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[When the feed clicks on, Mettaton is at the camera, perfectly poised and smiling wide.]

Hello, Wonderland! Sorry for that little hiccup earlier!

[He fluffs his hair a bit, which definitely looks disheveled; an unusual deviation from his usual picture perfect looks.]

I had a small incident with Wonderland's local dream demon BUT! There's no need to fear, darlings, because your strong, amazing hero Mettaton repelled the evil doer! Wonderland is safe and so are the rest of you!

[He smiles, though it falters for just a brief second before he continues.]

Now, let's put this silly incident behind us, shall we? There's no need to worry about any of these shenanigans or torment yourself with worry over me (unless you want to, of course! ♥). I'm sure you'll see my shining face on the network sometime in the future again (minus any and all unauthorized uses of my brand) so I shall let you all return to your daily lives. Bye, darlings~!

[He pauses for a moment, blinks, and then hurriedly gives a cutesy wave and wink to the camera, though it's clear his heart isn't in it. The feed ends there.]

((ooc: Mettaton may respond to network responses but it will probably be sporadic due to the fact that he's feeling really rough right now. For anyone wanting to personally come and check on him, the door will have many latches and locks and Mettaton will not be opening his door for anyone other than close CR, if that. But he's fine. Absolutely fine! Totally.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You're not terrible, Sans. You're rather sweet.

[Sweet to come here. Sweet to keep trying. Sweet to hold his hand and baby him like this.]

What if whatever was to ask you to run one hundred laps around my bedroom for my entertainment? Or asking you to stand on your head? That's a dangerous thing to suggest, Sans; there are so many possibilities.

[His heart isn't 100% in his teasing, but he's trying.

Sans takes his other hand and Mettaton feels a flutter of something in his soul as he takes a small step forward, surprised as he squeezes his fingers again. Mettaton grips him back, firm and sure.

Real. This is real. A lifeline. Bone against metal. It's painfully familiar.]

Yes, Sans. I don't want to leave my room. No place else feels as safe as here does.

[He smiles gently at that, unknowingly tipping his head sideways towards his bed. He hopes his mirror heard that. He makes him feel safe. Yes he is wasting his time with Sans but that doesn't make feeling like he could collapse right now and be fine any less important.

A portion of that feeling comes from Sans's presence. But the majority of it comes from knowing that one of the most important people in his life is only a few feet away from him, under the bed.]

i can be both. tooth rotting. i've been compared to a marshmallow before.

[He chuckles a little.]

aw, jeez. but you wouldn't do that to me. worst you'd do is try and make me dress up nice or something.

[Like back during that explosion of hoodies.]

[He keeps staring up at Mettaton for a few moments after he answers. It's a perfectly neutral and reasonable answer, giving nothing away. Nothing that Sans could glean about Mirrors or mirrors. Mettaton tilts his head toward his bed, and that makes sense too. The guy is probably incredibly tired.]

[So Sans nods, and doesn't let even a hint of the disappointment show on his face.]

alright. yeah, it's nice in here. real cozy. somethin' safe about your own personal space, yanno? heh, and mini's corner's just plain adorable.

[That makes Mettaton laugh, a good and healthy sound. Goodness, he shouldn't be so loud, so obvious about how he enjoys Sans's presence but... everything is so jumbled. He needs someone physically here because if he can't feel someone with him he thinks he might float right out of his body even though that's stupid this is his body and. And.

Oh. He just laughed and didn't say anything. That's not a normal thing, is it? Keep up Mettaton. Say something.]

A marshmallow in a suit. That's a cute image.

[Mettaton doesn't notice anything wrong or off with Sans. He has no idea that Sans suspects anything.]

Yes. Even if being in here wasn't enough to stop...

[His words and eyes trail off. His hands grip to Sans's just a little harder.

Mini. He mentioned Mini. Focus on that.]

It was a bit of an adjustment for me, turning a portion of my space into a space for them, but it really was the best call. I don't think it's safe for them to have their own room yet.

[Being a parent is a lot about sacrifice and making a space for the children in your life and Mettaton is doing his best.]

[Mettaton laughs, and it sounds genuine. He doesn't answer right away, but that's alright. He's clearly not all the way here. Who would be? Sometimes you just need to...go away, sort of.]

sounds like some kind of food mascot. selling other marshmallows. always thought that sorta thing was kinda morbid.

