Grillby’s. Where everybody knows your name.

Once upon a time, the Underground’s laziest lazybones bummed his days away in this establishment.

Burgers. Fries. Ketchup. Friends. Family.

That place was one of the few warm glows in his otherwise dark, cold life.

At the moment, the sign read ‘Closed’. The bar was not yet open for public business. Dark brown curtains blocked curious eyes from peering into the establishment.

Dust took a moment to admire the billboard in all its pristine recreation. Fancified fake diorama or not, he still wanted to appreciate the structure that ceased to exist in his present reality.

That moment of stillness didn’t go unnoticed by Grillby. “…Do you need some time?…”

“Yup. Just a minute down the memory lane. I’m well aware this world is fake. But still…”

“…I understand…”

“Hey, remember when I took care of the bar counter for a while? I put a drink on the rooftop and told everyone ‘it’s on the house’. I earned 50 percent laughs and 50 percent groans. Heh. Papyrus was fuming that night.”

Grillby looked up at the same spot and crossed his arms. “…He liked that one, I think…”

“Yeah. He did. Would never admit it to my face, though.”

“…You two were always a peculiar pair…”

Dust chuckled to himself. Thinking about the sweet old days reminded him just how much he missed his younger brother.

Such innocence was taken for granted until it was gone. Even the thought of treasuring it threatened to break open the anguish of grief.

Until the mystery of the disaster was solved, the surviving elder brother couldn’t move on.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Dust said: “Let’s go meet your king.”

Grillby unlocked the door to the bar and was about to invite Sans in. However, after a brief, unusual pause, his demeanour changed abruptly. He dashed straight inside, yelling: “…Your Majesty!…” Urgency and concern reverberated through his strained voice.

Was the ‘Godking’ in trouble? Dust closed the door behind him as he entered the bar.

A ball of writhing, thorny briars clumped in front of the bar counter. The mere sight put the skeleton on high alert. He summoned his Gasterblasters in preparation to bombard it into floral particulates.

But Grillby stuck his hand straight into the mass. Piercings, cuts, and wounds be damned, he had to help the person underneath.

Then, the thorns ignited into a vibrant green flame: the colour of healing. The maleficent plant matter withered and disintegrated in this purifying heat.

Dust blocked the glare with his hands, annoyed by his own photosensitivity. His condition had worsened since he last used the cursed altar.

After a good minute of burning, the light finally died down. When Dust lowered his hand, he saw a soft-faced goat child in a green-and-yellow striped shirt emerge from the ashes.

It was none other than Asriel, Toriel and Asgore’s son.

Meanwhile, any damages Grillby sustained from the briars had been healed. Wounds closed, fabric tears restored; he was as good as new.

Sobbing, the boy’s voice cracked from frustration. “It didn’t work… I can feel Flowey regrowing.”

Kind as ever, Grillby gave the boy a paper napkin to wipe his tears. Comforting him, he said: “…We’ve tried, Your Majesty… That’s the most important thing…”

“Thank you, Sir Grillenn. Oh. We have a guest. Where are my manners?”

The child hopped off the counter and cleared his throat. With that kind of poise, it was difficult to believe that he was crying only a few moments earlier.

“Howdy,” he said, “I’m Godking Asriel Dreemurr. I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance.”

Dust shrugged. “Pleasure is mine, I guess.”

A few seconds passed, and the edges of Asriel’s lips began to twitch. His composure soon broke. Utterly embarrassed, he hid his face behind his big floppy ears and whined: “I can’t do this! A super lofty title like ‘Godking’ is almost as bad as ‘God of Hyperdeath’: It’s just like when I was at my most childish. Complete cringe!”

“…No, Your Majesty…” said Grillby, “…That’s the truth… You are indeed the Godking, the administrator of this realm… It wouldn’t exist without your existence…”

“But… But I…”

“…I understand it seems outlandish… However, the power of your crown is genuine… I can attest to that…”

“O-okay. I mean. I did make you the Immortal Guardian, after all. Um. I’ll try to get my act together.”

