I can always eat something. [Which is something Sans is saying just for the sake of replying, because replying is the normal thing for him to do.
He goes quiet when Papyrus works. Quiet and completely still, seeing the rust having taken on the shape of the scar. A half-remembered explanation someone at the dig site gave him of some disease, or injury, or something that could reopen every old wound someone had gotten flickers through his mind. His wings don't so much as twitch, because any movement might make Papyrus stop. Complete stillness isn't the ideal option, he knows, but it's the safest one right now. He's only watching with his halo, which is also safer, because he can hide any little expressions he might be unintentionally making better if he's not actually facing Papyrus.]
[That Sans can always eat something is a truism not worth arguing, and it's close enough to agreement to his plan to work with. (It's passivity even for Sans, which he and the tracker each flag. Good to see it's observing things like that.
Through the helicopter's view Papyrus notes the stillness as he works, and he almost wishes he'd faced another direction for this. But Sans being in a position to help, maybe - or just to panic, if he makes a dangerous mistake - seemed important. No turning back now. Literally. Heh.
The pressurized hair sets the rust dust to flying, leaving him to cough an uncomfortably rattling cough as it sets all up through his neck and mouth. But it clears a fair amount out, and brushing at it with a steel wire brush takes out more. It's not superficial, but it's not nearly as deep as he'd feared. He might be able to clean it and weld something supportive in place, and make a proper replacement part later.]
[Another good reason to have gone with holding still: the burst of pressurized air doesn't even make him flinch. Sans has never been as good at building things as Papyrus, but he's running through his own mental calculations as to how much damage has been done even so. It's hard to tell from a distance, but it's not as if Papyrus's head is falling off, and of course that's immediately what he starts thinking about. He can't think about that right now. He forces himself to stop, drags his train of thought to a screeching halt.
He can feel the urge to fix it again, hissing at him in the back of his mind. But he can't risk that when he doesn't know if it will still rebound pointlessly. Papyrus can fix it. Papyrus is better equipped to fix it, honestly.
Most of Sans's body is too drained of magic to start glowing, but his soul has enough to start getting brighter. It's not enough for Papyrus to see directly, but Sans's phone is certainly close enough to pick up on it.]
[Well, that's not a good sign. It's been clear enough the last couple weeks, that Sans glows more when he's distressed and trying to de-stress. Papyrus wastes half his focus for a couple of seconds on wishing he'd done this before their adventure, except he hadn't wanted to acknowledge his own (mechanical) vertebrae, so of course he hadn't!
Still, he needs to say something. But he doesn't want to talk, to risk finding out that the dust has made his voice worse, and extra-worry Sans with the sound of it. So he shoots off a text instead, with an uncomfortably apologetic half-smile, as he keeps brushing.]
E5IT ISN'T PRETTY,&BUT IT'S BETTER&THAN I THOUGHT./SHOULD BE AN&EASY FIX!!!!
[A problem: Sans has to move to look at his phone. Not a lot, but a little. As such, he hesitates a moment longer than he really should before he checks. His movements are, ironically, incredibly mechanical.]
'Course it's easy, you're the one fixing it. [He has no idea if Papyrus actually means what he said, though. It's what Papyrus would say either way, unless his head was literally--no. Stop thinking about that.
The glowing, dim as it is compared to how bright he could get earlier, is helping, but it's also making his soul ache. He ignores that. It's nothing compared to when he got his chest sliced open, and he'd managed to walk across half the judgment hall after that. He can deal with this.]
[The delay is fine. Sans is tired, obviously so. Surely lethargic and disinclined to movement. The stiffness of his movements... a little bit less fine! The helicopter remains motionless as Papyrus divides his focus between watching his brother's condition, and continuing to clean without pause - the better to get this over with.]
E2THAT TOO!!^1!&MAKING THE EASE,&TRULY IMMENSE.
[Watching Sans's stiff behavior, being (presumably) nervous about this or antsy about being alone on the floor... It's not helping his own nerves any. (And he's over-compensating by being especially confident, which might be reassuring or might be inspiring more nerves? But it's easy to remember how badly he wanted to sleep problems off, when they melted.) Maybe with an excuse to look away...]
E3UH. BUT. MAYBE..^1.&AVERT YOUR EYES,&FOR A MINUTE./I NEED TO WELD&SOMETHING ON.
You've gotta build a 360-degree welding helmet sometime. [Which would be silly, because Sans wouldn't need coverage at the back of his halo where he couldn't see the welding anyway, but he's saying it specifically because it's ridiculous.
