He still struggles, at first, as the human flips him over and starts prying him open. He protests. Eventually, despite himself, he pleads.
But none of it will help. And fighting back is only going to get him killed, and getting killed is only going to leave his body in the hands of this creature for three long days. (My brother is here, he'd said. 'Is', not 'was', and if he's trying to replace the real Barnaby... well, Mettaton assumes he'll have found out about the three-day rule by now. He won't learn how wrong he is until it's far too late.)
He doesn't want to switch off. The only thing worse than feeling everything the human does to him would be not knowing. But eventually, helpless, hopeless, he lets his mind start to drift away into the stars.
The old family tradition. Lights and space and calm and falling water. Not horror and pain and hands inside him invading and cutting and switching and changing -
- he can't stop feeling them. Not really.
He can't stop hearing that tune. That hum.
He can't stop any of it.
But it ends, just when he's sure it's never going to. It ends.
The human asks him a question, in that casual tone as if this has all been a bit of routine maintenance, and Mettaton raises his -
- he tries to -
- he -
"- can't move." The words are faltering at first, coming back from a long way away, but that doesn't last long as the reality of it hits him. "Wh-what did you - why can't I - what have you done to me?!"
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Date: 2017-07-17 07:02 pm (UTC)But none of it will help. And fighting back is only going to get him killed, and getting killed is only going to leave his body in the hands of this creature for three long days. (My brother is here, he'd said. 'Is', not 'was', and if he's trying to replace the real Barnaby... well, Mettaton assumes he'll have found out about the three-day rule by now. He won't learn how wrong he is until it's far too late.)
He doesn't want to switch off. The only thing worse than feeling everything the human does to him would be not knowing. But eventually, helpless, hopeless, he lets his mind start to drift away into the stars.
The old family tradition. Lights and space and calm and falling water. Not horror and pain and hands inside him invading and cutting and switching and changing -
- he can't stop feeling them. Not really.
He can't stop hearing that tune. That hum.
He can't stop any of it.
But it ends, just when he's sure it's never going to. It ends.
The human asks him a question, in that casual tone as if this has all been a bit of routine maintenance, and Mettaton raises his -
- he tries to -
- he -
"- can't move." The words are faltering at first, coming back from a long way away, but that doesn't last long as the reality of it hits him. "Wh-what did you - why can't I - what have you done to me?!"