Asriel stopped hiding and tried to straighten himself up again. “Sans, my loyal subject, I’m sure you have plenty of questions. Come, sit down next to me. I promise I’ll explain everything. It’s going to take a while, so allow me to offer you a drink.”

A dubious proposal, Dust thought. Maintaining the presence of his blaster, he ignored the attempt at hospitality. “Sounds like Godking Asriel and Flowey are two sides of the same coin. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you, right here, right now.”

Instead of being frightened or alarmed, Asriel returned a wry smile. “I wish you could. Unfortunately, the dream will prevent that from ever happening.”

“Wanna try?”

“Go right ahead.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Dust released his laser at maximum power. He expected to tear a gaping hole straight through the bar, leaving a dusted goatboy in its wake, but instead the magic beam was completely cut off right before it hit anything. It wasn’t deflected, diverted, or any of that sort: it just ceased to exist after a certain point.

“Huh. That’s peculiar. Let’s test this a little more.”

He tried firing several more times at the surroundings of the bar. It was the same result no matter where he hit. Not a single act of destruction could hurt anything even if he tried.

Grillby did manage to destroy those vines earlier, so what about Dust himself? In theory, he could attempt to test the scope of his protection by firing two of his blasters at each other. If they were invulnerable like the dream’s denizens, then the lasers would dissipate without hitting each other.

…But an experiment as such was too risky even for his standards. Dust dispelled his weapons. The fact that they dissolved was a cause for concern. Wasn’t it also a form of destruction? Asriel and Grillby may know. They also may not know. It would be better for him not to show such a potentially fatal weakness. For his own safety, it was best to operate under the presumption that he was not protected.

Shrugging, the skeleton said: “Welp, that explains why Grillbz here didn’t bat an eyelash to my killing intent. Your very existence denies any sort of death. Be it for objects, people, places. An absolute defence. Is that why you’re called ‘Godking Asriel’?”

“Quite right,” answered Asriel. “Bringing you here was the right call after all. You’ve already figured out so much.”

A few awkward glances later, the boy showed his hand to the counter and said: “The offer still stands.”

In this situation, being nice would pay better than being mean. “Might as well make the most of things. Sure, I’d like a drink.”

Both Asriel and Dust settled down on their respective seats. Six years was not enough to dull the habit of picking his favourite spot: the very first barstool from the right side.

Grillby went behind the counter to be the bartender for the night. “…The usual, Your Majesty?…”

“Nope!” With his snout high and proud, he said: “I should drink like a real king today: I’d like a cherry chocolate martini, pousse-café style.”

“...Your Majesty… as both your knight and your bartender… I cannot allow you to drink strong alcohol… Your youthful organs won’t be able to handle it… And you would be hopelessly drunk in just one glass… That won’t be conducive for the meeting… Apologies…”

Disappointed, the boy dropped his forced confidence. “Awww. Back to my usual hot chocolate with marshmallows, then?”

“…Alright…” The fire elemental nodded. “…How about you, Sans?…”

“I wanna try a Bloody Mary. Something about vodka and tomato juice. Give it your spin.”

“…That drink contains hot sauce…”

“Uh, omit that then. Y’know me, Hot ‘n Spicy and I don’t mix.”

“…Very well…”

While Grillby mixed the drinks, Sans asked: “Tell me, what’s the deal between the entity named ‘Asriel’ and the entity named ‘Flowey’? How did you two end up being one and the same?”

In reply, Asriel asked Dust a question of his own: “How much do you know about Doctor Alphys’ artificial SOUL project?”

“Probably not enough. My intel is limited to her confessions.”

“That will do.” Asriel squeezed his hands together. “Doctor Alphys’ flowers came from the King’s garden. The very same place where I scattered into dust. When she injected the flower that contained my essence with Determination, I came to life. But the procedure was… imperfect. I had the Determination to exist, but no SOUL to go along with it, devoid of the capacity to feel love and compassion. Confused and terrified by what I’d become, I ran away from the lab before she could confirm the experiment’s success.”

