The town was… flimsy. Papyrus felt like if he breathed wrong, one of the too-flat buildings would fall over. Luckily, he didn't need to breathe! The structures couldn't actually be that fragile, anyway. The town was packed full of monsters of all shapes and sizes, stretching the town to its seams. It must be quite a friendly place if everyone was outside on a dark day like this!
Papyrus waved hello to the strange monsters they passed. Mettaton mimicked him, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. A greenish monster full of tentacles and teeth blew him a little kiss.
"Oh my," Mettaton breathed, blushing a little. "That doesn't count as my first kiss, does it?"
"I—ah—look! We're here!" Papyrus tugged him towards a building shaped like a teacup.
(It didn't count, he quickly decided. There had been no contact of soft lips on calcium-filled teeth.)
A bell over the door jingled as he pushed inside. A soft blend of sugar, rose, and citrus tickled his nasal cavity.
"Welcome to the Color Café," a well-dressed bird monster said. "Let us warm your—"
Glass shattered on the ground. A once-ornate teacup had slipped from the bird's hands.
The bird swept out from behind the counter, reaching Papyrus and Mettaton in a blink. Their expression was hidden by their yellow-and-orange glasses. Maybe they were just excited to see new customers?
"You…!" The monster appraised Mettaton, whose growing confidence wilted like a water sausage in the hot sun.
"I, ah, am afraid we haven't met," Mettaton still said—faithful to his promise not to make Papyrus do all the talking, confidence or no confidence.
The bird monster's strange mouth opened, then closed again. They adjusted their glasses with care. Behind them, a larger bird monster in a pink corset was sweeping up the porcelain.
"No. No, you wouldn't… forgive me, my liege." They bowed low, and Papyrus briefly caught a glimpse of blue eyes behind the glasses. "I briefly mistook you for… well, never mind that. I am Swatch, formerly Our Lady Grace's head butler. The care of this café is my current responsibility. Serving you is my—our pleasure."
With another, shallower bow, Swatch retreated behind the counter.
"That was weird," Papyrus said.
Mettaton nervously rubbed the side of his cannon-arm. It was fascinating how quickly he was adopting body language.
"They said I look like someone else," he said quietly. "Do you think… do you think this body was—I mean, did I… possess—?"
"No! No, of course not!" Papyrus waved his hands. "There's probably just, another Mettaton in this universe! Just like there was in—"
He cut off, his teeth clicking as his jaw snapped shut. He didn't need to tell Mettaton about his origins yet. They still had a whole afternoon to enjoy together! Who was Papyrus to ruin the most special day of Mettaton's life?
"Just like there was in…?" Mettaton echoed.
"Nyeh heh! Let's—are you thirsty? All of this talking must be exhausting for you!"
"Not particularly—?"
Papyrus tugged him towards a table, where one of the bird monsters was already waiting to take their orders. He hoped that the menu consisted of more than seeds and worms.
Mettaton stared at his chair. Oh, right. This would be his first time sitting.
"The Great Papyrus is always at your assistance!"
He pulled out the wooden chair with a flourish. As Mettaton sat, Papyrus helped arrange his wings to drape over the chair's back.
"There! Are you comfortable?"
"I always am with you, darling." Mettaton smiled shyly, pushing a lock of hair out of his eye.
While Papyrus was basking in that reply, the waiter cleared his throat.
"Our menu is specially prepared," he said, flexing massive biceps as he placed the menus on the table.
What a show-off. Papyrus held in a snort.
"We await your selection."
Mettaton's eye tracked the bird as he strutted back to the kitchen. Papyrus wasn't jealous. He'd needed to distract Mettaton, after all! And what better way than with muscular, skimpily-dressed servants?
"Papyrus, darling." Mettaton rested his hand on Papyrus's arm. "Are you well? If you are drained from all of… this…"
"Huh? No, no!" Papyrus tugged at his scarf.
"Beautiful. Please, don't lie to me."
Mettaton's expression was soft. More importantly, his gaze was focused entirely on Papyrus, and not the handful of other bird-butlers scattered around the café.
Papyrus blushed. Was attention really what he was most worried about?
"I haven't asked you how you've felt about this place," Mettaton said quietly, his thumb running back and forth across Papyrus's ulna. "I'm sorry, darling. I've been terribly selfish, haven't I?"
He let out a sad chuckle, and Papyrus's soul cracked.
