[After the defeated and awful slump that Sans started the conversation with, that straightening is too obviously a retreat. Papyrus shakes his head, reaches an arm around his brother's shoulder to try to pull him back - or at least keep him from feeling driven away. He tries to rein his voice, too, and manages something not quite questioning as he asks:] You... You checked, first.
[It's too easy to drag Sans back in; he droops back against Papyrus as suddenly as he'd tried pulling away.] Someone had to. [Someone had to go to the apartment, and Sans is the one with all the shortcuts and a ghost willing to help. Someone had to watch the videos, and Sans was the one with the flash drive and the spiritual senses to feel how awful it was just looking at it. He could have let Robotnik watch them alone, but also he couldn't have done that.]
[Mechanical whirring loudens again as Papyrus makes a frustrated sigh, conflicting wants making for a tension that doesn't hold still as subtly as bone. He finally starts slowly walking them towards the couch.]
I get that. I mean... checked he was recording. [Checked that the apartment was probably empty, theoretically safe. Because yeah, Papyrus had had an idea of finding the apartment and having Sans go in... but then people weighed in emphasizing the dangerousness of serial killers, and besides, his idea had always involved him being the lookout. As much as Sans was now - demonstrably - more durable... Surely all his own metallic parts were more durable still.]
[Ah. Sans lets Papyrus herd him toward the couch. The entire process of actually preparing to go into the apartment feels like it happened ages ago.] Jenny checked. And watched the door. [Even though Papyrus isn't happy right now--for good reason--his presence is grounding. Maybe even because of it, a little; Papyrus has always cared enough to call Sans out on the things he does.]
Oh. That's... Thank you, Jenny? [This, finally, has something of a more questioning tone as he addresses the air around them. He could sort of check, if he wanted to track her by the residue trail... But after the body, he kind of doesn't want to see more ghost blood. Instead, he just ushers Sans into sitting down, drapes a blanket over some of him, and glances off towards the kitchen.]
...I have the sneaking suspicion, I need food to hear the rest of this. I made myself dinner, do you... would you want any? [It's awkward to ask, when they've been carefully avoiding food. But the week's already been weird for other reasons, maybe weirdnesses don't come in pairs.]
[Sans doesn't have a stomach, but he feels something like nausea at the idea.] Nah. 'M not hungry. [And he's really not, even though he hasn't had anything to eat all day. Instead, he curls himself up against the arm of the couch, resting his head on it. Just sitting feels good. He doesn't think he can sleep right now, but there's some safety in the house even if nowhere in San Benedicto is entirely safe.] You go eat, I'm not goin' anywhere.
[Papyrus sighs. The speed of that answer doesn't exactly improve his mood, for all he thinks he understands it. No need to go risking anything. But the offer...]
I'm not going, I'll be right back. [Slightly put out, because honestly, Sans? That couch isn't nearly as supportive a listener as the Great Papyrus, and only so-so a comfort compared to someone who can offer a hug. He shakes his head, heading to the kitchen just long enough to grab his food - and a fresh glass of milk - before settling in on the other end of the couch.]
[Sans's eyes are closed when Papyrus gets back, but once Papyrus sits down Sans inchworms his way across the couch to get closer to Papyrus. All together, this is an absolutely ridiculous amount of desire for closeness in one day for Sans. But instead of doing anything like continuing to talk about what happened, he just stays there under the blanket, looking like an indistinct lump.]
[Now they can add worm to the list of things Sans is. The early bird gets the worm, the late skeleton angel bird is the worm, or something. Papyrus takes a minute to eat some of the pasta - farfelle with a cheese sauce, for extra calcium - and leaves Sans an opening in which to talk. When his brother doesn't take it, Papyrus sighs again.]
If you just want couch company, I can do that. But... [He has the sense Sans should be talking. Had been starting to talk, before Papyrus's frustrated hurt and belated fear about not helping... interrupted things. So it needs to be Papyrus to uninterrupt it.] Were the videos... in a very terrible place?
[There's a logical step to extend from 'found the videos' and 'watched the videos,' but Papyrus isn't in a hurry to leap it.]
[Sans doesn't move from under the blanket, so his voice is a little muffled.] He's got a home theater. They were in there--on a flash drive locked up in a desk.
[Sans still has the flash drive; he can feel it thrumming in his pocket, drenched in that feeling of death.]
Oh. How... fancy. [Seems a little rich and extravagant, a whole theater in one's home. But, then, he has a whole workshop situation going, taking fully over a large space in the house, with designs trickling up into his bedroom. Priorities. (His are the better priorities.)]
And you know it was them... So you must have loaded them up. [A slow leading question, asked of the blanket lump - has the blanket been climbing higher on Sans since he last looked?]
[The blanket, which had been shifting a little, goes completely still. Even Sans's wings, which aren't entirely covered, don't move. The silence stretches until he's almost sure Papyrus is going to prompt him again soon, until he's sure he's going to have to say something, and it just--comes out, the way sometimes when Sans is particularly, unusually upset words just start coming out of him.]
