No Rain

by Digitaldreamer

They had made it to the surface and that was great. Then again, Sans had thought that a couple times already and it hadn't saved him from waking up with no stars in the end. After countless resets, Sans finally has a breakdown and leaves town, which isn't exactly surprising. The real question is if he'll let anyone else pick up the pieces.

4. the movie unreeling, about to begin

-No Rain-

An Undertale Fanfic by Digitaldreamer

Chapter Four: the movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin

—

More of a breather chapter this time, I can't do pure drama for ten straight chapters, plus it's time to get a good look at how Frisk is seeing things. Also managed to fit a bit of Papytton in there but it's totally ignorable and again not super relevant, as is the case with all my ships, haha.

Thank you for the feedback last chapter, it really made my week. Just so you all know, updates may be a bit slower after this point, my secondary job as an illustrator is about to pick up again so I'm about to have less writing time. Please be sure to leave feedback if you're enjoying this, your words shall spur me onward.

Chapter title is from Be Safe by The Cribs.

—

Those are not your hands.

The grip is too firm around the toy knife in your hands, too practiced. Dust clings to your shirt and floats in the air, catches in your lungs as you choke on sobs. Your mom's whitened tunic entwines in those fingers as you clutch it to your chest, your sniffles echoing through the emptiness of the ruins.

"She was in your way."

You know that, but she never meant to hurt you.

"She's killed you before, remember?"

Sure, but not on purpose. Never on purpose, and on the rare instance when it happened you'd see her eyes widen in horror before the world spun. You'd see tears in her eyes as the world became a flash of heat and a sickening twist in your stomach before you—

"I was scared."

Yes. No matter how many times you died, it was always scary.

"I know, I remember. I didn't want to do it again and I know you didn't want to either. I had to… protect us, you know? You did save me, after all. If you can be determined to do all this, the least I can do is be determined to help you."

You sob into purple fabric, choke on the scent of laundry detergent The dust mixes with your tears, cakes on fingers that aren't yours. Yes, you'd been scared, but that didn't excuse it. Nothing could ever excuse this.

"But she'll be fine. You can always reset it, right?"

A whimper bubbles up from your throat. Yes, and you will, you're going to, but you'll still remember and you won't be the only one.

"What, are you worried about the Comedian? Ha. He'll never even know about this, he's not omnipotent even if he acts like it, no need to worry about it. Azzy will remember too… but that might not be such a bad thing, right?"

You shake your head violently against the words that aren't yours. The fingers loosen on Mom's tunic, reach up to scrub at a tear streaking its way down your dusty cheek.

"Sheesh, you're such a crybaby. You really are just like him— gotta be nice to everybody, gotta fix everybody's problems. But then there's always dirty work, and then it's me who has to step up." The fingers pat dust away from your face and clothes, shake it out of your hair. The dust is lead and you feel lighter without it, but the weight remains caked under your nails.

"Say, I have an idea. We've tried it your way, why not try mine? I've been watching this whole time and you did good, but that never reaches Asriel. I don't think we can reach him by just hugging it out, you know? If he wants violence, why not give him violence?"

Your breath catches in your throat. "N-no…"

"Oh, come on. You don't even have to do anything!"

You shake your head again, as if the motion alone dislodge their voice in your head. It doesn't, of course. "No, I don't want to hurt them. I-I never wanted to…"

Fingers clench around the dusty tunic again. "I know you don't. But we're not getting anywhere like this. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind."

"No." You throw the tunic aside in a jerky motion, let it flutter to the cobblestone floor. That was never true and you knew it. Denying it with words, even as firmly as you can, it doesn't seem like enough. Your voice feels weak, the word feels clumsy on your tongue. This is why you hate words, they do not match the fire in your chest.

A sigh escapes from your lips, unbidden. "He used to say the same thing… but he learned in the end. It's okay, I can teach you too." Dusty knees bend, hands reaching for the toy knife you'd cast aside in shock.

You try to pull your hand back. "No, stop, I won't—"

Teeth clamp down on your tongue, hard. Your choked yelp of pain is stifled by the prison gate of your own traitorous lips. "You're not the only one who's determined to save Asriel, Frisk."