Sans closes all his eyes. Ever since he got used to having the halo eyes open all the time, it's felt a little strange to close all of them if he's not planning on going to sleep. He focuses on the eyes scattered around the rest of the house just for some sort of sensory input. Everything looks normal enough. His eye amount is receding rapidly, already almost back to how it was before he started spreading them everywhere. Thinking about it, he's not sure how he managed that trick. Too bad; it might have been useful.]
Okay, go for it. [Sans keeps a hand on his phone, so he'll feel it vibrate if Papyrus texts him again.]
[Okay, that helps him to better focus. What he's doing isn't a proper repair, but a jury-rigged placeholder for until he swaps out the arm(s) and goes into other extensive adjustments. But it should keep his neck from developing any structural instability in the meantime, if the scar continues to rust somehow. Two spots to weld in place.
It's not a quiet process, with the welding torch lit up and sending sparks around the area he's moved to work in. But it's only really two spots that need the welding, and he's gotten significantly more practice with this over the last several months. A couple minutes later, Sans's phone buzzes with another text.]
E4I THINK YOU MEAN,&360 SUNGLASSES./WHICH I STILL&OWE YOU!!
[He's putting the deactivated welding torch to the side, and testing his neck's range of movement. A little stiff, since the scar led to two vertebrae fusing and this welded section is sending pain signals that he's doing his best to mute. But functional enough to turn on a fan and get things cooling down, before he gets the casing back on.]
[Without being able to see it, Sans's wings twitch minutely in response to the sounds of welding. Still, he ultimately does better with his eyes closed, even if it nags at the part of him that likes keeping an eye on things.
He opens one eye when Papyrus texts to check it before opening the rest, just in case Papyrus was texting him about having to do more welding than expected or something. But since that's not it, his eyelights immediately focus on Papyrus to check how things are going.]
Summer's coming up, isn't it? [Like... Eventually? They're still going through their first set of seasonal experiences, but Sans knows how it should theoretically work.] Just make 'em by then.
[There's a couple dimming spots of glow on his neck, and a tension to his face that hints at pain he's smiling through. But the smile's partly relief too, as he finishes testing the range of motion in his neck and finds it good to work with.]
That's... true. [There's still something electronic to his voice, but it's audibly his, spoken aloud with tone and emphasis as usual. He makes a throat-clearing sound and the static clears up with it.] Yeah, okay! Expect summer sunglasses... Before summer.
[Sans's eyes focus on those cooling spots on Papyrus's neck before moving to watch his expression. Sans is still keeping his own face entirely locked down, but he at least keeps whatever conclusions he might be coming to about how Papyrus is feeling behind his teeth.]
I'll make sure to wear 'em to the dig site once I get 'em. [A good place to show them off.] Any more repairs you gotta do?
[Papyrus had implied that he was almost done, but sometimes repairs have a way of revealing more broken things, and Sans doesn't want Papyrus to put it off just because Sans is here.]
[He'd been putting off inspecting his neck too long as it was, since he hadn't found any good way of avoiding acknowledging it save hiding it under the helmet. Taking off all his outer casings to look for more bits of rust... Too time-intensive for letting Sans be a floor lump during it, and he's not about to exile his brother somewhere else when weird distressing things just happened. Instead, Papyrus shrugs.]
Sometime later! We'll want, to retrieve the stuff you put aside. But. I need to do some more prep work first, like drafting. [No sense putting on the cool arm, only to injure his shoulder because it's not braced for the strain.]
[Sans gets that look on his face like he's trying to make sure whoever he's talking to is telling the truth just via staring hard enough at them. It's never worked as well on Papyrus, though.]
I guess you can probably draft wherever. [His phone has that drafting app, after all.] But if you've got stuff to finish up in here, it's not like I mind sitting on the floor.
[Papyrus rubs at the back of his neck, partly as a sheepish motion, partly to continue confirming there's no concerning sensations (besides the cooling heat of the welding). It's not that he's lying, he's likely to need to reinforce something inside his torso to make swapping arms work long-term. But it's partly a dodge to get them back to physical comfort, in hopes Sans can sleep again.]
I always have stuff to finish up! That's the nature of continually making things better. And thus, no reason to hang out on the floor forever. [That said, if his brother doesn't want to try sleeping again yet, and is using the noise of construction as a way to stay awake...] I could at least grab you a chair. And, something to eat.
[There is no food in here anymore, and the helicopter can only do so much to access food from the kitchen - can't open the fridge or most of the drawers.]
[As far as Sans can tell, it seems like Papyrus is telling the truth about not having anything else that needs to be fixed up immediately. After a moment, Sans's wings unfold. He stretches, spine popping.]
I can probably walk to the kitchen. [He means that as a joke, but after a moment realizes that considering what happened Papyrus might actually question his ability to do that, so he stands up. He's still a little wobbly, which he didn't expect, but he's on his feet.] See?
