*sans the skeleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trombones) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rackofbadcds2016-10-26 01:48 pm
trombones) wrote in rackofbadcds2016-10-26 01:48 pm
cover our eyes, it's a calming way to blame and hide the truth
At first, Alphys said that she needed his help with "something". That probably should should have been in the first clue. By the time Sans got there, had just dumped the second of a familiar pair of legs in a cart (really, they're heavy). She sputtered into a nonsense explanation, how "something" was busted, how she really needed a second pair of sockets on "something", and how "something" might be in a bad mood now that he can't chase her.
Did she say "he"? "Something". She meant "something".
And before Sans could open his mouth, he felt an uncermonious shove of a clawed hand behind them both. He stumbled into the adjacent room. Alphys wheeled the cart away, and the skeleton whirled around just as steel doors slid shut with a boom behind him.
He stares down the metal He looked over his shoulder at "something".
...
Nope. Hell nope. He turns back around.
"Alphys. Come on. Open the door."
No answer. Sans turns back around. Another couple awkward seconds pass. Finally, the monster shrugs his arms up in the air.
"Welp. If this is a practical joke, tells Alf she needs practice. See ya."
...
...
...
It takes a second to realize he's still standing there. As in, not going anywhere. As in, not teleporting. He looks down. His SOUL is green. Not the healing green, the other green. Oh.
"Oh."
He remembers the hand that pushed him a second ago. He can already hear her voice in his head.
NGAHHHHHH!!! FINALLY! MAN, why didn't I think of this sooner?! Hey, Papyrus! Check out what I can do to your brother!!
Did she say "he"? "Something". She meant "something".
And before Sans could open his mouth, he felt an uncermonious shove of a clawed hand behind them both. He stumbled into the adjacent room. Alphys wheeled the cart away, and the skeleton whirled around just as steel doors slid shut with a boom behind him.
He stares down the metal He looked over his shoulder at "something".
...
Nope. Hell nope. He turns back around.
"Alphys. Come on. Open the door."
No answer. Sans turns back around. Another couple awkward seconds pass. Finally, the monster shrugs his arms up in the air.
"Welp. If this is a practical joke, tells Alf she needs practice. See ya."
...
...
...
It takes a second to realize he's still standing there. As in, not going anywhere. As in, not teleporting. He looks down. His SOUL is green. Not the healing green, the other green. Oh.
"Oh."
He remembers the hand that pushed him a second ago. He can already hear her voice in his head.
NGAHHHHHH!!! FINALLY! MAN, why didn't I think of this sooner?! Hey, Papyrus! Check out what I can do to your brother!!
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The intercom shoots to life. "METTATON, STOP!!"
He does. The bombs fade, as does the smile. His face contorts in pain, like he'd just been shot in the soul.
He hasn't heard this voice in months. Sans, on the other hand, probably heard it just a few hours ago. It comes with the tale-tell sound of someone stomping their foot.
"You're both being so immature!! I don't want you to be mad at each other because of me!! I didn't want this!!! I just wanted you to talk to each other!"
There's a pause. Looks like the immediate anger has run out. Papyrus was never great at staying mad. "...so. Erm... I HAVE A LIST OF TOPICS I'VE PREPARED IN ADVANCE FOR THIS MOMENT but Undyne wrestled them away from me and-- UNDYNE!!"
"OH MY GOD, YOU NERD. Just let them fight it out!!"
"THOSE ARE IMPORTANT NOTE-CARDS AND YOU WILL GIVE THEM BACK!!"
"AHAHAHA, OOOOOOH MY GOD. 'How does watching a sunset make you feel?'! This is a HEART-TO-HEART, not a DATE!"
"I KNOW THAT?? IT'S A GOOD QUESTION!! IT'S--"
The arguing continues in the background as feedback cuts into the mic. Alphys' voice overtakes the other two's. "...u-uh. I'm j-just gonna let them... d-do their thing. Really, though. You uh. Y-you're both being j-jerks. Major jerks. Like... W-worse than you've e-ever been."
