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[Papyrus actually laughs once at that, cheekbones briefly creasing.] Who knew some humans like skeletons so much?

[The amount of skeleton-themed decor popping up in stores was startling to behold, the first couple weeks. Then it became a reason to dip into more of his spending money than planned, as he set to decorating the house in a very emphatic way.]

And the sun... That is pretty great. [Bright. Warming. Energizing, to morale and to the weighty burden of his metallic parts alike. The solar panels haven't been a literal lifesaver, but he hasn't felt hungry the same way in months.

Of course, that had never been a problem back home, either. So it's really just addressing one of the many problems created by being here.]

It's warm. [Especially out by the dig site. He's mentioned napping on the rocks there more than once, of course. His wings feel the warmth more than his bones do, but even with a dampened sense of temperature he can feel the sun.] And we've got a trampoline. Didn't have space for a trampoline in Snowdin. [Also, it would have probably slid off into the river or something.] Could be in worse places.

[Could be in better places. But should be dead, so beggars can't be choosers.]

Yeah! Could be worse. Could be worse... [Heartfelt to a degree, because at least the humans have been giving them a shot, instead of going directly to the historical example. Of course, it doesn't seem like they have the same history here, given how different monsters are. And it probably helps that nobody came in carrying a dead human child, or anything... But still. As far as he knows, only a few monsters have gone missing. No sign of Sayori, or Mista, or Kavinsky around the network... He sighs again, really memorizing the ceiling spackle.]

...But. I... I miss everyone. [His voice drops. Even with death, even with some sort of therapy, even with him broaching the topic in the first place. It's... They don't talk about things like this. But maybe they should, a little, before something else pushes them to talk.]

[When Papyrus says that--because it's Papyrus saying it--Sans's first thought is of watching Undyne melt. Undyne melting, Mettaton exploding, Papyrus's head--no, don't think about that. The woman in the ruins had to have been dead before Sans even knew the anomaly was here. Alphys was locked up in her lab with everyone who'd managed to evacuate. Maybe she's alive, but probably not, because the anomaly was going to stop all the timelines. Nothingness forever. Sans has no idea how long passed between his death and waking up in San Benedicto. Time already had so little meaning with the anomaly there; death makes it matter even less.

The silence stretches and stretches and stretches.] Yeah. Well. Maybe they'll show up. [He doesn't believe that, not because it seems impossible but because even them showing up here would be better than them all being dead and Sans can't trust in anything so kind as that. But he says it like he says anything else. But, and Papyrus has been in his head and heard Sans with stronger canyon-induced feelings so it might be obvious now that it isn't as gradual a slide as it originally was, Sans's emotions are so exhausted that it's just that what he says comes out in that same, dulled-down casual tone.] We did, right? And not everyone who showed up is even dead. [He thinks, anyway. It's not like he's run a poll.]

[As the silence stretches on, Papyrus has time to regret saying anything. To hope his brother has fallen asleep, hasn't heard his question. Sans's dull, casual tone when he finally answers is enough to want to flinch at, but he keeps still and staring at the ceiling instead.]

They, uh... They don't think they're dead, anyway. [The comment surprises himself. It's not like he really believes they all are, but, he remembers being so sure all the arrivals had died. That they were here with some kind of purpose. And, in a way, he hadn't just been influenced by the outside thoughts... he'd embraced it, the idea that gave it all meaning and value, as opposed to just loss, and loneliness, and disappointment. It was comforting. Sometimes he finds himself wondering if he hadn't been on to something, back then... but he knows it's some kind of wishful thinking, and shakes his head.] And it seems... hard, to forget, something like that. [Like dying, he means.]

[Sans's eyelights flick over to examine Papyrus's expression, though from this angle and with Papyrus's robotic changes it's harder to get a read on. He catches himself wishing his halo, with all its extra eyes, wasn't all wrapped up in a cast and pushes that thought away. He remembers Papyrus thinking everyone had died when it was one of Papyrus's turns to think a lot of strange things. But that sort of theory isn't entirely impossible.]

Maybe if you died in your sleep or something. But not--yeah. [Not if you're wide awake and looking your murderer in the face. He remembers watching Papyrus die from the tree line, but now he can remember Papyrus's memory of it, too.

He returns to that comment of Papyrus's that started this entire conversation. His expression quirks into bitterness.] Think I'd've picked Snowdin, if I could've picked. [Which. Maybe he could have. But he couldn't have at the same time.]

Really?? [The delayed answer is a surprise, enough for Papyrus's voice to regain some energy as he shifts to look back at Sans - and catch that bitterness.] I mean... It's better than that tunnel. But... It's... strange. Thinking of home, and...

