[Sorry, were you trying to carry on a conversation? Sans sends texts as rapidly as Papyrus can send them even while Papyrus is talking; the speed alone is a sign he's not sending them through conventional means, but the way each of them lights up with harsh, sharp light when they arrive is another sign.]
[Okay, the first couple nos he took to be wiseass reactions, some sort of joke that Papyrus wouldn't make a cool enough design. By stop that he's trailing off, frowning at the internal words and the odd speed with which they're arriving - not to mention the light.]
What with the lights, you're the one flashing messages at me? [Good humor's fading to irritation, the question of just why he's humoring all these weird behaviors when he could just leave Sans to enjoying the lamp on his own.] What lights?
The lamps? [Papyrus considers the sun lamp, then the various lights around the room. They both seem lit to him, unflickering... But when he reaches out to tap the lampshade of the end table's lamp near him, it flickers and flashes and he feels that comforting buzz entering him. He pulls his finger back, probably too late to avoid distressing Sans further, and admits:]
...Okay. So. The battery thing is maybe happening harder than before. I'm not sure how to... not do that. [He doesn't want to not do that, on one level - it felt comforting and fortifying and right, empowering to the point it's harder to care what anyone else thinks. But that's... that's not the Great Papyrus, and whatever's going on, he's not so far gone that he's forgotten his own decisions about who he wants to be.] How about, I go grab a car battery.
[Sans doesn't bombard Papyrus with messages this time, a little more prepared, but there's a strange aura of distress in the room. It's not the sort to make Papyrus himself feel distressed just on contact, it's just Sans's emotions getting all over the place.]
ok if you need to eat more not the living room lights ok?
[Sans would prefer not any light sources, but he doesn't want Papyrus to starve more than he's afraid of the dark.]
They want to flow into me, I can feel it. [Papyrus doesn't know where exactly Sans is - well, he knows 'exactly' is exactly the wrong word to use here - but he stares in the direction Sans had been before going intangible. His eyes are glowing again, more brightly, like the light he absorbed in those flickers will glow out of him if he just takes in enough.] It... I think it'll happen again. Maybe less with the battery.
[He's starting to want to go to his workshop not to retrieve the battery, but to hang out in there with his supplies. To see what he can make. Make of himself, make of other things... just make, destroy, change.]
[A surge of uncharacteristic possessiveness, like Sans might be wrapping himself around that sun lamp or something else ridiculous. Considering the state of his body the last time Papyrus saw it, it wouldn't be impossible.
[The craving for all the lights is getting stronger the more they talk about it, and Papyrus's face goes wry and contemplative. The lights in the room don't flicker right away... but the lights of the hallway do, and something meanly amused flashes through his face before something regretful and worried follows it. It settles into something decided, and he snorts as he stands.] Okay, fine, not your lights. I'm going to my workshop! Where I'll chew on the lights all I like. Keep your phone this time, so we can keep in touch.
[The distress ratchets up in the room as the hallway lights flicker. But it's not the living room lights. He's okay. It's okay. The eyes scattered in the hallway glow brighter, like they're trying to make up for the flickering.]
ok
[Okay, so maybe Sans actually is curled around the sun lamp now. Nobody can see him, so it's fine.]
[...Yeah, the regret and worry spike with that sense of distress in the air. What he wants and feels is shifting with whatever's going on with the light and dark, and what he wants hurts his brother, so...]
Okay. [Assertive, agreement... a hint of apology. He nods in Sans's previous direction, then strides down the hallway towards the workshop, and he can tell himself it's not running away because it's going towards something. (It's only 23.472% convincing.)]
[Now that all the okays have been sorted out, Sans is left alone in the living room. The quiet is relieving. The whispering that crawls in through every shadow isn't. He follows Papyrus down the hallway with the eyes there, but he doesn't have any in the workshop. Once Papyrus is inside, Sans is basically alone in the house. Which is fine. He glows invisibly brighter and feels a little better.]
[None at all? One or two around the shelf wouldn't be a huge problem, especially not if they're aimed more for checking that the shelf is clear than for watching the whole workshop - that's what Sans popping in is for. Not that Papyrus is going to say so, by voice or by text, when the idea hasn't occurred to him and he's busy flitting around the workshop anyway.