[Mettaton trails off and fades a bit, but he grips harder, anchoring himself. Good. This is good. He's talking about Mini, because that's a safe subject, and Mini is right here, and real.]

yeah. they're still pretty young. though wonderland might let you set up a door between you and them at some point. wonderland seems to be okay with connecting two adjoined rooms, so. one of the perks of this place, right?

[Your space is yours, and you can change it however you want on a whim.]

Really now? Because the food was sending its fellows to their mouthy graves?

[Putting it like that definitely sounds morbid.

He needs to let go of Sans's hands. He needs to because he needs to kick Sans out. But goodness, the idea of being alone hurts so much. The guilt and shame over his mirror not being enough threatens to eat him alive. Especially since he's cut off his ability to see him.

He'll worry. Mettaton doesn't want him to worry. So he compromises. He begins to pull Sans deeper into his room and when he's close to his bed he sits on the edge and slowly unwinds one hand from Sans's, using it to gesture to one of the chairs in his room.]

Feel free to sit, if you wish.

[He smiles. A room just for Mini, but still attached to his? That would be nice once they're older.]

That is certainly a great perk. So is the fact that the walls repair themselves even if you blast them open.

[Which had been a welcome relief after Mettaton had realized what he had done during the flooding event to get to Alphys.

He sits on the edge of his mattress, letting the back of his heels gently touch the mirror underneath. Right there. He's right there. And now he'll be able to hear them a bit better than before. He keeps his eyes on Sans, trying to keep himself steady.]

...I'm sorry for worrying you. I wanted to post to the network to let you all know I was alive, at least.

it's like that peanut guy who is trying to sell you other peanuts for you to eat. there's probably some kind of social commentary in there.

[Hell if he knows what it is, though, nor is he gonna think too hard about it.]

[Mettaton seems to make a decision. Sans follows him further into the room and hesitates for a moment when Mettaton gestures at the chair. He's not too sure that he should let go of Mettaton just yet, but the chair is too far away to grab it and bring it closer. Not without letting go.]

[He waits a moment longer, then...very carefully, very slowly lets go. He grabs the chair and pulls it closer, close enough that Mettaton can take his hand again if he wants to. Then he sits.]

yeah, uh. it's nice. makes remodeling pretty easy.

[Not that Sans would know anything about remodeling or it's general level of difficulty.]

[He shakes his head.]

nah, it's...it's okay. just figured i should check on you. i mean, this whole thing right on the heels of...

[He goes quiet again for a minute. God, if he pushes even a little it might be too much. Frisk said to be careful.]

i'm sorry if i...that uh, that whole conversation the other day. about...

[He's gotta be listening. Sans knows he is. Was he listening during that conversation as well? It was over the phone, so it's possible the Mirror didn't hear Sans's side of things.]

[He's never really had to try and talk around a subject before. Usually he just outright avoids things, or layers it all in puns and jokes.]

just...concerned, is all. 'bout you and all of it. yanno?

[Mettaton hms a little in response, a small quirk of a smile to his lips. Some kind of social commentary. What would it be? Survival of the fittest? ...Maybe it's better not to think about it.

It's a slow ordeal, the sliding of bone away from metal and Mettaton... didn't think that through, did he? He'd, ha, he'd have to let go to get the chair wouldn't he?

It's fine. He doesn't need to hold onto him. His fingers flex for a moment, an instinctual quirk to reach again when Sans fully pulls away. Sans sits himself close, close enough that Mettaton could easily reach over and take his hand again, grasp it quickly before he feels himself start to disconnect from his body.

It's close. He's close. He could reach... but there are hundreds of millions of miles between them and he's moving out of orbit. He forces his hands to stay still in his lap.]

Ah, yes. That conversation we had.

[Mirrors mirrors mirrors; everyone here is afraid of them. And rightfully so, in most cases! But his mirror... no. He has his quirks, his faults, but he, at least, is always trying his best for him.]

As it turns out, the danger wasn't my mirror "stalking" me, but my friendship with Bill Cipher leading him to possess me immediately upon being brought back to Wonderland.

[There's bitterness in his tone. It's his fault it happened. It's his fault he talked to him in the first place and his fault they kept talking. And here he is, having paid the price.]

