[The feathers feel very different, made of thin strings of silica glass rather than keratin. Sans can feel Papyrus's hand on his feathers, but the sensation is strange and different. Sans opens his eyes again--not that he needs to, really, when so many of the eyes scattered around the room also move to focus on the wing Papyrus is indicating. It gives Sans an unsettling nearly 360-degree view of the robotic wing, only interrupted by his bed. He shifts the wing forward, but the motion is awkward like it hasn't been with Sans's wings in months. He's not used to the weight of this wing.]
Well, it wasn't like that before I went to sleep. [Sans's voice has gone a little thin, and he can feel the urge to laugh bubbling up. He doesn't like this. The feelings are just the same as when he'd first changed, something normal becoming abnormal and foreign. That was his wing, and now it's different and he doesn't like it. He wants it back to normal. But there's nothing he can do. He reaches out to hang onto Papyrus's arm a little too tightly.] You didn't grow any feathers, didja?
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Well, it wasn't like that before I went to sleep. [Sans's voice has gone a little thin, and he can feel the urge to laugh bubbling up. He doesn't like this. The feelings are just the same as when he'd first changed, something normal becoming abnormal and foreign. That was his wing, and now it's different and he doesn't like it. He wants it back to normal. But there's nothing he can do. He reaches out to hang onto Papyrus's arm a little too tightly.] You didn't grow any feathers, didja?