It's just as well he fled left, since touching one of the car batteries is... it's boring, it's nothing. The electricity in use, lights and charging devices, that's what feels invigorating right now. Somehow even other signals, like some of the neighbors' distant modems, are something he can absorb, taste and enjoy. The imperfections of some of his damaged tools sing out to be fixed, and he doesn't even need to rent space in a forge - he can just gesture, just will it, and as smoothly as his old skill with magic the metal bubbles up to reform, tools repaired and whole. It's... heady.
Despite his effort to restrict his pull to the workshop (and the neighbors, because they're not emitting distress he can feel), the power does flicker a couple times during the night. Brief flickers only, during times of distracted focus. But thankfully the ongoing power surge is enough that the lights never outright go out beyond a couple burnt bulbs in the workshop, not with him trying to avoid it. Once or twice he even texts back a SORRY, other times he just focuses on rigging an active reminder in his mind. The distress might be contagious... but it feels less relevant, the more powerful and important he feels. And it's so easy to rationalize to himself that Sans wouldn't want him not charging, so really this is the best they can hope for here isn't it!]
[It's easy to tell when the power is flickering in the house, or at least where Sans can see it, because the distress surges up like a wave, getting in through all the little cracks and doorways a house inevitably has. Tonight, with things only just beginning, Sans can keep his distress from being magically contagious. Any distress Papyrus might feel just as a normal result of Sans's distress is an entirely other thing, of course, and not in Sans's control.
Sans does have a couple of eyes for checking shelf access. It doesn't give him a great view of the workshop, and anyway with the way Papyrus is draining everything in there he's trying to push those pretty far back in his awareness, but at the same time it's relieving to know exactly where Papyrus is even if he can't always see Papyrus if he's not in direct view of the shelf. And what Papyrus is doing is weird, but also it's not, because matter shouldn't be a set thing to them anyway. He doesn't comment on it, just sends back it's ok every time Papyrus tosses out an apology and tries to convince himself he really means that.
Dawn, of course, is inevitable. And as the light overtakes the darkness, sure as the tides, all of Sans's distress recedes. Emotionally, everything goes still. Unnaturally so, actually. Like the whole house is holding its breath.]
[The night passes in a blur of experimentation and play. The new malleability of metal and machinery, more like magic than even programming's gotten to be, made it so easy to repair things he'd been meaning to get around to. With a whim, spare metal helped to augment the various metal scaffolding of the room - now the beams in the walls and ceilings look suspiciously like femurs and other archetypal bones.
As dawn comes on, Papyrus stands and appreciates the sight with the sunlight streaming in the side window. It's an uncomplicated satisfaction, or an unshadowed one - that distress hanging in the air faded away at some point. Maybe Sans finally got to sleep?
The question sends as a text unintentionally, \E5HEY, IS THAT WHISPERING&STILL HAPPENING? Whether that makes a sound or vibrates depends on Sans's phone's settings - the message came without enough warning for any trackers to adjust them.]
[Something else floods the house--a different aura. At first, all that can be said about it is that it's something else, but as it fills up all the space inside it's something of a vibration, a feeling of potential. Papyrus can probably recognize that feeling, given what he's been up to all night.
Sans had dozed on and off, never for too long, but long enough that he's adjusting to the daylight, curling and uncurling new tendrils of ability. If you asked Sans, he'd say he feels more like himself than he has in ages, but what he feels like is a god. That's what he is, so it makes sense.]
no i'm ok i can hear the sun
[Not like Papyrus can. Different. Better. He teleports into Papyrus's workshop--it's more habit than courtesy that drops him onto his usual shelf.]
Ugh, how do I shut that off... [Papyrus is grumbling to himself as Sans teleports in, his triumph slightly - slightly! - overshadowed by the realization he accidentally texted a thought. It's the kind of slip they'd both worried could happen, back in the day when he wondered what continuous internet access would be like. Not something he wants to make a habit of.
Simultaneously, he texts back more intentionally: CONGRATULATIONS!! WHAT'S IT LIKE? SCREAMING? MUSICAL..?
