entrancelogs | While You Were Sleeping [OPEN]

Entry tags:

While You Were Sleeping [OPEN]

Who: Sans and YOU
Where: Around the mansion
When: 12/16 - 12/25
Rating: PG to start, will probably get worse
Summary: Sans is having a bad holiday
The Story:

12/16

He wakes up and it kinda feels like he hasn't slept at all. Not a fun feeling. Kind of one of the worst feelings, to be honest.

After one night of intensely weird and vivid dreams, he thinks he has a handle on what this event is about. He'd rather have nothing to do with any of it, thanks. He's having enough issues lately without also needing to question which version of Wonderland is real. He actually, for once, has important stuff to do. Like tracking down Frisk (the real one) and making sure they don't do something terrible.

Again.

He spends the day searching the mansion, checking anywhere that Frisk might be. He's trying to find the others as well, just...just in case. Touch base, compare notes, see what people know about the event or about Frisk. Frisk--and everyone, really--was acting awfully strange in that dream world. Like they were completely different people. And hell, maybe that's what they actually were--figments created by Wonderland.

Every time he passes a window and sees the snow outside he has to remind himself that he's awake. Because he is awake, right?

12/18

It's starting to get worse. Sleep doesn't feel like sleep anymore. Falling asleep feels like waking up, and god, he hasn't been quite this exhausted in a long time. Been a few years since he was actually losing sleep. Usually he sleeps too much. It's left him unfocused and a bit twitchy.

It's hard to tell if he's even awake right now.

He spends most of today in the library, occasionally nodding off but trying his best to stay awake. He's searching for any information the library might provide on the Core, or on this "White Queen" they keep talking about in the dream world. It feels like they're running out of time.

How long can a monster go without sleep, anyway?

12/21

Reality is starting to come apart at the seams.

Not literally. Probably not literally. But it certainly feels that way.

He's sitting outside his room with his back to the door. He can't go in there. It looks exactly like his room in Snowdin, but he's not in Snowdin, because he can't be in Snowdin. If this were Snowdin, Papyrus would be here. If Papyrus isn't here, then he's--

Is Papyrus dead? Is that what happened?

He is, that's the thing. Papyrus is dead. The Papyrus who was here is dead. So...does that mean this is a bad timeline now? Is that why he needed to stop Frisk? They were going to do something terrible and he needs to stop them.

He should get up. He just...

Doesn't.

12/24

He's lost. Not sure where he is, when he is. Barely knows who he is.

He's Sans, and he has a job to do. There's somewhere he has to be. He just...needs to get there. He's dragging himself along a wall, moving slowly as he heads toward the entryway. The Last Corridor. The golden hallway.

It's more white these days.

He just needs to get there. That's where he'll find the human.

There's been a funny feeling in his chest the last day or eternity or so. A lurching feeling deep in his soul. He can remember what the feeling needs, but maybe this time...

Maybe he can save this timeline before it happens.

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Mettaton feels like he's rusting at the edges. Like his soul has been stretched thin across a washboard, scrubbed and scrubbed until its raw and jagged. He'd never, ever, in his entire life, both as a ghost and as a robot, needed sleep as much as he does now.

There's no rest for the wicked though, and he stumbles through the mansion, the real mansion, in a desperate attempt for some relief.

He has just enough presence of mind left to spot Sans crawling across the wall towards the entrance hall. That's a distraction if he ever needed one. Feeling the weight of his metal legs, he strides over to the skeleton.

"Sans... are you all right?"

His words are labored but still articulate.

He lurches forward. Has to keep moving. If he stops, he'll fall, and if he falls he knows he won't get back up. Can't stop the kid if he's a pile of dust. Can't do much of anything when you're dust except fertilize things, and it's winter, so there isn't even anything to fertilize.

...That's stupid. He stops thinking about it.

Keep moving. Find the hallway. Find the kid.

A voice speaks to him, and he ignores it at first, because he's heard several different voices over the last couple days. Some of them real, many of them not, and he doesn't really have the energy to differentiate anymore.

He thinks he sees Mettaton nearby. In his EX form, but that doesn't make sense, since shouldn't he have been in his NEO form? Oh, maybe he was wrong then. Maybe this isn't the worst kind of timeline--just a really bad one. He can't remember.

"are you alive or nah?"

"Alive? Yes Sans, of course I'm alive. You don't look very alive yourself though."

He reaches out a hand and attempts to help steady the skeleton, even if he is a little woozy himself. The world is spinning just a bit, but he holds strong. Huh. He thought he was doing this only for Sans...