Sigh.
"Just talk to each other."
The intercom cuts off.
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That.
The blue eye flickers to the intercom. A moment passes, and it fades, leaving his eyes empty. His expression doesn't change much otherwise (as usual), but in barely a second it still somehow loses all its subtle vitriol, despite the eerieness his hollow sockets usually evoke.
"..."
He'd laugh at Papyrus and Undyne's arguing if his brother hadn't nailed it right on the head. Sans didn't even need Alphys to elaborate, though she certainly didn't help. When his normal pupils return, his eyes just look... tired.
Sigh.
His arms slip off the table and dangle free at his sides. He looks to the camera. Another bone attack appears above it, and he slips off the letterman jacket he had been wearing. Old, cheap, something he and Papyrus found at a thrift store. It gets tossed to hang on the bone, covering up the camera.
"... Anyway."
His tone is obvious bullshit. Mettaton was right in front of him, he probably already saw the quiet emotions that just went through the skeleton's face. Sans certainly didn't miss his reaction to Papyrus' voice. He pulls himself up on the edge of the table facing away, not quite looking at the robot.
"F'you still wanna, go ahead."
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One, he doesn't have his legs. Two... That's not what Papyrus wants. He wants them to talk.
Talk...
He isn't making eye-contact either. His head's turned down, eyes off and squeezed shut, lips twisted into an ugly scowl. He looks like he's either going to vomit or sob. He looks like he just got dumped all over again.
...The words aren't coming out. Maybe it's pride; Mettaton was never good at apologizes or expressing himself, especially not lately. That required trust and humility. He hated trusting himself with anyone. Not after Alphys. Not after Papyrus. Not after Sans.
Maybe he's still too shaken from hearing the voice he's been desperately trying to forget; you don't put all of that elusive trust into someone, put all of your faith and love, something you've never felt toward another person, into them and have it be okay when they walk away. You don't end up okay. Not after everyone tells you it was your fault and you can't trust anyone with how it made you feel.
Maybe chisp crumbs are in his voice modulator. Doesn't matter. Mettaton isn't speaking.
Gray words flash onto the floor instead.
I was always there for you.
I gave you a job.
I let you work whenever you wanted to.
I paid you whatever you wanted me to.
I turned a blind eye to any of your ridiculous shenanigans when I would have gotten after anyone else.
I listened to you when you pushed me to be with your brother.
I listened to all of your advice on how to make him happy.
I listened to you when you were miserable about your father or how you were as a brother.
I let you break into my house.
I helped get you together with the woman that you're still with!!
I acted like you were my brother.
It's stupid to be crying. He isn't crying. He just has crumbs in his eyes...
And none of it ever meant anything to you.
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"... It did."
He finally looks at Mettaton. It's more like a glance, knowing he'll probably need to go back and forth between words on the floor and Mettaton, but it's more than he's ever done this whole time.
"Does. I'm bad at showing it. Obviously."
No shit, Sherlock, he tells himself.
"I meant... what I said before. That I couldn't figure out if I wanted to help my friend or defend my brother. I was ticked when I said it, but it's still the truth. Goes without saying that I blew it."
... Actually, no. It didn't go without saying. These are things he actually needed to say. Impulse told him otherwise, but you won't believe what a kick in the brain from your brother can do. He looks back at the floor. Papyrus would want him to talk, right?
"That and what you... what you acted like you were doing, it... set off a bad memory."
Now it Sans' turn for his expression to twist. He closes his eyes.
"A long time ago... someone called Papyrus forgettable. And he got..."
...
"... hurt. Really bad."
Sure. That works.
"On top of that, well. You already know about my dad. Anyway. That's not what you were doing. I get it now. I'm not saying this to make me right. I just figured you'd just... want to know why."
A long. slow sigh.
"But you still don't make it easy sometimes."
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Well, that explains why he isn't talking. Must be too many emotions clogging the works.
Ghosts are weird.
Do you even realize how infuriating you are?!