You fight of course. You struggle, because you always do, but the fire in your chest seems to going two ways now, it's not concentrated anymore and you've never felt this before.

"We've tried it your way, Frisk, and all that happens is we die and die and eventually we make it to the surface and then we come right back. And it's been fun, but I'm tired of dying. I'm tired of you dying, do you get that? You've protected me all this time, shown me what determination is… it's my turn to teach you now, okay?"

Their hands grab the toy knife.

You want to scream, but you've never been particularly good at that. You want to cry but that's no good either. And then there's that part of you that's curious, that bit that admits you have to change something and that's you but not and that can't be right because you would never—

"Relax, it's not like it's a huge deal. Monsters are all pansies anyway, it's like squishing bugs. And it's not like they'll be gone for long. All we have to do is reset and it's like it never happened, right?"

No, no, that wasn't true. Sans would remember, Sans always remembered or at least was good at pretending he did, and he'd know what you did because he always knew even when you didn't and he was always so proud at the end but this time there was no way because you'd killed and he'd judge you—

"Oh, whatever, he's too lazy to stay mad. I wouldn't worry about him. I'm sure once we explain he'll understand, he's smarter than he looks. Besides…"

They smile.

"It's not like he can judge us for being human."

—

The morning sunlight freed Frisk yet again.

Frisk blinked blearily as the light peeked its way through their windows and felt a jolt of gratitude. While that memory was hardly the worst, it still wasn't one that liked reliving. At least they hadn't woken up screaming that time, usually when that happened it was up to Toriel or in worse cases, Sans to—

The child froze, then curled deeper under their blankets. Their arms clasped around their knees (still bandaged from a unfortunate bike spill with Undyne last week) and they gave a shuddering breath.

Frisk rarely slept peacefully through the night, even before the whole underground business. There was just so much to do while awake, they didn't want to miss anything. Plus, sleeping meant they were alone again, and that was the last thing Frisk wanted. Sitting around and doing nothing had never done them any good, which meant bedtime was always a bit of a struggle for them. Not to say they wouldn't go to bed when Toriel told them to, but they always seemed to conveniently weasel one more story out than necessary, need just one more glass of water and so on.

They woke up on and off fairly often, so the sound of Toriel's shocked voice before the sun had even risen was hardly a stretch. Frisk had risen quickly, reaching for the doorknob and only stopping when they caught Sans' voice as well. They hadn't heard the entire conversation, but they caught enough to get the gist of it.

He was gone.

A whine escaped from Frisk's throat as they curled deeper under the covers. They'd seen Sans mad before, of course. They'd seen him mad, all dark eyes and darker words, heard the disgust in his tone and seen his grin twist into something awful because of course he'd seen the dust on their hands. They'd just barely seen him when he was madder still, just a hooded figure watching from the shadows because their hands had stolen the one person who still mattered to him. But even then they'd still face him in the end, get the talking to they so thoroughly deserved. They'd seen the worst after that, a flash of righteous judgement and blue more times than they could count and of course it was horrible but they had no right to forget it. But Sans was still always there, and as much as they dreaded his disappointment he was the closest person who could understand now that they were gone.

But now Sans was gone too, and not because they'd helped him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Frisk had messed up. They'd messed up so bad. Which of course, would usually mean it was time for a reset, but that was what had gotten them in this mess in the first place. They whimpered, pulling the blankets closer and biting down on them. They hadn't meant to cause this, they'd just wanted to make everybody happy, that was all they ever wanted.

"Can't make everybody happy, kiddo. Sometimes you gotta know when to quit."

The smell of butterscotch and cinnamon wafted in from the kitchen. It would have been a wonderful way to wake up had Frisk not already been awake. They felt the guilt swirl in their stomach.

Upon hearing the news, they'd considered getting up then and there. Toriel had sounded deeply upset, but the memory of the last time Frisk had listened in on a conversation between her and Sans kept them at bay.

"Y'know, it's rude to eavesdrop when the grown ups are talking."

Frisk bit their lip. Their skeletal conscience had finally skipped town and now all that was left was the memory of his hand on their head, that little wink and gentle nudge. But he would have wanted them to give Toriel some space. He would have wanted them to proceed as normal, because that was what they always did right? Just smile and pretend it never happened? What was done was done, just let it go. So they'd tried to go back to sleep, and clearly they'd drifted off enough to dream. But that just meant dust was mixing with Sans' words in their ear and they hadn't felt this sick in a long time.