"yeah?" He blinks and stares right through Mettaton. It's too hard to actually focus on him. "okay...i believe you."

He doesn't have the time or energy to try and deny it, after all. Even though Mettaton is dead by now. Should be dead by now. Or should at least be offline and out of batteries by now. Still can't quite...remember when he is. He has to be at the golden hall either way, though. Has to be there. Has to get there in time.

"i. uh." Mettaton puts a hand on him to support him and that makes Sans pause for just a moment, because that touch feels real. But then again, so did everything in the dream world, if that was even the dream world. That's the problem. Everything everywhere is so vivid and real.

Which is the same thing as nothing being real.

"i gotta get to the castle. i got a..." He presses a hand to his face. "an important date. can't...miss it."

He's holding him up now, essentially, though he's not sure if Sans knows that. Mettaton's systems continue their beeping and warnings but he ignores them. It's like seeing the check engine light on in your car and you decide to keep driving down the highway and not worry about it.

"The castle? Sans, what are you talking about? There is no castle."

He gives the skeleton a worried look. He doesn't sound right.

"Here, let's try and find you someplace to sit. You don't look well."

He leans more heavily. Everything goes fuzzy for a bit and his eyelights fade out. He can't remember where he is, what was happening, what he was doing. He had to go somewhere. Someone is speaking. Mettaton, only he doesn't have that crown on his abdomen, so...that means something, right? What does that mean.

"i can't..."

He presses a hand to his face and scrubs at his eyesockets, bone rasping against bone.

"the...you know, the...castle. asgore. th...the golden hallway."

He sways, catches himself on the edge of one of Mettaton's metal plates.

"that's where it happens. i gotta be there. gotta find 'em."

Sans is grasping at him like a drowning man, and Mettaton is more concerned for him than before. His grip on him becomes more firm as he begins to steer him towards a nearby wall.

"You need to sit down, you're delirious."

Mettaton, too, is a tad delirious, but he seems to be doing better with this than Sans. He looks at the skeleton curiously at his words, however.

"That's where WHAT happens, Sans?"

The world tilts. Somehow he stays upright. Mettaton steers him toward a wall and he presses a hand against the wallpaper, trying to force himself to stay standing.

"can't. have to be there. gotta be...punctual. heh. heh heh."

It's funny. It's so hilarious. Everything is funny when you're this tired.

His vision swims and his hearing goes a bit odd for a second. He misses what Mettaton says almost completely.

"that's where...the human. my human. i gotta..."

He presses his free hand to his face.

"sorry. not making sense."

Mettaton scoffs.

"Sans, you're literally dying in my arms and you're making puns???? Can't you save your energy for, I don't know, staying alive?"

He's tired and a bit cranky, forgive him.

"Your human? Sans you're speaking nonsense. Why would you meet the human at the castle? Unless you're talking about stopping Frisk from fighting Asgore?"

He leans heavily against the wall and snorts, tilting his head so that his skull hits the wall with a dull thunk.

"'m not dying. pssh. important to get the l...last laugh in, anyway."

You gotta go out laughing, or at least joking. One last prank. Ketchup leaking out between his teeth, between his ribs, and the look on their face. It's priceless.

That's what's going to happen in the golden...the entrance hall, right? Only he forgot to drink any ketchup. So maybe that means this is a good timeline? Maybe that just means he has to tell them about--about love and stuff, or whatever.

He presses a hand to his face again, gives his head a shake to try and clear it. It doesn't work.

"frisk."

Right. That's their name. He's not supposed to know that yet. Why does he know it? Which...why can't he remember which timeline this is? Is he even awake?

"i'm--i'm just confused. tha's all. frisk. i hafta..."

He has to be moving. So he drags himself forward again, along the wall.

"hafta stop them. they're making a mistake."

"Sans, you really seem like you are dying."

Oh god. Sans is dying. Right here, in his arms. It's not that easy to distance himself from this again when it is now happening right here and he feels vaguely responsible.

At least the discussion of Frisk helps ground him again.

"Yes, Frisk. They want to ERASE themself from existence, remember? They're trying to kill themself. This is Wonderland. Neither of us have been to the Underground in a very long time."

Sans is not in a good state at all. Neither is Mettaton. But one of them still has the ability to stand, so Mettaton is using this to his advantage.

"We need to get you to someplace to rest. You could Fall Down at any moment."

"i'm not."

