hand, dripping, cracked and punched through with a perfect hole. It’s got its fingers wrapped around something. The hand continues to come forward, bringing with it a black mass that somehow drips even more. The drops that splatter against the white floor below hiss like T.V. static. The arm-like appendage undulates in a way to suggest gravity has no hold on it. A contradiction that makes your eyes ache to behold.
It opens its fist, too long and far too slim fingers slowly extending out. Resting on its palm is a very familiar pair of glasses. Grillby’s glasses? You stare at them, then back up at the darkness.
The hand doesn’t move aside from the fluid-like wiggling of the mass behind it.
With the feeling of one sticking their hand into a mysterious hole in a cave wall that screams ‘DANGER, DO NOT THE THING’, you slowly reach forward and delicately grab the glasses by the nose bridge. The hand retracts back into the void and you examine the glasses. Yeah, these are definitely Grillby’s, down to the slightly warped metal edges and chips from years of use. You don’t get it. What is this supposed to mean?
“I don’t understand, what does this-”
Something’s changed. Lungs tightening, a terrible, cold rush of needles up your spine. Senses alight, screaming get away, get away! Your head jerks up.
It might have been a skull once. It might have been a living creature once. But what sits amid the absolute darkness of the void is so warped that you are barely even able to comprehend it at all. Bone has melted, thick strands caught on sharp edges of fractured sockets. Thick cracks bleed darkness that oozes and stains the pristine white surface of its face. The mouth of the thing is wide, smiling but the top part has far too many teeth. Three layers at least that burst out from too far up, overlapping and crushed together. Each is different, a mixture of sharpened fangs, blunt molar and shards of broken enamel. The bottom has almost no teeth at all and more black goop fills the space within its smile.
It has only one eye. Both sockets are bursting with the same pitch black substance, but one droops heavily, bleeding dark tears. A twisting crack snaps up from the broken socket, the surrounding area of bone warped and gnarled like fingers pulled it in as easily as warm clay. The other socket is wide open and within it is a glowing white pupil. It’s staring right at you.
An eternity passes in a single moment in which the thing does not move and you do not breathe.
Its smile stretches, impossibly, wider. It pulls itself slightly forward, revealing a neck of twisting tendons made of more stretching, liquid bone. Tangled within the mess of bone are countless black…wires? Blinking with a range of colored lights, thick and thin, it creates a sort of collar around the neck of the creature. Several of them seem to protrude from the back of its head.
It’s not just its neck though. The more it forces itself out of the darkness, the more you can see. Black wires wrap around its dripping form like chains. They’re pulled taut, though that doesn’t stop the Thing from straining against them.
That white hand emerges once again. It curls into a fist, fingers turned into itself and it moves in a slow circle just above what might be its chest.
Then The Thing That Stares speaks.
“👎︎⚐︎☠︎🕯︎❄︎ ☞︎⚐︎☼︎☝︎☜︎❄︎”
You scream, because it is the only thing you can do as your head rips apart under the force of words that you cannot understand, cannot comprehend. Its voice is a hundred pleas, a thousand screams and a million lines of code streamed into your mind. It’s an order, two single words burned into your mind. Reality shatters around you and you fall amidst shards of glass and glitching edges of the world and still that voice rings it’s command over and over and over and over-
“-me on, wake up, it’s okay, wake up.”
Consciousness slams into you, your entire body jerking out of the dead weight of frozen sleep. Panic keeps your vision blurry, limbs thrashing weakly.
“Easy, easy , I’m right here.” Grillby’s warmth floods over you, his magic gently offering a source of grounding that you cling to. You’ve curled up on your side and you desperately grasp at Grillby’s hands and press them against your forehead. Your old t-shirt is soaked in sweat, clammy and uncomfortable but it does help pull you out of the dregs of the nightmare.
“Shore.” Grillby says your name calmly. Carefully. “Shore, I’m sorry but I need you to calm down, okay?”
You blink owlishly at him, processing as your brows furrow. Is he seriously telling you to calm down right now?!
“ Easy ,” he breathes again. Then he slowly turns his head to look upwards. You follow his stare.
Water. The space above you is utterly filled with it. Wildly thrashing, glistening in the light of Grillby’s dimmed fire. There must be gallons upon gallons worth directly above your head, all of it bubbling under the panicked thrall of your magic. It’s easily the largest amount of water you’ve ever been able to summon in one go.
A single drop falls. You hear it sizzle when it hits Grillby’s cheek. You feel him flinch.