[Sans keeps his hands draped over his knees and waits. Mettaton doesn't reach for him. Not yet. He might not ever, but he can if he wants to. If he needs to. Maybe that's all that's important.]

[It wouldn't be right for Sans to cross that distance himself. Mettaton wouldn't want that.]

[He expects the brush off. He braces for it. Because of course, here they are in the lion's den, so to speak. The Mirror is undoubtedly listening, so it's not like Mettaton can speak freely. Even if he wanted to. And Sans...isn't sure he wants to.]

[Frisk thought it might be worse than just the Mirror stalking him. That Mettaton was being manipulated. Mettaton might even like his Mirror. Sans has to just keep reminding himself that he doesn't know the whole story, and considering his track-record with people's secrets lately, maybe he never should.]

[But at the same time...]

well...yeah. no one could've seen that coming. i mean, bill is bill, sure. but targeting you?

[Or was Mettaton friends with Bill? Was Bill manipulating Mettaton as well? God, then--then this whole thing might have just driven Mettaton even further into Mirrorton's clutches.]

[Good lord, clutches. That's a stupidly dramatic way to think about it.]

we're...all worried about you, you know? not just about bill. about this...

[He doesn't have a choice here, does he?]

about this mirror thing. i know he's listening somehow. look, i'm...i'm not gonna push it right now. hell, i'll drop the subject if you want. but--at some point, we gotta talk about all that for real, yanno? cause what's happening...it don't feel right. at all.

[This is dangerous. This might just make things worse--just just between him and Mettaton, but for Mettaton specifically. If Mirrorton really is listening, this is just going to piss him off.]

but like i said. right now i just want--well. what i want don't matter. just...i dunno. if i can help you at all, i guess i should try.

[If you have some kind of special power...]

[Mettaton laughs, the sound empty of all mirth.]

I had hoped that us being on such friendly terms would give me some leverage to keep him away from myself and people I cared about whenever he decided to do something drastic. But all it did was open me up to be the perfect pawn for his plans.

[He had actually, for a moment, believed they had been friends. And maybe they were. Maybe in some fucked up way they had been friends, even as Mettaton remembers wanting to eviscerate him in hell, and all the times they deftly danced around threats towards each other.

Mettaton's mouth presses into a thin line as Sans goes into this mirror business again.]

Talk about it for real? What about this makes you think we haven't discussed it thoroughly?

[His hands grip the blankets tight. They'll never understand. None of them will ever understand. Like his mirror said.]

How could he be listening? Do you see any mirrors around here? I keep them hidden away just like any of you.

[He looks away from Sans at the rest of his words, shame mixing in with the frustration. Sans cares. That's why he pushes. But he can't care about him because it's not real, he could never actually care. Never as deeply and as intensely as his mirror does. ...It doesn't matter what he looked like bathed in starlight.]

I... the best way you could help is...

[Leave. The best way you can help is to give me space. And never come back.]

I don't know. You shouldn't be here but I don't want you to go.

[His mirror can hear this. He hopes he hears the torment in his voice, how conflicted he is. He's trying, he swears but he keeps not being strong enough. What is it gonna take? What does he need to do to push everyone away?

What is it gonna take.]

...yeah. i get that.

[It's familiar. Painfully familiar. That was all that was left on his mind, way back when, when things got really bad. When things got so bad that all Sans could really do was try to hold on. Try to hope that if Gaster was focused on him, maybe he'd go easier on the other team members. Like maybe if he had Gaster's metaphorical ear, then...]

[He's not going to get into it though. This isn't about him. But it sucks. It's horrible, when you think you might trust someone, and then they rip it away. It sucks when it turns out you were just a pawn the whole time.]

[Or just a science project.]

well...like i said. later.

[Now just isn't a good time to get into the Mirror stuff.]

though you know, uh, mirrors can still hear stuff even if the physical mirror is hidden, right? only way to keep anyone from listening is to break the glass. but...anyway.

[It's probably too much to hope for that that's the problem. That it's as simple as Mettaton just choosing to hide his mirrors instead of breaking them.]

[He's quiet while Mettaton struggles, watching him carefully. Watching him try to find some kind of actual use for Sans. Good luck with that. Nothing about Sans is useful.]

why shouldn't i be here?