There was a gentle knock on their door. "Frisk, my child, it is time to get up. I've made cinnamon butterscotch pancakes, your favorite."

Of course it was their favorite. Mom would never offer anything less than several spoonfuls of sugar to go with bad news. Frisk had always loved that about her but right now they doubted the butterscotch would sit well with the guilt in their stomach.

But still, they had to face the music at some point. They rose, changing into a pair of shorts and one of the Mew Mew Kissy tanktops Alphys had gotten them at a convention. A cursory glance in the mirror revealed, regrettably, still just them. They trudged out of their room like the condemned, bare toes stubbing into a chair leg on the way due to their lack of focus.

Frisk let out a small yelp, stumbling.

"Oh dear, is everything all right in there!?" Toriel poked her head out of the kitchen in time to see Frisk give a quick nod and glare at their own throbbing toe.

It wasn't a proper guilt trip, but they supposed it would have to do.

"My goodness, somebody's quite the sleepy head this morning!" Toriel teased gently as the child finally plopped into a seat at the kitchen table. A plate stacked high with pancakes had already been set in their place, warm butterscotch sauce drizzled artfully over top of them. They looked amazing.

Frisk wanted to throw up.

"Did you have trouble sleeping?" Toriel's asked as she poured a glass of orange shook their head. They may as well throw all their chips in and be a liar as well at this point.

"Good," Toriel's shoulders untensed a small fraction as she placed the glass in front of the child, condensation already starting to soak the placemat beneath it. "Go ahead and dig in, you must be starving after such a stressful evening."

Frisk swallowed as they watched the golden sauce soak into spongey cake. They had to keep going. 'Where is Sans?' They signed.

Toriel's brow furrowed as she sat down in front of her own stack of pancakes. "My child… do not worry about that right now, let's focus on breakfast first, shall we? I would hate for the butterscotch to get too thick."

The child shook their head.

A sigh. "Very well then, I suppose there's no point in keeping it from you," Toriel murmured, folding her paws before her. "Sans… did not go home last night. Papyrus and Undyne looked for him until very late, but they could not find him. I am sure you are aware how difficult it is to follow a monster who can teleport."

Oh, Frisk was very aware.

"He did stop by this morning, but only to tell me…" Toriel's paws clenched, eyes darkening as she gazed down at her child's face. She took a deep breath and continued. "Sometimes, my child, there are problems that can only be solved with time. I am not entirely certain what is going on myself, but it is clear Sans is… hurting, and not in a way magic can heal. I am sorry, my child, but I am afraid that means he will not be visiting for awhile. He has gone somewhere outside the city and I do not know where."

The news, bizarrely, seemed far worse the second time. Frisk bit their lip, eyes remaining fixated on the pancakes.

"I understand this is… very upsetting," Toriel said as she reached a thick arm across the table to flash Frisk's small hand in her paws. She forced a smile that seemed only a touch shaky around the edges. "We all love him and miss him and only wish for the best. But it is clear right now Sans wants his space, and while it is difficult, we must respect that. I am more than certain he can take care of himself and will return soon enough."

Frisk wasn't. Their eyes flicked toward the door. Maybe their bus pass would work across state lines.

Their mother let out a sigh, tightening her grip on Frisk's hands. "I am sure you are already trying to think of something that can be done, but I assure you my child, it would be a fool's errand to try to chase down a monster that can teleport. You know as well as I do that if Sans does not wish to be found, he will not be."

A stab of determination edged its way through Frisk's gut, only to be stomped down by the memory of a Gaster Blaster pointed in their face. There had to be a consequence for trying to fix everything at some point… but they couldn't explain either. Sans didn't want to be found and also, clearly didn't want to talk it over. So what could they do?

Toriel seemed to take their lack of response as a good thing. She nodded, releasing Frisk's hands. "I am certain it will be difficult, but let's try not to worry about it, all right? For now, let us eat and afterwards we can see about what the day holds. Perhaps we can do something else instead of the science museum, all right?" She flashed a smile that only seemed just a tad off before she set to slicing her own pancakes.

