Mecha stretched his arms, his joints letting out a soft whirr as he leaned back in his chair. He tapped a finger against the coffee machine sitting on the counter.
"So, Grillby, you want me to fix this now, or should I wait until closing time?"
The flame-faced bartender glanced at the clock on the wall, watching the hands slowly ticking towards the end of the night. He shook his head, signaling now was fine.
Mecha shrugged. "Alright. Guess I'll just stick with the fridge for now."
He stood up, stepping away from the counter. As he did, he subtly reached out and slipped the whoopee cushion into Sans' hood. The skeleton didn't react—whether he noticed or not, Mecha wasn't sure, but it was bound to be a funny surprise later.
"See ya later, Bonehead," Mecha said casually, giving Sans a light knock on the skull as he walked past.
Sans gave a lazy wave. "Try not to crash on your way home."
Mecha snorted and made his way toward the kitchen.
Fixing Grillby's fridge wasn't anything difficult—just another case of worn-down cooling coils and a motor that needed recalibration. But that didn't stop it from being tedious.
He popped open the back panel, carefully rewiring the connections. The heat from Grillby's constant presence had caused some of the components to wear out faster than usual, so he had to reinforce a few things. It wasn't the worst job he'd ever done, but by the time he finished, nearly two hours had passed.
Mecha stood up, rolling his shoulders as he checked his work. The fridge hummed softly, now operating at full efficiency. He wiped his hands off and stepped back into the main area of the bar.
Grillby was finishing up with the last few customers, wiping down the counter with slow, practiced motions.
Mecha walked over and collected his payment. "Alright, looks like that fridge will hold up for a while. Just don't set anything on fire in there, and you'll be fine."
Grillby gave a silent nod of appreciation.
Mecha sighed, pocketing his earnings. "Alright, I'm outta here."
He turned toward the exit, stepping out into the cold night air of Snowdin.
As he walked through the snowy streets, Mecha could already feel exhaustion creeping into his circuits.
"Do I really wanna spin dash all the way to Hotland?" He muttered.
Sure, it would be faster, but once he reached Hotland, he'd have to manually walk through the scorching heat to avoid launching himself into lava. Then he'd have to go through the lab, take the elevator to New Home, and finally get home.
That was a lot of walking.
He sighed. Maybe I should just take it slow tonight.
But before he could make a decision, he suddenly heard a very loud, very dramatic voice echoing through the quiet streets.
"WHAT?! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, DEMAND ANSWERS!"
Mecha blinked, turning his head toward the noise.
A few steps away, near the local store, stood Papyrus—arms raised in frustration, scarf billowing in the night wind. The shop was closed, and Papyrus was staring at the locked door with deep betrayal.
"Uh… Paps?" Mecha called out as he walked over. "What's the problem?"
Papyrus spun around, pointing at him dramatically. "AHA! MECHA! JUST THE PERSON I NEEDED TO SEE!"
"…That's never a good sign."
"NONSENSE! AS A MAN OF REPAIRS, YOU CAN SURELY FIX THIS ISSUE FOR ME!"
Mecha crossed his arms. "And what issue would that be?"
Papyrus jabbed a finger toward the store. "THIS… ESTABLISHMENT HAS CLOSED ITS DOORS AND REFUSES TO SELL ME SPAGHETTI!"
Mecha blinked. "Paps. It's midnight."
"IRRELEVANT! SPAGHETTI SHOULD BE AVAILABLE AT ALL HOURS! IT IS A FOOD THAT TRANSCENDS TIME!"
Mecha sighed, rubbing his faceplate. "You do realize that stores have business hours, right?"
"YES, BUT THAT IS SIMPLY A TRIVIAL OBSTACLE! AS A REPAIRMAN, YOU FIX PROBLEMS! AND THIS, MY FRIEND, IS A PROBLEM!"
Mecha's screen flickered into an unimpressed expression. "…You seriously want me to fix the fact that the store is closed?"
"INDEED!" Papyrus nodded confidently. "YOUR SKILLS ARE UNMATCHED! SURELY YOU CAN SOLVE THIS INJUSTICE!"