He doesn't die yet. He can't. That's later. Or that--maybe that already happened. It's happened a lot, he thinks.

"frisk." He says it as if he's reaffirming their name. Frisk. Frisk the human. He's not supposed to know their name, though. That part doesn't carry over. That part gets lost.

The human. His human.

"they wanna erase..." He pinches the bone between his eyesockets. "suddenly, everything ends."

Mettaton won't know what the hell he's talking about. He's wasting his time here. He has to be there. He takes another step forward and his slipper catches on the carpet. He stumbles but doesn't quite fall. Stay up, stay standing, stay awake until you can't anymore. You have to stop them.

"i'm not f..."

He knows what it feels like, though. He remembers. And there it is again, that lurching sensation, the vertigo. The world spinning gently. The longing to just--lie down, just--

He splays his fingers against the wall and finally looks up at Mettaton, eyelights blown wide.

"rest won't help. 'll just wake up again."

What a liar this skeleton is. He can understand it though. The desire to hang on to any semblance of being put together even as you are unraveling in front of people's eyes.

Sans's eyes are so wide, despite being locked into place in his skull, and Mettaton knows that just keeping him up won't be enough to save him. He can and will die here if something isn't done. It's figuring out what that something is that is the kicker.

"That is true. This event is messing with all of us."

He reaches out again, his magic extending out just a little but not coalescing into fully-formed bullets. He knows that could harm Sans more than help, but the tendrils of magic are vaguely green in nature. Perhaps that will stabilize him? He's never been good at healing magic. It was never something he invested time in, being a ghost and all.

Sans mentions Frisk, but honestly Mettaton doesn't have time to think about Frisk very much right now. Sans is the priority. Think Mettaton, think, what could save Sans...?

He blinks and his eyelights wink out, going black for a moment. Everything else goes black for a moment as well. The whole world fades out, Mettaton's voice and face both going fuzzy. Then it all fades back in. His eyelights flicker back on like dying lightbulbs, now two different sizes and dim.

"it's fine."

He starts trying to drag himself forward again.

"'f i die, i die stopping them. tha's fine."

It's fine. Papyrus isn't here to see it this time, it'll only be for two days, and if it's not the literal world on the line then you're able to lower the stakes a bit. It's a fine. It's a fair enough trade-off.

Magic stirs, and he feels it brush against his soul. Feels like a moth fluttering against glass. Wants to get in, should be able to get in, but can't. Because there's no way in.

"don't waste it." He rests his head against the wall for a second before taking another step forward. "there's nothing to heal."

"Nothing to heal? You have a SOUL, don't you?"

Even if his tone is a bit acerbic in nature, this is worrying. He's not great at healing on a good day, but his display didn't make a dent in Sans's depleted state and he feels... hopeless. Haha. Hopeless.

There's nothing he can do. Sans is going to Fall Down and he's going to watch him this time and haha wow this is horrible!! On so many levels!!

"Sans, I can't let you die here. I let you walk off and die once, but not again."

Did he mean to say that out loud? He doesn't know. It doesn't matter. He's thinking furiously, trying to come up with something... maybe he has some Monster food in one of his compartments? He knows the Steak in the shape of his Face would be perfect here as he opens his side, but there's no way he could get that-

His fingers touch paper, two leafs of it, along with the pen and pad of paper he usually has stored there and he stops. The tickets. Of course. He bought them back when he had been afraid of his Mirror attacking him again, and while that fear has... mitigated, to say the least, the tickets were still in his possession. He pulls one out, looks at it, looks at Sans, and makes a decision.

"If regular methods of healing won't work, then perhaps we need to outsource a bit!"

Before Sans can potentially protest, he grabs the skeleton's arm forcefully and pulls him to him, slapping the Fortune Ticket onto his body. He has no idea if this will work as intended, but it's better than standing around and doing nothing.

He doesn't get it. No one ever really does. Sans can't help a faint chuckle.

"heh. 1 HP, remember? can't heal that."

You can't heal exhaustion without sleep, either, and that's not even physically possible right now. Falling asleep will just mean waking up. It's a literal waking nightmare.

He leans more heavily against the wall, vaguely aware that Mettaton is pretty much holding him upright at this point. There's that lurching feeling again, and his vision fades out for a moment. It fades back in much more slowly than he'd like.

He catches the last part of what Mettaton says and blinks slowly.

"wh... that wasn't your..."

That wasn't Mettaton's fault. It was someone else's. He can't remember right now. Everything's just...very confusing. Very far away. Doesn't matter. Get to the hallway, stop the human. Stop the human.