“What about the current ‘you’, then? Are you the original prince? Or that nasty copy?”

“Both, I suppose. This Dreamworld recreation is based on the original Prince Asriel, but my physical body remains as a flower. When I fall asleep here, I will return to being Flowey. And when I wake up, Flowey is the one that slumbers.”

Grillby finished making the hot chocolate first. The boy accepted the drink with a quiet thanks and began sipping from the top.

Asriel continued, “Becoming Flowey feels similar to dreaming. Though I retain some memory, I don’t have control over how I behave. Because of this, I had hoped that destroying Flowey on The Surface would anchor my mind fully in the Dreamworld. I even gave Grillby my authority. I-It’s the symbol of the thorned flower on the back of his hand.”

Shaking his head, Dust said: “Attempted regicide to rid yourself of your undesirable half, huh? No damn way that would have worked. Did you forget that The Celestial Calamity made sure that nobody can truly die? The Damned, The Dead, and The Hollow, Flowey included. Your planty self would just keep regrowing forever and ever.”

“Ha. Ha ha ha ha…” Asriel laughed in a bitter self-deprecating manner. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I’m such an idiot.”

The Bloody Mary was served, minus the hot sauce. Dust took a quick sip of it and was instantly punched in the face by the strong vodka burn. Still, he loved the savoury acidity of the tomatoes, and resumed drinking regardless.

“Good stuff, Grillbz. Cheers.” Dust turned his attention back to the royal with renewed Determination. “Oh yeah. Speaking of regicide, let’s move on to the elephant in the room… I know you’re involved in Queen Toriel’s murder.”

“M-m-murder?” Asriel let out another awkward laugh. “Ha ha ha, what are you talking about? Mom wasn’t murdered. We… We fetched her. Yep. She’s alive right now, somewhere in the dream.”

Dust scoffed. “Still trying to justify yourself, kid? Listen. Becoming a part of this accursed dream-machine ain’t what I call ‘living’. I’m calling this a murder whether you like it or not. Anyways, that incident was the foundation of this world. It’ll give me the context I need, so tell me what you did and why.”

“I’m not used to you being this straightforward,” said Godking Asriel. “Once upon a time, you were the infamous lazybones who messed people with puns, obvious stalling, and stupid jokes.”

“Different circumstances, different tactics.” Dust increased his drinking pace from a sip to a swig. “Are you gonna explain yourself, or do I have to pry it outta ya?”

“What do you know?”

“Tori confronted Frisk over something. Then you, Flowey the Flower, tripped her with your vines and made her fall. That allowed the kiddo to deal the final blow. The weapon of choice appeared to be a knife. Detailed enough?”

“No.” Asriel objected, shaking his little goaty head. “That’s not what happened. There was no viney business at all. I shoved her beloved Chairiel into her instead, stupid!”

“Whatever. That doesn’t make it any better.”

“E-even then, how could you even accuse Frisk of doing such a thing? They were the one who befriended all of us monsters, including yours truly, and set us free from The Underground. Has all that edgy fighting up on The Surface muddled your memories? The old Sans the Skeleton would remember eeeeeeeverything.”

The boy’s outbursts were unusually defensive, sprinkled with some blaming tactics and guilt tripping. In turn, Dust reached under his hoodie and took out the dossiers he smuggled in. First, he presented Frisk’s medical files to Asriel, pushing them to his side of the counter.

“Kiddo’s medical history says otherwise.” He tapped his bony finger on the paper. “Every time someone tried to adopt the kid, they started misbehaving. We’re talking about maladaptive antagonistic patterns against figures of authority here. What makes Toriel different? She’s pretty strict when she wants to be. That usually causes friction.”

“Mom’s just special. She’s the best.”

“Really now? Your flowery side certainly didn’t think so. In fact, you complained about her weaknesses pretty often, mocking her for being unable to take care of herself.”

Asriel cringed. “Ngh! W-when did you hear that?! No, how did you even realise I was there?!”