[It can't just be that Mettaton is wising up to the sort of garbage Sans is, because if that were the case, he would have shoved him out the door by now.]

[Mettaton looks at Sans, that old look of concern and gentleness peeking out just a bit from his eyes.]

I'm sorry you do. Neither of us should ever have been made to feel that way.

[He'd been trying so hard to avoid it too. He'd known about Bill, known what he was capable of and yet. And yet.

He'd been fun. So much fun...

Later. So he won't drop this. He intends to bring it up in the future and it's all the more reason to make sure they don't talk again. He needs to be firm. Push him away. Sans will break easily.

It's an inverse of how hard it was to get to know him; it just takes the right few words to make him give up. Mettaton just needs to think of what they are ~~or get the courage to use them~~]

Well. Yes. Of course. I didn't think that needed to be said.

[Neither here nor there, neither confirm or deny. Leave it to Sans to believe whatever fits his narrative.]

Because... how can you be helpful to me? You're a distraction. All of this is just, just a distraction. I shouldn't be this broken over what Bill did to me. I don't. I don't need this.

[He can't look at Sans, can't bring himself to look him in the eyes and say it. He's so hypocritical. He talks a big game but all he wants to do is grab Sans's hands again and not let go.]

[Mettaton looks at him with concern and Sans looks away. Fucked up again. Made it about himself. That wasn't what he wanted, he just...wanted Mettaton to know he understood.]

you didn't deserve any of that. it's not your fault for trusting him. it's his fault for taking advantage of it. [He pauses, staring at the floor.] being able to trust people just...makes you a good person.

[If you open your soul to people, eventually someone's gonna come along and try to crush it. That's why Sans so rarely takes the risk.]

[He lets the mirror comment slide. Later. Not now.]

[He goes quiet again. How can you be helpful to me? Distraction. He's just a distraction. Taking up Mettaton's precious time, when someone else should be here. Alphys, maybe, someone who would know what to do and say and how to do this right. Someone who gives a shit enough to try harder. To be less of a goddamn parasite and more of an actual help to people.]

[...No. No, no, no, don't do that. It's not about you. Nothing is about you. Stop that. Think about Mettaton.]

[Think about Mettaton.]

...what's it distracting you from? why shouldn't you...be upset over what happened?

There's trust, and then there is foolishness. I knew what he was, Sans. He never once pretended to be kind. He never once pretended to be anything other than the demon he is around me. And I. Ha. Was fine with it.

[What does that say about him? What does that say about Mettaton as a person?

He's a fool. Just like his mirror has said.]

I think that disqualifies me as a "good person".

[Raw. Vulnerable. Why did he say that? Of course he's not good but sharing that with anyone other than his closest confidant is a bad idea.

Sans doesn't leave. He asks more questions. Mettaton doesn't understand. Why? Why isn't it working? Why does he seem to stick around no matter how Mettaton pushes him away? If he were to fling insults and curses at the skeleton, would he just grin and bear it?

Why doesn't he love himself enough to walk away?]

It's distracting me from.

[...what is it distracting him from? Stardom. Who he really is. Pushing people away so he can blaze anew in his own place in space.]

From. I.

[His face twists, anger and despair suddenly splashing on his face. He lifts a hand to cover his features, shaking.]

I shouldn't be upset. I should be angry and nothing else. He invaded my body and used me and I shouldn't feel betrayed! I should feel righteous indignation and be pushing this behind me! It's holding me back.

[He shouldn't have let Sans in. He's so desperate for someone to talk to that he's unraveling at the seams and it's not even in front of the right person. His poor mirror. How will he feel? Hearing Mettaton speak like this to someone other than him. His mirror only has him, after all.

He's holding his face and he feels like he's floating away. He needs something to hold onto, something strong and sturdy and his hand flexes out for a brief second and almost reaches Sans's hands still patiently lying on his knees. Quick as lightning Mettaton wrenches his hand back, clenching his fist. No no no. He can't, he can't.]

[He's not sure how to respond to that. It's true, Bill has never been anything but--well, Bill. It's not like Bill started out okay and then changed.]