Frisk didn't move, staring down at the congealing butterscotch. Their eyes burned.

"My child?" Toriel murmured. "Please, you need to eat…"

A shuddering breath caught in their throat. They shook their head, then reached out and tapped their fingers against the polished wood of the tabletop, a signal for attention. When they had it, they began to sign mechanically. 'It's my fault.'

Toriel frowned. "Frisk, we have already discussed this, you did not—"

There was a clatter as Frisk pushed the plate away, the orange juice sloshing in its glass but mercifully remaining upright. Frisk leaped up from the table and moved to rush toward the door, only to be stopped by Toriel's arms looped around their waist. Frisk let out a yelp and thrashed for a moment, shaking their head. No, they had to get away, they couldn't keep doing this, they had to—

"My child, please calm down!" Toriel exclaimed. "I know you are upset but this is not—"

Frisk's small hands pressed against her apron, after several light shoves they began to sign rapidly into her chest. 'No, you don't understand, it's my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault—'

"Frisk!" Toriel's paws reached down to gently encircle the child's small hands, stopping the movements as she peered down at her charge. "Please breathe, I am right here, it is all right. You are home, you are safe, everything is going to be all right. I may not know what is wrong with Sans but I assure you, you would never—"

"I killed you!"

Frisk's voice was hoarse, croaking from lack of use, the words an unpracticed jumble, but they may as well have been a foghorn the way Toriel flinched. Understandable, it was the second time she'd heard something of that nature boss monster slowly pulled away, her eyes wide. "…What?"

The child shook their head violently, signing so quickly their small joints crackled, transitioning between words so abruptly they seemed to run together. "He's mad because I killed you! I killed you and I killed Papyrus and I killed Undyne and I killed everybody and I killed SANS and It wasn't me but it WAS and I was just-trying-fix-things-I-just-wanted-everybody-to-be-happy-but-then— but then— but I wasn't supposed to— everything's okay now and it's like it didn't happen but it did and I'm not supposed to talk about it but SANS IS MAD and I deserve it and— " Their hands slowed for a moment, shaking, before Frisk abruptly clasped their own hands together the way most people covered their own mouths.

Toriel gaped at them. "I… I don't understand… my child, what are you saying?"

Frisk shook their head violently, pulling their arms back to themselves. They'd messed up. It was better to not say anything, it was always better, Sans always kept quiet so what right did they have to blow the secret now? But now it was out and if they just reset but they couldn't reset but—

Furry arms pulled them close again and Frisk let out a hiccuping breath into Toriel's chest. Warm paws stroked their hair. "Shhhhhh. It is all right, my child. Please just relax, take deep breaths. Yes, that's it, shhh…" Frisk sobbed into Toriel's apron, felt the warmth of her soul through the fabric, smelled butterscotch and cinnamon and that only seemed to make them cry harder. Toriel continued to whisper reassuring nothings in their ear, simply allowing the child to cry it out as she rubbed their back. "There there, you are all right, shhh…"

The child's sobs lasted for several minutes. Finally, however, they quieted to hiccups and slowed breaths, the last of their tears brushed away by the pads on Toriel's paws. "There we are," The boss monster murmured, smiling warmly. "Now, you do not have to answer if you do not want to, but I would like to know… did you overhear me talking to Sans earlier?"

Frisk nodded weakly.

Toriel let out a shaky breath. "Of course. I do not suppose you could calmly explain to me just what you and he are talking about?"

The child swallowed. They didn't want to. They really didn't, Toriel's reaction to the idea was painful enough, not to mention Sans was already mad at them. But there didn't seem to be much of a choice, so they nodded.

They didn't get the chance to explain, however, as that was the moment when the front door slammed open.

"KNOCK KNOCK!" Undyne roared. "Yo, Tori, I hope you're awake because we've got a situation!"

Toriel winced at the sound of the door slamming open. "I certainly hope that situation is not another hole in my drywall, Undyne!" She called back, rising to her feet while keeping her paws on Frisk's shoulders. Her warm brown eyes glanced back to the child, whom shook their head and signed several quick words.

Later. They would have to discuss this later.

"I'm being careful, I swear," Undyne huffed as she stomped into the kitchen, heedless of Papyrus' yelp about her boots still being on. She slapped a crumpled blue sticky note onto the table. "Bone boy's skipped town."