Instinct takes over. Your body simply moves, rolling over to cover as much of Grillby as you possibly can, wrapping your arms around his head. A wordless yell tears from your throat, carrying with it the order of ‘Disperse !’
The water explodes from the inside out. You hear glass shattering, the rattling of furniture. Thick impacts then…heavy dripping.
Not a single drop lands on you, or more importantly, Grillby.
Keeping his head safely wrapped in your arms, you look around, eyes wildly darting around the room as you take in the damage. Everything aside from your immediate space is soaking wet. Water pours down the walls in thick rivulets, pooling all over the polished floor and rug. Most of the glass from the window seems to have been blown outwards and you can only pray that the shards didn’t fall on anyone walking by.
Holy crap you broke a window . With water .
Grillby’s shakey release of breath sparks against your chest. “That was a hell of a wake up.”
Shit. Oh shit! Every nerve in your body tingles with pins and needles, making your body shake as you release Grillby and allow him to sit up. “I-I-I’m so sorry, I don’t- I didn’t mean- I don’t know what happened, I just- are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Grillby reaches out, pulling your hands away from your arms. Oh. You hadn’t realized you’d been gripping them nearly hard enough to pierce your skin. “I’m alright, I’m not hurt. Are you okay?”
Your eyes dart around the room again. “I broke the window, I’m so sorry, I was-it was an accident .”
“I know that,” he soothes.
“I…are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Shore, look at me. Follow what I say.”
It’s hard but you bring your eyes back to him.
“Check me for injuries,” he instructs, guiding your hands to the places he names. “Hands. Arms. Face.”
Hands. Untouched. Arms. Glowing. Face. Soft and bright. He’s okay. He’s really okay. Some of the panic fades, leaving you dizzy from the heady rush of adrenaline leaving your system.
“There you go,” he praises softly. “Better?”
You nod. Swallow a few times. “Yeah. Okay. Okay, I’ll…I’ll go clean this up.”
“Nope.” His hands drop to your waist, pulling you easily back to him. You’re still partially straddled across his legs from shielding him so you find yourself quite trapped when he links his hands together at the small of your back. “It’s just water; it can wait.”
You resist for a moment before letting yourself droop against him. “You say that like water isn’t acidic to you,” you mutter.
“I would’ve been fine.”
“Liar.” You shift a little to press your forehead against his shoulder. You could’ve really hurt him. You could’ve put him out entirely, without even waking up. It’s such a sickening thought that to even brush against the possibility makes your stomach churn. “Is this what it’s like for you? Just to be around me?” you whisper.
“...It used to be. Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.”
He rests his cheek against your head. “We cannot help our natures. You accepted the risk of being burnt. I accept the risk of getting wet. Besides, I am tough enough to endure a splash or two.”
You huff dryly. “That’s like me saying I’m tough enough to endure a few third degree burns.”
“That’s not remotely the same thing.”
“A handful of broken bones?”
“No.”
“Oh, how about a few dozen-”
“Was it the knocking again?”
His question makes your teasing stop short. You lift your head. “How did you know?”
Flame snaps. “Call it a hunch. And you kept calling out. ‘Who are you?’ mostly. Then you started thrashing and your magic went haywire.” He makes a stirring motion with one finger. “The water came when I tried to shake you awake.”
You glance down at the soaked floor. An unconscious fight response maybe? Your mouth thins. “It was a door. And I opened it.”
“What was behind it?”
“I…It was just. Nothing . Nothing at all until it was something .” It’s hard to remember, exactly. You haven’t forgotten, more like your mind simply refuses to acknowledge what you saw. The memory is warped, almost glitched, but you do remember enough to cause goosebumps to spring over your arms. “It was falling apart and it had too many teeth and wires were poking out-”
He looks a little lost so you stop and sigh.
“I don’t know how to explain it exactly. It was some sort of goopy monster…thing. It handed me your glasses.”
He frowns. Glances over at the side table where his glasses sit folded. “Why?”
“That’s what I tried to ask. The only thing it said was…was....”
‘Don’t Forget.’
Wait. How do you know that? It didn’t speak , it didn’t use any sort of human words at all, it was just noise so why does your mind throb with the order? Why can’t you get the noise out of your head, it hurts -
A hand on your cheek. You flinch.
“Stay with me, love.” It’s a hushed whisper, careful. “Use me. Ground yourself.”
