It's so weird to hear the tremor in Mettaton's voice, to hear him sighing. Mettaton is usually so put together. You'd think nothing could shake him.
Though Sans figures people probably assume that about him, too. Everyone has a persona that they project, that they hide behind. Something to keep them safe.
"that's...rational."
It's the same reason he never brought it up with Papyrus. Didn't want to upset him, didn't want to make him cry again, didn't want to make it worse. Didn't want to set himself off, either. He's made sure to be very good at hiding it, but he still catches himself now and then, remembering the way Papyrus's Mirror looked at him, remembering the way the sand shifted beneath his feet, and later remembering the sound of bone impacting his shoulder. The way the clavicle and rib just snapped like it was nothing. Like he was made of toothpicks.
He catches himself thinking about it, and then it's an hour later and he hasn't moved and he's wondering why he bothered getting out of bed if it was going to be that kind of day.
...He's doing it again. Making it about himself. It's different for Mettaton. Mettaton's got a promise to keep, and he's probably better at it than Sans is anyway. Just like Chara had a promise to keep, and followed through with it when Frisk died in Quor'toth. And Sans did nothing.
He realizes he's gripping his left shoulder and makes himself let go. Rubs the back of his neck instead.
"nah. it's okay. event like this makes you...contemplative."
All that crushing water out there, the slow depletion of oxygen. The Resets undoing anything you try to do. Yeah, contemplative is a good word for it.
"and, uh. it's fine. wasn't exactly being receptive to help then. heh. i never am."
Part and parcel of never telling anybody anything.
"dying's, uh..." He pauses. Doesn't want to make this about himself, but Mettaton sounds like he'd rather stop talking about his own problems. Somewhat astonishing, given it's Mettaton. But if that's the case, then maybe talking about it is...
It's just. Hard. It's hard, because he kind of--owes Mettaton now. This is the problem with talking about these things, and this is why he's usually so good at shutting people down when they start, because he doesn't want to know. Because if he knows, then the other person has a right to know something too. It's an exchange, like a debt or something. Quid pro quo. And now he owes Mettaton something, and he doesn't want to, because it's making things about him, and it's letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself open up to people--three things Sans avoids with the same doggedness that he avoids doing actual work.
Maybe that's it. Because opening up and talking is kind of like work.
But he owes Mettaton now, so.
"dying's...easy." He keeps still, keeps his tone neutral, and doesn't fidget. Stares straight ahead at the opposite wall.
"being dead's easy. i guess, uh, maybe that's--maybe that's a weird thing to think, but...i dunno, it's always just kinda been--right there. 1 HP and all. you kinda just get used to the idea that it could just happen. and then it happens, and it's just kinda."
He shrugs.
"it's just kinda what you expect. nothing really surprising. it hurts, and then it's quiet. never anything all that out of the ordinary. not like september was the first time, either."
It becomes rote. You can get used to anything, especially when the human always kills him in the exact same way every single time. You'd think there'd be a permanent line across his ribs, across and down.
"it's the stuff leading up to it, i guess. and then the stuff after you wake up. knowing it was--knowing who did it and how and knowing papyrus had to just sit there afterward. all the stuff you kinda just have to live with."
He gives a quiet sigh, his tone still completely neutral.
"papyrus and i never really talked about it afterward, either, and...i think that's one of the things i regret most about the whole thing. i'll never..."
He'll never get to convince Papyrus that it wasn't his fault. He'll never get to apologize for ruining the goodbye, or for leaving Papyrus to fend for himself with nothing but dust. He'll never get to explain what it meant to save Papyrus's life for once, or what it meant that someone who looked like Papyrus was the one to kill him. He'll never get to sort it all out. Papyrus is gone. He's gone. He's never, ever coming back, and even if he does, he won't remember that it ever happened. That's for the best, but there's still that emptiness in Sans's soul, and maybe that's selfish but...
God, he really is gone. He really isn't coming back. Something catches in Sans's ribcage and he shoves it down. Not here, not now, not in front of Mettaton.
