Chapter Text
On the surface, Dina’s saloon was popular not only to monsters but humans as well. Most humans that spent time at the saloon were the brave people that had blurred the line between human and monster cities by living in neighborhoods with monsters. As such, the vast majority of Dina’s patrons were decent people.
There were some who were jerks – some were monsters, some were humans – but overall, Clover had no fear stepping into the saloon. If anyone got too rowdy or rude, Dina would kick them out. Or call the sheriff to deal with the disturbance.
Maybe someday Dina would accept his status as deputy and let Clover kick unruly customers out too. She’d say it wouldn’t happen until he was old enough to drink the adult drinks but… come on.. he had dealt with all kinds of monsters in the Underground.
He could deal with a drunk human or two. Or monster. Whatever the situation called for.
Clover stopped by the saloon on his way home from school – as he did sometimes. It was a hot day out and a root beer sounded good. He took no notice of the human slumped over the bar, still clutching at an empty glass.
The man was no different from several other patrons Clover had seen here before.
“Howdy, howdy, Clover,” Dina greeted as he hopped up to sit on a stool. “I was wondering if you’d stop by today. Would you like your usual?”
“Please.”
“On ice?”
“Yes please. I feel like I’m meltin’.” For added effect, he slumped against the bar. The worn wood was smooth and cool against his cheek.
She chuckled as he heard the hiss of a soda being opened. “Hon, this is nothin’ compared to the Dunes.”
“I dunno, Dina. It feels like there are two swelterstones in the sky today,” Clover propped his head up on a hand as a glass was set in front of him. He took it with a quiet thanks and took a drink.
Mmm. Exactly what he needed.
“You.” The slurred word came from the other side of the bar. He glanced over at the man that had appeared comatose when he’d first walked in. He had pushed himself up, mused grey hair framing his face unevenly. Bloodshot honey brown eyes, glossy with alcohol, stared at him.
Clover gasped. He knew that man. After a moment he shook himself and forced himself to take another sip. Better not to let the man know. Let him think his drunken mind was playing tricks on him.
Though Clover wondered how he had gotten out of prison. Hadn’t he been locked away for life?
The man was saying something. It sounded like an accusation. Clover ignored him. Instead, he leaned over the bar. “Dina… call Star.”
She had leaned in to better hear his quiet words. Reddish-brown eyes flicked over to the man then back to Clover. “Sure hon. I’ll getcha a slider.”
“I know… who you are… brat.” The man lurched to his feet.
“I think ya’ve got th’ wrong person, sir,” Clover answered.
The man staggered a step closer, leaning heavily on the bar to keep his balance. “No. I know… exact’y who you are, Jusstin.”
“M’ name is Clover,” he said.
He really hoped Star was close. Wait, did he even have his cellphone on him? He tended to forget it.
“Don’t talk back t’ me, boy!”
Other patrons were watching now. Clover knew there was no way this was going to end well. He wanted to keep the man here. Stall until the sheriff could take over.
Yet the man was getting uncomfortably close and was refusing to accept that maybe, just maybe, his drunken mind was mistaken.
He needed a new plan.
“I thought that mountain ate ya,” the man continued. “It should’ve. First ya kill your mother then ya have the… gall to run off and refusse t’ fash jusstish.”
He drew a gun and Clover’s honey brown eyes widened.
Shit!
“You can’t escape thiss time, Jusstin.”
Clover launched off the stool. His spurs clicked as his boots pounded against the wooden floor. The swinging saloon doors opened onto the dirt road.
To his left was the path to Newest Home. To his right, the road would lead onward to the house where he lived with the others. Both locations had people that might be able to help, but also people that could get hurt.
Clover felt like he was back at the train tracks, considering whether or not to pull the switch. This time, though, the train wasn’t fake and people really could get hurt.
He had wanted Star’s help, but that was before he realized the man had a gun. A real gun. With an ammo clip instead of a cylinder only capable of holding six shots.
Clover picked the third option. He high-tailed it off the road, aiming for the mountain looming in the distance. A shot struck a tree as he passed, bark flying off.
Behind him, he heard a roar.
He just had to get far enough away. Then he could fight back. His left hand found the gun in the holster at his side. He never wore it to school, but it always appeared just when he needed it.
Though he wasn’t sure the toy gun inside would do much against a human. Thankfully, they were going somewhere where the laws of humans didn’t matter.
He remembered when he’d first climbed up Mt. Ebott it had been the dead of night. He had slipped out of the orphanage window, using nothing but the light of a full moon to guide him. It had been a quiet, slow trek.
He’d spent most of the hike thinking about the lost kids and how he was going to bring them back. How he was going to do something that mattered. The thoughts of a child that thought they had no value.
He had just been another mouth to feed. Another child passed up by prospective parents time and time again. The kid who did the dishes.
He wasn’t that lost ten-year-old anymore. He was sixteen, almost a man. He was running at full speed, bullets sending bark flying around him. He ran not to find lost children, but to protect those he cared for.
He had a family now. One in which he was a valued member. Like hell he’d let this man – his father though the bastard had never earned the title - chasing him take them away.
Briefly, he considered what would have happened if Star had shown up at the saloon. If Star had tried to do his sheriff thing prompting the man to draw his gun.
The image leapt to his mind with startling detail. Star lying on the floor, voice strained. A white goop oozing from the wound. Then… dust scattered over the floor.
Clover staggered over a fallen log and above his head a bullet knocked down a pinecone. No need to think about that now. He should be far more concerned with Star finding a bleeding human body sprawled across the mountain side.
Oh shit, Ceroba was going to kill him if he got shot.
