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[spaghettimonster]

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[spaghettimonster]

[During the silence, Papyrus's thoughts go down other avenues. The increased need to back things up, if he's going to seriously muck around with more than commenting and making lists. When Sans speaks up, he startles at the tangent. The term's familiar enough - while he's been more focused on machinery, he has done a little with computing and coding. And it's seconds to pull up a frame of reference, anyway.]

....I don't know if it's bad sectors, exactly... And they say not to do that to a drive with things stored on it. [Which would bring them back to Sans's earlier suggestion - to put his memories on an external drive, and delete them from himself. It's not any less troubling now than in the middle of the night.] It's a shame sleeping didn't reset anything...

[ribticklers]

If you opened a new program that used the, uh, emotion data... [This is getting increasingly strange to talk about.] Then you close that program. It might free up the emotions without completely wrecking the memories. [Of course, there would be emotion data loss, at least, but maybe not the recordings of what happened?]

[spaghettimonster]

That seems... sensible. [He's almost surprised by it, and a little relieved. Enough so that he relaxes his pose to lean his arm on the couch, and rest his jaw on his hand. A finger taps on his cheek as he thinks. It's still complicated-sounding in the how to achieve this. Maybe if he redesigns the framework of personality recommendations, and tries to instruct it to access his memories directly...?] A good direction to focus my efforts in.

[ribticklers]

[Another stretch of silence on Sans's side.] I can do that.

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus hadn't exactly stopped watching his brother, but it's clear when he focuses his full attention on him again, as his eyes flicker with the different ways he sees now.] ...Focus my efforts?

[ribticklers]

[Sans's expression is entirely locked down, stuck in that meaningless grin. He's expecting this to not go over well.] I can make someone feel something. And then stop it.

[spaghettimonster]

[Meaningless and motionless as it is, Papyrus continues memorizing every millisecond of that silent grin. His own body goes still, locking into place as he processes. Not just the passive sensing. Something more intrusive. That his brother delayed mentioning, as much as he thought he could.]

...Sans?

[ribticklers]

I'd have to touch you to do it. [I haven't done it yet, is what he means. I've never done it to you at all. But if Papyrus doesn't believe him, that's Sans's fault. It's fine. He stays where he's sitting on the couch, unmoving.] I've only done it a couple times before but it worked fine.

[spaghettimonster]

[Seconds pass, and Sans's position stays unchanged. Papyrus recognizes the motionlessness for the reassurance it's meant to be - a demonstration of no sudden movements. He did the same thing, last night. But now he trembles unintentionally, draws back slightly before he consciously notes the logged movement. Fear deep enough he's feeling it even now. If he was feeling everything...]

...When have you? [To whom? How long ago? ...Why?]

[ribticklers]

[Sans's wings curl, just a little. If he wasn't holding himself so deliberately still, they might curl around him entirely. But he's good at holding still, always has been.] I made Dylan confess. [It had been easy. He'd hardly exerted himself, using his magic like that. And he doesn't feel bad about it, even now, but that doesn't mean he'd wanted everyone to know he'd done it. If Papyrus had his full emotional range, how would he be reacting right now? Even like this he's shaking.]

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus nods, very slowly. From where he's sitting, that... seems like a good goal. Especially for the emergency call that Sans rushed off to, probably saving some peoples' lives. Even if it didn't save Dylan's. Or, actively put Dylan in harm's way?]

Didn't he... have a breakdown. Confessing. And nothing else? [Admittedly, he died shortly after, which was probably from all the claw wounds and not complications from whatever Sans did to his emotions. Maybe he would have recovered from the confessing thing.] ...Are you sure you can stop it? [Who else did you do this kind of thing to.]

[ribticklers]

He had a breakdown because I made him feel guilty about what he did. I was standing behind him while that was being recorded. [So while Sans might be partially responsible, as far as Sans is concerned Dylan put himself in that situation. But also, that was a recording where Sans was actively using the ability, not an aftereffect of it.] That was the second time I did it. The first time I did, he recovered enough to try and kill someone. [So yeah, he went back to normal. There's a hint of bitterness there, if Papyrus is paying very close attention--Sans considers that a mistake he made. He should have gotten it done before anyone else got hurt. But hey, what else is new with him?] If I did it with you it wouldn't be something negative.

