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Metatton sits on the towering throne, the old, homey atmosphere of purple and gold has been replaced by pink and tarnished yellow.
And yet, he no longer feels much freedom in this position.
The golden flowers that once lined this room have been mostly done with, only some growing through the cracks between the floor and walls. He just can't bring himself to pluck them. Alphys always liked them, they gave her hope.
The golden-streaked faux marble floor accentuates the clacking of his boots when he stands up. His cape—also now pink, rather than purple—drapes behind him elegantly, going flawlessly with his Ex body. He doesn't know how to change his body. Alphys always did that. She hasn't been around lately.
His hair sits flawlessly over his right eye. Alphys never got to finishing it. He had planned to put a streak of pink in it, just to make it blend better, but he no longer has time for that.
His heels clack across the floor as he walks into the Judgment Hall. Light pours in through the stained glass windows. Mettaton had decided to leave this room alone. He had a feeling that the citizens of the underground wouldn't be too happy if he had redone this portion of the castle.
Honestly, they weren't too happy about the throne room renovations anyway. He didn't get why. Asgore had kids; he was clearly ready to step down as king at some point. Did they think he would be king forever? A new ruler means new changes. Like renovating the castle.
A new ruler also means new other changes. Like his face being everywhere. People like branded things, it's just wired into them. If something they like is on the bag, they're more likely to get it.
So why the hell is everyone so upset?? He's doing a great job ruling!
Other than schools shutting down, glitter polluting everything, dust becoming a more common sight, the human souls missing, people mysteriously disappearing, Asgore and Undyne's dustings, everything has been running smoothly!
Every television program has reruns of his shows, he doesn't have time for anything new nowadays. There was really only the news that didn't have his face on it, anyway. Nobody wants to hear news. They just want to keep their worried minds off of everything. Just to take a break and watch a movie or show of his.
Or stare at a statue of him. Or admire a hedge in the shape of his face. Or smell flowers arranged in his name.
Yes, everything is going wonderfully.
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Mettaton stands in his hotel, just watching. Citizens are tense around him, always quieter than normal. Except Burgerpants. Burgerpants has never cared.
Of course, there's always rumors, though. It's not like Mettaton hasn't heard them. His other agent is too naive to not do his job and report back to him on what people are saying.
Many people, apparently, blame the missing monsters on him.
Of course, he didn't kill them directly. What kind of monster would he be if he did that? No, no, Mettaton believes that they must've killed themselves. Perhaps ran away?
Oh well. If they don't like his rule, they don't have to be under it. Death is always an option. That's showbiz, for you.
He turns and walks back towards the core, his cape trailing elegantly behind him. His heels click on the floor in front of him.
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"heya mettaton. you got an appointment right now? someone's askin' for ya," Sans explains as he walks into the room.
Mettaton nods. "yes, yes, send them in."
Sans nods and walks out of the room. He comes back in, a wolf looking monster walking in front of him.
"you had an appointment for…" Mettaton hesitates, having completely forgotten what about, "remind me?"
The monster snorts, their eyes suggesting this isn't humorous.
And then they pull out a gun.
The trigger is pulled. Mettaton barely shields the bullet with Asgore's his Trident.
Without time to think, another round is shot. One bullet pierces his cape.
He needs to act quickly. With one swift motion, the trident is thrown from his hands.
It makes direct contact with their collarbone.
As the weapon clatters against the marble floor, dust scatters everywhere.
Sans' eyelights have gone out, his smile becoming tense as he watches the scene. Yet, he does nothing.
Within a blink, he's teleported away. Mettaton's first thought:
"Clean like a madman."
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Okay. Bucket, mop. Check. He needs water in the bucket to actually do anything. Stupid.
This is fine. He'll be fine. One monster won't affect anything. He's seen them die before. It happens. Yes. This is okay. He just needs to clean it up and make a cover.
But they'll know anyway. He came to his castle for an appointment they'll know he wasn't just somewhere else people already blame him for the missing monsters that haven't even met him of course they would blame him for this one he's so fucking stupid why did he think he could rule without Alphys or help from anyone god he should've just let the bullet pierce his fac-
A wave of vertigo hits him, causing him to stumble in his already panicked state. He nearly trips over a leftover paint can.
He takes a second, trying his best to calm down. He's fine. He's just gotta fix this.
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Mettaton doesn't know how—and he doesn't have time to question it, but the king apparently had bleach. He pours a good amount into his bucket of water, making a strong smelling solution.
After lugging it back to the throne room, he nearly gags at the silver dust-goop scattered across the floor.
He tries his best to just ignore everything about himself and just clean.
Just clean.
Soon, a majority of the dust is now on the mop and in the bucket. Mettaton can feel himself get further and further from stability.
(Not like he was very close to it beforehand, either)
How does he get rid of this without drawing attention?
There's only one person he knows who's great at not drawing attention to himself and traveling long distances quickly.
And so he texts him
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Sans
Sans, darling, I really need you to come here right now.
I'm sorry about earlier. Really.
I need a favor.
Can you take the bucket and just throw it into the abyss in waterfall
Please sans I need you to do this
I cant do it myself
People will see me
omw
Thank you sans
Truly
You can take the week off
I'm so sorry
Tell nobody about this.