[Still. He knows a thing or two about ignoring warning signs.]

you...said yourself, you wanted to be on his good side to...minimize damage. it wasn't a bad idea. it just didn't go how you wanted.

[He's quiet for a moment.]

i think i don't really know anymore what being a "good person" even means. i think it's...too complicated to just be. quantified.

[It can't just be based on math and numbers. You do X number of good things, and you're a good person. You do X number of bad things, and you're a bad person. You make one mistake and you're immediately disqualified from being a good person, ever.]

[Who the hell allowed Sans to be the judge of that sort of thing, anyway? Oh wait. That's right.]

[It was Sans.]

maybe it's a gut thing. heh. maybe that's why i'm so bad at this. no guts.

[He doesn't laugh, though. He just sort of sighs. He's tired.]

i dunno. i still think you're good.

[He goes quiet again. He waits. Mettaton is struggling, and Sans wants to just reach out and take his hand again but--can he do that? He said he wouldn't. He said he wouldn't push.]

[He's thinking of Gaster again. Of how long it took him to put his foot down, to feel that righteous anger, both in the Core and after that, when Gaster was nothing but bad dreams. How long it took him to feel betrayed. How for the longest time, it was just fear. Fear, terror, confusion, because he had no idea what was going on, was teleporting all over creation, had barely any control over newfound magic, was struggling just to make sense of what had changed and what hadn't.]

[It took time. And he didn't have time right after he stepped out of the machine. He didn't have time until he finally made his way back to the one person who would always make sense of things.]

[He remembers panicking over the idea that Papyrus might not even exist anymore. And then he'd opened the door and...]

[This is wrong, isn't it? He shouldn't be thinking about himself. He shouldn't be framing this with his own experiences. It's completely different, right? Mettaton had his body stolen, his autonomy taken away. He was manipulated by Bill, is being manipulated by his Mirror. It's not the same. None of the stuff with Gaster even technically happened. And at the end of it all, Sans survived. Sans got off scot-free, while Gaster was erased, while good people were erased.]

[It's wrong. It should be. But the things Mettaton are saying, all the tangled up emotions, they're--familiar.]

[Even the way he buries his face in his hands, the way he almost reaches out, the way he clenches his fist, all of that is familiar. The need to hide, contain it, never reach out.]

[It's wrong. Sans told himself he wouldn't reach out, that he'd let Mettaton do it, that it should be Mettaton's choice. It'd be taking his choice away, inserting himself into people's personal stuff, their secrets, their narratives, like he always does. It's wrong.]

[But Mettaton won't reach out. He won't let himself. And if he doesn't, then he's just going to sit there, and Sans is just going to sit here, and eventually Sans will leave, and all Mettaton will have is his Mirror.]

[Maybe there's just no changing it. Maybe Sans is just always going to be like this, this selfish.]

...hey.

[He reaches out slowly and lays a hand over Mettaton's clenched fist.]

you...have a right to it, you know. to--feel what you're feeling. upset, betrayed, angry. all of it. there...isn't really a "should." it just is. i mean...what do you think it's holding you back from? what's letting yourself feel things and deal with it at your own pace holding you back from?

it's...

[This is hypocritical, and it's just repeating something Frisk once said to him, but,]

it's okay to not be okay.

[i still think you're good

Cold water, soothing and smooth, sliding over his ears. He probably shouldn't believe him but he wants to. He wants to and Mettaton is all about indulging what he wants.]

It didn't go at all how I wanted. And it didn't even work in the first place. Blooky, apparently, had thought him a friend. I failed at keeping him away in general. Though perhaps I should have expected this. It's not like Bill and I had a pleasant time in Hell together. Perhaps this was a subtle turn of revenge for ripping out his eye.

[He looks over to the desk with the flowers and the scarf and cards. It's a small golden thing but oh how it had shined back then. He doesn't know why he keeps the eye out. He'd be lying if he said part of him didn't consider it a hard won trophy.

He's still holding his face, finally, truly, considering sending Sans out and away so he can be this gigantic mess alone when Sans reaches out and lays a hand on his fist. He falls still. No trembling. No movement. If he had lungs, they would be empty, not a trace of air flowing in.

Movement. Small. Slow. He's now looking at Sans through his fingers, eyes wide in the cracks between them.]

Of course. Of course I have a, a right to that. I know that.

[Do you?]