You put your hand on top of his, breathing in his smell, the silky touch of his fire. The bond between you that thrums under your closeness. “Sorry.”
He stays quiet until your breathing is under control again. His thumb swipes back and forth over your cheek in a soothing motion. “I think you should speak to someone about this. A dream or two is a coincidence but this has gone far beyond that.”
“You think it’s more than a dream?”
His mouth goes thin. “It has to be. The fact that this knocking started the first time we connected on an intimate level and keeps happening the further we go is proof enough. I just don’t know what it could be. Normally I would ask Gerson but…” He trails off. Sighs. “Maybe Asgore can help. Or at least point us in the right direction.”
You groan loudly, letting your head flop down. You don’t want another problem to deal with right now, your plate is more than filled. Maybe if you ignore this one, it’ll go away. “I…it has to just be a coincidence. Or my mind just…processing magic and Soul stuff, right?”
He clicks his tongue. “I really, really doubt it. But even if it is, it’s upsetting you. So we need to find a solution. For-”
A single shard of glass left in the window loses the fight against gravity and falls to the ground, cracking sharply. It makes both of you jump.
“...for both our sakes,” Grillby finishes, flickering pale green for a moment.
“Yeah, okay,” you agree with a strained croak.
~~~~~~
Grillby makes you wait to get out of bed until he’s absolutely sure you’ve calmed down. Even then, he tries to shoo you out to the living room while he cleans up the mess, which you absolutely put your foot down to. You made the mess. You’ll clean it up. And, as you point out, the floor is too wet for his bare feet so he’s stuck until you relent in your teasing and fetch his shoes. Fortunately, he’s stocked up on towels, more than you could ever need as the only one who actually showers but it comes in handy soaking up the thicker puddles while Grillby goes around the room as a living furnace, steaming away the moisture left on the walls. He collects the broken glass from the floor as well as from outside and when he returns, he cups the shards in his hands and stokes his heat up until the solid glass melts into a glowing, goopy mass. He shapes it like putty, stretching and molding and carefully places it into the windowsill. It’s actually pretty cool to watch.
Once the water is cleaned up to an acceptable level, he pushes you to the bathroom to shower while he prepares breakfast. It’s when the door closes behind you that you let out a deep, shuddering breath. Your nerves have calmed, but physically, you still feel all wound up. Which, now that you think about it, is kind of odd. Normally after a really intense training session, your entire body aches from the magical drain and the effort of controlling the water around you. You should be utterly exhausted. That amount, and without a clear source, should’ve left you too weak to move.
Instead, you feel refreshed. Strong. Magical energy buzzes under your skin, almost to an uncomfortable level. Frowning, you turn the shower on and watch the water sputter then blast from the faucet. Hmm. You want to try something.
You barely have to form the thought of binding magical energy to the water cascading from the showerhead. It snaps to attention, easily attaching to the individual molecules of each drop. Like food coloring dropped in a glass of water, your magic spreads easily, bleeding into the continued rush of cascading drops. More and more, it gathers and you naturally direct it into a ball. It shimmers purple, your magic vastly more calm compared to the way it thrashed before.
Back to normal then. Or at least, it’s not subconsciously gathering without your knowledge, pulling water from who knows where directly above the one person who really, really cannot afford to get doused.
Where did that water in Grillby’s room come from? Given that you’re feeling perfectly fine, you doubt that it was magic created directly from your power. Effort of creating something out of nothing versus using what’s already there and all that. Maybe you pulled it from the air? You have been working on that, though it’s something you’re still struggling with because unlike the obvious location of water in say, the ocean, you have to tune your senses to the microscopic particles in the air and while Sans promises it’s not impossible, you certainly haven’t been able to even begin to know how to search for each little-
The ball of water is now a massive sphere half your size. Your attention snaps back to it, the instinctive reaction of ‘oh shit!’ making the same dispersing command rush through your magic before you have a chance to form an actual thought. The sphere explodes, soaking you, the hanging towels and just about everything in the bathroom.
Your eyes, shut instinctively against the splash, blink rapidly as you take in the damage. You blow out a heavy snort of air, expelling water from your nose. Oops.
“What was that?” comes Grillby's distant call.
Water rolls down your face, joining the puddle on the floor. You look at your hands. More specifically, the magic that sparks and dances around your fingertips from the water now covering your skin. You feel exactly the same. Near bursting with energy. If anything, it’s almost more intense than before. Your bones practically itch with power.
There’s a gentle tug on your bond. A soft and concerned prodding. The alien sensation takes you off guard, but fills you with warmth all the same.
