"Everything okay in here?" Another familiar voice enters the room, and Mettaton turns his head in sync with Toriel, their eyes landing on Sans, who leans against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised.
Mettaton takes the chance to look down at his stomach to see what the fuss is all about.
A rather large red gash cuts across his exposed skin, barely an inch away from the hem of his crop top. He bites his lip and forces his eyes closed, the sight unsettling him. Again, his head turns to the left slightly. A hand lands gently on his right shoulder upon his reaction, a comforting gesture that feels oddly needed.
Sans simply hums a short note of acknowledgment before leaving the room, seeing everything is under control and understanding the situation beyond just watching Mettaton be carried near-bridal-style across the hallway.
Toriel applies a small amount of the cream to Mettaton's wound and he winces again, almost his whole body flinching at the touch. Once more, she apologises. The plaster soon sticks to his skin, and Mettaton opens his eyes to see the results.
Sure enough, it's just a plaster in the middle of his torso. Nothing to focus on, much less worry about. On the table to his right sits the folded wipe, most of it stained a dark crimson instead of its original bright white. A bad taste in his mouth, Mettaton drops his gaze to Toriel's hand, extended to him to help him stand.
His legs wobble slightly at first, but he quickly shakes his head and regains his balance.
"Thank you, Toriel." She returns the first aid kit to its original place, throws the wipe in the bin and washes her hands.
"It's okay, but next time please be more careful when finishing the tree. If you couldn't reach, you could have asked me or Asgore to help." A faint pink blush creeps onto Mettaton's cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Why hadn't he thought of that?
A nervous chuckle and a nod are all he can reply with, though Toriel accepts them.
"Can you walk without it hurting too much?" Mettaton takes a few steps towards the door, his stomach only paining him for the first two movements before numbing. He nods and smiles, causing Toriel to return the gesture.
"Good, just try not to stretch too much or it could get worse." An unpleasant image in his mind, Mettaton agrees and thanks her again before remembering that he still doesn't know one thing.
He stops just before the doorway and looks over his shoulder. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees Papyrus, Sans' younger brother, standing behind the chair he had risen from. His face heating up, Mettaton nods to him.
"A-and thanks for bringing me in, Papyrus."
The white-haired boy smiles in return, his cheeks darkening slightly.
——————————————————————————
The Dreemurr household during Christmas dinner is, as can be expected, loud and full of cheer. A few other guests, including Undyne, Alphys and Grillby, arrive after Mettaton's little run-in with the tree, the story of which somehow gets out before the meal even starts, prompting Undyne to make jokes and poke fun at him while Alphys worries over him and scolds Undyne for her behaviour. Napsta, on the other hand, is now at home, not wanting to stay for the dinner.
Eventually, Undyne drops the topic and the humour changes from Mettaton's accident to the puns inside the destroyed Christmas crackers. Toriel tells hers first, laughing to herself before announcing the punchline. Most of the table laugh, including Sans and Asgore, but a few, such as Papyrus and Undyne, groan quietly. Frisk looks unsure whether they should laugh or shake their head. Sans goes next, followed by Asgore, Alphys, Undyne, Chara and Frisk. Papyrus point-blank refuses at first to tell his joke, simply looking at it and covering his eyes with his spare hand for two minutes straight. Sighing loudly, he rolls his eyes and clears his throat.
Merry Christmas - fluff
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