Mecha just stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, his hand lifted—and he lightly flicked Papyrus on the forehead.
Clink.
Papyrus stumbled back. "ACK! MECHA, WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"
"That," Mecha said dryly, "was me fixing your problem. By reminding you that it's late, and you can buy spaghetti tomorrow."
Papyrus gasped as if he had been struck by a great revelation. "TOMORROW…? YOU MEAN… WAITING?"
"Yes. Waiting. Like a normal person."
Papyrus frowned, crossing his arms. "THIS DOES NOT SEEM LIKE A VERY EFFICIENT SOLUTION."
"Well, it's the only one you're getting." Mecha sighed, shaking his head. "Look, just go home, get some sleep, and come back in the morning. You'll have plenty of spaghetti then."
Papyrus pouted for a moment, then dramatically sighed. "FINE! BUT ONLY BECAUSE I TRUST YOUR EXPERTISE IN FIXING PROBLEMS!"
Mecha gave him a lazy thumbs-up. "Glad to help."
Papyrus nodded firmly, then turned on his heel. "VERY WELL! I SHALL RETURN TOMORROW! GOOD NIGHT, MECHA!"
"Yeah, yeah. Good night, Paps."
As the skeleton marched off, Mecha let out a tired sigh.
Finally. Time to head home.
Mecha had barely taken two steps away when he heard Papyrus call out again.
"WAIT!"
Mecha stopped, shoulders slumping slightly as he turned back around. "What now, Paps?"
The skeleton stood tall, hands on his hips, scarf flowing dramatically in the night breeze. "I REALIZE NOW THAT I HAVE BEEN A BIT SELFISH! YOU HAVE FIXED MY PROBLEM, AND AS SUCH, I MUST REPAY YOU IN KIND!"
Mecha raised an eyebrow. "Papyrus, I didn't really—"
"THEREFORE," Papyrus continued, completely ignoring him, "I SHALL REWARD YOU WITH A PLATE OF MY WORLD-FAMOUS SPAGHETTI!"
Mecha froze. His screen flickered for a brief second before he forced himself to stay neutral. He had heard about this before.
Papyrus' spaghetti was legendary. And not in the good way.
Monsters who had tasted it spoke of its unyielding texture, its unique flavors, and its unparalleled ability to double as construction material.
There were rumors—whispers that a plate of Papyrus' spaghetti once cracked a countertop on impact. Some said the noodles had the consistency of rubber bands. Others claimed the sauce was so thick it could hold a spoon vertically without budging.
Mecha wasn't sure how much of that was true, but looking at Papyrus' eager expression, he knew one thing for sure.
Saying no was not an option.
So, against his better judgment, Mecha made what might be the worst decision of his night.
He sighed, rubbing his faceplate. "Alright, fine. I guess I could use some food before heading home."
Papyrus clapped his hands together, looking absolutely thrilled. "EXCELLENT! FOLLOW ME, MECHA! YOU SHALL EXPERIENCE THE CULINARY MASTERPIECE THAT IS MY SPAGHETTI!"
Mecha forced a small smile, though deep down, his energy reserves were already bracing for impact.
It can't be that bad… right?
The Skeletons house was warm, cozy, and filled with mismatched furniture. Sans' stuff was scattered lazily around the living room, while Papyrus' side was much more organized—a strange mix of rigid cleanliness and chaotic enthusiasm.
Mecha stood awkwardly near the dining table as Papyrus dramatically tied on his "KISS THE COOK" apron.
"NOW, MECHA! SIT BACK AND RELAX AS I PREPARE A MAGNIFICENT FEAST FOR YOU!"
Mecha sat down but didn't relax. His sensors were already picking up the sounds of clattering metal, aggressive stirring, and what might have been a wooden spoon snapping in half.
He glanced toward the kitchen, where Papyrus was moving way too fast for someone who had supposedly mastered the art of spaghetti-making.
Mecha's screen flickered with mild concern. This might have been a mistake.