“I’m fine! Just…peachy,” you finally answer back as you wipe at your face. You flap your hands, shaking away the sparks. “Don’t suppose there’s any dry towels left?”
There is, in fact, a single dry towel left, tucked under the sink. You clean up, not daring to play around with your magic lest you flood the rest of Grillby’s place and mop up the mess as best as you can with the wet towels. You could try to lift up all the water with a spell, but with your luck, you’d somehow wind up blowing the toilet up or something.
Once that’s finally done and you’ve managed to achieve a state of intentional dampness, you follow the smell of breakfast out to the kitchen. Stitch sits at Grillby’s feet, tapping his leg with a paw until he receives a proper tribute of egg bits. You wonder idly if Stitch had been in the room and bolted when the water appeared or if he had missed the whole thing.
Slouching into a chair, you groan and rub at your forehead. “I need the opposite of a strong cup of coffee.”
Grillby’s hue dips sympathetically. “No work at least?” he offers as he sidesteps Stitch and brings over a full platter of eggs.
“Yeah but you do! And I don’t want to…I just…” You sigh, stabbing a spoonful of eggs and dishing them onto your plate. “I feel weird.”
“Because of the dream?”
“Eh.” You squint and wiggle your head back and forth. “I don’t think so? It’s like…have you ever been so tired that you chugged beyond the recommended amount of energy drinks and went into a near dangerous caffeine high?”
He blinks. “Can’t say I have,” he replies mildly. “Have you?”
You laugh dryly. “Three day music video recording that went on way too long because the college band was full of assholes that couldn’t decide what they wanted. I might have overdosed a bit and uh. Well. That’s just to say I feel kind of like that? I have too much energy to the point where my skin is crawling.” You wiggle your fingers. “I’m used to magic enough to feel comfortable merging it with water, but now it’s almost too easy. Like, like a bike with the gears changed or-”
“Swinging a sword that suddenly is lighter than you’re used to and it goes flying out of your hands?” he supplies.
You snap your fingers and point. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s kind of like that. It’s weird. But maybe you’re right and I’m just all wired from the goop nightmare.”
“Hmm.”
At this point, you’ve learned the differences between Grillby’s silences. The one that meets you as you begin actually eating is one that is somber. Conflicted. He stares down at his pinecones, fiddling with them but not eating.
You swallow your bite. “What’s wrong?”
“...Is it…” He sighs. “Is it terrible that I’m relieved?”
“About?”
He pushes his plate away. “I was worried that your nightmare was because of me. The things I showed you.”
“The things you-oh!” You set your fork down. “No, no it wasn’t that at all! I mean, the dream did start out with your memories but it was nice!”
He brightens a little. “Was it?”
“Yeah! I got to dance around a campfire, and I saw the most beautiful Scottish countryside and pet a highland cow - we should totally go visit one day - and oh! I got to see Snowdin! I was ‘you’ and I was toasting marshmallows for a bunch of kids and - holy crap, that’s it!”
Grillby, smiling gently at your enthusiasm, tilts his head. “That’s what?”
You wiggle your arms out to the side. “That’s what this feels like! It feels like being you .” That’s exactly it actually! It’s not an itch, it’s the feeling of fire, of heated power rolling like sparks in your veins. As you speak, you lift your hand up. “I have to flow my magic into water but when I was in your memory, all I had to do was think about summoning fire and push the heat and that sparky feeling into my-”
Your hand bursts into flame.
There's perhaps half a second where both of you stare dumbly at the purple fire coating your skin. Then you shriek and throw yourself back with such force your chair tilts over. The fireball shoots away from your hand with the wild flailing attempt to save yourself before you hit the ground hard. There's a loud clatter, a yowl from Stitch as he tears off to hide and a shout from Grillby. You manage to pull yourself up in time to see the fireball smack the far wall and bounce off before he leaps, cupping his hands around it like snagging a panicked bird. When he gingerly opens his palms, only a few wisps of that purple flame remain, quickly sputtering out.
You stare at him and he stares right back at you. “What the hell was that ?” you finally stammer, voice barely more than a squeak.
Shaken out of his stunned state, he hurries over.“Let me see,” he demands, taking hold of your wrist. He turns your hand around. You’re expecting the skin to be raw with burns but it looks totally fine. Both of you let out a relieved breath and he helps you up. “I think…you just used fire magic.”
