[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?
I'm... cramped. [He frowns, considering the idea and its feelings, considers a hand as he clenches and unclenches it experimentally. Now he's starting to remember the time since he last remembered, too. All the worries and distractions of these bodies and lives, the changes to this body.] Even with all the extra processing power 'I've' installed lately, I can't... remember everything, in here.
[It's disconcerting, this haze of lost past... yet that loud relief feels like it's partly his own relief too. At least he remembers what he's supposed to be again, in a somewhat removed way. But Sans sounds concerned, and his recent memories of trying to struggle away out of, confused fear? They're pretty fragmented. He glances up Sans's way.]
What might not be okay? I'm still... figuring out what to check for. Briefly disoriented! [The body's still finishing coming online, slower than after a nap due to the abrupt hard reset, but there's no hard feelings. Or not many, not compared to the relief and determination to be as much himself as he can. Of course he can ask his brother for help figuring this out. Sans is trying to make the best of a bad situation, and the last thing Papyrus wants to do is make that harder.]
[Papyrus's memory issues aren't surprising; he's made of even more matter than last time. It's disappointing, maybe, but Sans is too relieved that things worked out even this much for that to bother him as much as it might under other circumstances.]
'S better if nothing's not okay. [Philosophical, but not really.] Wasn't sure how your body would react to your actual memories, that's all. Figured it was better than not doing it, but I can rework some more stuff if you can't from inside there. [It would be better if Papyrus does it himself, though, now. Sans doesn't actually want to mess with Papyrus's head, even if he still will if he needs to. At least Papyrus is stuck in a kind of body that lends itself well to self-reprogramming.]
Hmmm... [Another too-heavy shift of the body, as he settles shoulders and back against the desk. The better to stay somewhat upright with minimal attention paid to it, while he assesses. (Couldn't he automate that? (Remembering how takes time - later.))
His actual memories... They seem vague and distant, still. Existing in the void, the light perceivable only in the contrast with true dark, yet not alone - never alone. The stars burning... and then, later, somehow mortal. Driven by a need to help, to fix, yet feeling incapable of all that they needed to do, a depression that filled the mind with the minutiae of life as skeletons until all those little things seemed essential... And later, with rust breaking just enough cracks into the body to let him remember again. Needing to help, to fix, restored - doing what he could with this body, researching to help Sans better see how to nudge people to better emotions and thoughts and so improve their lives... It feels real, and incomplete.]
It's not... rejecting it. [This is a surprise and a relief, somehow - had he expected it to? Maybe because the body's so material now, its only magic in the charge and soul. At least all the extra processing power is helping him think more clearly, encompassing multiple thoughts simultaneously. Whether it's up to proper quantum... He pokes at one of the recent glowing texts, trying to make sense of it. It sings, and something in the torso whirrs with air in harmony, but...] Hey, send me another glowing text. I don't... I'm not sure how to do that back.
[Sans pulls his phone out, again with one of his extra arms. His control over his abilities is much better than it was last night. Really, he'd rather not do anything with his phone, but if it's in the name of helping out Papyrus, then he can do it. Papyrus is stuck with so much more matter--Sans can put up with touching a phone for a few moments.
The text he sends is less entangled than his usual ones. Just a couple of layers to it, to see if that makes things easier.]
The way this place is messing with me is more compatible with how things are supposed to be than how it's messing with you. That might be why. [At least now they know it's not some sort of weird thunder god. It's actually something worse, but they know that it's something.]
[Papyrus sits back and stares vacantly ahead, focusing most of his attention on this matter. Less of a tangle, that's helpful. The electrical magic his soul is expressing through is... it's not the same, but it's similar, he can feel the energy and something of the layers. He pries at it again, fans going louder as he tries to imitate it.
A text arrives back to Sans, but... there's no tangle of light. Instead, it's a block of unbroken text that fills the character limit, mostly a mix of numbers and letters, several other characters in the mix. As though trying to open a file with the wrong program. As soon as he sends it, Papyrus reviews what was sent, and slouches with an irritated grumble.]
...Yeah, that must be why. Papyrus isn't clumsy! I'm precise and meticulous with my magic! But...
[He can feel it, sort of. But he's too large, too dense, too material like this. Is there any way to fix that, with Ozpaka's presence down there twisting them, practicing for eating stars and galaxies by starting with the canyon..?]
[That sure is a bunch of letters and numbers and maybe a smiley face or weather symbol thrown in, too. That Papyrus could even make the attempt is probably a good sign, though.]
Well, we know who's messing it up. [It's stupid, but even with full knowledge of who he is back, Sans is hesitant to say the name out loud. Well, it did try to eat him. That's not any more pleasant a memory now.]
Yeah. [This begrudging agreement is punctuated by the thud of metal skull on metal desk (also decoratively skeletal). He winces a little at the feeling of the impact, then instructs the body to tone down the pain receptors. No need to be feeling that, especially when he's so freshly complete - and easily annoyed.] Maybe I should write it a sternly worded email.
[It's a joke, profoundly a joke - he doesn't want to put even this robot casing near it, let alone the software trying to express his soul. But right now, it seems like something like an email is all he could do. That, or try talking at a horrific entity and get killed or worse again.