“I was at that party too, y’know. Besides, here’s a little secret… I’ve been keeping my eye on you as much as I could. Becoming best buds with Papyrus? Knew that. Trying to manipulate Frisk? Knew that too. Spying on every monster in the nation? Of course I knew that. Observation is an action, not inaction.”

“Ugh, typical Smiley Trashback behaviour right there. Look. Mom has her faults… but she’s loving, caring, kind, and always looks out for the best. Of course Frisk would never become violent against her.”

“Welp. Here’s how I see it: a person with a kind heart is also the easiest to manipulate. Normally, Frisk doesn’t need to use violence because they have more convenient options. Kiddo’s been getting their way without Toriel realising it. But what happens when Momma wisens up? When she stands her ground? Won’t they resort to the tried and true?”

“I can see them pushing boundaries and throwing a tantrum… but they’d never, ever, ever, ever try to stab Mom!”

“Still, someone did attack Toriel with a knife. If it’s not Frisk, who would it be?”

“I-it can be anyone else! Anyone but Frisk.”

“Another deflection. Against an unknown human, Toriel would have reacted in a totally different way than she did. Her last moments involved reading a forbidden spellbook in plain sight, expectedly waiting for a certain someone to return home. A serious exchange happened between her and them. But then, she got spooked. Started protecting the book with her body. And… I think I know why.”

Dust slapped down the dossier with The Hero’s Guild’s logo, stamped with the words ‘top secret’. He opened the file and presented the document. “Read that. And while you’re at it, let Grillbz read along with you. He’s the kind of grownup you should confide in.”

Asriel put his hot drink aside to read the contents. “…Is this a joke? Most of the text is blacked out. There’s nothing useful in there.”

“Let me fill in the blanks. On some random day in 2010, a monster appeared from Mount Ebott. Presumed male. The horrible beast carried the corpse of a child in his arms.”

Dust concluded: “The real murderer was Chara, wasn’t it?”

Upon hearing that name, Asriel gasped and abruptly slapped the file shut. His breathing quickened with his eyes wide open.

Was it terror? Guilt? Maybe both?

“That look on your face… tells me that I’m right on the money.”

“M-my face?” He rubbed his hands on his cheeks. “W-what’s on my face? I didn’t do anything… Did I?”

Grillby shook his head. “…Your Majesty, I’m afraid he’s right… Your reaction betrayed you…”

Calmly enjoying his drink, Dust explained: “Dying while merged together might have given you two an ‘extra life’, so to speak. You possessed a flower. Chara possessed Frisk. Toriel saw the image of a long dead ghost. That’s enough to shock anyone.”

Awkward silence lingered in the air. No one said anything: no rebuttals, no mutterings, no defences. Nothing.

Cornered, Asriel conceded with a solemn nod. “Yes, you’re right. When it happened… Frisk’s face morphed into Chara’s. They freaked me out too. I-I-I got so scared, I shoved Chairiel out of the way! I didn’t mean to trip Mom! T-the original plan was to sneak behind her back and steal that weird old spellbook!”

“But… But Chara jumped on Mom and took her SOUL. I didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t want Chara to kill Mom. I really didn’t want any of that…”

Asriel started to sob. The knightly bartender handed over more tissues to his king.

After taking another swig of his drink, Dust dangled the glass and said: “An accident, huh? Funny how that goes. It seems that you were kept in the dark as always. Though, why was this plan hatched at all to begin with? Why would Frisk let Chara take control?”

“That’s because…” Asriel lowered his head, his large ears obscuring his face. “That’s because Frisk was so scared. Scared for the future.”

“Explain?” Dust asked.

“I-It was December. Maybe a week before Christmas. Frisk ran all the way to The Underground to find me. They said that the town was in danger. The humans didn’t trust us monsters, and come next year it would be a repeat of the ancient war.”

“No. It would be worse. Frisk claimed that humanity’s heroes no longer had the sense of mercy to spare monsterkind.”