[spaghettimonster]

...So it wore off. [That's not exactly the same as proof that Sans can cancel it, not exactly what he asked. It might be the better answer - if Sans were to do something while not in his right mind, it'll fade away eventually. At least somewhat. But the bitterness, like Sans is frustrated with himself for letting it wear off, for giving Dylan the opportunity to do better... That's concerning.] What if... I say no. And look for a different way of doing this.

[ribticklers]

Then I don't do anything, and you look for some other way to do it. [His grin quirks just a bit, his gaze somewhere else in time.] I'm great at doing nothing.

[spaghettimonster]

[He notes the smile, its proximity to the comment about doing nothing... But then, he has some very recent evidence of Sans doing things when it would have been easier to do nothing. Some things, he wants enough to act. Cause enough for Papyrus to have some doubt.]

...And... if... I don't do anything? [Would Sans want him back to normal, or trying to be, enough to make him want to try?]

[ribticklers]

Then I'll get used to it. [He already decided he'd do that. It was under the circumstance of can't do anything, rather than won't, but it still has to be the same answer. If he isn't on his brother's side, who even is he?] Whatever happens next is up to you.

[spaghettimonster]

...Okay. [This time, the single word is less skeptical, more a cautious hope. It doesn't bring him real reassurance or comfort to hear, anymore than it brings real annoyance or suspicion, but it's the answer he preferred to hear. The one he can more easily build from. Sans would support his decision, whatever it might be.

He takes his time to think. Putting the sensing test off until morning had given him time to do some high priority backups, and he doesn't regret that decision. He should disengage from monitoring the analysis of metadata, disconnect from his phone and network access altogether - no sense sending weird network messages while under the influence of whatever Sans might do.

After all, it doesn't take any real thinking about. He had already been searching for an answer and solution. Tracking the new port's functions had partly been for the satisfaction of knowing his body and his capabilities, but partly a search for what was changing, and how, and why. His emotions had gone numb around when the antlers formed, and the ports had grown from those spots, and his first point of suspicion had been that it was finally too much robotics, or that something about the ports themselves were the culprits. He hasn't finished carving through to actually access the second one, but the findings would likely be the same... Especially if Sans's finding is correct, and most of his emotions are tied up in these perfect memories.

...He wonders whether they're still influencing him, if in understated ways. If his inclination to wait is shaped by the curious probing analysis he'd felt during the eclipse and beyond, if he's testing Sans's willingness to do nothing by waiting. If his willingness to carve into his skull has anything to do with the irreverence for life he felt, while influenced by Hannibal's personality. There's benefits to being unemotional, but is he, actually? And what might he do while Sans influences him...?]

...Hey. You said, you wouldn't use something negative. What are you thinking of trying...?

[ribticklers]

[Sans hangs onto that single word that isn't outright skepticism. Papyrus hasn't completely lost faith in him. It's selfish to lean on that when he doesn't deserve it, but he can't refuse when it's offered to him. He doesn't move while Papyrus thinks things over. It's in Sans's nature to expect the outcomes he would have the most trouble dealing with, so further inquiry into Sans's offer is a little surprising. He isn't going to get his hopes up, though.]

I figured happiness was pretty safe. Unless you want something else. [He guesses he could let Papyrus pick, as long as it wasn't some really complex emotion.]

[spaghettimonster]

Safe...? Maybe. [Right now he's largely unemotional, and sometimes forgets to monitor others' emotions, wellbeing, and so on - memorization isn't active attentiveness. He's not sure which mistakes exactly led to Sans's suspicions, but that conversation hadn't started in a friendly way. If experiencing a happiness powerful enough to overwhelm the theoretical lock on his emotions, would he be anywhere near as attentive to that monitoring? Would he find himself too cheerful to care about the impact of his actions...? It is, he realizes, something of a worry. Worrying about not worrying. Best to cap that recursive tendency.] It seems... better than guilt. Or a lot of other options.