Clover didn’t know how long he’d been running, but he didn’t dare slow down. Not when he darted through the cave that had once been blocked by a barrier. Not when he darted through the throne room.
He finally stopped in corridor filled with pillars. Sunlight from cracks in the mountain filled the room, casting an eerie golden light. He dove behind a pillar, gun in hand.
Now, he waited.
Sure enough, he heard staggering footsteps storm into the corridor. “Where’dchu go?” the man demanded. “Coward! Fash me like a man!”
Clover intended to do just that, yet before he could, he heard the click of spurs and the clomp of familiar boots.
No.
“Howdy stranger,” Star’s baritone seemed to echo in this strange corridor. “Not often humans come ‘round these parts. Are ya lost?”
Despite his friendly words, Clover heard an edge in the sheriff’s voice.
“Leave me alone ya…” he called Star a word that had emerged as a less than kind term for monsters. Clover tightened his grip on his toy gun. He heard the squeak of a shoe turning on the tile and peered around the pillar to see the gun being aimed.
“Hey! I’m over here!” He shouted. His voice echoed through the corridor. He lunged to the other side of the corridor as he heard a curse and the man spun around, firing wildly.
That’s right. Focus on him, not Starlo.
He heard the crack of leather, a moment later the man roared. He peered around the pillar, seeing Star’s lasso wrapped firmly around the man. Clover still didn’t lower his gun as he slowly came around the pillar.
He was used to Star’s eyes glowing, but they were practically blazing beneath the shadow of his hat. “You an’ I are goin’ t’ have words,” he said pointing at Clover.
He hadn’t heard Star sound that mad since the time he and Frisk had gone to help a bridge troll and had accidently gotten caught in a landslide along the way.
He holstered his toy gun. “I couldn’t lead him int’ town or t’ the house,” he pointed out. “What was I s’posed t’ do?”
“Not try t’ handle it yerself,” Star answered. “Ya could’ve gotten yerself killed!”
Clover rolled his eyes. “I was fightin’ monsters when I was ten, Star. I can handle a drunk human.”
“A drunk human with a gun hellbent on killin’ ya!” Star argued.
The man took advantage of the distraction, wrenching the lasso out of Star’s grip. Coils of leather fell around his feet. He lunged forward – not bothering to collect his gun from the floor.
Clover shoved Star out of the way. The man wanted him. He could have him.
His back hit the tiled floor. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming. Clover tried to shove the man off him. Tried to draw his legs up to plant his feet against the man’s chest. Hands closed around his throat.
Clover tried to gasp out something. What he wasn’t sure. Tell Star to escape? Tell the man there was no point? Call for help?
The man was saying something. It sounded like a declaration that he would now face justice. That now things would be made right. Clover wasn’t really listening. His vision was starting to swim and everything sounded so far away.
The crack of a gunshot echoed through the corridor. The hands around Clover’s throat went lax. The man fell sideways.
There was Starlo, gun in hand. His eyes were narrowed to plasma blue slits, mouth set in a firm line.
Clover sat up slowly, honeyed brown eyes darting from the sheriff to the man lying on the tiled floor. Neither were moving. He didn’t think the man was breathing.
The man’s face was twisted into an expression of drunken rage. His eyes were dull, lifeless.
A leather-clad hand grabbed Clover by his collar, hauling him to his feet. He barely had time to take in Star’s unreadable expression before strong arms pulled him into a tight hug. “Are ya hurt?” Star’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Don’t think so,” Clover answered. He wrapped his arms around Star, pressing his face into the familiar poncho. The smell of leather, gunpowder, and corn wrapped around him like a familiar blanket.
Star was trembling. Before Clover could ask if he was alright, he pulled away suddenly. The soft yellow glow of his skin had gone a sickly orange. Star lunged to the other side of the corridor, gripping a pillar to keep himself from falling as he heaved.
Clover stayed in place, not really sure what to do. He’d heard monsters could throw up despite their lack of digestive system – usually when something was wrong with their body – but he’d never actually seen it before.
“Star?” he asked, when the retching stopped.
“’M fine…” Star rasped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s just… I’ve never… I didn’t even know I could…” He purposefully avoided looking at the body.
Clover realized it was the first time Star had killed. The first time he had ever shot with the intention of causing true harm.
Something welled up in his chest and he wasn’t sure what it was. Guilt that he was the reason Star made his first kill? Touched that Star would kill to save him? Something else entirely?
“We should get out of here,” he said.
The kill had been made in defense – on Monster Ground no less – yet he feared what the human authorities would think of a monster killing a human. Later he’d come back, figure out what to do with the body.
Right now, though, they needed to get a move on. If only so some fresh air and distance from the body could hopefully return Star’s color to normal.
Star nodded numbly.
Clover picked up the lasso. Best to leave as little evidence as possible. He wrapped it up and slung it over his shoulder. He and Star started walking back towards the throne room. The sheriff’s arm fell across Clover’s shoulders.
He wasn’t sure if Star needed help keeping his balance, or if it was just to keep him close. Either way, Clover didn’t mind.
It was a long trek home. Neither of them said a word.
Ceroba ran up to them as they approached the house. “Clover! Starlo!” She stopped in front of them, one hand landing on Clover’s shoulder while the other grabbed Star’s. “Dina told me about an incident at the saloon. Are you two alright?”
“We’re fine,” Clover answered. Physically speaking anyway.
Star said nothing, his gaze on the ground.
Ceroba ushered them inside, demanding to know what had happened. Clover told her everything. Star added a few words here and there, but it seemed he was barely present.
Clover was starting to fear the day’s events had done more damage to the sheriff than any bullet ever could.