...A good first step! [The wobbling was worrying to see, he'd be lying to say otherwise. But the pause to watch and worry was enough to brainstorm a pun to toss out instead of expressing that worry directly, which just helps to keep things as unshadowed as they can.]
Just let me know if you want a chauffeur instead, as I don't need a license to drive in here. [You know, since he's still got wheels instead of proper skeleton-like feet. Only one of them is walking today.]
If you're gonna give me a ride, I'm not gonna turn it down. [Not exactly true--there's a difference to Sans between trying to get Papyrus to carry him around for a joke or out of laziness and Sans having to be carried around--but he remembers how slowly he'd walked to the workshop to begin with and he can still play it off as simple laziness.] Does that make the kitchen a drive-thru?
I guess so...? [Usually the drive-thru situation is a car driving through a series of windows to grab food, not a person on wheels delivering food... Or, actually, some internet archive images say otherwise. As Papyrus locks his wheels up to better figure out a carrying situation, he shoots Sans a text of a few ladies in old-fashioned outfits and rollerskates carrying trays.] Or a roller diner! I hope you remember to tip.
[Huh, that looks like a weird way to get food. The kind of thing Mettaton would have tried to get Burgerpants to do, probably. Sans digs around in his hoodie pockets and pulls out a handful of assorted batteries.] This count?
[Yes, Sans just keeps batteries in his pockets. It's the same as keeping snacks in his pockets, just for Papyrus specifically.]
I mean, I guess so! [Papyrus doesn't hesitate to grab one of them, but he does hesitate to stick it in his mouth, tilting it over to check things like its expiration date.] You really just keep those in your pockets...? With all the other crap in them...?
[As long as teleporting around doesn't cause any of them to explode and leak foamy acid into Sans's hoodie pockets, he's not going to complain.
Where else would I keep 'em? [Sans is not going to carry a bag, it's pockets or nothing unless they get back their dimensional boxes. These batteries are still good--though that probably has more to do with how long batteries last than anything.]
A bag in your pocket. But it's fine!! It's easy to wipe crumbs off them.
[There's a possibility that the reason he's taken to accepting random battery gifts is because they're a healthy-for-him snack that won't easily get crushed in a dirty pocket.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
no subject
He goes quiet when Papyrus works. Quiet and completely still, seeing the rust having taken on the shape of the scar. A half-remembered explanation someone at the dig site gave him of some disease, or injury, or something that could reopen every old wound someone had gotten flickers through his mind. His wings don't so much as twitch, because any movement might make Papyrus stop. Complete stillness isn't the ideal option, he knows, but it's the safest one right now. He's only watching with his halo, which is also safer, because he can hide any little expressions he might be unintentionally making better if he's not actually facing Papyrus.]
no subject
Through the helicopter's view Papyrus notes the stillness as he works, and he almost wishes he'd faced another direction for this. But Sans being in a position to help, maybe - or just to panic, if he makes a dangerous mistake - seemed important. No turning back now. Literally. Heh.
The pressurized hair sets the rust dust to flying, leaving him to cough an uncomfortably rattling cough as it sets all up through his neck and mouth. But it clears a fair amount out, and brushing at it with a steel wire brush takes out more. It's not superficial, but it's not nearly as deep as he'd feared. He might be able to clean it and weld something supportive in place, and make a proper replacement part later.]
no subject
He can feel the urge to fix it again, hissing at him in the back of his mind. But he can't risk that when he doesn't know if it will still rebound pointlessly. Papyrus can fix it. Papyrus is better equipped to fix it, honestly.
Most of Sans's body is too drained of magic to start glowing, but his soul has enough to start getting brighter. It's not enough for Papyrus to see directly, but Sans's phone is certainly close enough to pick up on it.]
no subject
Still, he needs to say something. But he doesn't want to talk, to risk finding out that the dust has made his voice worse, and extra-worry Sans with the sound of it. So he shoots off a text instead, with an uncomfortably apologetic half-smile, as he keeps brushing.]
E5IT ISN'T PRETTY,&BUT IT'S BETTER&THAN I THOUGHT./SHOULD BE AN&EASY FIX!!!!
no subject
'Course it's easy, you're the one fixing it. [He has no idea if Papyrus actually means what he said, though. It's what Papyrus would say either way, unless his head was literally--no. Stop thinking about that.
The glowing, dim as it is compared to how bright he could get earlier, is helping, but it's also making his soul ache. He ignores that. It's nothing compared to when he got his chest sliced open, and he'd managed to walk across half the judgment hall after that. He can deal with this.]
no subject
E2THAT TOO!!^1!&MAKING THE EASE,&TRULY IMMENSE.