It's like talking to a wall!!
A wall that never thinks about what it does to other people so it can go home and feel smug about how much better it is than everyone else!!
You assumed you NEEDED to defend your brother because that would mean you're the good guy instead of the asshole railing on the person your brother DUMPED. HE left ME.
You never ONCE said that you were sorry or asked how I was or what you could do so you could just sit there and give me that awful face like being near me was such a BURDEN on YOU!!
You won't even apologize NOW! You just want to explain yourself so you don't look like the horrible, self-righteous person that you are.
Ugh, stop crying. Stop crying. You're so ugly when you cry.
I have crumbs in my hair!!
1/2 might be trying to cram too much in one tag but here goes
Okay.
Believe it or not, Sans opens his eyes. His grip on the table tightens. Oh. So Mettaton gets to rail on him as much as he wants, but he doesn't get a chance to say his peace. That's how it's going to go, huh? Normally, Sans wouldn't care. He knows how much he deserves it. He'd give it up easily, let the other people yell at at them as much as they want.
But god help him if he wasn't already sick of taking the entire blame for this. Which is, you know, a really stupid reason to be annoyed given half the reason Mettaton was angry. But no. Hell no.
"Not even gonna let me finish, huh?"
He's talking to the words on the floor now.
"So, what? You're not a wall either? You want to blame the whole thing on everyone else. I didn't bring up Gaster, you did. You didn't hear my brother crying all those nights over you. I did. 'Cause nothing's ever your fault, right? Maybe this isn't good enough, but it never is with you. So screw me, right? You just want to assume you know why I said what I said when I'm trying to tell you why. You just want to throw the loudest tantrum and make yourself--"
2/2 KEEP FORGETTING SHIT
Welp. 'Too far' is an understatement.
Sans' grip on the table suddenly loosens. His shoulders slump further. He's quiet for a long time. He's glad Mettaton can't see his face right now. They both needed to talk, but Sans regrets talking back. Christ. This is why he usually didn't.
Good job, he tells himself. You're an official asshole.
For once, though, he doesn't give it up. Somehow, it finally hits him. It's a tired, shame-filled clarity, but actually... good. Maybe unconsciously, he realizes he can't say everything he's saying without doing it to himself. He still rarely followed his own advice. But knows needs to do now. Something he already wanted to do, but held off out of this or that stupid reason. Who knew venting out all your petty feelings made you wise up?
He runs both hands over his skull and keeps them there moment. A slow, shaky breath comes out of him. Skeletons don't have to breathe, but it helps sometimes. Especially when you're trying to gather a little courage.
Finally, the skeleton hops off the table. He doesn't even look at the words on the floor now. This time, he was looking at Mettaton. Sans didn't cry. Not often, anyway. But damn if all that exhaustion and remorse on his face now didn't show something similar.
He reaches out and picks a crumb out of his hair. Then another one. He flicks them out onto the floor.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you and Papyrus broke up. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
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YOU THINK I DON'T ALREADY BLAME MYSELF?!! He's so mad. He's so mad he's shaking. The coolant around his core is bubbling again. The words are shaking just as hard. It's like the emotions are just leaking out without any control. YOU THINK I HAVEN'T BEEN WORKING MYSELF TO DEATH FOR MONTHS TRYING TO FORGET THAT HE LEFT ME BECAUSE OF ME BUT I CAN'T I CAN'T FORGET BECAUSE NONE OF YOU WILL LET ME ALL ANY OF YOU EVER DO IS TELL ME HOW HORRIBLE I AM AND I
There are hands on him. Mettaton flinches, instinctively reactivating his eyes and trying to twist himself away from an oncoming attack. Without any limbs, it doesn't do much. He can barely even keep himself from seeing San's...
miserable expression.
...despite all the hollering, he... Mettaton wasn't expecting an apology. He wasn't expecting Sans to actually feel any sort of remorse, none the less actually show it. He's spent so long bottling his emotions that suddenly having them validated instead of thrown back at him is...
