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Mettaton shook out his kingly cape and adjusted the crown on his head. Peeking out into the hallway in front of the throne room, he saw that many monsters had gathered already. He gave it a few more minutes for everyone to arrive before he stepped out to address them.
“Good morning, darlings! It’s so wonderful to see you on this Giftmas morning. Now, as you all know, sadly, Santa was not able to visit the Underground this year. But luckily for you all, I am rich and famous enough to ensure that everyone gets the gift they want for this holiday. Those of you who were able to attend my event two weeks ago when I took your requests will receive your gifts first. And to those who were not able to attend—fear not! Presents abound for you as well.” Mettaton smiled. “My agents will call out your names. Come into the throne room and you will receive what you’ve asked for.”
For a good while (though it passed by in a blur), Mettaton handed out gifts to each of the monsters who lived in the Underground. Soon enough, monsters who had not asked for something specific from him were coming in too.
Things were going smoothly until a rabbit with green fur entered the room, his face dark and cold. He stood in front of Mettaton’s throne and crossed his arms. “I have a request.”
“Well, it’ll probably be a few days late at this point, beautiful, but go on.”
“Give me my husband back.”
Mettaton blinked. “Excuse me.”
“My husband. He hasn’t come home since he went to see you last week.”
Mettaton’s circuits turned to ice. He knew exactly who this monster was talking about. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help that, dear. I don’t know where he is,” he lied.
“So you didn’t imprison him for being critical of you?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then it’s true. You’re just getting rid of dissidents!” The rabbit’s voice changed in an instant from cold anger to hot rage. “I thought Briar was being ridiculous—I’d always liked you, he never had. I thought there was no way you could be killing people who disagreed with you—but what other explanation is there? Briar goes to see you with issues he has with your rule, and he doesn’t return—just like all the others!”
“Why—I—this is preposterous!” Mettaton spluttered and stood, towering above the rabbit. “How dare you speak to your king this way!”
“Some king you are!” the rabbit spat. “You’re a terrible ruler! Everyone knows it! The way this has gone, I wouldn’t even put you in charge of the trash dump!”
In an instant, Mettaton stuck out his hand, summoned his king’s trident, and stuck down upon the rabbit’s head. The rabbit fell to his knees, his body turning to dust as it hit the floor.
Mettaton didn’t even realize what he had done until he heard the gasps.
His agents stood at the doorway, covering their mouths, staring at the pile of dust that covered the barren throne room floor. A number of other monsters stood in the doorway as well, silent in shock.
Mettaton stood frozen until a voice shattered the silence. “Murderer!”
Outraged cries filled the air as monsters flooded the throne room. Mettaton pointed the trident at them. “Stay back! I’m your king!”
Inside, he panicked. There was no way he could defend himself against this many monsters.
He was quickly proven right. Overrun, Mettaton was backed up against the wall, his trident knocked out of his hands. Magic crackled in the air, nearly drowned out by the cries of “Murderer! You killed my sister! How could you kill my father? You don’t deserve to be king!”
A cloud of bullets formed above everyone’s heads, so thick that it blocked the light from the windows.
Just as the shower came down upon his head, Mettaton woke up.
He was trembling, covered in condensation, completely tangled up in the sheets of his bed and his charging cord. With difficulty, he managed to extricate himself from it all.
Someone was knocking loudly on his door. That must have been what woke him. And thank Asgore for that. Mettaton didn’t know how much worse of a state he would be in if he had dreamed about his own death.
He pulled on a dressing gown and threw open the bedroom door.
One of his agents, Papyrus, stood outside. “Oh! I thought you would be up by now, Your MajestYYYYY—”
Mettaton had grabbed him by the front of the shirt and swung him inside. Slamming the door behind him, he shoved Papyrus on the bed and sat beside him, flopping back and covering his face.
“Did something happen?” Papyrus asked kindly.
God. Papyrus had absolutely no idea of what Mettaton had really been doing these past weeks. He’d mentioned hearing about people disappearing, but as far as Mettaton knew, he hadn’t put two and two together yet. Mettaton was dreading the day that happened.
“Bad dream,” he admitted.
“Oh, no… not on Giftmas! That’s horrible! Do you want to talk about it?”
Mettaton shook his head.
“Okay, well… do you feel up to heading the celebration today?”