[There's no jaw to open, when Papyrus readies himself to talk, so the signs of aborted words are subtler than they used to be. But the whirring gets louder, a mechanical deep breath as his mind gets to racing and his body reflects it. Watched them all. Each of them, like a preview...? No, Sans sounded... too precise for that. Allof each of them.]
Them all... All of...? [His voice is tight, worry and frustration and a little grief. What an awful thing to imagine. What a worse thing to experience. His arm reaches around the lump, pulls him closer.] ...Sans...
[Sans comes alive again when Papyrus moves him closer. He shifts all at once, clinging to Papyrus like he could hide and stay there. His soul hurts all over again, but it hadn't really stopped so much as Sans had been trying to ignore it. He doesn't cry, sounds exhausted and angry more than anything, but between his vulnerability to intent and the spiritual vulnerability to emotions layered on top of it, it all hit him even harder than he could have expected. Not than anyone can expect videos like that.] Needed evidence. And--it was there. You can see his face in Lisa's, and the back of his head in Lily's. [Papyrus would know Lisa is Jenny's little sister, but Lily is a new name. Sans didn't know it until he watched the videos. He isn't going to forget any of the names now.]
There wasn't a video of it, but I'm pretty sure he killed his wife, too. There was a photo with her in it in his apartment, and--I could feel it. [The feeling of death on that photo wasn't as powerful as the flash drive, but it was there all the same. The way Sans is talking about it, it's like he's trying to justify his watching it--not to Papyrus but to himself. It has to have had a point, all these images he now has swimming around in his mind.]
Edited (let me break up that paragraph) 2021-10-24 04:30 (UTC)
[Papyrus's robot arm squeezes around his brother - gently, gently, mechanical arms are stronger than bone and he doesn't want to use too much force if something even more upsetting comes up. But he tries to make sure Sans feels protected.] His wife, too...? We... we do need that evidence. [He has to validate that much, especially with the way Sans keeps explaining himself in ways he almost never does.] Guess we couldn't just... turn it in, without knowing if it's... proof.
[Still, he's bitter in saying so, voice trailing off as he notices the frustration leak into his tone again. His brother is yet again shielding Papyrus by taking too much on himself. This is becoming a pattern. The moment Sans starts responsibility and trying to help, he goes right for the ways of doing it that hurt him. It makes a skeleton wish they believed they were gods, with all the cheer and confidence that had gone to Sans in it. Couldn't he go for a more moderated approach...?]
...You can feel it with all of them, huh? Like you see them all. [It hasn't come up too much, the details awkward to really get into, but he's noticed how Sans keeps being drawn to death, or spooky places, or so on. It just... doesn't usually seem to hurt him.]
Yeah. That's how I found it--the room it was in felt the most like death, and then the desk drawer felt even more like it once I got close. [He's like a death detector.] It's messed up, y'know? It feels like a graveyard. But--it shouldn't. Someone's apartment shouldn't feel like that. [Sans doesn't know if that makes any sense because it's hard for him to understand, and he's only just now tried to put it into words. The feeling is still comforting, but in Dylan's apartment, he just keeps thinking about how that feeling shouldn't be there like that. A graveyard in an apartment complex.]
[It's strange to imagine sensing death. Sensing electronics makes sense, there's electrical charge and waves and everything. Things any mundane machine with the right parts and design could pick up on. Death, though... That's so much more fleeting for monsters. Ineffable to imagine anything of substance sticking around long enough to feel.
So Papyrus isn't sure he understands, but nods along slowly. Offers, with mild emphasis:] Especially not somebody's living room. [He lets that sit for just a second or two for the pun to sink in, then pushes on.] A-And, when you said 'all' of them... All of the ghosts we've heard about?
[The pun gets a small, short chuckle out of Sans--just one muffled sound. But it's a relief to know he can still laugh at all.] Yeah. Eight videos, nine people. One--one had two girls in it. [And that one was especially awful, though Sans isn't about to rank them. Of course, Dylan's wife would make ten, but she doesn't have a video and he hasn't heard anyone mention her ghost being around.]
[It is a relief, some of the tension leaves Papyrus's chest at the chuckle. Sans's couch lump state isn't new, but the combination of that and this unexpected willingness to share details is. In the context of talking about sensing things, it was just adding to the sense of unfamiliar changes. The followup comment... Well. He's still plenty tense with the topic.]
...Kids, huh? [The human had been a kid too, he thinks, but... Doesn't make it any better.] I didn't think this story could keep getting worse. Guess Emily has reason to be so mad so much...
Yeah. [Not the only kids, either. Sans loosens his grip on Papyrus finally in favor of settling into something more like a lean.] It was--bad. All of it. [The things he did and the things he said and all the emotions filling up his soul, terror and sadism and pain.] The last video was last year. He's not going to stop. [Not unless he's made to stop.]
