A/N: So, yeah, just wanted to give a brief trigger warning for anxiety and such. Also, if you're interested you can still ask questions for the Q&A in Flip My Switch. Thank you so much for 100 reads here already and for the 15K over there! Now without further ado, let's get this show in the road, my darling corpses!
_____
You knew that you weren't stupid. You had gone to school, gotten an education, and now you were working to become successful in adulthood. You were not incapable of thinking smart thoughts and sizing up situations and knowing what to do. But in this moment, you felt completely, irrefutably idiotic. As you looked at your father, the only explanation that you could come to was that it was your fault he was like this. It was your own stupid fault for refusing to let Frisk go home with him. You had to have been the one to trigger it. And you felt stupid for not knowing that it would happen.

To your knowledge, he hadn't had an attack like this in months. In fact, if you remembered correctly, the last time he had a panic attack to this severity was when you lost Frisk.

This exact severity. Down to the manner of scratching and the words he repeated and now that you looked out the window, everything was almost exactly the same as it had been that day. But now was not the time for delusions like that. Right now, your only responsibility was to ignore the throbbing warning in your head that something was very wrong and help your father through this.

"Dad, Dad, give me your hands," you requested firmly, voice trembling.

"I-I can't," he muttered, then louder, "I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't..."

You continued to speak over him, repeating what you said before, but this time assuring him that he could do it. It was a struggle, but you were able to secure his-albeit reluctant- grasp. You talked to him soothingly, telling him to breathe, going through the same motions you had done for years now, your brain all the while reminding you that something was very very wrong.

It wasn't until an hour later that he finally began to calm down, able to sit and take deep breaths and work his way back to tranquility. It had taken far too long for you to finally get your act together and get him to calm down, barely managing to keep yourself from crying. Still he was undecipherable. You couldn't figure out who had gone missing through his muttering and you still had no idea why anything was bad enough to trigger a panic attack this intense.

But you couldn't ask him yet. It was still too fresh. The wound was too new. To bring it up now would be to send him reeling back. The best you could do at the moment was allow him to rest on the couch and go wake the rest of the house. Yes, that was a good starting point. Handle the child and robot, then handle your father and whatever the hell was happening there. You left him lying on the couch with a brief reassurance that you would be back and ventured up the stairs hesitantly, still partly wishing you could make sure he'd be okay.

It wasn't until you had opened the door that you even realized that you completely passed Frisk's room and continued down the hall to where Mettaton was sleeping, um, charging. The first thing that alarmed you was the lack of the distinct pink glow that normally came from the heart-shaped soul that was always proudly displayed on his tiny waist. After last night, that, among other things, was ingrained in your mind. Neither of you had particularly cared to turn the lights on once you were already comfortable together, and you could see the soft light from his torso more distinctly than you ever had. It had glowed even brighter when you-

But that was beside the point. At the moment you had to concern yourself with the potential of a broken and/or missing Mettaton.

Wait, wait, wait, he was probably just under the covers and you couldn't see because the blankets were thick. That made far more sense than any of your first thoughts of abduction and destruction.

"Glitterbot, are you okay in here?" You asked into the darkness. There was no answer, not even a hum of his inner functions responding to your voice. Was it okay to start panicking now? Because you were definitely about to if you didn't locate Mettaton soon. This morning had already been stressful enough, what with the low battery and the sudden realization of probably being in love and your father bursting into your home whilst having a panic attack. Now it would appear that your more-than-friend had disappeared.

No longer caring for common courtesy, you flicked on the lightswitch, flooding the scene with the bright light and glaring fact that it was very much empty. You had never seen anything look less lived in than his room. Not a single thing was out of place, there wasn't a crinkle in the bedsheets, and a fine layer of dust decorated each piece of furniture. You struggled to swallow around the lump forming in your throat and think rationally. This had to be some sort of joke, a prank meant to exploit your worried nature. Any moment now, Mettaton would come from around the corner, sneak behind you, and wrap you up in coiling metal arms. He'd laugh at your fright, and you'd pout until, in an effort to make amends, he'd gently plant his beautiful lips on your own.

But Mettaton wouldn't play a joke like this. You knew him well enough to know that he would take no enjoyment out of such a trick. The truth was that somehow, through means beyond your knowledge, he hadn't been there in quite some time, if ever.

Okay, okay, calm down a second. That was a bit of a stretch. Yes, it seemed to be the most likely explanation at the moment, but it was still reaching. Maybe it would be best to go take care of Frisk first. After all, even if something had happened to Mettaton, he was still an adult and a robot with human elimination capabilities. He could handle the situation if he needed to.

Unfortunately, it proved to be especially hard to wake Frisk up, especially when she wasn't in her bed, or her room, or anywhere that you had checked for her.

Why was your family disappearing?

You half expected your father to be gone as well when you went back down the stairs, but he was still there, thank goodness. It was less terrifying if you knew that at least someone was still here and you weren't going mad. Unless, of course, you were in fact going irreversibly insane and your father on the couch was the last concrete thing that your mind decided to hang on to. It suddenly crossed your mind that maybe all of this had been a dream, an illusion, maybe the last however long had been dreamt up and you were just now waking to the real world. Maybe there was no Mettaton, no underground, perhaps you had a little too much to drink one night and fell unconscious and dreamt up this wonderful story of your sister and her friends and falling in love.