“I have to, don’t I?” moaned Mettaton. “I’m the one who put it together.” What if his dream had been some sort of prophecy? The thought made him seriously consider putting the whole thing off, or just making Papyrus and Sans take care of it.
Papyrus was quiet. When Mettaton peeked through his fingers, the skeleton was gazing at him as though he were formulating a plan. “Do you want me to put things off for an hour or two?” he asked finally. “We could start it at noon instead.”
“…I would appreciate that.”
“Right. I’ll text Sans. He’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t you want to help him?”
“He knows you and I are close. He’ll understand that you need me right now.”
“Well… thank you, sweet.” Mettaton sighed, then moved to put his head in Papyrus’s lap. He felt the skeleton’s fingers gently brush through his hair.
They sat like that for a while, until Papyrus asked, “Are you worried people will blame you for the monsters who have disappeared?”
Mettaton’s stomach swooped. He already knew they did, rightfully so. Papyrus must be the only monster in the entire Underground who believed in Mettaton’s goodness right now. “I suppose.”
“I know things are tough right now. I think… people are just really unhappy since Asgore died and we lost all the souls. Maybe they’re just… falling down. That’s not your fault.”
Mettaton bit his lip. But it is my fault.
Papyrus’s thumb brushed against Mettaton’s cheek a few times, and Mettaton realized he was crying.
“I understand feeling guilty. It’s hard to have things like this happen under your rule,” Papyrus whispered. “But I know you’re doing your best.”
That only made Mettaton cry harder.
Papyrus gathered Mettaton into his arms and let him sob for a while. Eventually, Mettaton’s eyes cleared, and he gazed at a wrapped box on the bed behind Papyrus until he finally comprehended what it was.
“Papy, what’s this?” he asked, picking it up and showing him.
“Oh! That’s for you. You’ve been so busy getting presents for everyone else, I never got to ask you what you wanted! So I had to take a guess. I think you’ll like it, though.”
“Oh… you sweet darling.” Mettaton tore open the wrapping paper and smiled. “A cardboard box. Just what I’ve always wanted.”
Papyrus scowled.
“I’m kidding, darling.” The box was taped shut. Mettaton cut it with his fingernail and opened it to find another box—this time, a velvet ring box. He gasped. “Papy—”
“Uh, I’m not proposing!” Papyrus put his hands up. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Not yet?”
“Go ahead and open it.”
Mettaton opened the ring box. Inside was a crumpled little piece of paper. He uncrumpled it and found words.
MY PROMISE TO YOU.
Under the paper was a small silver ring with a heart-shaped gemstone.
“It’s pink opal,” Papyrus said quietly.
Mettaton’s favorite.
Mettaton removed the ring from the box and slipped it onto the ring finger of his right hand. “It fits perfectly,” he marveled.
“I had it specially made.”
“This must have cost a fortune… Papyrus…”
“I’ve been saving up gold since I was a kid. Not for this, specifically, but I thought someday, maybe I’d want to do something special.” Papyrus’s smile was warm. “I was finally able to put it to good use.”
“So… what is your promise to me?” Mettaton asked softly.
“That I will always be there for you, no matter what tries to tear us apart.”
Mettaton gazed at the ring, stroking the gem with his thumb. Could he really believe that? That after everything he’d done, Papyrus would still stand with him?
Well, he needed to believe in something right now.
“Darling… I don’t have the words.” Mettaton took Papyrus’s face in his hands and kissed his smile.
When he pulled away, Papyrus said, “That’s as good a thanks as any.”
Mettaton leaned his forehead against Papyrus’s. “Um… did Sans say anything back?”
Papyrus checked his phone. “He’s taking care of it. Looks like the celebration will start at noon.”
“Tell him thank you,” Mettaton said sincerely. “Now… since we have time… would you mind staying with me?”
“Of course not.”
Mettaton’s dream faded from his mind throughout the morning while he and Papyrus whispered to each other, their conversation interlaced with kisses and soft touches. Mettaton kept feeling his ring, soothed by the love it represented.
He was almost certainly going to get found out someday. But maybe, just maybe, Papyrus would understand. Mettaton would rather lose the admiration of the whole world than Papyrus’s love, at this point.
No matter what tries to tear us apart, Papyrus had said.
Mettaton needed that to be true, more than anything.