[Hesitation wins out over the urge to explain, as he starts really thinking on it and how he would put it into words. It's fine thinking of his old room, or in the kitchen - even with missing Undyne. Thinking of the living room... Sometimes he remembers talking with Sans, that last time before waking in the ruins. But if he thinks of just outside the house...

...Dying near their home was comforting, because it was in a familiar place. But living with the memory of dying near their home, overshadows the sense of home somewhat. Which, he supposes, makes the whole leech thing make a little more sense. No wonder he was so much more excited to make a new home than his brother was, with that on his mind somewhere. His skull pounds, and he can't tell if it's from all these thoughts, or the sudden movement, or the way the lights in the room seem to have gotten far brighter. He grimaces and leans back, shielding his eye sockets with a hand.]

[Sans turns to look at Papyrus straight-on.] You okay? You probably shouldn't be stressing yourself out with the whole--head injury thing. [Which is also something Sans doesn't want to think about, but Papyrus survived that. Is in the process of surviving it, maybe. It's easier to think about than home. It's easier if Sans tries not to think of home at all.]

Ugghhhh. [Papyrus slides his hand down his face as he closes his eye sockets to block out the too-bright lights. But, accidentally, stops just a little too late to keep a finger from slipping past his teeth into the empty space where a lower jaw should be. Just another reminder of his skull dissolving. He grumbles again.]

The whole, head injury thing... it's stressful. [It seems like there's no avoiding stressing himself out, unless he spends a whole week asleep. Which is one of the worst things he can imagine, and he's died knowing a bunch of people he knew were already dead. He braces himself, and admits:] I hate just sitting around, I can't... I can't stop thinking.

[Sans knows about not being able to stop thinking. He doesn't like Papyrus being in that situation. Papyrus isn't him, of course. Papyrus is better than him, better at handling things. Sans knows that, but it sets off little alarm bells anyway. There's a moment where Sans almost offers to have another go at healing Papyrus, before thinking about how upset Papyrus would probably be at the idea. Papyrus's troubles with his vision make trying to suggest things difficult, but...] I've heard some humans talk about podcasts. You could listen to some of those. [Calling the humans "humans" is a habit that's hard to break, especially when they've been doubly separated from said humans.]

Pod... casts. Spells about pods...? [His first thought is, inexplicably, of a group of Vegetoids chanting in some weird fantasy magic situation. But how humans would have a copy of such a thing, or why they would be listening to it, escapes him. He doesn't shake his head to shake the idea off, not with it pounding, but his focuses enough to connect with his phone and search for the word.

...Really, if he could just hang out with a cool towel over his eyes, browsing the internet through phone connection alone, he wouldn't be as antsy. But it still uses his head to focus enough on things, even if he's doing it hands- and eyes-free.] ...No, wait. I heard of those. More like, radio shows?

Yeah. There's a whole bunch. You wouldn't have to look at stuff just to listen to some radio shows, y'know? [And then Papyrus would have something to focus on that isn't overthinking things. Or thinking about their murders back home. Or overthinking their murders back home.]

That... doesn't sound like a terrible idea. [Enormous improvement over wanting to talk about their deaths, now that the mood of the moment is passing.] TV shows, they all have so much visual. And the stories don't make much sense without it... [He's tried. He's been trying. Something where it's meant to be audio, all the way... That might be a lot easier to relax and keep up with.]

[The further they move from the topic of their deaths, the more Sans relaxes. He's fine putting off any more discussion of that, ideally forever.] There's lots of ones that are stories. One of the guys at the dig site listens to this one that's like, a bunch of people playing a tabletop roleplaying game, but maybe you'd think that's for nerds. [That's an extremely nonspecific description anyway.]

Listening to other people... playing a game? That's weird! [He's not sure why it needs to be specified that it's on top of a table, but whatever, at least that gives a clear mental image. Jenga, the radio show.] Who wouldn't just want to play, instead of listening...?

Well, the last time they tried playing at the dig site they went way over time on lunch break. [Sans just watched, and therefore also went over time on break without even doing anything except mooching off their food.]

As I thought. They start listening, and before you know it...? They're playing games instead of working. [Papyrus unshields an eye socket to try squinting at Sans for signs of involvement in this nonsense, and is relieved to find things less painfully bright. But now Sans looks closer, despite not moving on the couch...? His skull pounds again, eye sockets itching, and he covers it again.] I bet you're already in line to play.

[Sans might have continued talking about these gaming shenanigans, but now that he's looking right at Papyrus, when he squints, there's something...] Hey, look at me for a sec. Open your eyes all the way. [He keeps his tone casual even though the subject change can't be anything but abrupt.]