"sorry, i uh. didn't mean to--make it all about me."
the pain train don't stop
Though Sans figures people probably assume that about him, too. Everyone has a persona that they project, that they hide behind. Something to keep them safe.
"that's...rational."
It's the same reason he never brought it up with Papyrus. Didn't want to upset him, didn't want to make him cry again, didn't want to make it worse. Didn't want to set himself off, either. He's made sure to be very good at hiding it, but he still catches himself now and then, remembering the way Papyrus's Mirror looked at him, remembering the way the sand shifted beneath his feet, and later remembering the sound of bone impacting his shoulder. The way the clavicle and rib just snapped like it was nothing. Like he was made of toothpicks.
He catches himself thinking about it, and then it's an hour later and he hasn't moved and he's wondering why he bothered getting out of bed if it was going to be that kind of day.
...He's doing it again. Making it about himself. It's different for Mettaton. Mettaton's got a promise to keep, and he's probably better at it than Sans is anyway. Just like Chara had a promise to keep, and followed through with it when Frisk died in Quor'toth. And Sans did nothing.
He realizes he's gripping his left shoulder and makes himself let go. Rubs the back of his neck instead.
"nah. it's okay. event like this makes you...contemplative."
All that crushing water out there, the slow depletion of oxygen. The Resets undoing anything you try to do. Yeah, contemplative is a good word for it.
"and, uh. it's fine. wasn't exactly being receptive to help then. heh. i never am."
Part and parcel of never telling anybody anything.
"dying's, uh..." He pauses. Doesn't want to make this about himself, but Mettaton sounds like he'd rather stop talking about his own problems. Somewhat astonishing, given it's Mettaton. But if that's the case, then maybe talking about it is...
It's just. Hard. It's hard, because he kind of--owes Mettaton now. This is the problem with talking about these things, and this is why he's usually so good at shutting people down when they start, because he doesn't want to know. Because if he knows, then the other person has a right to know something too. It's an exchange, like a debt or something. Quid pro quo. And now he owes Mettaton something, and he doesn't want to, because it's making things about him, and it's letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself open up to people--three things Sans avoids with the same doggedness that he avoids doing actual work.
Maybe that's it. Because opening up and talking is kind of like work.
But he owes Mettaton now, so.
"dying's...easy." He keeps still, keeps his tone neutral, and doesn't fidget. Stares straight ahead at the opposite wall.
"being dead's easy. i guess, uh, maybe that's--maybe that's a weird thing to think, but...i dunno, it's always just kinda been--right there. 1 HP and all. you kinda just get used to the idea that it could just happen. and then it happens, and it's just kinda."
He shrugs.
"it's just kinda what you expect. nothing really surprising. it hurts, and then it's quiet. never anything all that out of the ordinary. not like september was the first time, either."
It becomes rote. You can get used to anything, especially when the human always kills him in the exact same way every single time. You'd think there'd be a permanent line across his ribs, across and down.
"it's the stuff leading up to it, i guess. and then the stuff after you wake up. knowing it was--knowing who did it and how and knowing papyrus had to just sit there afterward. all the stuff you kinda just have to live with."
He gives a quiet sigh, his tone still completely neutral.
"papyrus and i never really talked about it afterward, either, and...i think that's one of the things i regret most about the whole thing. i'll never..."
He'll never get to convince Papyrus that it wasn't his fault. He'll never get to apologize for ruining the goodbye, or for leaving Papyrus to fend for himself with nothing but dust. He'll never get to explain what it meant to save Papyrus's life for once, or what it meant that someone who looked like Papyrus was the one to kill him. He'll never get to sort it all out. Papyrus is gone. He's gone. He's never, ever coming back, and even if he does, he won't remember that it ever happened. That's for the best, but there's still that emptiness in Sans's soul, and maybe that's selfish but...
God, he really is gone. He really isn't coming back. Something catches in Sans's ribcage and he shoves it down. Not here, not now, not in front of Mettaton.
"sorry, i uh. didn't mean to--make it all about me."