I do.

[It's just...]

It's just...

[His hand is there. He needs to hear this. But this can go two ways. What way does he want this to go? What way does he need it to go?

...He relaxes his fist. Fingers uncurl. One by one. Mettaton uncurls. Bit by bit. It's slow at first but then he leans across the tiny space between them, removing his hand from his face and moving the one Sans was touching to wrap himself around the skeleton. His head buries into his shoulder and that's when the tears start. He tries to stay silent, to keep some dignity, but he's always been loud and brash and soon it's noisy, obtrusive sobs that shake him.

He doesn't say anything. Just cries.]

-1 to ZEZPQB BT FRESMNF IZDVZ BEFVQN GC NBVBW

his--eye?

[Holy shit, what?]

you're--heh. gonna have to tell me about that one later.

[Sounds--violent. But also pretty deserved. It's Bill, after all, and he remembers the kinds of things that Hell was making everyone feel and do. He's pretty sure that everyone hurt people. One way or another.]

[At least ripping out someone's eye doesn't technically gain you LOVE.]

[Mettaton stills at the touch and Sans figures he must have made a mistake. Did it wrong, just like he thought. Shouldn't have reached out. Should have let Mettaton be the one to instigate, to close the gap. Shouldn't have--made the choice for him, like he always makes the choice for people, like he always butts in where he's not wanted or needed. Because he's never wanted or needed.]

[But Mettaton doesn't pull away, doesn't push him away, doesn't tell him to leave. He sees Mettaton peering at him through his fingers. Sans tries to meet his gaze as best he can.]

it's just...?

[Mettaton doesn't answer. He moves. Sans isn't sure what he's doing at first, the movement slow and halting, like he wishes to hell and back that he could just make himself not do this. Like reaching out and letting himself feel things is the worst thing he could be doing, like it's the hardest thing he's ever done. And god does Sans know what that's like. That, at least, isn't framing things based on his own experiences, it's not making everything about himself. It's just--fact. They're both like this. They both try to stand on their own, and deny it and deny it and deny it when their legs start to give out. Pretend the weight of it all isn't crushing them. Sans keeps smiling. Mettaton keeps performing.]

[It's the same. That, at least, is the same.]

[Mettaton hugs him, buries his face in Sans's shoulder, and cries. Sans hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around Mettaton and holding him tight, running a hand up and down Mettaton's back. Trying to sooth him.]

it's okay. i got you.

[For now at least.]

[Mettaton hiccups a little into Sans's shoulder, which is the closest he can get to a chuckle at this point. Later. He'll tell him later. Won't he?

Haha. Probably not.

He's still sobbing, loud and harsh. There is a worry that his tears may form into bullets and hurt Sans but he doesn't focus on it much. He doesn't focus on anything other than how soft the hoodie feels under his fingers, how surprisingly solid a skeleton is in his arms. His tears soak into the fabric of his hoodie.

Sans holds him as well. A hand goes up and down Mettaton's back and the robot lets out a small whine, his hands gripping to him tighter.

His hands. His body. His tears. No one else's. Never anyone else.

The mirror is quiet as he listens. He doesn't know what is going on, doesn't know who is where and why- but he does know one thing.

Sans will pay for this.]

You always... seem to.

[Mettaton's voice is muffled, coming out in between heaving sobs.]

Thank you. You...

[You have come to mean so much to me]

You're good. Too.

[He just holds on. It's all he can do at this point. Just hold on and be here for Mettaton. He's not good at this, not good at being someone's anchor. Papyrus is so much better. But Papyrus isn't here. No one else is here right now.]

[Just Sans.]

[He keeps rubbing Mettaton's back, trying to be soothing. Hopes it isn't just--weird, bone against metal. Hopes this is good enough.]

you've been there for me.

[It's just...what friends do. They support each other. He hasn't broken down on Mettaton yet, but that's because--well, he's Sans. He's had years and years and years to practice shutting it all down until he can make absolutely sure that he's alone. Unless he needs Papyrus to be there, and even then, he almost always prefers to hide.]

[Mettaton calls him good, and it feels as wrong as it always does. Fundamentally wrong, like he's saying the sky is purple. Wants to deny it, or at least agree to disagree, but. That'd just be making it about him.]

just. glad i can...be here. help at all.