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Sans comes, grabs the bucket, and leaves. Sure, sans has never really liked Mettaton, but he's still always had some level of respect for him.
But watching him grab the bucket; the obvious disgust in his strained smile was almost too much to stomach.
God, what is wrong with him!? He's king now! He should be able to handle this? One death by his hands and he's falling apart?! What kind of ruler is he?? Asgore had, what, probably hundreds of deaths on his hands and he was fine! He ran this place smoothly. And here Mettaton is, just being a coward like he always has been-
In Mettaton's spiraling thoughts, he's backed up too far and tripped over his cape, causing a loud clanking to reverberate across the throne room. When he wipes his eyes, black mascara comes back on his hand. He didn't even realize he was crying.
"KING METTATON?? ARE YOU ALRIGHT??" Papyrus asks with his usual volume, opening the door to the throne room.
Angel, save him. He probably looks so pathetic; tears barely masked, tangled in his cloak.
Papyrus speaks again, softer and quieter than the robot has ever heard him, "…oh dear."
"Yes, Papyrus, I'm fine. Just a small mishap with my-" his voice box glitches for a moment, cutting out part of his speech, "-cloak"
Papyrus looks concerned at the glitching. "Are you sure? You seem to be… more distressed than that. Did something happen?" Papyrus prods, shutting the door behind him.
"Honestly, Papyrus, I don't have time for this." He deflects, standing up, barely able to balance with his heels on.
Papyrus raises a browbone, speaking in his normal voice once again. "You have nothing else planned for today, I believe."
Mettaton whips towards him, "Papyrus! How much does it take to get through that thick skull of yours that I do not want to talk to you?! Just leave!"
He jumps at the harsh tone, but doesn't leave. He, instead, persists, "Mettaton? Are you alright? I'd like to know, as your friend. Not your agent."
He blinks.
'your friend.'
What a load of bullshit.
"Don't even-" another glitch in his voice box "t-try to pull that shit! You aren't my friend! You're my agent. Nothing more! I only hired you because you knew Alph-" a sharp screech comes from his speaker, making papyrus want to cover his non-existent ears.
"King Mettaton. I truly ask that you treat me with respect. I'll leave, but please don't lash out at me again," Papyrus hesitantly requests, standing still while he tries to calm him down.
"You-" harsh static interrupts him. Angel, he's a mess.
"Mettaton?" Papyrus asks, stepping closer.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me," the robot whispers. Not a usual stage whisper for a funny comment. Whispers.
Mettaton finally notices the translucent, black tears streaking his cheeks. In his reflection of the freshly cleaned floor.
When he glances up again, Papyrus is standing with his arms out, presumably offering a hug.
Mettaton steps forward once, crying softly.
Papyrus takes the final step forwards, engulfing his friend in his bony arms.
The two stand there for a bit in the empty throne room like this. Papyrus says nothing, just rubbing his thumb back and fourth on his friends back.
He can feel Mettaton becoming more unsteady on his legs as he cries. The skeleton gently leads him to sit down on the throne with him, luckily having enough room. Asgore was a big guy.
Subconsciously, Papyrus let's his chin rest on Mettaton's shoulder. He's just glad he could comfort him somewhat, even though he doesn't know what happened.
This, somehow, makes Mettaton cry harder. He's no longer stage crying; pretty soon he's ugly crying into Papyrus' shoulder. His hands grip the back of Papyrus' shirt, his synthetic nails digging into the ribs on his back.
While it certainly isn't pleasant and could definitely be described as painful, Papyrus powers through it. Mettaton needs him right now. He can't just… leave.
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Finally, Mettaton's sobs dwindle into small sniffles, his fists releasing Papyrus' back.
Papyrus lifts his head to look at Mettaton. Mettaton looks back, still somehow looking mesmeric with mascara smeared everywhere.
"Are you alright?" Papyrus finally breaks the silence that was previously laced with laments.
Before Papyrus has the chance to ask anymore questions, Mettaton acts without thinking. He lets his hands go up to the back of the skeleton's skull; his grip much gentler this time. He needs a distraction right now.
As soon as Papyrus realizes what he's doing, Mettaton has already closed the gap, letting his lipstick stain his teeth. So many thoughts go through Papyrus' head, the main ones being:
"This is so disrespectful to do on the throne."
"This is a terrible idea with the state he's in."
"I should indulge in this while I have the chance."
He chooses the third option.
He's always had a thing for Mettaton, anyone who's even uttered his name in Papyrus' presence knows this. His hands drift to Mettaton's waist. Allowing Mettaton to pull him closer to him.
Mettaton's arms slide down Papyrus' body, going down to his shoulders, his waist, under his coat, then-
Mettaton suddenly pulls away while simultaneously pushing Papyrus away, looking panicked. What the hell is he doing?!
"I need to clean myself up. I'm sorry, papyrus. I have duties to tend to. Thank you for the comfort. I-i need to go," he quickly explains. Papyrus just sits there stunned. He wasn't expecting that for sure.
He lets go of Mettaton, his arm just dropping to his own side.
Mettaton hurriedly walks out of the throne room, leaving Papyrus alone with his lipstick stained reflection in the faux-marble floor.