Oh. He... definitely hasn't changed his ways, then. [When Papyrus learned that Jenny and Emily had died decades ago? He'd held out a thought that maybe, just maybe, Dylan had figured out there was no good reason to go around killing people. That he should spend his life making people feel welcomed and entertained. But the previous year...] That's... a lot of years, to keep killing over. And sneaky, to hide it for so long.
The stuff he did, and the things he said when he was doing it--he needs to be stopped. [Sans doesn't want to go into detail, feeling less shaky, more able to keep his thoughts behind his teeth, but he can still see scattered scenes when he blinks. He doesn't want to think about what his next nightmare is going to be like.]
That's... vague. [A conspicuous lack of elaboration, compared to the rest of the conversation. Papyrus takes a moment to think back to his own experience with dying, his scolding and encouraging, bracing for an impact he hoped wouldn't come. He drops his voice to something quieter.] ...Do I want to know how bad it got?
No. [That's an easy one. Sans would prefer if he hadn't found out how bad it got either. One of his hands drifts to his chest, like he can massage the pain out of his soul.] I've never felt anything like that before. [The anomaly's LV-soaked determination was different. Again, it's not something he can rank, but it was different. That he's admitted to being able to feel that kind of intent through a video doesn't entirely occur to him.]
[Papyrus gives his brother a side glance, and watches that hand drift up. He's not sure whether Sans means he felt weird at the seeing it all, or... something else. Not after that talk of sensing death.]
Well, who would want to. Seeing such horrible sights... [Other than, he assumes, the sorts of people who go in for making such horrible sights.]
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spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
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I get that. I mean... checked he was recording. [Checked that the apartment was probably empty, theoretically safe. Because yeah, Papyrus had had an idea of finding the apartment and having Sans go in... but then people weighed in emphasizing the dangerousness of serial killers, and besides, his idea had always involved him being the lookout. As much as Sans was now - demonstrably - more durable... Surely all his own metallic parts were more durable still.]
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...I have the sneaking suspicion, I need food to hear the rest of this. I made myself dinner, do you... would you want any? [It's awkward to ask, when they've been carefully avoiding food. But the week's already been weird for other reasons, maybe weirdnesses don't come in pairs.]
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I'm not going, I'll be right back. [Slightly put out, because honestly, Sans? That couch isn't nearly as supportive a listener as the Great Papyrus, and only so-so a comfort compared to someone who can offer a hug. He shakes his head, heading to the kitchen just long enough to grab his food - and a fresh glass of milk - before settling in on the other end of the couch.]
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If you just want couch company, I can do that. But... [He has the sense Sans should be talking. Had been starting to talk, before Papyrus's frustrated hurt and belated fear about not helping... interrupted things. So it needs to be Papyrus to uninterrupt it.] Were the videos... in a very terrible place?
[There's a logical step to extend from 'found the videos' and 'watched the videos,' but Papyrus isn't in a hurry to leap it.]
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[Sans still has the flash drive; he can feel it thrumming in his pocket, drenched in that feeling of death.]
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And you know it was them... So you must have loaded them up. [A slow leading question, asked of the blanket lump - has the blanket been climbing higher on Sans since he last looked?]
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Eight videos. I watched them all.
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Them all... All of...? [His voice is tight, worry and frustration and a little grief. What an awful thing to imagine. What a worse thing to experience. His arm reaches around the lump, pulls him closer.] ...Sans...
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There wasn't a video of it, but I'm pretty sure he killed his wife, too. There was a photo with her in it in his apartment, and--I could feel it. [The feeling of death on that photo wasn't as powerful as the flash drive, but it was there all the same. The way Sans is talking about it, it's like he's trying to justify his watching it--not to Papyrus but to himself. It has to have had a point, all these images he now has swimming around in his mind.]
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[Still, he's bitter in saying so, voice trailing off as he notices the frustration leak into his tone again. His brother is yet again shielding Papyrus by taking too much on himself. This is becoming a pattern. The moment Sans starts responsibility and trying to help, he goes right for the ways of doing it that hurt him. It makes a skeleton wish they believed they were gods, with all the cheer and confidence that had gone to Sans in it. Couldn't he go for a more moderated approach...?]
...You can feel it with all of them, huh? Like you see them all. [It hasn't come up too much, the details awkward to really get into, but he's noticed how Sans keeps being drawn to death, or spooky places, or so on. It just... doesn't usually seem to hurt him.]
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So Papyrus isn't sure he understands, but nods along slowly. Offers, with mild emphasis:] Especially not somebody's living room. [He lets that sit for just a second or two for the pun to sink in, then pushes on.] A-And, when you said 'all' of them... All of the ghosts we've heard about?
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...Kids, huh? [The human had been a kid too, he thinks, but... Doesn't make it any better.] I didn't think this story could keep getting worse. Guess Emily has reason to be so mad so much...
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Well, who would want to. Seeing such horrible sights... [Other than, he assumes, the sorts of people who go in for making such horrible sights.]
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