[He almost never helps. He doesn't help people. Usually he's just making things worse for them. So this is...nice. Novel.]

[It's soothing. It's comforting. Mettaton's sobbing slowly begins to subside and he feels exhausted but... better, somehow. His grip relaxes on Sans's back and he lifts up his head from his shoulder.]

Your shoulder is wet.

[What a silly statement. He laughs a little to himself at having said it. Of course it's wet. What did he expect? He pulls back a little so he can look Sans in the eye and smile.]

You've been more of a help to me than you know.

[He leans forward, gently pressing his forehead to Sans's and sighs. He's so comfortable now. He looks an absolute mess but he's not shaking anymore. He feels safe.

He supposes there are four people he feels this safe around now: Bucky, Alphys, Napstablook... and Sans.

Oh. And his mirror. Right. He almost forgot him. He wishes he could touch him. Maybe one day he'll be able to hug him like this.]

[It takes awhile, but that's fine. It's tiring, but that's also fine. It must be tiring to be someone's anchor. Yet again, he finds himself wondering how Papyrus does it, how he makes it look so easy. How he's not just exhausted all the time, dragging Sans's deadweight around.]

[Papyrus is just Papyrus.]

[But the tears and sobs eventually subside, and Mettaton speaks up and pulls back a little, and he smiles. It's watery, but it's there. Sans smiles back at him.]

heh. well, don't worry. guy who designed it makes pretty tough clothing. i'm sure it can handle a bit of wet.

[It's a silly thing to say, and that means Mettaton is starting to feel better. This is...a thing, he thinks. People cry and it's awful, and then they feel a little better after. Some kind of catharsis or something.]

[Sans pretty much always feels worse. Unless Papyrus is there. Maybe that's the key. Having someone you trust enough to cry in front of.]

yeah? well...that's...good.

[That's good. It's good that this helps. Shame for Mettaton that it has to be Sans, but...]

[Mettaton leans forward and presses his forehead to Sans's.]

[And.]

[It's like last time. The way his soul just surges, like it's borne up on a wave. It's frighteningly easy, the way such a simple gesture makes him feel so much. All the empty space contracting, craving something Sans never really thought to want or even think about. He doesn't really...want things. Even when he was a kid, wanting things just never occurred to him, because he could be happy with so little. Papyrus, a roof over their heads, ketchup, bad jokes, quiet.]

[And yet here this is, whatever it is, and despite himself, despite all reason and all rejection of the notion that he even deserves things like this, he...kind of...wants this.]

m-metta...

[He still doesn't get it. Doesn't understand why Mettaton would do this with him, and why now. The timing's a bit awkward. Papyrus would have done this after Sans cried all over him, but that's--that's different, of course. The context is different.]

[And then it clicks. Mettaton doesn't--know. How could he? He's probably got the most physical matter of any monster in the Underground, all that metal, all the circuitry. How would he know the weird nuance of how monsters with so much less physical matter convey affection?]

[It's the same as when Mettaton kissed him at Valentine's. It's just--a thing. Just a nice thing. Just seeking contact and comfort. No great meaning behind it.]

[That's fine. That's fine, of course, though it means that Sans should probably...tell him. Explain it. Not now--that would ruin not just the moment, but everything Sans has been trying to do here. It would ruin everything. Later. Sometime later when things are less...less this.]

[It leaves an ache in his soul, and he feels it shrink away, fall back into all the usual nothingness.]

[It's okay. Because this is still nice. This is still nice all on its own.]

[And Sans really just doesn't want things.]

heh. you...uh. you feeling a little better?

Heh. He did make it machine washable...

[Because goodness, Sans barely does his laundry in the first place; if the hoodie was hand-wash only, it would never get clean.

His emotions still feel shaky, a bit unsettled, but the panic is mostly gone and he lingers here, pressed to Sans's forehead. His eyes are closed. At least until Sans says his name and his eyes flutter open.

There's. Something about the way he says it. Something about the halting nature of it, the quiet way it slips out. It tugs at something inside of him, his soul flaring just a little. His eyes search for Sans's and it occurs to him how close they are. Again.

What did he do to make him say his name like that? How can he... repeat it? Get him to say it again and again and again...