Even as he texts, the change in lighting catches his attention, and he turns to survey the room for sources of a new glow. Oh, that's Sans right there, in a tangible body Papyrus can recognize. A relief to see!]
Musical. [Since he's right here, he might as well answer out loud. He sounds perfectly calm, like last night never happened. Papyrus might feel something similar to when he does a diagnostic as Sans breezes his way over Papyrus's thoughts. He's trying not to dig too deeply--with anyone else it wouldn't matter, but Papyrus deserves as much privacy as Sans can give him right now. Unfortunately it's not complete privacy, since Sans is trying to see if there's anything void god around at all. It'll be easier if he has a base to work off of.
If not, it still needs to be fixed. He just wants to do this as quickly as he can.]
Uh. [Papyrus twitches a little at the sensation, because he doesn't have a log of running any diagnostics, and there's no signs of intrusion - except Sans's sudden arrival, and too calm gaze. He can assume his brother's doing something, enough to demand:] Hey, what the heck are you looking for?
[It's not as agitated as it could have been, with his emotions not at full power - more baffled and considering. He didn't previously feel when Sans went sensing his emotions, or so his notes from interpreting those fragmented memories say... But maybe it's different now from being full robot, or maybe - more likely - it's like how his own powers are all powered-up right now.
Deeper inside Papyrus's mind, there's a fair amount of ongoing processing for filtering the various electromagnetic radiation he perceives - so as not to be constantly, consciously hearing every flash of a phone call or TV broadcast anymore. Solar radiation being one of the most consistent signals, there's a couple dedicated processes for following the sounds from sun and stars. Not musical in a mortal sense, not exactly screaming... but interesting, and a portion of Papyrus is always listening to it. Beyond that, and the trickle of interest in the reminder of existence beyond this place (the Canyon, rather than mortality), there's no major active remnants of the void god. Passive memories of that time when he was rusting but remembering, but flagged as weirdness delusions, with only a couple notes of followup uncertainty given Sans's persistent slips and some of Papyrus's own longterm bad dreams.]
[Sans flicks through, rapid-pace, until he settles on the sounds of the sun and the stars. There. It sounds so strange filtered through Papyrus's robotic body--and here Sans is accessing enough of Papyrus's thoughts that it's clear Sans is actually reading through his thoughts and memories, not just his emotions.
The flagging is noted next. That's going to have to go. Warnings about the void being a delusion start getting turned off and unwired, not in the electronic way but down to the quantum level. That's the only way Sans knows how to change things.
And now he's being incredibly obvious. It shouldn't be painful but he's sure it feels some way or another, even if he's deliberately keeping himself from feeling it so he can focus. It can't be done any other way. He feels bad about having to do this, actually--there's a hint of guilt in the room. But not enough to make him stop, because he has to. He has to fix this. He can, so he has to.] You're broken. I mean, it's not your fault, obviously. But I can fix it now.
[Disconnecting down to quantum is deeper and finer than Papyrus works with - he recognizes that something changed, but it's hard for him to conceive of just what had been warned there. Figuring it out, finding the deactivated warning, takes long enough that even with dividing his focus Sans is ahead of him and deactivating even more things before he can tell.]
Broken how? [His voice is shriller than usual, because Sans isn't even touching him and still managing to--
The image of last night, tendrils of light floating in the area above the sofa and all through the living room, comes vividly back to mind. Who needs to reach out with a hand, when this glow might be part of Sans's body, filling the garage so there's no getting out of this. To think Papyrus had worried that a bedroom door might provide no privacy at all, when it came to sensing or changing his emotions.]
B-B-Because, you don't have to, I c-can help! Back up old things, then try your f-fix. So I don't lose anything.
[He's laying it on heavy, deliberately echoing old distresses and fears that Sans once worried and flinched back from in the past. Trying to get his brother to slow down, back off, or at the very least let Papyrus be an active participant in this process, instead of... Instead of being forcibly rewritten.
