Papyrus placed a steaming plate of spaghetti in front of him, beaming with pride. "BEHOLD! A MEAL WORTHY OF A TRUE WARRIOR! EAT, AND YOU SHALL BE REVITALIZED!"
Mecha didn't think. He didn't hesitate.
He just ate, His screen where his mouth would be split the lower part lowered like the Jaws of an animal.
Fork? Ignored. He grabbed the spaghetti with his hands, shoving it into his mouth like a starving beast. The rubbery, glue-like texture? Didn't matter. The overpowering mix of sweet, spicy, and burnt flavors? Irrelevant.
All that mattered was refueling.
Papyrus' eyes sparkled. "WOWIE! YOU MUST REALLY LOVE IT! I KNEW IT! MY CULINARY TALENTS ARE UNMATCHED!"
Mecha didn't respond. He was too focused on finishing every last bite. His system barely had time to process what he was consuming before his body demanded more.
And then, just as he reached the bottom of the plate…
His screen flickered. His body swayed.
Then—
THUD.
He collapsed. Face-first onto the table. Completely still.
Papyrus' grin vanished.
"UH… MECHA?"
No response.
Papyrus poked his unmoving body. Still nothing.
The reality hit him like a truck. His spaghetti—his beloved spaghetti—had been so powerful that it had killed one of his brothers closest friends.
Papyrus screamed.
"NOOOOOOOOOO! MECHA, SPEAK TO ME! DON'T LEAVE ME!" He grabbed Mecha by the shoulders, shaking him violently. "I DIDN'T MEAN TO UNLEASH SUCH FLAVOR UPON YOU! PLEASE, FIGHT BACK! FIGHT THE SPAGHETTI!"
Still no response.
Papyrus' soul shattered. His knees hit the floor as he grabbed his phone from under his armor with shaking hands.
He called the only person he could think of.
The moment the call connected, Papyrus sobbed into the receiver.
"SANS! MY SPAGHETTI WAS TOO DELICIOUS! IT KILLED MECHA! I'VE COMMITTED CULINARY MANSLAUGHTER!"
There was silence on the other end.
Then, behind him, a voice drawled—
"Man… talk about a taste of death."
Papyrus spun around.
Sans was already there, standing behind him with his usual lazy grin, phone in hand.
Papyrus lost it.
"SANS!!!" he roared, jabbing a finger at him. "THIS IS NO TIME FOR YOUR HORRIBLE JOKES! MECHA IS DEAD! GONE! LOST TO THE VOID OF THE SPAGHETTI AFTERLIFE!"
Sans just shrugged. "I dunno, Paps. Looks more like a food coma to me."
Papyrus blinked. "A what?"
Sans gestured lazily at Mecha. "Guy was probably runnin' on empty all day. He ate too fast, overloaded his system, and now he's on a forced shut-down."
Papyrus hesitated, looking back at Mecha. Now that he was really paying attention, he noticed something—
Mecha's chest panel was faintly glowing. His internal systems were whirring, processing energy.
He was alive.
Papyrus gasped dramatically. "SO YOU'RE SAYING… HE'S NOT DEAD?!"
Sans nodded. "Nope. Just powered down. Probably won't wake up for a while, though. You did knock him out cold."
Papyrus slumped in relief, wiping his nonexistent sweat. "OH THANK GOODNESS! I ALMOST STARTED PLANNING A FUNERAL!"
Sans chuckled. "Woulda been a mech-morial service."
Papyrus glared. "SANS."
"Alright, alright." Sans raised his hands. "Look, just let him sleep it off. He'll be fine."
Papyrus crossed his arms. "HMPH. I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT. BUT STILL! THIS PROVES THAT MY SPAGHETTI HAS THE POWER TO OVERWHELM EVEN THE STRONGEST OF SOULS!"
Sans smirked. "Yeah, buddy. That's one way to put it."
Papyrus grinned proudly. "NEXT TIME, I SHALL IMPROVE MY RECIPE EVEN FURTHER! JUST YOU WAIT, SANS! MY NEXT DISH SHALL BE EVEN MORE POWERFUL!"
Sans shot a look at Mecha's unconscious form.
