[For two hours, Sans sleeps without more than the occasional wing twitch as his body works to heal itself of all the trauma it's taken on today, let alone the broken wings from a few days ago. Then he starts shifting more, suddenly restless, as his mind forces together mismatched, jagged puzzle pieces. A squirming octopus with a smile fit to split its face. A thing dripping red with determination biting through his soul like an apple. An endless darkness keeping him pinned down, smiling and smiling and cutting his soul up with a knife, taking piece by piece. There's going to be nothing left, it's going to take everything--
Sans jolts awake and lurches forward off the couch, fit to land face first on either the coffee table or the ground if Papyrus doesn't grab him.]
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Sans jolts awake and lurches forward off the couch, fit to land face first on either the coffee table or the ground if Papyrus doesn't grab him.]