Mettaton says something about outsourcing, and Sans's mind casts around for a good pun, but then there's a yank. He tumbles forward, and someone--Mettaton?--is holding onto him.

"w--"

It's very sudden.

It feels a little bit like having his soul turned blue, except the opposite. Instead of heaviness, it's lightness, and the sensation of having his soul pulled in about a thousand different directions at once. His bones prickle and suddenly he is very awake and very aware of where he is and everything around him. And it doesn't stop. The feeling surges, until it almost feels like he's vibrating. Foreign magic digs into his soul and overtakes him, sharp and unstoppable.

"ggghhhg--"

One turns very briefly into a thousand. Light fills Sans's eyesockets. The prickling and burning and vibrating disappears for a moment and all he feels is...

Good.

Like he could stay awake a full day. Like he could sleep a full night. Like he could run a marathon if he was so inclined. Like he could summon a hundred Blasters at once and it wouldn't even hurt. Like the eye is just a minor annoyance, nothing to concern himself with. Like his bones are titanium.

And then it's gone. His eyelights fade to their normal size and the unpleasant prickling, vibrating sensation takes over again as the magic leaves in fits and starts, its job done. He's awake. He's Sans. He's in Wonderland, there's an event on, it's Christmas, Frisk wants to Erase themselves, and Mettaton probably just saved his life.

"let go."

He's trembling.

"let me go. i need to sit down."

Mettaton can't imagine what this must feel like, but watching it could be just as bizarre. The ticket sticks to Sans's body and for one horrible moment Mettaton worries that it won't do anything, that maybe these would only work on people from Zacharie's world-

And then it works.

The magic in the room, low and dormant at first, roars to life around them both and Mettaton feels it shake his very SOUL. It's alien, different, strange, and he trembles a bit. Idly he wonders if he had been a ghost in this moment if he would have temporarily dissipated in response to the sudden swell. He can feel the magic thrumming through Sans as he can hear him gurgle almost as it does its job. His eyelights are as bright as the stars and Mettaton thinks, for a moment, that Sans is something like a supernova.

Then Sans returns to the Earth and he's shaking. Mettaton lets him go immediately.

"Are you all right?"

He hopes he didn't break the poor Monster. Part of him is glad that he could try this out on someone else other than him, though Sans didn't exactly consent to this impromptu experimentation. At least he seems to be alive, which was the intended purpose.

Mettaton lets him go and he steps back, almost stumbling against the wall. Then he slides down and sits.

He stops himself from hugging himself. Rests his hands against his chest instead, as if he's clutching his soul. Trembles.

He's in Wonderland.

He's awake. He's fine. He's awake. He's in Wonderland.

Someone else's magic is still jumping through his bones like sparks. He grips his chest tighter. Doesn't help. Would never help.

"what...was that."

Doesn't matter. Get up. Go find Frisk. Get up. Just get up.

He stays where he is.

Mettaton doesn't know what to do here. His hands hover in the air, close to where he had Sans only a moment earlier. Sans is alive but something else could be wrong, so Mettaton kneels to not stand over him.

"It was a Fortune Ticket that I bought for myself from Zacharie. It's an item from his world that's supposed to heal 1,000 HP, which is a little under what I have. I used it on you because I couldn't think of any other way to save you."

His eyes search Sans's eyesockets as he tries to be as gentle and non-threatening as possible.

"Now, to reiterate: are you all right?"

Zacharie again.

Zacharie, the same guy that gave Chara their ability to use Spell. The same guy with the weird world and the weird magic. No wonder it feels so foreign. No wonder his soul is struggling so hard to push the rest of it out. No wonder it felt so overpowering.

Felt the same when--

No. Stop. Not about you. Doesn't matter. Mettaton was just saving your life. Mettaton was just fixing you. Doesn't matter. Frisk. Frisk is more important.

But he--but Mettaton knew. He's the only one here who knows even a tiny bit at it, who didn't have to guess the way Frisk and Chara and Alphys did, because Sans was tired and worn out and couldn't keep his stupid big mouth shut. He knew.

Knew and decided Sans's life took priority over what it could mean to have strange magic shoved into his soul. And it shouldn't mean anything. He should be over it. He should be long over it. It's been years and years. Mettaton was doing what was best.

Stop. Get over it. Doesn't matter. Frisk.

He sucks in a breath. Can't stop shaking. Keeps one hand against his chest, as if that will matter, as if that will keep him safe, it's such a childish reaction but he can't let go. Braces the other hand against the wall, pulls himself to his feet.