Once, on the couch, Papyrus had been down to dregs for emotional processing. Understanding what Sans was capable of had been alarming, distressing, in ways he recognized would normally horrify him. So it is, right now - horrifying. One thing for some alien intelligence that refuses to think of itself as a person to change them against their wills. Another thing for his brother to do so. Is this feeling, the one that has Papyrus backing against a desk with a clatter, the feeling that drove Sans into disassociation back with the leech? Back when Papyrus had raised a hand against him? (These thoughts and feelings are genuine, but there's something deliberate about them, emphatic - like Papyrus thought them in reaction to everything, then deliberately thought them louder.)]
[It gets a reaction. It can't not, with everything spiritual about Sans enhanced in the daylight. Sans's body flickers, that broken television set again, his body unforming itself little by little into light.
Like this, it's clear to see the arcs of light all around Papyrus, curling around him and worming their way through his circuits.]
It's not like I want to do it like this. There's no other way. [He's talking to himself as much as Papyrus. Sans keeps working, but the reminder of the leeches gets an outright pause as he shoves it away like it's something dangerous. He's not hurting Papyrus. He's not. Once he does this it'll be better. He has to fix it, and then it'll be okay.] You already lost stuff. I'm putting it back. [Right. Right, that's what he's doing. He's feeling upset because Papyrus is upset, but it's okay. He's okay. It'll be okay.
Papyrus has experienced Sans's emotion adjustment before. It's different this time. This time, Sans absolutely drowns Papyrus in feelings. All at once, it has to be all at once, or Sans is going to lose his nerve, or Sans is just going to start screaming and screaming and never stop, not until his soul shatters, he doesn't like this, he has to do it and he doesn't want to have to do it--
It's a disaster of emotional feedback, but Sans is aimed at the void with desperation. With determination.]
Did I? Because... [Papyrus trails off, voice decreasingly incredulous and increasingly disoriented. Partly because it's hard to put what he means into words, when those warnings about delusions are vague and don't feel real anymore, yet he hasn't gained any confidence or certainty about what is...
But mostly, because his system is flooding with that sense of screaming. Needing to fix, needing to change this, needing to keep going. His horror and anger and fear crumple under that sheer desperate need, and the sound and sight of the sun blazes in his awareness, filling the space with space enough to eclipse his other thoughts.
He sways, unconscious processes resetting and leaving him without anything dedicated to keeping standing. That is to say, the body sways, collapsing. The metal isn't important enough to keep off the ground, not when he's starting to remember.
(If those initial memories are significantly like Sans's, even direct copies of whatever he's been shoving into the circuitry, that's no surprise and of no more importance than the metal. There's no reason for anything to flag this as a duplicate, or to append a parenthetical (1) around the memories, or otherwise cast anything in doubt. They're real memories, to draw out Papyrus's own real memories. They have to be. This has to be fixed.)]
[It's a relief to not have Papyrus resisting, because every moment he does that feels like Sans betraying him. The memories of the void Sans uses are the ones he has; he doesn't have anything else to use. He extrapolates based on that and based on the ones Papyrus had the last time Sans did something like this, pushing Papyrus's memories of that event to the forefront with the context stripped away.
He detaches himself from Papyrus's mind by degrees, watching to make sure he did it right. Fixing Papyrus is the most important thing he has to do, but that also means it's the most difficult. It's not like fixing mortals.] Papyrus?
[The sun crackles and wails, music of irregular percussion and constantly shifting sounds. The stars beyond add a chorus of varying thinner energy, weakened by distance and the thick matter (roofing tiles, and insulation, and ceiling) between them. This is confusing, for there to be anything between them and the stars, for him to have words for it all - for matter to matter like that.
Also, the software and machinery of the metal body continue their resets and loading cycles. Eyes close and open, apertures widen and narrow to focus on the scene in front of the face. Floor, speckled with dirt and stains, but reasonably free of fallen bolts or other supplies - some of the little cleaning drones keep on top of gathering them. For him? For him. He exists. Papyrus is a name that means him. But doesn't that name mean brother, light, inspiring star? Why does it mean caring about condensed matter in the shape of bolts on a floor?]
...Ow. [The body - his body? - sits up again, slowly. The motions are awkward, no automated smoothness online yet, as he moves like he's not used to it. It's heavy, and entirely metal. Wasn't it partly bone before, with the metal rusting? Now it's even more prone to rusting than before, though it doesn't seem to be at the same accelerated rate as the last time Sans helped him remember.