"YOU ARE NOT BEING FAIR, UNDYNE!" Papyrus exclaimed as he rushed in seconds later, huffing slightly. "THE NOTE SAYS—"

"We can all read, Paps, thanks!" The fishwoman snapped. At his vaguely insulted expression she took a breath, then sighed. "Sorry."

Toriel plucked the post-it note from the table, frowning. "'Bro— Sorry about earlier, you're totally right and I just need to try harder. But hey, what you said finally got under my skin, guess I just need the guts to take some res-pun-sibility. I'm gonna be out for awhile job hunting, dunno when I'll be back. Don't worry about me, I'm going tibia okay." A she read the note aloud, her lips twitched. At the last pun she couldn't help but giggle. "Love, Sans."

Undyne audibly groaned. "C'mon Tori, those are bad even for him."

Frisk nodded in agreement, brow furrowing as they tried to peer through the bottom of the post-it note. How on Earth had Sans managed to fit that much onto a single note?

"My apologies," Toriel sighed, shaking her head as she set the note down and headed to the fridge. "It is just good to see something is normal in all of this."

"EXACTLY!" Papyrus declared as he put his hands on his hips. "While I do not condone sleeping on a park bench, which I'm certain is what he did, it is clear that our talk with him last night did some good!"

"Bullshit," Undyne grumbled as she slumped in a chair, crossing her arms.

"I am starting to think instituting a swear jar here again may be a good idea," Toriel tutted as she poured a glass of water, then placed it in front of the fish monster. Undyne flashed a toothy, guilty grin before downing it.

"While I am grateful to see my brother taking intiative, I am… concerned," Papyrus sighed as he sat down as well. "Undyne and I searched until very late, but we never saw him."

"Try all night," Undyne sighed as she ran a webbed hand through her hair. "Go figure he'd only show his skull at your apartment long enough to leave a punny note."

"But he did go home, so that is a good sign!" Papyrus insisted a little too quickly. The pinpricks of light in his eyes betrayed his worry, though that may have also been exhaustion.

Frisk frowned and tapped him on the arm, the hollow noise echoing through the kitchen. "Did he say anything about where he went?"

"Aside from job hunting? No, that was all he left," Papyrus sighed. "Though I am hoping he is at least following a lead in town, I did tell him a number of places are hiring…"

"I'm gonna guess his leads are a little more out there," Frisk met Undyne's sharp glare and winced. Well, at least one monster in the room bought the lie on the post it note. "He could have at least said goodbye to your face, Paps."

"There is no need, I will see him at home!" Papyrus huffed, folding his own arms.

"Indeed you will," Toriel said, pointedly looking at Undyne. "We all will. I believe the best course of action right now is to let Sans be, as I told you two yesterday."

Undyne sighed. "I guess…"

Papyrus' shoulders slumped. "I just wish there was something I could do…" His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. "But I do, admittedly, have work in two hours."

"Me too," Undyne admitted grudgingly.

"It will be good for you both to keep busy," Toriel said as she turned and walked toward the stove. "Let us all have breakfast and leave this be for the moment, all right? We can all be back here for dinner and see if there's anything else that can be done." Her eyes flicked to Frisk meaningfully, who flinched. Her paw reached down to squeeze their shoulder reassuringly. "Remember, we are all in this together, but it is also important to take care of yourselves first. On that note, I'll brew some coffee and get this butterscotch heated back up, hm?"

In the chorus of thanks from Papyrus and Undyne, Frisk felt a small bit of weight lift from their chest. They may not have wanted the inevitable future discussion, but it was clear there was no backing out of it now. But that was okay.

They weren't alone.

—

Hollywood was strange, Sans reflected.

When he'd first left Toriel's place, Sans hadn't been quite sure where to go. The past year on the surface had largely been spent in the city nearest Mount Ebbott, which made sense. That was where a large part of the monster population had settled, and there was strength and safety amongst his own kind. King Asgore, with the help of Frisk and everybody else, had managed to handle the situation diplomatically enough to keep the surface from breaking into an all out panic. The monster provisions of technology and magic were decent enough peace offerings, though the first months had still been somewhat rocky. Citizenship and basic rights had come much easier than expected, though of course there was plenty of prejudices hanging at the edges. The world, for the most part, chugged along in uneasy peace, though all monsters were well aware to be cautious of their own actions.