“I refused to help at first. I even pointed out that they were the Ambassador of Monsterkind. It’s their job to talk stuff out with the bigwigs no matter how scary it gets. They came back the next day with some spells copied on printing paper. I thought they fell into the trap that anime was real, so I rejected them again. They tried to prove me wrong by using that magic to turn plants into ash without fire.”

“That’s necromancy.” Dust remarked. It was exactly the same method that caught Gaster‘s attention as well.

“So what?” The boy huffed with his nose up high. “I still saw it as useless magic, irrelevant to their diplomatic problem.”

“You would be right. What changed your mind?”

“…Frisk told me to go to a certain spot at a certain time of the day. There, I would see signs of ‘great danger’, proof that the peaceful path wasn’t possible anymore. There I saw them… human soldiers with their tanks. They covered their weapons with camouflage tarps to hide them in the snow.”

Dust almost dropped his drink. His eyes darted to and fro, scrambling to remember if he had spotted any ominous signs himself.

If Guildmaster Pashowar was the tactical mind behind the operation, he would have chosen to work under the cover of Winter’s long nights. Masking the tracks without relying on fresh snowfall was possible as well. The soldiers could have used civilian routes that had been cleaned out, or rolled over the tank treads with other vehicles.

Still, that man was not the kind to delight in murder. Quite the opposite, even. He would sooner prefer to heal than to hurt. Yet, he also was one of the most cunning people Dust had yet to contend with.

“Crap…” he muttered. “We got fooled by those damn humans. Hard. Guess seeing those weapons made you believe there was no way out, huh?”

By now, the hot chocolate had gotten cold enough for the boy to chug down like a drunken grownup. After he finished his mug dry, Asriel said: “It’s all my fault, isn't it? This top secret file says it all. If only I hadn’t lost control to Chara back then, Frisk might have a chance in negotiating a peaceful existence.”

Dust pondered. If what the little goat boy said was true, wouldn’t The Hero’s Guild have destroyed The Underground much sooner?

For example: The Barrier didn’t prevent any junk from The Surface from floating down to their trash site. It should have been well within their means to float down any weapon of their choosing to decimate the monster population.

Yet, the humans didn’t resort to such drastic measures. Their covert operation was a further oddity. The sheer numbers of their military alone should dissuade direct conflict. Why make the effort to stage an ambush? They could have paraded their armies out in the open to intimidate the population.

More and more questions floated around in Dust’s head. Yet, it was certain that Asriel wouldn’t be able to answer any of them.

Dust decided to take a different tangent. “Why did you invite me here? I mean, as your enemy, I’ve gained a reputation for being The Lone Defender. I’m a pretty dangerous man to keep around.”

Hearing that, the boy quickly put away his tissues. “That’s exactly why it has to be you, Sans. Something’s gone terribly wrong. I can’t ask anyone else for help. This job must be done by a person from outside the dream.”

However, before Asriel could finish his explanation, the door to the bar slammed wide open. The cold winds of the autumn night flooded the warm interiors. Fallen leaves of gold rode on the currents, scattering on the wooden floor.

Standing at the entrance was a child in a green and yellow striped shirt, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and glowing eyes of crimson.

Asriel tensed up. “Chara…?”

The surprise newcomer was the fabled First Fallen Human.

Chara tilted their head. “So, the Smiley Trashbag has entered paradise at last. Wayward no more.”

They spoke with an air of eloquent dignity, as though they were the true god of this world.

Dust twirled his finger over his head. “You call this weird static world ‘paradise’?”

The rosy-cheeked child replied: “What else describes this place devoid of suffering? Freed from the passage of time, our Hometown will remain the same forever. Perpetual. Eternal. At peace.”

“…And far away from those genocidal humans, am I right? I’ve heard about The Hero’s Guild trying to mount an attack on Ebott. Why didn’t Frisk come to me? I could have helped you kids. Add a little pinkie promise on top of that.”