Oh, that's right. He can't seem to remember everything, because this restrictive heavy body still isn't capable of that... But he understands again why Sans really couldn't get his help, remembering this. He rolls his eyes, remembering and dismissing the body's stress earlier, and chides with amusement:] That was not the smoothest help, Sans. Was it harder this time, or something??
[Relief fills the room like a tangible object. It worked. He's not alone. He doesn't want to be alone. (And that's real, that's a real feeling hanging in the air, beyond all the thoughts of godliness that have been stuffed into Sans's head. He doesn't want to be alone. He wants Papyrus with him. Papyrus is the only one who's ever stayed with him.)]
This place makes everything hard. [It's the worst, but he feels less sick to his nonexistent stomach now. He doesn't want to have to do that again.] If I did it some other way I figured you'd fight me off. [Papyrus is stronger; Sans mostly just has volume and surprise on his side.] You're okay?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
no subject
no
no
no
no
stop that
with the lights
stop
[He doesn't like them flickering.]
no subject
What with the lights, you're the one flashing messages at me? [Good humor's fading to irritation, the question of just why he's humoring all these weird behaviors when he could just leave Sans to enjoying the lamp on his own.] What lights?
no subject
they're flickering
don't make them flicker
keep them on
[There's frustration on Sans's end, too, at Papyrus not understanding him, but instinctive fear of the dark is winning out.]
no subject
...Okay. So. The battery thing is maybe happening harder than before. I'm not sure how to... not do that. [He doesn't want to not do that, on one level - it felt comforting and fortifying and right, empowering to the point it's harder to care what anyone else thinks. But that's... that's not the Great Papyrus, and whatever's going on, he's not so far gone that he's forgotten his own decisions about who he wants to be.] How about, I go grab a car battery.
no subject
ok
if you need to eat more
not the living room lights
ok?
[Sans would prefer not any light sources, but he doesn't want Papyrus to starve more than he's afraid of the dark.]
no subject
[He's starting to want to go to his workshop not to retrieve the battery, but to hang out in there with his supplies. To see what he can make. Make of himself, make of other things... just make, destroy, change.]
no subject
[A surge of uncharacteristic possessiveness, like Sans might be wrapping himself around that sun lamp or something else ridiculous. Considering the state of his body the last time Papyrus saw it, it wouldn't be impossible.
no subject
no subject
ok
[Okay, so maybe Sans actually is curled around the sun lamp now. Nobody can see him, so it's fine.]
no subject
Okay. [Assertive, agreement... a hint of apology. He nods in Sans's previous direction, then strides down the hallway towards the workshop, and he can tell himself it's not running away because it's going towards something. (It's only 23.472% convincing.)]
no subject
no subject
It's just as well he
fledleft, since touching one of the car batteries is... it's boring, it's nothing. The electricity in use, lights and charging devices, that's what feels invigorating right now. Somehow even other signals, like some of the neighbors' distant modems, are something he can absorb, taste and enjoy. The imperfections of some of his damaged tools sing out to be fixed, and he doesn't even need to rent space in a forge - he can just gesture, just will it, and as smoothly as his old skill with magic the metal bubbles up to reform, tools repaired and whole. It's... heady.Despite his effort to restrict his pull to the workshop (and the neighbors, because they're not emitting distress he can feel), the power does flicker a couple times during the night. Brief flickers only, during times of distracted focus. But thankfully the ongoing power surge is enough that the lights never outright go out beyond a couple burnt bulbs in the workshop, not with him trying to avoid it. Once or twice he even texts back a SORRY, other times he just focuses on rigging an active reminder in his mind. The distress might be contagious... but it feels less relevant, the more powerful and important he feels. And it's so easy to rationalize to himself that Sans wouldn't want him not charging, so really this is the best they can hope for here isn't it!]
no subject
Sans does have a couple of eyes for checking shelf access. It doesn't give him a great view of the workshop, and anyway with the way Papyrus is draining everything in there he's trying to push those pretty far back in his awareness, but at the same time it's relieving to know exactly where Papyrus is even if he can't always see Papyrus if he's not in direct view of the shelf. And what Papyrus is doing is weird, but also it's not, because matter shouldn't be a set thing to them anyway. He doesn't comment on it, just sends back it's ok every time Papyrus tosses out an apology and tries to convince himself he really means that.