But that was one city, outside of that things were still pretty rocky. Most monster communities if they spread had gone to the more liberal cities, places with alternative cultures less likely to bat an eye at a creature with… well, many eyes. They also often spread to places where the entertainment industry flourished, because why bother with CGI when one could hire an actual monster these days?

He suspected the popularity of Mettaton had been one of the key factors in smoothing the transition. The robot had been in full charm mode the instant he stepped out onto the surface and the world, much like the underground, had been instantly captivated. True to form Mettaton and his backup band had shot into popularity seemingly overnight, producing everything from music to an online talk show and a series of inspirational youtube videos. Their content schedule was baffling, Sans really wasn't sure how they managed it, though he suspected not having a need for sleep had an effect.

With that in mind, Sans supposed he was fortunate the robot had time to meet up with him at all. He also couldn't blame said robot for being late, given the skeleton's own habits.

Sans let out a sigh as he sipped at his third white russian, eyes flitting absently out the window at the leafy palm trees. The plants were absurd, more like the drawings he'd seen of the prehistoric surface than the ever-changing boughs he was used to at home. The people here were stranger still, louder, moving in herds with such speed that Sans was amazed he hadn't been trampled yet. Everyone here seemed too tall, too fast, their lives moving in a blur of conversation and color that was deeply at odds with his own memories of quiet snowy nights.

It was also hot, though at least not as humid as home. Instead it seemed bone dry (ha!), the aggressive nature of the sun bleaching the color from signs and landmarks. Sans was sure at night the place lit up like a Christmas tree, but in the day everything seemed faded. Of course, maybe that was just him. This, combined with the unfamiliarity of the new park bench had made sleeping the morning away nearly impossible. Oh well. He just had to hold out until the local shit motel was open for business. His drink sort of had coffee in it, right?

"Oh dear. I'd ask what the cat dragged in, but I think even Catty would have better taste than this."

Sans jumped, glancing upward to see Mettaton standing over him. Jeez, he must have tired if he missed whatever fabulous entrance that had been. The robot in question tipped his designer sunglasses so he could properly stare down his nose at the other monster, perfect eyebrow arched, lips pressed into an expression of disapproval.

"Yo," Sans snapped a finger gun at him. "Did you just break one of Asimov's Three Laws? Because you've got 'fine' written all over you."

Mettaton rolled his eyes before replacing his sunglasses. "Flattery will get you nowhere looking like that, darling, I know you just wanted to show off the fact that you understand anything about robotics. How long have you been wearing those clothes?"

"You don't wanna know."

"I thought as much," The robot sighed as he swept into the chair across from Sans, the puffy cloud of his purple scarf billowing with the motion. "You could have at least attempted to make yourself presentable, I'd hate to imagine that paparazzi photos from this."

"Sorry," Sans shrugged as he took another sip of his drink. "You're the one who chose such a fancy place." He fiddled absently with the pressed whine linen of the tablecloth— it was similar to the restaurant back in MTT Hotel, so it wasn't completely unfamiliar to him, but still not his preferred setting.

"As if I'd settle for anything less," Mettaton hummed as he carefully adjusted the perfect bun his hair had been pulled back into, then picked up a menu and began to scan it. "Your brother tells me you eat far too much fast food, at the very least you can have something of quality before you get back to drowning yourself in alcohol." His eyes flicked back to Sans, narrowing again. "You smell like hand sanitizer."

"I'm sure that's an insult to hand sanitizer," Sans snorted as he scanned his own menu. "How often does Paps complain about my eating habits exactly?"

Mettaton tutted, pressing a metal finger to his lips. "A robot never texts and tells." He winked. The bartender across the room dropped a glass, smitten immediately.

The waiter chose that moment to arrive and was instantly stricken by the sight of his hero. Mettaton batted his eyelashes and immediately set to charming the man in question, leaving Sans to muse in between placing his own order.