"…Yeah, uh. You do that, I'll Just take him up to the spare room." Placing his hand on Mecha's chest. Sans disappeared in a short cut.
Sans sighed as he looked down at Mecha's unconscious form. Even though the guy was heavy, carrying him up to his room with a shortcut had been easy enough. The real problem?
This wasn't the first time this had happened.
With a lazy shrug, Sans crouched down and tapped Mecha's face on his screen. A soft whir sounded as the screen turned back on, flickering to life. A translucent window popped up, displaying an interface.
At the top, a message appeared:
LOGGED INTO GUEST ACCOUNT: "BAG O' FUNNY BONES"
Sans snorted. "Heh. Forgot I set that up."
Mecha had definitely noticed it before but never bothered to change it. Probably too done to care.
Sans' grin faded as he scanned the screen.
CURRENT SYSTEM STATUS:
Power Reserves: 8% (Low)
Last Proper Meal:3 days ago
Sustenance Sources: Minimal sleep, occasional liquid intake from Grillby's (No real nutrients detected)
Physical Condition: Overworked, signs of long-term exhaustion
Sans let out a slow breath. "Sheesh, bud… You tryna set a record for worst self-care routine?"
He already knew Mecha had a bad habit of pushing himself too hard, but three days with nothing but occasional drinks? That was just asking for trouble.
Shaking his head, he flicked through a few more system logs, but nothing else stood out—aside from the usual wear and tear from all the heavy lifting Mecha did. Nothing critical, just… a lot of neglect.
Sans leaned back, resting his hands on his knees. "You're really runnin' yourself into the ground, huh?"
Not that he expected an answer. Mecha was completely out. Probably wouldn't wake up for a while.
Typical.
"Welp," he muttered, rubbing the back of his skull. "Looks like you're crashin' at Hotel Skeleton for the night."
Sans adjusted his stance, cracking his knuckles as he scrolled through the rest of Mecha's system interface.
"Alright, let's see what else is rattlin' around in that metal head of yours," he muttered.
[SECONDARY SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS]
Energy Efficiency: 42% (Suboptimal – requires maintenance)
Structural Integrity: 91% (Minor exterior wear, nothing critical)
Internal Storage Capacity: 73% full (Includes tools, repaired items, and miscellaneous components)
Motor Functions: Operating within normal parameters
Self-Repair System:DISABLED (Manual repairs required for prolonged use)
Emotional Response Limiter:PARTIALLY ACTIVE (Suppressing stress responses to maintain efficiency)
Neural Processing Speed: 98% (Above average cognitive performance, despite exhaustion)
Sans let out a low whistle. "Hoo boy, you're really runnin' on fumes, huh?"
The self-repair system being off was concerning. He knew Mecha usually preferred fixing himself manually, but letting it stay disabled for this long? That wasn't just stubbornness—it was reckless.
Scrolling further, Sans tapped into the power management logs.
[POWER CONSUMPTION ANALYSIS]
Primary Functions (Mobility, Processing, Repairs): 60%
Workload Usage (Tools, Active Tasks): 30%
Personal Health Functions:Minimal to None
Sans frowned at the last entry. No wonder he passed out. Mecha wasn't allocating any energy toward self-maintenance. Everything was being pumped into work.
"C'mon, buddy," Sans muttered. "What's the point of bein' the best repair guy in the Underground if you don't keep yourself in one piece?"
Then he noticed a log entry under "Power Fluctuations Detected" and tapped it.
[POWER FLUCTUATION LOGS]
Date:YesterdayIncident: Sudden energy drain detected during high-speed traversal (Waterfall Region).
Cause: Overuse of high-speed movement without energy regulation.
Result: Minor internal overheating. System forced temporary shutdown of non-essential processes.
Sans clicked his teeth. "Tch, so that's why you were draggin' your feet earlier at Grillbys."
It was starting to click together. Mecha had been running at max efficiency for days without a break, skipping meals, spinning all over the place without proper power management—he basically forced himself to collapse.
Sans sighed, closing the menu and shaking his head. "You really need a 'take-a-break' protocol, man."
Stepping back, he rubbed his chin in thought. He could wake Mecha up now, but that wouldn't do any good. Guy needed actual rest. Not just a reboot.