[Watching Sans's stiff behavior, being (presumably) nervous about this or antsy about being alone on the floor... It's not helping his own nerves any. (And he's over-compensating by being especially confident, which might be reassuring or might be inspiring more nerves? But it's easy to remember how badly he wanted to sleep problems off, when they melted.) Maybe with an excuse to look away...]
E3UH. BUT. MAYBE..^1.&AVERT YOUR EYES,&FOR A MINUTE./I NEED TO WELD&SOMETHING ON.
no subject
Sans closes all his eyes. Ever since he got used to having the halo eyes open all the time, it's felt a little strange to close all of them if he's not planning on going to sleep. He focuses on the eyes scattered around the rest of the house just for some sort of sensory input. Everything looks normal enough. His eye amount is receding rapidly, already almost back to how it was before he started spreading them everywhere. Thinking about it, he's not sure how he managed that trick. Too bad; it might have been useful.]
Okay, go for it. [Sans keeps a hand on his phone, so he'll feel it vibrate if Papyrus texts him again.]
no subject
It's not a quiet process, with the welding torch lit up and sending sparks around the area he's moved to work in. But it's only really two spots that need the welding, and he's gotten significantly more practice with this over the last several months. A couple minutes later, Sans's phone buzzes with another text.]
E4I THINK YOU MEAN,&360 SUNGLASSES./WHICH I STILL&OWE YOU!!
[He's putting the deactivated welding torch to the side, and testing his neck's range of movement. A little stiff, since the scar led to two vertebrae fusing and this welded section is sending pain signals that he's doing his best to mute. But functional enough to turn on a fan and get things cooling down, before he gets the casing back on.]
no subject
He opens one eye when Papyrus texts to check it before opening the rest, just in case Papyrus was texting him about having to do more welding than expected or something. But since that's not it, his eyelights immediately focus on Papyrus to check how things are going.]
Summer's coming up, isn't it? [Like... Eventually? They're still going through their first set of seasonal experiences, but Sans knows how it should theoretically work.] Just make 'em by then.
no subject
That's... true. [There's still something electronic to his voice, but it's audibly his, spoken aloud with tone and emphasis as usual. He makes a throat-clearing sound and the static clears up with it.] Yeah, okay! Expect summer sunglasses... Before summer.
no subject
I'll make sure to wear 'em to the dig site once I get 'em. [A good place to show them off.] Any more repairs you gotta do?
[Papyrus had implied that he was almost done, but sometimes repairs have a way of revealing more broken things, and Sans doesn't want Papyrus to put it off just because Sans is here.]
no subject
[He'd been putting off inspecting his neck too long as it was, since he hadn't found any good way of avoiding acknowledging it save hiding it under the helmet. Taking off all his outer casings to look for more bits of rust... Too time-intensive for letting Sans be a floor lump during it, and he's not about to exile his brother somewhere else when weird distressing things just happened. Instead, Papyrus shrugs.]
Sometime later! We'll want, to retrieve the stuff you put aside. But. I need to do some more prep work first, like drafting. [No sense putting on the cool arm, only to injure his shoulder because it's not braced for the strain.]
no subject
I guess you can probably draft wherever. [His phone has that drafting app, after all.] But if you've got stuff to finish up in here, it's not like I mind sitting on the floor.
no subject
I always have stuff to finish up! That's the nature of continually making things better. And thus, no reason to hang out on the floor forever. [That said, if his brother doesn't want to try sleeping again yet, and is using the noise of construction as a way to stay awake...] I could at least grab you a chair. And, something to eat.
[There is no food in here anymore, and the helicopter can only do so much to access food from the kitchen - can't open the fridge or most of the drawers.]
no subject
I can probably walk to the kitchen. [He means that as a joke, but after a moment realizes that considering what happened Papyrus might actually question his ability to do that, so he stands up. He's still a little wobbly, which he didn't expect, but he's on his feet.] See?
no subject
Just let me know if you want a chauffeur instead, as I don't need a license to drive in here. [You know, since he's still got wheels instead of proper skeleton-like feet. Only one of them is walking today.]
no subject
no subject
no subject
[Yes, Sans just keeps batteries in his pockets. It's the same as keeping snacks in his pockets, just for Papyrus specifically.]
no subject
[As long as teleporting around doesn't cause any of them to explode and leak foamy acid into Sans's hoodie pockets, he's not going to complain.
...Much.]
no subject
no subject
[There's a possibility that the reason he's taken to accepting random battery gifts is because they're a healthy-for-him snack that won't easily get crushed in a dirty pocket.]