Papyrus and Mettaton had been talking for several months now, largely via texts and skype. Papyrus had been absolutely thrilled to learn how close Alphys was to his favorite not-quite-a-rectangle and had begged for a meeting fairly quickly. The two had struck up a quick friendship, something Sans didn't find entirely surprising. Both of them had a bizarre ego that stretched from loving themselves to seeing the beauty in everyone around them, so it was hardly a surprise this extended to each other. Mettaton would gladly dote upon Papyrus, showing him the finer things in life and heaping him with praise, and he seemed just as taken by Papyrus' genuine affection and love for showy puzzles. Sans was fine with it, anybody who was willing to heap his brother with consistent praise got a pass in his book. Admittedly, it was a bit odd to see his brother's cheekbones so consistently flushed by his magic, but whatever, it wasn't his business.

Undyne had made a point of having Mettaton over for dinner the next time he was in town, then spent the evening smashing tin cans with her bare hands. Mettaton had just calmly sipped the bottom shelf wine and promised he got the message.

"So," Mettaton spoke, pulling Sans out of his thoughts. "What, pray tell, brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Sans flashed a nervous grin. "What, aren't I allowed t' just want to have lunch my most-rusted friend?"

Mettaton quirked a brow at him. "You and I both know I've never rusted in my life. I've offered plenty of tickets to my shows and I know for certain your brother has had to physically drag you to every single one."

"'M just not a concert skeleton, it's nothing personal. You're still a good friend, or at least you have been to Papyrus. I mean, sure, there were those years where you basically ditched all your friends and family, but bygones, am I right?" The skeleton shrugged, swirling the remains of his white russian in the glass. It was more water than cream at this point, but he downed it anyway.

Purple lips pressed into a cool smile as Mettaton threaded long fingers together, barely heeding the glass of red wine being poured in front of him. "Don't play that game with me, sweetheart. You may be the best actor I know, but I still know what's behind the curtain."

Sans snorted. "That's melodramatic."

"You're one to talk. Speaking of which, let's begin doing that, shall we? Time is money and I'm well aware you can't really afford mine." Mettaton leaned forward as he spoke, artfully crossing one leg over the other and propping his chin in one hand. He waved with the other and abruptly a Bloody Mary was set in front of the skeleton.

The skeleton blinked down at the drink, then smiled wryly. "Guess that's a good a segue as any." He took a sip of the drink. "I'll cut through the bullshit, I need a job. I know I had a bunch in the underground but it's…. different up here. The humans may let us live here, we've got our rights, but it's… well, you know." He shrugged. "Still kinda tough to get a job. It's easy for Paps, he can talk his way into anything and do anything he sets his mind too. I'm not like that, I just don't have that kind of energy to win people over, and even if I did, the second I pulled my usual shit I'd be out on the street again. Don't got any sentry stations t' snooze at up here, and I can't have my bro doing my job for me."

He let out a sigh, reaching up to scratch at his skull. "That sounds pretty gross, doesn't it?" It felt strange admitting this out loud, he hadn't even ever said it to Papyrus. Then again, between the two of them, his lack of energy was more an unspoken fact of life, the elephant in the room that Papyrus kicked and dragged him away from. There was no need to discuss it for real.

Mettaton hummed, sipping his wine. "Darling, I'm many things, but I'm not actually a miracle worker. You know as well as I do that the world demands effort, you can't come to an audience with anything less than your best. I cannot give you a pass if you're unwilling to try."

"It's not like that!" Sans voice rose far more than he meant to. Both he and Mettaton blinked in surprise at his own outburst. "I have tried. I swear I have. I've tried so much, you have no idea. It's… it's just…" Sans took a long swig of his drink, then let out a shaky breath. "Look, this isn't about that. I gotta find something I can actually do. Something that I don't have to have Papyrus shoving me out the door for. I know there isn't a lot, I know I'm… you know. But back in the underground, I did comedy, right? If you could call it that."

The robot raised a brow at this. "Yes, I recall."

"Yeah. So I was thinking, maybe you could get me a gig? Nothing big, just something to get a bit of money in." Sans set the glass down, the pinpricks of his eyes focused on the melting ice in the cup. He couldn't look at the robot, not when he was essentially begging.

A sigh. "Sans, you know I would gladly give anything you or Papyrus needed, or anything at all. I offered months ago when you were looking for housing."