"No. No, you haven't," he said firmly. "You see, I… I'm the one who has been selfish."
His gloved hands tightened into fists. He could barely look at Mettaton's confused frown, the wrong shape for those beautiful lips.
"My Angel. You've made all of my dreams come true. I don't see how you could possibly be selfish, but even if you believe so, you deserve to be. You deserve—everything."
Mettaton raised his right arm to brush Papyrus's cheekbone, seeming to forget that that arm ended in a bulky cannon. With a shifting of metal plates and gears, however, the cannon transformed into another articulated hand.
"There. Much more practical." Mettaton smiled as he cupped Papyrus's face.
His hand was so warm. So real.
But no matter how real it was, it wasn't Papyrus's home.
"I'm from a different universe," he finally blurted, all in one metaphorical breath.
Mettaton's hand froze. His singular eye blinked—or winked, technically, but—semantics didn't matter.
"I didn't just move to Hometown. I was—spat out here, somehow? And now it's happened again, but this time I've taken you with me, and I—I don't know why. Or when it could happen again. Or how to control it at all."
He winced. So much for not ruining Mettaton's special day.
"Papyrus…"
"Mettaton." He gripped the hand that touched his face, pressing his thumb firmly into Mettaton's palm. "I don't know how to go back."
Mettaton's eye widened. He looked away, hiding behind his bangs.
"I… I see."
"I haven't given up! I'm sure we can find a way, together!" He forced a grin.
"Yes… of course." Mettaton's voice was quiet.
He was taking this remarkably well, but he still had to miss his cousins. Mettaton's home universe didn't even have magic; this must be all so strange and scary for him. Papyrus was lucky that Mettaton believed him at all.
The buff waiter returned to take their orders. Papyrus picked out something called a "Spaghetti Code"—so at least this universe had spaghetti!—but Mettaton just stared at the menu listlessly.
"Is our palette not to your palate?" The bird fidgeted nervously.
"No, no—I'll have the Butler Juice, thank you." Mettaton gave a thin smile.
Papyrus didn't know what he'd expected from his confession. He'd barely been thinking at all, if he was honest with himself—he just couldn't bear Mettaton looking at him like a savior when in reality, Papyrus may have doomed them both.
No, he shouldn't think like that! Queen had mentioned a "$!$? Squad," people who could apparently traverse between worlds. That was more of a lead than Papyrus had had back in Hometown. Perhaps this "Squad" could return Mettaton to his home… and Papyrus to his.
The waiter returned with a glass of blue-and-purple juice for Mettaton, and a plate of macarons-and-ribbons for Papyrus. The sugary scent turned his stomach.
If these were truly to be his last few moments with Mettaton… he should at least make sure that they enjoyed them.
"Would you like to try some?" Papyrus slid his plate towards the center of the table.
"You haven't even taken a bite, darling." Mettaton frowned.
"I believe my lack-of-eyes were bigger than my stomach! Nyeh heh." He tugged at his scarf.
"...Well, if you're certain. But I will need you to demonstrate how it's done, first."
"How it's—? Oh! Of course!"
Papyrus picked up his fork. Mettaton mirrored him, his motions slow and deliberate. Frankly, Papyrus wasn't entirely sure how to eat macarons with the flat, shiny noodles, but he hoped they would feel similar to large meatballs.
He twirled his fork in the ribbon-noodles, spooling them onto the tines. Probably best to ignore the macarons for now—he wouldn't want Mettaton to overexert himself on his first taste of corporeal food.
"Wonderful!" Papyrus encouraged as Mettaton collected a loose clump of noodles on his fork.
"I hardly… nevermind." Mettaton smiled, seeming more relaxed than he had moments ago.
Nothing like spaghetti to cheer a worried soul! Even if that spaghetti was sweet instead of savory, and had no meat sauce to speak of.
"Well… here goes?" Mettaton bit his lip. Papyrus looked away before he could be caught staring, and the two of them tried their first bite of otherworld-spaghetti in unison.
"Oh," Mettaton gasped, the sound muffled a bit by the tangled ribbons in his mouth.
"It's…" Papyrus swallowed. "Indescribable?"
That was how others often described his spaghetti. It must have been a different flavor of indescribable, because his salt-and-ghost-pepper enhanced sauce couldn't possibly be this sickly saccharine.
"It's marvelous." Mettaton grinned. Bits of green were still stuck in his teeth.