Chara burst into laughter. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, to the point where their voice distorted into twisted warbles. “You? The laziest lazybone of the entire underground? Help us? That is the best joke I have heard all season. No. You could not have helped. In fact, I think you would only have made matters worse.”

“How so?” asked Dust. “I may not look like it, but I’m a man who keeps his promises.”

Saying that, memories of Toriel haunted the back of his mind.

Of how she traded knock knock jokes.
Of how she cried from beyond The Ruin’s door.
Of how she begged him to protect the next child who would leave the Ruins

She had said: ‘Watch over them, and protect them.’

And yet, her tender loving care was exploited. Through his own dumb persistence, that very same child she chose to spare became the willing vessel of her murderer.

“That is my point,” said Chara, “Imagine what would happen if Frisk had bound an oath with you. The moment you learn the truth of the outside world… You too shall seek to destroy it, and hasten The End.”

Grim food for thought. If Dust had to resort to the same megalomaniac ways as Frisk and Chara, the problem would have to be something fundamentally baked into present reality: a promise no mere mortal could keep.

Bits and pieces of Guildmaster Pashowar’s odd claims surfaced in his mind.

‘Have you ever met a human being that just seemed… unstoppable.’

Along with those words came an acute sense of deja-vu from a past long since erased from time.

Dust winced from the growing sense of pain in his left eye. When he closed it, he saw faint distant images of a strange scene.

It was the Judgement Hall, the stretch of corridors that led to King Asgore’s royal chambers. Light from the windows painted the tiles in sunset gold. An entity bathed in a dark red aura of death shambled forth. He couldn’t make out the details or shape. However, one thing was for certain: they radiated with killing intent.

‘Someone who dodged far too well, as though they knew every trick in the book.’

It became a battle between the unstoppable human versus the immovable monster.

‘And, whenever you meet them, there’s a sense of unusual familiarity in the air.’

Even though the image was vague, he sensed that he knew this person by name.

They had to be none other than Frisk. A demon in the flesh.

The puzzle pieces snapped into place. Dust realised how Frisk and Pashowar were two peas in a pod. Humanity had kept the greatest of all secrets for aeons, reserved for the strongest of the strong: the power to rewind the clock anywhere, anytime. It was not just a mere quirk of the Underground. It was possible on The Surface too.

With that ultimate power in his possession, The King of Mankind would be Determined to keep monsterkind’s dream of coexistence from ever coming true.

In other words, if Frisk were to have sought Sans’ help, it would compel him to become the Number One Enemy in their stead. And the invincible, unbeatable Guildmaster – James Aran Pashowar – would have become his personal final boss.

A twisted smile grew on Chara’s face. “That look on your face… It tells me that you understand. Did you not recently taste humanity’s betrayal? I heard they are trying to exterminate you as we speak.”

“Welp,” said Dust. “What do you want from me, then?”

Thus they replied: “I want you to give up. Quit being Dust, The Lone Defender. Embrace paradise, and return to being Sans the Skeleton. Once you do, all of Ebott’s monsters will finally be united in eternal peace within the dream.”

Everyone, including The Great Papyrus? Dust questioned.

He saw these turn of events as a golden opportunity to discreetly search for his brother. “An interesting proposal. But, you can’t just drop an offer like that without giving me a guided tour. Show me the goods. We’ll talk about business after that.”

Chara was pleased by the request. “So we have a deal. Follow me. I shall exhibit what Frisk, Asriel, and I have managed to accomplish. Together.”

Pointing towards the bartender and the goat boy, they added: “You two shall join the tour as well. The more, the merrier.”

“S-sure,” said Asriel, “I’ll handle the admin stuff, as usual.”

“………” Seemingly refusing to speak to the First Fallen Human, Grillby prepared to close the bar in absolute silence.

Dust took a moment to finish whatever remained of his Bloody Mary, before setting the glass down on the counter. As he got off his stool, The Phantom made a tiny little whisper, inaudible to all but him:

“You’re excited to finally meet me, aren’t you Sans? Very, very excited. How wonderfully wonderful! Nyeh heh heh!”