"Well, yeah, but you know how Paps feels about charity! He wants to work toward it on his own!" Sans huffed as he swirled the ice in the glass.

"Ah yes, because Papyrus was the one taking on multiple jobs to pay for the house in Snowdin on top of his royal guard training," Mettaton drawled. "Papyrus is a grown monster who can take care of himself, Sans. Papyrus is also well aware of when to ask for help when he needs it."

Sans' grin dragged a bit at the edges, became more forced. "Well that's what I'm doing, isn't it? Look, we're pretty close, all I'm asking for is a leg up. You're all about that, aren't you? Or was that cover of 'We Are The World' all for show?"

Mettaton gave another hum of disapproval. "Your brother was right, you really are in a mood. Tell me, if I did get you that job, what exactly would you do? Teleport between here and your apartment every night? I doubt that would be good for your health, you may be good at magic but nobody with a single hit point is made for those kinds of hours."

The skeleton's brow furrowed. "It'd just be until we saved up enough for a house. Maybe we could… I dunno, move out here?"

That got a chuckle from Mettaton. "As much as I would love to see more of you both, Papyrus would never truly be happy so far away from the rest of the family, you know that." He fixed a pointed look at Sans over his wine. "You wouldn't be either."

Sans' shoulders visibly slumped. "…It would just be until I saved up enough for a house." A lie. The money he made at shows would barely have covered rent, and that was when he'd been established in the underground.

The robot shook his head. "You're not made for show business, darling. Not to say I don't think you could do it, I'd never spit upon someone's dreams like that. But we both know that's not what you're here for— this is an escape, not a solution."

Sans said nothing at that.

Mettaton let out a sigh, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. "Listen here and listen well, darling. Your brother texted me about what happened last night, he's worried sick. It was all I could do to get the poor dear to relax for a moment. I am certain when he said you were out 'job hunting', this isn't what he had in mind. Hollywood is a wonderful place for a distraction, but in the end that's all we are. Distractions. You have something much better."

This got a snort as Sans downed more of his drink. "Welp, may as well put me out of a job, cause that's a joke."

"Comedy has never been my forte and you know it," Mettaton smiled. "You have a family. You have a brother who loves you and dozens of friends, and that's more valuable than thousands of fans any day. In that manner, you're richer than I could ever hope to be." The robot flashed a distant smile at that, eyes going to the window as he swirled his wine in the glass. "The cheers and adoration of fans is worth more than I can say, but if I hadn't realized I needed someone to come back to…" He sighed, looking back at the skeleton.

"I won't be your distraction, Sans. The fact that you recognize the problem is a good first step. You do need a job, but before that you have to deal with whatever this is that's weighing you down. And that means going back and communicating."

Sans glared down at the melting ice and thinning tomato juice. "You don't even really know me, man."

Mettaton shrugged. "Nobody really knows anybody darling. It's all just different faces for different audiences."

That got a snort from the skeleton. "Is that a spoiler from the latest inspirational youtube video?"

"Well yes, but I'll let you have it ad free this time," Mettaton chuckled. "Talk to your family, Sans. It will do you some good."

As he spoke, the waiter finally arrived with food. Sans blinked in surprise at the burger in front of him, it admittedly looked quite impressive. Was that a fried egg on it? Holy shit, that was genius. However, it seemed to be the only thing on the table. "Didn't you—"

"I don't really need to eat, darling, I'm a robot," Mettaton said he pushed his chair away from the table and stood. "Besides, I simply must watch my figure." He winked. The bartender dropped another glass. "You go ahead and enjoy that on me, all right? But once you do that, I insist you give your brother a call, he's worried absolutely sick."

The mention of Papyrus was making Sans sick as he stared down at the food. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Oh hush, all of my ideas are good ones!" Mettaton declared proudly, putting his hands on his hips. "Now please enjoy, this place really does have the best burgers in town— and I would know, I made the Glamburger." With those words he turned and sashayed toward the door. "Be good to yourself darling, I'd better not see you again!"

Sans watched him leave, then slumped into his seat. "You can count on it," He muttered as he grabbed a fry and popped it into his mouth. Immaculate, but it definitely needed ketchup. The lights in his eyes flicked around the room, failing to spot a telltale red bottle on a single table.

Hollywood was strange.