Dawn, of course, is inevitable. And as the light overtakes the darkness, sure as the tides, all of Sans's distress recedes. Emotionally, everything goes still. Unnaturally so, actually. Like the whole house is holding its breath.]
no subject
As dawn comes on, Papyrus stands and appreciates the sight with the sunlight streaming in the side window. It's an uncomplicated satisfaction, or an unshadowed one - that distress hanging in the air faded away at some point. Maybe Sans finally got to sleep?
The question sends as a text unintentionally, \E5HEY, IS THAT WHISPERING&STILL HAPPENING? Whether that makes a sound or vibrates depends on Sans's phone's settings - the message came without enough warning for any trackers to adjust them.]
no subject
Sans had dozed on and off, never for too long, but long enough that he's adjusting to the daylight, curling and uncurling new tendrils of ability. If you asked Sans, he'd say he feels more like himself than he has in ages, but what he feels like is a god. That's what he is, so it makes sense.]
no
i'm ok
i can hear the sun
[Not like Papyrus can. Different. Better. He teleports into Papyrus's workshop--it's more habit than courtesy that drops him onto his usual shelf.]
no subject
Simultaneously, he texts back more intentionally: CONGRATULATIONS!! WHAT'S IT LIKE? SCREAMING? MUSICAL..?
Even as he texts, the change in lighting catches his attention, and he turns to survey the room for sources of a new glow. Oh, that's Sans right there, in a tangible body Papyrus can recognize. A relief to see!]
no subject
If not, it still needs to be fixed. He just wants to do this as quickly as he can.]
no subject
[It's not as agitated as it could have been, with his emotions not at full power - more baffled and considering. He didn't previously feel when Sans went sensing his emotions, or so his notes from interpreting those fragmented memories say... But maybe it's different now from being full robot, or maybe - more likely - it's like how his own powers are all powered-up right now.
Deeper inside Papyrus's mind, there's a fair amount of ongoing processing for filtering the various electromagnetic radiation he perceives - so as not to be constantly, consciously hearing every flash of a phone call or TV broadcast anymore. Solar radiation being one of the most consistent signals, there's a couple dedicated processes for following the sounds from sun and stars. Not musical in a mortal sense, not exactly screaming... but interesting, and a portion of Papyrus is always listening to it. Beyond that, and the trickle of interest in the reminder of existence beyond this place (the Canyon, rather than mortality), there's no major active remnants of the void god. Passive memories of that time when he was rusting but remembering, but flagged as weirdness delusions, with only a couple notes of followup uncertainty given Sans's persistent slips and some of Papyrus's own longterm bad dreams.]
no subject
The flagging is noted next. That's going to have to go. Warnings about the void being a delusion start getting turned off and unwired, not in the electronic way but down to the quantum level. That's the only way Sans knows how to change things.
And now he's being incredibly obvious. It shouldn't be painful but he's sure it feels some way or another, even if he's deliberately keeping himself from feeling it so he can focus. It can't be done any other way. He feels bad about having to do this, actually--there's a hint of guilt in the room. But not enough to make him stop, because he has to. He has to fix this. He can, so he has to.] You're broken. I mean, it's not your fault, obviously. But I can fix it now.
having a good time, having a good time
Broken how? [His voice is shriller than usual, because Sans isn't even touching him and still managing to--
The image of last night, tendrils of light floating in the area above the sofa and all through the living room, comes vividly back to mind. Who needs to reach out with a hand, when this glow might be part of Sans's body, filling the garage so there's no getting out of this. To think Papyrus had worried that a bedroom door might provide no privacy at all, when it came to sensing or changing his emotions.]
B-B-Because, you don't have to, I c-can help! Back up old things, then try your f-fix. So I don't lose anything.
[He's laying it on heavy, deliberately echoing old distresses and fears that Sans once worried and flinched back from in the past. Trying to get his brother to slow down, back off, or at the very least let Papyrus be an active participant in this process, instead of... Instead of being forcibly rewritten.
