Asriel Dreemurr

[Mettaton picks up the bowl he'd dropped, places it back on the counter, and busies himself with opening a can of soup, because this is something familiar and simple for him to do. He can just make something for Asriel, even if the kid doesn't eat it. At least he's providing something potentially useful.

The only part making it hard is how his hands are shaking.

What if Asriel's not just tired? After something like this, being tired...it's the last thing you want to hear from a monster, especially when so much of what makes them has been compromised. All those cuts and gashes...all the bandages...]

I'm fine! I told you, silly.

[His words waver a little as he speaks. There's so little conviction there]

It'll be alright, we're here now. No more rash decisions. No more slavers.

[Mettaton slides the bowl into the microwave, his hands shaking.]

We just...have to move on from this.