*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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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.
no subject
"...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.