[ribticklers]

I'm not going to use something negative. [Which he said already, but it bears repeating. No guilt. No sadness or anger or anything like that, either. However...] I have to be able to imagine the feeling, though. [So focusing on, say, optimism probably isn't going to work. Negative emotions are easier for him to picture, but for Papyrus, he can work up some happiness.]

[spaghettimonster]

You have to...? [Papyrus's focus centers on him again, intense. He hasn't actually answered Sans's offer yet, for all that the ongoing questioning clearly implies a potential willingness, but. This changes things, a little.] So. It would be... the other side of it. I'll feel your feelings.

[ribticklers]

Yeah, kind of. [It's not as direct, in that Sans can work with an imagined feeling rather than having to feel it directly, but still.] You won't feel all of them. Just whatever one I'm focusing on. [He isn't going to give Papyrus depression cooties.]

[spaghettimonster]

That's... not what I thought would happen. [It's better than he thought, when he imagined Sans forcing thoughts into peoples' heads. It's easy to imagine how Sans might have found feelings of guilt to force into Dylan - especially when he'd taken helping the ghosts so personally. It's concerning that Sans, presumably in possession of all his feelings, thinks there's some he couldn't feel enough to do this with...

But not as immediately concerning as this potential solution. He does a doublecheck of things. Phone disconnected, network quiet beyond the ambient radiowave chatter. No ability to broadcast. No easy access to anyone but Sans, and Sans is volunteering for whatever comes of this. No real way to reliably anticipate what the fallout of this will be, and... something like impatience to find out. He nods, slowly, again.] ...Okay. Give it... Give it a shot.

[ribticklers]

Okay. [Okay, they're doing this. Sans would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Good thing he's so used to lying.] If you want to stop, just say so. [He reaches out to touch Papyrus's arm. Not a handshake; the last time Sans did that, it didn't go so great.

It doesn't happen immediately. Sans is trying to be careful, and he's thinking about the process now instead of just doing it, so the flow of magic is hesitant at first. Just a hint of happiness. Nothing explodes, nobody is hurt. Sans thinks back to Gyftmases spent at home, to making the battle body with Papyrus, to sitting around on the couch watching Papyrus go on about how great Mettaton's newest show was. The magic pours in then, a flood of emotion that Sans is pushing Papyus's way.]

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus nods at the instruction about stopping if he wants, and keeps some of his attention on his own comfort with the situation. The delay isn't a reason to stop, but it's enough for him to wonder whether anything's going to happen. The initial mild happiness is easily mistaken for relief nothing's going wrong.

Then the flood starts. His lingering concern, doubt, unease, even the irritation over the knife are overwhelmed by happiness as his system tries to process the emotion with the available functionality. After the relative numbness of the last several days, it's a boggling intensity - but it's not enough to process everything of the external command to feel happy pressing on him.

It's just as well Papyrus isn't gripping Sans's hand - his hands clench tightly as internal errors flare up like a wave of pain, until the existing directive to record everything gives way. The confrontation with Hannibal, the rude men on the street, the moment of paranoia when he first discovered a text in which Sans addressed him as bro... As the ongoing emotion processing abruptly shifts to the current happiness, the memories fragment and corrupt with random errors. Papyrus starts to laugh.]

I don't... Nyeh heh heh, I don't remember everything, I don't... I don't remember exactly what your face looked like, a few seconds ago! [It's not overwhelming happiness anymore, nor hysterical laughter. It's funny, now that it's happened, what a relief it is not to be remembering those things so vividly. It's disconcerting, alarming, scary to have parts of his mind just up and disappear - but it's hardly the first time that's happened. There's other emotions starting to fill in the spaces that were left in stasis so long, with the happiness is taking center stage, framing his reactions to everything happening. He slouches back against the couch, still grinning to himself.]