No, don't question it. You couldn't. The past weeks made you feel more alive than you had in a long time. They had to be real. There was no way that all you had been through was made up in some department of your brain. It was real. What you had felt was real, what you had said and seen were all real. Yet, this was somehow real as well. This felt exactly as the past days had. This and the past were either all false or all reality, and may your mind be damned if it had all been been fabricated.

To your surprise, your father stirred from his brief rest sooner than you had expected and sat up, apparently dazed.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," You greeted softly. He didn't respond immediately, but that was okay. After a moment or so you continued, "I'm gonna grab some breakfast, if you want any."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and you nodded back in response. The silence held for a while as you grabbed something from the pantry for you both, handing it to him before continuing, "You can- Would you mind talking to me about it? When you're ready, of course. No pressure or anything."

Finally, he spoke a simple confirmation, "Okay."

It was a full half hour before he was ready for conversation. He didn't begin with the topic that you required more answers on, instead opening with, "You didn't have breakfast already?"

"Um, no? It's pretty early, if you haven't noticed," You answered.

"It's three, (Y/N)," he countered, "That's not exactly early. If anything, right now would be a late lunch or early dinner."

"That's ridic-" you trailed off, noticing the clock on your mantle that indeed displayed the time of 3:16 in glaring red figures. More to yourself you muttered, "But that's impossible."

"What do you mean?" So he had heard.

"I mean, the first time, when I woke up with M- the first time I woke up it was dark, and I didn't sleep that long in between. Like, Frisk or Mettaton would've gotten me up in time for work." He seemed even more confused than before.

"What?"

You sighed, "Don't you remember when you came over yesterday, my friend that's living... you don't remember, do you?"

He shook his head in wide-eyed denial, "I don't. I-I'm sorry but I don't."

Not him too! Why did it seem like the world had forgotten all that had happened since Frisk came home? It was like time had been reset or something and now you were the only one that remembered anything that had happened before that.

Wait.

"Dad, what happened? What do you remember?" You nearly demanded him, manic with some growing suspicion that started to overcome your doubt.

"I brought Frisk to school," he choked up and paused before beginning again, "I brought Frisk to school this morning, and I dropped her off at the buses. They were going on that field trip to the mountain, remember? She probably told you last weekend, or the one before, I don't quite-"

You cut him off from what was going to be a separate tangent with an eager, "Whatever, that doesn't matter. What happened next?"

"Um, I got a call at work," he said after a thought, "And, they said that she, Frisk fell down the mountain."

Your father seemed like he was about to start weeping again, but you could barely contain your joy and anticipation.

"Okay, Dad, listen to me. I'm going to go get ready, and then we're heading after her," you said with conviction.

"What? But, they said she probably didn't survive the fall, and even if she did the monsters probably..."

"No, forget that. We're going to go join Frisk in the Underground. It may seem insane, but trust me on it," You insisted, backing towards your room in order to prepare. You slammed the door behind you, a smile breaking out onto your face. Frisk was back in the Underground. It all fell into place now. She had told you about resetting and saving, and if it worked as you thought it did, that would mean that you knew exactly what to do and where to go. You knew that she was safe this time, and you didn't have to suffer with the pain of unknowing. You could do something about it now. You could go and help her and meet the monsters sooner and rebuild your friendships. She wouldn't have to do it alone this time, she'd have you and her father and all the knowledge that she had freed them once already, if she remembered.

Maybe you and Mettaton would be able to fall in love all over again, and you wouldn't be too scared to accept it this time. It would be perfect.

You would do everything right.

_____

"Wait, why are you looking at me like that? Like," the woman's voice faltered in fear, "Like you have seen a ghost."

Are you sure about this, Frisk? You still have time. You've proven your point.

Frisk glared at the creature she had once called her mother, her initial shock overcome. She was prepared to do what she had to.

"Do you know something that I do not?" Toriel held a brave face, but Frisk was not deceived. She would never be used as a pawn in someone else's sick game again.

"No... that is impossible," The monster conceded.

Frisk allowed herself to smirk. Ha! The thing was scared! A tiny little child like herself was enough to strike fear into the heart of this creature. Incredible!

Frisk, please, I don't want to. Don't make me watch you do this, please.

"Close your eyes, then," she snarled aloud, not caring if her victim could hear. It'd be dead in a few moments anyway.

A single swipe was all it took. One strike against it, and it was over, something akin to blood seeping from the gashes across its face and abdomen. Frisk could barely force the grin off her face.

"Y...you..." The thing gasped for breath, choking a little. It was disgusting. "Really hate me that much?"

As if it cared! It didn't care for Frisk, it couldn't! If nothing else, these monsters sure knew how to put on a good act.

It spoke again, taking labored breaths and letting the words fall slowly, each syllable a struggle, "Now I see who I was protecting by keeping you here."

Frisk, I thought we were friends!

"Shut up," growled the child.

The thing standing before Frisk didn't hear, instead going on with its monologue, "Not you...But them!"

How long would this thing take to die? Frisk was on a tight schedule here. She had forgotten how long all of these death speeches were.

The thing collapsed to its knees, the ground shaking with the impact of its immense weight. And then it laughed. Laughed! A sullen, despairing sound, yet mocking Frisk all the same. These monsters really were repulsive.

Then it disappeared, dissolving into dust, the last echo of its dying laughter still ringing in Frisk's ears.

She spit upon the dusty ground and continued on her way.