Mettaton has seen him weak and pathetic enough already. Disgusting.

"you saved my life. i owe you."

They don't even sound like his words. It feels like it's not even him speaking them.

He can't meet Mettaton's eyes.

"let's. let's go find frisk."

Sans speaks and he sounds nothing like his usual self and Mettaton looks horrified.

"You're not all right. That magic did something to you beyond healing. Oh Sans. Oh Sans I am so sorry I..."

It's slow to register, really, what exactly is going on here with Sans, but the more he looks at him, the more his tired mind puts together the pieces of a puzzle he first started assembling over three months ago. It falls into place and the look of horror continues, though now he looks away, unable to meet Sans's eyes.

"I didn't even think. I didn't even think that this could... that this was anything like..."

Sans is shaking and clutching his chest and Mettaton knows he's made this worse. He's saved his life but in doing so brought this out again and he can't help without hurting in some way, can he? That's just not how you work, Mettaton! If you care about someone you will hurt them! That's just the law of the land!

"I couldn't let you go off and die again. I couldn't. I can't."

He's so, so tired, his walls are collapsing again, and he's back on the beach, drink in hand, watching the sand as his friend walks away, walks right to his place in a little jar in Papyrus's room. (what a jarring experience!)

Pull yourself together, Mettaton!

"I'm sorry. You don't owe me anything. I. I can leave you alone, if you want. Or I could get you something, if you need it."

The guilt claws its way through his soul as he tries to steady his words.

Mettaton's words come from far away, muffled, like he's listening to them from underwater. There's some kind of dawning realization on his face, though Sans isn't sure what exactly he's realizing. Mettaton keeps talking. He sounds weird. Off.

Distantly he becomes aware that Mettaton is probably panicking. Huh.

"stop. stop, listen. listen, it's fine. it's okay, i'm okay."

He can't do this right now. He feels a thousand miles away from everything; how could he possibly try and talk someone down right now? He tries to focus on something real, some tether that might bring him back, but there's just...nothing. Frisk Erasing themselves. That's the only thing.

"it doesn't matter."

It's fine. People just keep making this mistake--they keep thinking that Sans matters. That's okay. People are like that. Friends are like that. And hey, he's right, Mettaton did the right thing. Sans was about to wander off and collapse and die, and what good would that have done anyone? Things are more efficient for people if Sans is alive and functional. He can't really argue with that. What right does he have to argue? He doesn't matter, remember?

"it doesn't--you saved my life. i'm alive. so it doesn't..."

You don't get to be upset at someone for saving your life. You don't get to do that. How selfish can you be?

He forces himself to let go of his jacket. The fabric is bunched together from where he was gripping too tightly.

"i'm fine now. see? let's just...move on. okay? the kids need us."

And he can't do this. He can't do this right now, because if he does this he's just gonna go further away until he's sitting in that chair again, the device aimed for his chest, the doctor making a few last minute adjustments and telling him it might feel weird but there's nothing to worry about, you'll be fine, Sans, don't look so scared.

He's had enough of hallucinations lately, thank you.

He takes a breath.

"sorry i--it was just startling, that's all."

And it wasn't all terrible. It didn't hurt. Hey, that's a plus, right? It actually did just feel weird this time, just a rush of energy and a prickly sensation, and the feeling of his soul being overwhelmed. And in the middle, for a second there...

It had been...

Nice. Actually nice.

Normal.

For a split second there, he'd been normal.

Mettaton isn't panicking he's just speaking very fast in alarm. Totally not panicking. Totally.

Then suddenly, Sans says he doesn't matter and Mettaton's face twists from horror to anger, and he reaches out and grabs Sans's shoulders roughly after he's done speaking.

"It doesn't matter? Of course it fucking matters, Sans! You matter! You have always mattered! Whatever bastard did this to you in the first place deserves a swift kick to the teeth if they didn't get what was coming to them already!"

His voice is rough with emotion. It glitches as he tries to bring himself under control. His SOUL is flaring slightly, fluttering under the strain.

"Of course you matter. If you didn't matter then, then, it wouldn't have hurt so bad to see you go. To never receive a reply from your last text. To wonder for 24 hours that somehow, someway, you might not come back."

This is undignified. This is besmirching the cool and charismatic MTT brand. For once, Mettaton doesn't care.

"This matters, Sans. I didn't want to hurt you but I did, and I'm sorry."