He doesn't know what to do with it. Well, he was already crying. Some useless croak sounds out of his speakers as he tilts his head down in an attempt to cover his face with his hair.
Don't look at me, I'm a mess.
crap sorry had an idea and then hit the enter key too soon
... He should probably start being specific.
"I'm sorry about that too, I mean."
The first 'sorry' probably covered it. Sans figures it's worth saying anyway. He tries picking at more chisp. Sorry, dude. He's looking at you anyway. It's not like he wasn't a mess himself.
"Hey. Come on," He says with attempted lightness. "If you want this stuff out of your hair, you gotta hold still. Unless you want me to shake it out of ya, which I can guarantee skeleton hands aren't great for."
Hair gets stuck in bone. Bone gets stuck in hair. Its awkward. Thats why he wore gloves when he ruffled Frisk's hair. Give him another time and place, and he'd do it to Mettaton too for a laugh.
His words are so faint and tired, he can hear his own burnout. Geez.
It wasn't because he didn't want to say it, or that he didn't mean it. He just didn't realize how exhausting all their fighting was until he finally fessed up. It was an enormous weight off his shoulder, but he was still sore from carrying it so long.
Man. Remind him to do this less often.
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Sans is tired. Mettaton is tired. Exhausted, really. He can hear Sans' burnout just as clearly as he feels his own and all he can do is limply accept the fingers poking through his hair.
He'd argue about the things skeleton hands are and are not great for, but he doesn't want to think about how he knows what he does. That's done. It's over.
...it's all over.
Mettaton's quiet for a long while as Sans works. He's online, obviously. There's still a few tears here and there, but they've mostly flowed to a stop. How dramatic of him. He's clearly just thinking. Reflecting. Letting his own relief and exhaustion settle into his metal bones.
Finally:
"'m sorry." It's a weak crackle out of his speakers, but what with how quiet they're both being, it's easily heard.
no subject
Then it happens anyway.
"..."
Sans had just plucked the last bit of crumb he could find out of all that synthetic hair. His hand stops. It hovers in the air for a moment. He's quiet for just a long.
"... Hey."
He sets his other hand on Mettaton's shoulder and nods. A hug would probably be better, but Sans isn't sure of the other monster's boundaries right now - that and he has no arms.
"Don't worry about it."
He means it.
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Honestly, it's not a question of whether or not he's going to forgive Sans. Of course he does. Well. Maybe not right now, but he will. He understands where the anger came from, as much as Mettaton did enjoy playing the victim and pretending otherwise. The question is whether he'll ever trust him the same way again.
...that answer isn't looking so good.
At the very least, the robot shakes his head and scoffs lightly. "Can I worry about my charge port?" His voice is still crackling and strained, but at least it's a change of subject.
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... Which is another thing. Wanting to be friends again. That wasn't unusual, obviously. But man. The surface is weird for him. Even after a whole year, he sometimes didn't realize how good he had what he didn't already have before. He was so used to things not sticking around for the long term that it gets a little surreal sometimes.
He's working on it.
"Pfft. Yeah, sure."
It helps that he already feels a lot better now... which reminds him. He glances at the hidden camera, still covered by his jacket.
"Guess they're wondering what's going on," He murmurs, mostly to himself... then shrugs. Eh. For all he knew, Undyne and Papyrus were still arguing and distracted. He looks back to Mettaton. Both hands come down. He cracks a small, wry grin.
"So how DOES a sunset make you feel?"
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He couldn't see Mettaton's half of the conversation.
The question gets another strained chuckle, the idol's mind still on the camera. "Horrible. It's always the worst having to see a star take a bow." Well. He tried to make it sound funny.
...but seriously. "You wouldn't mind getting my arms for me, would you? They should be under the work bench." Alphys may have taken his legs with her, but at least she left those.
one more before I gotta make myself do homework
"Well, I like 'em. Kinda makes me think about how we got one in the first place."
Blah blah blah, the surface is actually pretty cool. But seriously. He blinks and tilts his head down at the bench.
