Yeah. [Sans is simultaneously unsure about how something could take a name and convinced that thing underground could do it, if it wanted. But "Sans" still feels like him the way it always has, so as far as he can tell, that's safe.] When it grabbed me and started talking to me, I tried to get away. [Even if "away" was "up into the ceiling in a panic".] And that's when--
[He can still feel his soul getting ripped out, phantom echoes of pain that isn't there anymore. Every action after that was instinct and panic and anger; he's lucky he didn't just smash the screen when he tried reaching in after his soul, because he had absolutely no evidence or idea that reaching in would work. (Or was he lucky? It's not like it worked. Lucky he didn't smash up Papyrus's stuff, maybe.)]
Uh. Y'know. [A lame end to that sentence, but Sans doesn't want to think about it even if he can't stop thinking about it. His body is starting to unclench by degrees, but it's more exhaustion than relaxation. His wings hurt less now that he's not pressed flat into the couch, at least.]
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[He can still feel his soul getting ripped out, phantom echoes of pain that isn't there anymore. Every action after that was instinct and panic and anger; he's lucky he didn't just smash the screen when he tried reaching in after his soul, because he had absolutely no evidence or idea that reaching in would work. (Or was he lucky? It's not like it worked. Lucky he didn't smash up Papyrus's stuff, maybe.)]
Uh. Y'know. [A lame end to that sentence, but Sans doesn't want to think about it even if he can't stop thinking about it. His body is starting to unclench by degrees, but it's more exhaustion than relaxation. His wings hurt less now that he's not pressed flat into the couch, at least.]