(Papyrus wondered if the Spaghetti Code would taste any better from the other monster's mouth.)
"H-help yourself!" Papyrus scooted the plate closer to Mettaton. Of course, that left him without any distracting activities to divert his focus from his friend's face. Drat.
"At least allow me to share my drink, then." Mettaton passed the glass over in exchange. Condensation clung to the outside, making it almost as sweaty as Papyrus felt. "I, ah. Can't be sure I wouldn't make a mess of it, anyway."
"Oh! I can help with that!"
Papyrus plucked the two wrapped straws from their respective bundles of silverware, then peeled them and arranged them delicately within the glass.
"Now you won't have to tilt the glass at all. You just sip through here, like so!"
Mettaton giggled as Papyrus "sipped" the drink without lips. The simple trick had taken him years to perfect, but a monster like Mettaton should have no trouble at all.
"Like so, hmm?" Mettaton smirked.
Papyrus had not thought this through, it turned out. Because Mettaton leaned towards him, his arms crossed over the table, his lips just inches from Papyrus… only to alight on the opposite straw, rather than Papyrus's mouth.
Papyrus groaned, accidentally blowing bubbles into the beverage. The liquid shifted from blue-purple to red-pink.
"Ooh! How did you do that?" Mettaton beamed, and Papyrus's soul fluttered almost enough to escape the heavy cage of his chest.
"I'm afraid I have no idea! The color-changing is a marvel of culinary science!"
"Well, yes, that, but—what about the bubbles? Was that not you, either?"
"Ah—er, yes, it's—the opposite of drinking. If you blow through the straw rather than sucking in…"
Mettaton was already on it, giggling directly into his straw. The beverage went orange, yellow, green.
Papyrus couldn't help laughing too, and the drink swirled through a spectrum of colors, neon and bright. He hardly paid attention to that, though. Mettaton just looked so soul-achingly cute.
Mettaton yelped when the Butler Juice bubbled over. Papyrus rushed to soak up the spill with his napkin.
"Haha… my apologies. I shouldn't waste such a magical drink." Mettaton smiled sheepishly.
"It isn't a waste." Papyrus smiled back, instinctively reaching past their drink and plate to take Mettaton's hand. "Even if we don't drink any of it, it wouldn't be a waste. Just enjoying this time with you… that's sweeter than any sugar-filled soda."
Mettaton's lips parted, his soft gasp puffing across Papyrus's cheekbones.
(So warm. So real.)
(They would both have to go home, but first, Mettaton had given him permission to be selfish.)
Papyrus leaned forward to close the sliver of distance—
"Hey, Kris, isn't that the freaky puppet who tried to kill us?"
Mettaton's head jerked up, leaving Papyrus hanging awkwardly before he straightened, as well.
He hadn't heard the quartet of monsters—er, three monsters and a human?—enter the café. He'd been a bit preoccupied, understandably!
He hoped that the teenagers were referring to one of the café's other patrons or staff. Unfortunately, all four were staring at Mettaton.
(He assumed the human was, anyway, though their bangs hid their eyes. …Actually, they might have been staring at… Papyrus…?)
"Spamton? But he's right here." One of the four, a small goat-like monster, tapped his pink-and-yellow glasses. He looked like a tiny version of Toriel, if Toriel shared Papyrus's fondness for scarves.
"Papyrus…?" The blue human rasped out, taking a step forward.
"I'm sorry, have we met?" He forced himself to be polite, though he really wanted to tell the teenagers to skedaddle. The romantic moment was likely ruined by now, regardless.
"You know this guy?" The magenta dinosaur-monster asked her friend.
The human shook their head. Their mouth moved wordlessly.
"Kris, are you alright…?" the goat asked.
"If this is one of those, uh, SOUL-things—" the purple monster began, but was cut off by Kris dashing forward—
And throwing their arms around Papyrus.
"You are here," they said shakily.
Papyrus's arms were frozen in T-shape, the human's arms wrapped around his rib cage. He shared a glance with Mettaton over their head. He looked just as confused as Papyrus felt.
Papyrus cleared his throat before patting the human's hair.
"Er, yes. I am 'here,' as you can tell, by the fact that you are squeezing me, rather tightly?"
"Papyrus." They looked up, and their navy-blue bangs parted around one red eye.
Red. Not a normal color for humans—except one.
"It's me, Frisk."
"Frisk?" Papyrus echoed.
