Grune's hand snaps around his wrist.

"Stop, Mettaton," she commands him.

He tries to pull free. There's a strange pink glow where his other eye should be. "No! I'm not letting them get away!"

"You're going to get hurt."

"That doesn't matter--"

"Yes. It--"

"Frisk could die again!" he shouts. His voice is raw; there's no control at all in it.

Grune hugs him. He struggles for a moment, but then he goes limp. She thinks she hears a sob.

"They said they won't hurt Frisk anymore," she says softly. "And I won't let them hurt anyone else. I promise."

Mettaton laughs--or maybe it's another sob. She isn't sure. "And you believe them, sweetheart?"

She's silent for a moment. Then she says, "If you get hurt, Frisk will be very sad."

When she feels him go stiff in her arms, she knows: it's going to be okay.