“I…no! No way,” you say around a disbelieving laugh, as you steady yourself back on your feet. “I can’t use fire, I’m a water…specialist or. Whatever. That’s kind of my whole schtick.”
“Schtick or not, that was fire.” Now that he’s sure you’re okay, Grillby’s hue flushes brighter, eyes burning with…with glee of all things. “Shore! You used fire magic!”
“I-”
“Can you do it again?” he asks eagerly.
You gape at him for a moment. “I…I don’t even know how I did that in the first place! Maybe it was fluke?”
“Try,” he urges. He guides your hand to rest palm up against his. “Like you said; push the feeling of sparks and heat down your arm and into your hand.”
“Uh…okay?” With his expecting stare on you, it’s harder to direct your magic at all, let alone make fire. How on earth do you even do this? You huff a breath, turning your attention inwards. The sparking feeling is still there, though it’s harder for you to focus on it. You don’t even know where this sparking magic is coming from, let alone how to grab it. Trying to force your own, familiar energy with it, like you do with water, proves fruitless as it simply darts away before you can get a grip on it. You frown. “I…I can’t, it’s. Wiggly .”
He snorts at that. “Fire can be…wiggly, yes. Here.” He places two fingers on your palm. His touch is warmer than usual. “Direct your thoughts and energy right here. The flame will follow.”
You close your eyes. Right. You’ve done this before, gathering up your magic in your hand. Of course that resulted in an explosion that almost took off Asgore’s beard, but who’s counting that?
“Hold on to the memory you saw,” Grillby murmurs. The point of heat on your palm remains steady. “What did it feel like?”
It felt…warm. Liquid fire in your veins. Life, crackling, dancing and strong. You breathe out slowly, like one would to gently stoke an ember to life. Magic pools in your palm, you can feel it rising above your skin but it’s not flame, not yet. Push the…no. No, guide the sparks. Firmly, but guide it with the flow of magic. Carry it in the current of your will.
You open your eyes and give your magic a command; “ Spark .”
Fire bursts into being just above your palm. It’s smaller this time, only a few tongues of flame that are just as bright purple as before. It’s simply warm too, coating your skin in a way that reminds you of sticking your hand into freshly dried laundry. You gasp, a wondrous smile lifting your face. “Whoa.”
Grillby, for his part, looks like a kid at Christmas. His fingers have fallen away from your palm and instead he presses his hands together up against his mouth. It does nothing to cover the wide, beaming smile that shines so bright it makes you squint. “Look at you ,” he nearly coos and you realize he’s speaking directly to the fire gently waving as if caught in a mild breeze. It’s honestly kind of adorable.
But that’s not the thing to focus on right now. “I don’t get it, where did this come from?” You gingerly move your hand around, watching the flame smear and flicker as it follows. “I have to connect to water around me to use it, but this-”
“I think it’s from me.”
The shock of those words makes your concentration slip and the little fireball fizzles out. Grillby’s face falls into a pout. “What do you mean from you?”
He blinks, pulling himself out of his pout by clearing his throat. He taps his chest. “The bond. I felt it this time. Just a little tug on my magic and a pulling sensation.”
“Wha-I took fire from you?”
At the clear panic on your face, he’s quick to assure you. “It didn’t hurt. It barely tickled really. But doesn’t it make sense? We’ve opened our Souls and our most intimate magics with each other. Shared energies and memories. So, you being a human mage, you must have…adapted? Absorbed? Or you just used my energy to fuel your spell.” He shrugs, still looking far too gleeful for one who just had bits of his fire sapped away. “Just a guess.”
“I don’t want to - to steal from you!” you still protest. “If I’m using you as a freaking battery, isn’t that going to hurt? What if I accidentally take too much?”
At that, the jerk full on laughs at you. You scowl and he quiets down quickly, cupping his hands around yours. “Shore. I am very strong. I don’t run out of magic and flame so easily. And, well.” He smirks, eyes squinting. “I use more magic to cook burgers than what your little fireball needed.”
Your little fireball?! “Oh, is that so ?”
“It is so. But I think I can fix that.” He releases you, steps back and summons his own fireball. This one is far bigger and brighter than yours. It bounces back and forth between his hands for a moment before he tosses it to you.
You instinctively catch it, feeling a new sense of awareness of the energy that pulses within it. So vastly different from water, it thrums in your grip with power. “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.”
He snaps his fingers and the fireball in your hands bursts into sparkling embers that shower away into the air. “No, mo chridhe. It’s a promise.”