"How heavy are they? You know I'm, like, 20 pounds."
Maybe not EXACTLY, but Sans has been picked up and hauled around by more than half his friends and family already. They have to at least have a guess.
That said, he manages to haul them out anyhow. ... And claps them both together.
"Does this count as holding hands?"
Okay, maybe not so seriously.
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"Give me my arms." Before he changes his mind.
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Obviously not. Sans rolls his eyes but complies anyway. Mettaton's arms go back on easily (as if it's hard to figure out), and the skeleton's own hands return to his pockets.
"There."
No accounting for his legs. That's on Alphys.
... Speaking of. Sans quiets a little. His turn to be serious now.
"So... you wanna tell them yet?"
He nods at the still-covered camera. Sans' SOUL was still green, so he wasn't going anywhere until Undyne let him go. Might as well let Mettaton make the choice.
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"...in a moment." He wanted his arms for a reason.
Running away has always been an easy thing for Mettaton. It's been easy ever since he was Sonatablook. It's always been what everyone pin-points as his worst flaw. If he doesn't like the outcome of something, he ignores it. He avoids the truth. He pretends it never happened.
...but holding on... No one ever said how much more holding on hurt. Running away only hurt when you were called out on it - when you remembered yourself. Holding on hurt every moment of every day.
He sighs to himself as he pulls the glove off his right hand. Gingerly, almost with a sort of reverence, Mettaton slides two, gaudy rings off his ring and middle fingers.
"..."
The rings stay in his palm for a moment before he turns them over to Sans.
"I know you said you hadn't considered anything with the queen, but..." He's trying to smile. It's bittersweet. "She'll like these."
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Oh.
Sans blinks and looks down. He stares at Mettaton's hand for what feels like a good long while. Then he closes his eyes and bows his head slightly. He takes the rings.
"... She would. Thanks. We're..." He catches himself. Right. Not the time. That's how he got into half this mess in the first place. "Sorry. I'll tell you about it some other time, if you want to."
His sockets open(????) and he turns the ring over in his hands. With almost the same care, more out of respect for the monster in front of him than anything, he pockets the rings.
"... Hey." He looks back up, and nods towards the door. "I'm not trying to hook you guys back up or anything, but... I wasn't lying before. Papyrus still wants to be friends. He'd love to see you."
Pause.
"Only if you wanna, though."
Meaning that Sans won't push it. He just wants Mettaton to know the door's still open. You know. Metaphorically.
no subject
He's perfect. He's sweet and charming and silly and perfect.
Mettaton knows he's running away, but who would ever blame him? You can't just be friends with someone you shared your SOUL with. Not after daydreaming about picket fences and 3-hour long, operatic wedding vows. Not after you picked out engagement rings.
"I'm sure that would be lovely." Meaning 'no.'
Consider the door closed. The metaphorical one. The real one...
Mettaton flicks his wrist and a small, box-version of himself summons into the air over by the camera. Its tiny hand smacks away Sans' jacket before it disappears.
"We're fine now, darling. You can let us out."
no subject
"Alright. Your choice. But the offer's still on the table if you ever change your mind."
Meaning Papyrus will probably leave the door unlocked, at least. So will Sans, but the fact still stood. It wasn't his decision to make.
After Mettaton speaks up, there's a short silence on the other end. Sans quirks a browbone.
"What, you wanted to watch us hug it out?"
Papyrus is the first to speak. "SORT OF--"
"W-We just thought!! You'd be in there! For a few more hours... give or take."
"Give or take, yeah," Sans snorts, glancing at Mettaton. "We might've taken our damn time all the time."
Not even a second later, his phone buzzes. He blinks and takes it out. It's Toriel. Apparently, Frisk was there.
"... Darn time."
It's not like the kid hasn't heard them all curse before. But he had a feeling the door would be closed a lot longer if he didn't "correct" himself. That and, well, Toriel apparently just got there. She hadn't been around to hear all their earlier expletives.