Once, on the couch, Papyrus had been down to dregs for emotional processing. Understanding what Sans was capable of had been alarming, distressing, in ways he recognized would normally horrify him. So it is, right now - horrifying. One thing for some alien intelligence that refuses to think of itself as a person to change them against their wills. Another thing for his brother to do so. Is this feeling, the one that has Papyrus backing against a desk with a clatter, the feeling that drove Sans into disassociation back with the leech? Back when Papyrus had raised a hand against him? (These thoughts and feelings are genuine, but there's something deliberate about them, emphatic - like Papyrus thought them in reaction to everything, then deliberately thought them louder.)]
no subject
Like this, it's clear to see the arcs of light all around Papyrus, curling around him and worming their way through his circuits.]
It's not like I want to do it like this. There's no other way. [He's talking to himself as much as Papyrus. Sans keeps working, but the reminder of the leeches gets an outright pause as he shoves it away like it's something dangerous. He's not hurting Papyrus. He's not. Once he does this it'll be better. He has to fix it, and then it'll be okay.] You already lost stuff. I'm putting it back. [Right. Right, that's what he's doing. He's feeling upset because Papyrus is upset, but it's okay. He's okay. It'll be okay.
Papyrus has experienced Sans's emotion adjustment before. It's different this time. This time, Sans absolutely drowns Papyrus in feelings. All at once, it has to be all at once, or Sans is going to lose his nerve, or Sans is just going to start screaming and screaming and never stop, not until his soul shatters, he doesn't like this, he has to do it and he doesn't want to have to do it--
It's a disaster of emotional feedback, but Sans is aimed at the void with desperation. With determination.]
no subject
But mostly, because his system is flooding with that sense of screaming. Needing to fix, needing to change this, needing to keep going. His horror and anger and fear crumple under that sheer desperate need, and the sound and sight of the sun blazes in his awareness, filling the space with space enough to eclipse his other thoughts.
He sways, unconscious processes resetting and leaving him without anything dedicated to keeping standing. That is to say, the body sways, collapsing. The metal isn't important enough to keep off the ground, not when he's starting to remember.
(If those initial memories are significantly like Sans's, even direct copies of whatever he's been shoving into the circuitry, that's no surprise and of no more importance than the metal. There's no reason for anything to flag this as a duplicate, or to append a parenthetical (1) around the memories, or otherwise cast anything in doubt. They're real memories, to draw out Papyrus's own real memories. They have to be. This has to be fixed.)]
no subject
He detaches himself from Papyrus's mind by degrees, watching to make sure he did it right. Fixing Papyrus is the most important thing he has to do, but that also means it's the most difficult. It's not like fixing mortals.] Papyrus?
no subject
Also, the software and machinery of the metal body continue their resets and loading cycles. Eyes close and open, apertures widen and narrow to focus on the scene in front of the face. Floor, speckled with dirt and stains, but reasonably free of fallen bolts or other supplies - some of the little cleaning drones keep on top of gathering them. For him? For him. He exists. Papyrus is a name that means him. But doesn't that name mean brother, light, inspiring star? Why does it mean caring about condensed matter in the shape of bolts on a floor?]
...Ow. [The body - his body? - sits up again, slowly. The motions are awkward, no automated smoothness online yet, as he moves like he's not used to it. It's heavy, and entirely metal. Wasn't it partly bone before, with the metal rusting? Now it's even more prone to rusting than before, though it doesn't seem to be at the same accelerated rate as the last time Sans helped him remember.
Oh, that's right. He can't seem to remember everything, because this restrictive heavy body still isn't capable of that... But he understands again why Sans really couldn't get his help, remembering this. He rolls his eyes, remembering and dismissing the body's stress earlier, and chides with amusement:] That was not the smoothest help, Sans. Was it harder this time, or something??
no subject
This place makes everything hard. [It's the worst, but he feels less sick to his nonexistent stomach now. He doesn't want to have to do that again.] If I did it some other way I figured you'd fight me off. [Papyrus is stronger; Sans mostly just has volume and surprise on his side.] You're okay?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)