Mettaton pouted, likely upset at being left out. But Papyrus couldn't contain his excitement as explanations spilled out of Frisk-slash-Kris(?)'s mouth.
He and Frisk had been on a morning run together. That much he remembered. What he didn't remember was Frisk bringing up his father—claiming that they had an idea to save him, somehow. Their plan had involved their human magic, their human SOUL, "determination"—and it had worked. Sort of. Frisk had met Papyrus's dad! But then, somehow, Frisk's SOUL had ended up inside Kris, and Papyrus… had ended up here.
He summarized his side of the week's events, though they were much less exciting. Especially since he skimmed over most of the details involving Mettaton. Frisk would be able to sniff out his crush in seconds, if they hadn't already.
"Oh ho ho! I'm lost and confused!" the smallest and roundest of the children said with a smile.
"We'll catch you up on Kris's stuff later," the purple girl—Susie, Kris introduced her—told him. "Just found out most of it today. They've been getting eggs from that guy for the past week, apparently."
Ah, yes. Dad had always had a fondness for eggs, particularly of the hardboiled variety. Very generous of him to share the few he found in the Void!
"So, can you take us—Frisk and I, I mean—back home?" Papyrus asked Kris.
That was more important than however they'd gotten here—more important than meeting his father again, even. If Frisk had asked him before using their magic, he would've… well, maybe he would've been too curious to stop them. But he would've told them to be careful, probably!
They shook their head.
"Gaster can. Tomorrow. I think." They didn't look too confident, but it was difficult to tell with the mop of hair in their eyes.
"And then… Kris'll go back to normal, right?" Susie asked.
"They should return to how they were. Before we met," Ralsei said quietly. "But that's how it's meant to be, isn't it? As the prophecy foretold, we must banish the Angel's Heaven."
"...And 'Frisk' is the Angel." Susie crossed her arms. "Cool. You're cool with that, right, Kris?"
They nodded.
"Frisk wants to go home. I want to live my life. But… it doesn't mean… this wasn't me. The things we've done. Even if Frisk helped."
Papyrus looked away. It seemed like the teens were about to have a moment, and he actually respected privacy. Especially if this was the last time Frisk would get to see these new friends before they went home tomorrow.
This was… this was it, then. One of the last times Papyrus would get to see Mettaton—this Mettaton.
He tried to catch Mettaton's gaze, but the other monster was staring down at the spaghetti, poking at a blue macaron with his fork. It crumbled with each jab, refusing to stay on the tines.
"We've got some stuff to do around here, so meet us at the bottom of town in a bit?" Susie said when Kris went off to order a Butler Juice (and pay for Papyrus and Mettaton's meal, since they had no 'Dark Dollars'). "We'll make sure you guys get back to the Light World."
"Thank you!" Papyrus replied brightly.
Mettaton might have mumbled something. Susie didn't seem to care one way or another.
By the time the children left, their Butler Juice was cold. Mettaton still hadn't managed to spear a macaron.
"Mettaton, are you…?" Papyrus trailed off, unsure of what to say.
Shouldn't Mettaton be happy? They were going to go home. They were going to see their families again. It was… the way things were supposed to be.
"I'll be fine, darling." He forced a smile. The fork was gripped too tightly in his hand. "All Angels have to return to heaven eventually, don't they?"
Papyrus was no Angel, no matter how much he wanted to be. He couldn't fly Mettaton into the light. He'd known that he would have to leave, and he'd still gotten Mettaton's hopes up, still tried to spin a fairytale out of thin air.
"At least you've left your wings with me." Mettaton fluttered his multicolored feathers. "Please, don't worry. Not now."
"Sorry," he said quickly.
He hoped that Mettaton was right—that this body would stay with him, even when he returned. At least then Papyrus wouldn't have strung him along for nothing.
They finished the food and Butler Juice together. The dregs remained dark blue in the bottom of the glass.
XXX
Mettaton haunted his room. Papyrus's voice haunted his memory.
He couldn't bear it. Being stripped bare again, shedding his wings, his arms and legs curling into nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Apparently running didn't require legs, he thought bitterly, because he'd ran away the moment they'd reentered the school. Papyrus's anguished shouts had echoed through the halls, shaking the locker doors.
Mettaton, Mettaton, Mettaton.
He lay face-down on his rug, hoping it would soak up his tears. Hoping Mew Mew and Blooky wouldn't hear the shaking sobs.
It wasn't like his tears were real, anyway.