He goes silent for a moment, staring at Sans imploringly... for what? He isn't sure. But he lets go of his shoulders. Sans doesn't like that, remember? Pull yourself together, Mettaton. This show is unlike you.

Sans doesn't want to see this. No one wants to see this. Did you forget? You're still on stage.

He pulls himself together. His SOUL stops fluttering. His voice returns to normal.

"...You're right. The kids need us."

Mettaton is fast. Makes sense. Lightning magic and such. Robots.

The healing spell, Fortune Ticket, whatever it was, can only do so much. It can't erase the exhaustion completely, and Sans's reaction time suffers the most when he's exhausted. Hands reach for him and he pulls back, but there's a wall in the way. He thinks about teleporting, but there's a delay between thinking about it and actually doing it, and in the delay, Mettaton grabs him. Grabs him hard. Holds tight.

Caught.

You can't dodge if you can't move.

It doesn't have to matter. He doesn't have to let this matter. Mettaton is yelling at him. Guess he screwed up. Sans's eyelights slide to the side, resting on a point in midair somewhere past Mettaton. Mettaton is saying something about how of course he matters, how whoever "did this" deserves to be punished, as if the doctor, or anyone, deserved what happened. And you can't even really blame the doctor, it's not like he knew how bad it would be, and it all worked out in the end, it just hurt a bit, that's all, it shouldn't affect him, shouldn't still affect him, he shouldn't feel anything but grateful to be honest, and he genuinely doesn't regret it, and even the stuff that happened later wasn't really the doctor's fault, and he agreed to it, he said yes, for science, he agreed to it, and it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

Selfish little sack of bones. Look how much you've upset him. He missed you. He's done so much for you. He just saved your life. This is how you repay him?

Sans never pays his tab. Ask anyone.

Mettaton is still holding him. Sans doesn't move. Doesn't move a, haha, a muscle.

"okay."

Just go with it. Just agree. He grins. He's always grinning.

Mettaton lets go. Sans just stands there.

Do something. Be normal. Remember normal? You even got to feel it for a second there. Just be a normal, functional monster, Sans. Make it okay.

"you're right. it's matter." He finally looks at Mettaton and grins and grins and grins. "cause it's not energy. get it?"

Mettaton doesn't even blink at Sans's pun. His gaze is flat, his face closed off. He is stoic as he stands.

"I get it."

It's all Sans gets as a response. His voice is empty, more robotic than usual.

"You're panicking."

It's a statement. Not a question.

"I shouldn't have pushed you this far. Certainly not now, in the state you're in."

His eyes are drawn to a nearby mirror as writing sprawls across it. There are mirrors everywhere in Wonderland. How could he have forgotten? The looping and dramatic strokes are familiar as he reads the message left:

I told you it was kinder to let them go~! ♥

The moment he is done reading it, it is wiped away, leaving behind a pink smear and the small drawn heart at the end. Mettaton continues to look at it for a moment, then nods a bit. Straightens his shoulders.

His gaze returns to Sans and he holds out a hand.

"Let's try this again, shall we? We still need to find Frisk and stop their shenanigans from going through. There's still time."

He's smiling too, Sans! The empty look is gone, replaced with the usual MTT-Brand Toothy Grin. This was all a fluke, of course; don't worry, he won't let it happen again.

+1 to ZEZPQB BT FRESMNF IZDVZ BEFVQN GC NBVBW

"i'm not."

He's not panicking. He's not feeling anything at all. He's a speck in the distance, far away from all of this.

But he shouldn't argue. Should just agree. Just agree. Keep agreeing. If you agree once, it means you've agreed forever. It means people can keep doing this to you, and it's okay, you can't complain, you can't blame them, because you agreed to it the first time. You gave up any right to choose a very long time ago.

He doesn't take Mettaton's hand. But he stands up straight. Steps away from the wall. Shoves his hands in his pockets. Starts walking down the hallway.

"but you're right. let's find them."

Everything is fine.

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While You Were Sleeping [OPEN]

12/24 BRING ME THE PAIN SALT

GOOD

This is certainly outside of the script

this is the worst script. whoever wrote it should be shot

Shot, fired, and their whole family blacklisted from Chuck E Cheese

all their shoppers club cards revoked

They are uninvited to the Christmas party

everyone rejoices

world peace is achieved

and then the world ends immediately thereafter

A fitting end for this wretched world (also CW: Suicide mention!)

cw probably continuing

cw probably continuing

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should probably say cw panic attacks, disassociation, etc

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