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[spaghettimonster]

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[ribticklers]

Like seven or eight billion years. Plenty of time left. [Especially if it keeps looping, but Sans isn't going to think about that right now.]

[spaghettimonster]

I see... That's billion with a b again. Okay! [As long as it's a length of time that's challenging to even conceive of, Papyrus can be pretty sure that everybody he's ever known, besides maybe Toriel, will be fine.]

[ribticklers]

It's space, the numbers are big too. [But the last thing anyone has to worry about right now is the sun dying.] 'S reliable like that.

[Time and distance scales that stretch so far beyond comprehension that the idea of one human with a lot of Determination even seems small by comparison. When Sans reaches for the barest grasp of the scale involved, the idea that the human could impact things on that scale is silly. He can't do anything about them, but they can't possibly do anything on the scale of the universe.]

[spaghettimonster]

Then why... is it such a small word? [There's other things on his mind, but this is the easiest to talk about while avoiding the more serious things.] 'Space.' Only five letters... It should be big to match. And capitalized all the time.

[You know, as if Papyrus was the one enthusing about space. As is, he tucks gloved hands into his pockets and continues looking up, feeling smaller than he's ever felt - even as a baby bones. Would it feel easier, if he was still a skeleton, aware of where his friends were at, on a surface with the technology he expected? Or would the enormity of space be just as disorienting?]

[ribticklers]

'Cause "the observable universe" is too long to say all the time. [Laziness! It's important.] And 'cause it's mostly just space. Empty with stuff scattered around here and there.

I thought I remembered December being good for meteor showers

[spaghettimonster]

Super big emptiness... [If he spends long enough at it, maybe he'll think of P, A, and C words to substitute for big, and make a whole S.P.A.C.E. acronym.

But he's distracted entirely by a brief streak of white that flares and fades in hardly a blink.] What was that!?

[ribticklers]

[Sans lights up. This is a very rare Sans expression. Collect 'em all.] A meteor. Some people call 'em shooting stars. You saw it first, you get to make a wish.

[That is not scientific, but it reminds Sans of Waterfall when he was little, and so it's important in that way.]

[spaghettimonster]

A wish? [That does seem like the Waterfall room. See stars, make wishes. And they're not even crowded by creepy echo flowers. But.] Do I have to say it out loud...?

[ribticklers]

Is it somethin' embarrassing? [Of course Sans has to tease.] But nah, you don't have to.

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus grumbles wordlessly, which is probably twice the affirmative either of them need.]

A wish... [There's a lot of things to wish for. Seeing missing friends again. Seeing them, back underground, instead of seeing human faces with familiar voices. Everyone being above ground, happy and safe, without any hostile decor enforcers... More surprise nights like this one...

Well, there's a lot of options. He picks something or another, and even the narration will respect his privacy on that.]