He wants to move closer. He wants to do something. What do you want to do, Mettaton?

He moves himself a bit. Tries to angle his face to lean forward just enough, his eyes half-lidded-

Something grabs his ankle, a sharp and rough motion. Mettaton's eyes widen a bit and he pulls away from Sans immediately. He sits up straight, forcing himself not to look down.

The hand retreats rapidly back through the glass. He's always been as fast as lightning.]

I. Yes. I'm feeling better.

[He gives Sans a small smile as he subtly moves his feet away from the edge of the bed.]

Not completely but... it's better than before. Thank you.

[Mettaton shifts a little. Moves forward. Leans forward, almost as if he wants to--well--]

[Something flutters through Sans, a like panic but not quite. Though there's probably some regular old panic mixed in as well, because Mettaton can't, he can't possibly be doing what Sans thinks he's doing. Hell, even thinking Mettaton would, ever, is so absurd, and probably downright insulting to the guy. To think he'd stoop so low as to...]

[But the way he's looking at Sans.]

[And then something changes, and Mettaton jerks back, and the moment ends. Came to his senses. Must have realized what that looked like.]

[It's fine. They can just...pretend nothing odd just happened.]

w-well. good. i'm glad.

[Sans doesn't say anything. Doesn't ask any questions, doesn't make any expression other than widened eyesockets. He pretends everything is fine, like Mettaton didn't just try and make a huge mistake.

His mirror is so right. He's weak. He let someone he shouldn't care about in, and then he goes and does this undignified display. The patience his mirror must have with him, to see him fail again and again and still want to help him to be better is so much.

Yes. He should be thankful that his mirror stopped him just then. He tries to swallow a small kernel of resentment and anger towards his other self beyond the looking glass.]

It was kind of you to come see me.

[He doesn't want Sans to leave just yet. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts but... he almost.

He needs him to leave. Even as he tries to think of reasons to have him stay.]

[Mettaton's expression is hard to read, even for Sans. He looks--contrite, ashamed maybe. Like he's realizing what he almost did, like maybe he's a little horrified at himself.]

[Sans doesn't know how to let him know that it's okay, that Sans doesn't really mind. Not withkout acknowledging it or talking about it, and they've been pretty damn good about not doing that so far. And...that's the other thing. This weird tangle of emotions didn't just happen overnight. It's been there for awhile. Sans isn't sure how long.]

[How the hell did it get to this point, anyway?]

i can...stay. as long as you want. don't really, uh. have anything, heh, scheduled for today...so...

[He smiles gently. It's alright. It's fine, and for the first time in a long time, that word actually carries its intended meaning. It's...fine. He's okay with this.]

[How long has Mettaton been this mixed up? How long is he going to continue to do things like this? He doesn't know. But this feels... eerily familiar. This desire for closeness, both physical and emotional, makes him think of the last time he let someone in like this. They're even in the same room.

He thinks about it. How they sat together against his bedroom wall, him still shaken up over everything that had happened to him, Bucky right next to him, and just... talked. Talked about their lives, where they had been. How it aligned with each other. Bucky had even pressed his forehead to Mettaton's and spoken a desperate plea.

I don't want to be alone

Now Mettaton is on the other side of the equation. Now he's the one reaching out to someone else, wanting so desperately to have someone to hold onto. Are they heading the same way, the two of them? Will a couple of months go by and Mettaton will have his feelings put on display by Wonderland's machinations and he'll have to hear "if things were different, I could love you" again? Could he handle losing another friend like that? Could he handle slowly building things back to where they were before again?

It would never be the same. This will never be the same. He can't keep Sans, as a friend or as something else, and he knows that, knew that, can almost see his mirror's writing, too terribly bright for his eyes.

He can stop this now. It'll take longer than he wants, but he can stop it. The path is clear.

But. Just like back then, when he should have run after his mirror and tried to stop him from his machinations, he'll choose to stay still. Steal another precious moment from a world that doesn't give time willingly. He'll spend some much needed time with a friend and try to feel like his body is his again, like back when it was never in question.]

I couldn't ask you to stay all day. But, if you want, we could perhaps play a game? Or something. Anything to distract me.

[He'll apologize later. It's an annoying trend and he knows it upsets his mirror but this is an exceptional circumstance. He needs this.]