[The idea of what Papyrus might send in an email like that is funny. Okpaza probably wouldn't agree, though. Well, it's not as if Papyrus was actually going to do it. Sans shifts; his body flows like water through a grate, breaking itself up. Less solid, back to that suggestion of a self. Holding onto that solid form to not startle Papyrus had been stifling, and this is a lot better.]
Maybe if we help enough people, we can get a better foothold. [It follows logically, at least to the way Sans is thinking right now. Increase their sphere of influence until they can get more of what they were back.]
[Papyrus goes briefly still with contemplation, then looks up with widening eyes.]
Help people with their lives... Help them resist what it's doing. [He likes this idea immediately - it would fill those urges (mandates) to help and fix, and in a way he can currently work at and succeed at. Something to resolve the lingering feeling of helplessness, which is surely just frustration from the clumsy attempt at quantum communication, and nothing to do with Sans's help.]
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spaghettimonster) wrote2021-07-31 02:32 am
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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!]
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If not, it still needs to be fixed. He just wants to do this as quickly as he can.]
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[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.]
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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.)]
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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.]
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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.)]
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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?
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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??
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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?
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[It's disconcerting, this haze of lost past... yet that loud relief feels like it's partly his own relief too. At least he remembers what he's supposed to be again, in a somewhat removed way. But Sans sounds concerned, and his recent memories of trying to struggle away out of, confused fear? They're pretty fragmented. He glances up Sans's way.]
What might not be okay? I'm still... figuring out what to check for. Briefly disoriented! [The body's still finishing coming online, slower than after a nap due to the abrupt hard reset, but there's no hard feelings. Or not many, not compared to the relief and determination to be as much himself as he can. Of course he can ask his brother for help figuring this out. Sans is trying to make the best of a bad situation, and the last thing Papyrus wants to do is make that harder.]
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'S better if nothing's not okay. [Philosophical, but not really.] Wasn't sure how your body would react to your actual memories, that's all. Figured it was better than not doing it, but I can rework some more stuff if you can't from inside there. [It would be better if Papyrus does it himself, though, now. Sans doesn't actually want to mess with Papyrus's head, even if he still will if he needs to. At least Papyrus is stuck in a kind of body that lends itself well to self-reprogramming.]
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His actual memories... They seem vague and distant, still. Existing in the void, the light perceivable only in the contrast with true dark, yet not alone - never alone. The stars burning... and then, later, somehow mortal. Driven by a need to help, to fix, yet feeling incapable of all that they needed to do, a depression that filled the mind with the minutiae of life as skeletons until all those little things seemed essential... And later, with rust breaking just enough cracks into the body to let him remember again. Needing to help, to fix, restored - doing what he could with this body, researching to help Sans better see how to nudge people to better emotions and thoughts and so improve their lives... It feels real, and incomplete.]
It's not... rejecting it. [This is a surprise and a relief, somehow - had he expected it to? Maybe because the body's so material now, its only magic in the charge and soul. At least all the extra processing power is helping him think more clearly, encompassing multiple thoughts simultaneously. Whether it's up to proper quantum... He pokes at one of the recent glowing texts, trying to make sense of it. It sings, and something in the torso whirrs with air in harmony, but...] Hey, send me another glowing text. I don't... I'm not sure how to do that back.
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The text he sends is less entangled than his usual ones. Just a couple of layers to it, to see if that makes things easier.]
The way this place is messing with me is more compatible with how things are supposed to be than how it's messing with you. That might be why. [At least now they know it's not some sort of weird thunder god. It's actually something worse, but they know that it's something.]
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A text arrives back to Sans, but... there's no tangle of light. Instead, it's a block of unbroken text that fills the character limit, mostly a mix of numbers and letters, several other characters in the mix. As though trying to open a file with the wrong program. As soon as he sends it, Papyrus reviews what was sent, and slouches with an irritated grumble.]
...Yeah, that must be why. Papyrus isn't clumsy! I'm precise and meticulous with my magic! But...
[He can feel it, sort of. But he's too large, too dense, too material like this. Is there any way to fix that, with Ozpaka's presence down there twisting them, practicing for eating stars and galaxies by starting with the canyon..?]
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Well, we know who's messing it up. [It's stupid, but even with full knowledge of who he is back, Sans is hesitant to say the name out loud. Well, it did try to eat him. That's not any more pleasant a memory now.]
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[It's a joke, profoundly a joke - he doesn't want to put even this robot casing near it, let alone the software trying to express his soul. But right now, it seems like something like an email is all he could do. That, or try talking at a horrific entity and get killed or worse again.
...At least he can still hear the sun.]
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Maybe if we help enough people, we can get a better foothold. [It follows logically, at least to the way Sans is thinking right now. Increase their sphere of influence until they can get more of what they were back.]
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Help people with their lives... Help them resist what it's doing. [He likes this idea immediately - it would fill those urges (mandates) to help and fix, and in a way he can currently work at and succeed at. Something to resolve the lingering feeling of helplessness, which is surely just frustration from the clumsy attempt at quantum communication, and nothing to do with Sans's help.]