Huh? All the way...? [There's an unhappy whine to his question, since he's more than ready to give them a rest for a while. But he sighs and uncovers them again even while asking. That's the kind of strange question that, no matter how casual it's delivered, means something's up.

Skeleton monster eye sockets are typically deep enough to be shadowed, the better to show off the eye lights of those who have them. Papyrus never has, and yet there's something that flickers a faint blue, and reflections that catches as he reflexively squints then tries to force them back open. Lenses, an aperture, a whole apparatus building in the back of them. Extending from something further inside his skull, which might've been visible had Sans not healed the worst wound - or might never have become visible, had Papyrus dusted.]

[Light inside...? Not that Sans hasn't seen eyelights in a skeleton's eye sockets before--he's seen himself in the mirror--but Papyrus doesn't have those. Sans shifts, trying to see better, and that's enough for his constant glow to catch and reflect off of the lenses inside Papyrus's skull. There's more beyond that, but Sans doesn't think he could see more clearly without sticking a flashlight in Papyrus's face, and Papyrus seems to be having enough trouble with regular lighting.] I think you've got cameras in there, or something. [At least two lenses, anyway.]

[Papyrus stares back at him, face shifting a little as he goes almost cross-eyed in an attempt to see whatever it is Sans is seeing. It isn't blocking his view - maybe because it's what he's looking around with? Maybe the bone right around his eye sockets seems brighter than usual, illuminated faintly, but nothing else stands out.]

C... Cameras. [He settles for echoing the word, sagging down into the couch with even more weight. This idea shuts him down in a way that even talking about their deaths hadn't. His internal narration, if heard by someone in the future listening to a certain disc, would feature a sound best described as "hhhhhhhhhhhhhh." His skull is all he has left of his own bones, as far as he can tell. He'd thought his missing jaw was something of a no man's land between machinery and bone, where the spread of metal would stop. If it's bypassed his neck and jumped all the way into his head, where he's just... been injured... Like it's a consequence of having gone in there...? Papyrus trembles again.] In my sk-skull?

Yeah. Follow my finger without turning your head. [Sans raises a pointer finger and moves it up and down, then back and forth, watching the lenses shift in response.] Guess that explains why you're having eye problems.

[He's still trying to act casual about it, but this knowledge sets his own thoughts on one of their spirals. It's getting worse. Sans had been hoping that he would be the only one who had anything additional happen, but now the electronics have gotten into Papyrus's head.

(Or had it been happening? Sans hasn't exactly been checking the inside of Papyrus's skull--has Papyrus? Did it happen because of Papyrus's injuries, or did they just speed up something that had been happening all along?)]

Th-That would explain it... [Papyrus's thoughts are barely on his words as he speaks, agreeing almost by reflex. Apparently his skull isn't sacrosanct in any way, not from intrusive thoughts and not from machine bits trying to repair his injured eye sockets. But the stammer in his voice catches his attention. Stammering again, even though it'd almost worn off after the first two days. Shivering again too, the all-but-boneless rattle that makes little metallic collision sounds. It feels like a setback, being so obviously and audibly nervous.

He sighs, tries to force some calm while glancing away from his brother's expression, and scratches at the side of his skull. It itches - again? It's been itchy on and off for weeks, on the sides, but that was where he'd scraped for the terrible decision cookies, and he'd assumed that was his conscience prickling at him. Maybe it was something else. He pulls the hand down, examines his vertebrae instead. Bone, bone, bone... But a little notch at the base of his skull, one that reminds him of the various ports inside his ribcage, or the base of his phone, or the computer.]

Maybe... M-Maybe I have a future, as a photographer, instead of cleaning up the streets. [Trash collection isn't all that bad, especially since it's given him useful insights into the human dump - ideas where to get things to save on money. But there's a different upside to this notion: distraction, in a style they both know.] Something to l-look forward to.

[Sans sits back down on the couch, giving Papyrus his space back. There's nothing Sans can go about the cameras in Papyrus's skull, so he can at least leave it be.] Yeah, I bet for you it'll be a snap. [Well, he can leave it be and provide their normal kind of distraction.]

Heh. [It's tired and worn out, but he laughs quietly. As frustrating as it is to be dealing with another weird change, apparently, or to get punned at when he wants answers? It's a relief when they both want to dodge the subject.

That said, maybe-cameras in his eye sockets aren't the same as limbs replaced by machinery, much less wings growing from a skull. It might possible...]

...Your wings are, really attached, right? [Papyrus gestures at Sans's head, then rests gloved hands to fidget in his lap - very carefully not reaching up into his eye socket to feel around. If he's going to try pulling the parts in his skull out... not until their injuries heal.]

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just casual mentions of stuff growing in eye sockets and death, as you do

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