Mettaton doesn't react for a moment. He goes still and so perfectly so he seems almost statuesque.

"That's... a very good question, Sans."

He's tired. He's so, so tired. And the skeleton's words tear open an old wound and the dust seeps out of it and forms into words.

"Of the two times I have been in that position, I have erred on the side of doing the 'bad thing', though I can't say it was a completely conscious decision."

Panic and fear and love and desperation are a potent cocktail when mixed together.

"But... I would rather keep someone alive so that they have the chance in the future to make a different choice, to give their life a chance to be better than before, rather than allow the permanency of death to be their only solution."

He leans back against the bed, giving the ceiling a deeply weary look that settles into the subtle lines in his face where plate meets plate.

"Though, beyond that, I wasn't thinking of any lofty ideals. All I wanted was to make sure you and Blooky survived."