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[ribticklers]

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[spaghettimonster]

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.

[ribticklers]

[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.]

[spaghettimonster]

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?

[ribticklers]

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.]

[spaghettimonster]

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.]

[ribticklers]

[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.]

[spaghettimonster]

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...?

[ribticklers]

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.]

[spaghettimonster]

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.

[ribticklers]

[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.]

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

[spaghettimonster]

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.]

[ribticklers]

[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.]

[spaghettimonster]

[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?

[ribticklers]

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?)]

[spaghettimonster]

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.

[ribticklers]

[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.]

[spaghettimonster]

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.]

[ribticklers]

Yeah. [Sans stretches the wing on his back closer to Papyrus out fully so Papyrus can see where the bones of his wings connect to his shoulder blades (which are larger than they were before, to accommodate a second set of limbs--that change has been there since he got his wings, but it's not as if Sans shows off his shoulder blades much), then repeats the motion with the smaller wings at his temples. They're connected the same as his arms or legs attach; his body treats them all as limbs.] I felt when they came in, so I'm pretty sure they started out attached. [Don't start ripping anything out too haphazardly...]

[spaghettimonster]

Oh, uh... [There's a degree to which Papyrus regrets asking. Partly because they've been generally avoiding acknowledging things like this, outside the moments of panicked realization... But mostly because Sans's ongoing glow is just one more brightness to regret squinting at.

...Well, with the talk of cameras, he remembers he has something he can do about it. With a hum of acknowledgement to let Sans know he's paying attention, Papyrus reaches under his own shirt with the increasingly practiced motion of tugging his phone out from where it's secured inside his rib cage - along with enough slack in the cable to work with. Pulls up the camera app, takes a picture of Sans's shoulder blades, and half-closes his eye sockets to focus on the digital image instead of what he himself sees. (He doesn't stop to ask).]

Huh. You really can't see where your bones end and the new bones start... Except the halo. [It certainly looks like the wings couldn't just come off without some sort of injury, not the way machine parts can. Weirdly, he finds himself feeling an inkling of jealousy. Why did Sans get extra bones? Even if they sort of balance the ghostly bones of his ribcage, they're still better than no bones.]

[ribticklers]

Didn't even give me time to pick a cool pose. [That's the most Sans objects to the sudden photography. That's followed up with just a flicker of a sort of complicated expression when Papyrus calls them "new bones". Well, they are new, relatively speaking. But they just kind of feel like bones at this point. Since Papyrus has a picture to look at now, Sans settles his wings back in a more comfortable position.] I think the halo's attached just with magic. [Okay, all their bones are kind of attached with magic. But the halo leans way more on the magic side.] But I can tell where it is without looking at it. [So his proprioception functions just fine with his new body parts, even the mysterious floating ones.]

[spaghettimonster]

[Papyrus glances over at him, briefly confused and then briefly embarrassed as he notices the casualness of his photography. But it fades with Sans not expressing any annoyance, and calmness coming easier with some of his attention on the digital information streaming back and forth. The rattling and stammering fade faster than they would have with just positive thinking, too. He needed to see those glowing bones without a headache, anyway, and besides:]

As if you even would've made a cool pose. [Sans probably would have made an especially dorky expression instead of anything cool. Papyrus zooms in on the image, briefly examining the size of the shoulder blades, before zooming up to the halo (still in its cast).] Is that... weird? Seeing so many directions, but, not seeing what you're seeing with. [Nobody expects to see their own eyes without a mirror or something, at least not if their eyes are next to each other and not prone to moving around. But with so much of a view... Seems symbolic. His brother not doing much useful self reflection, but noticing everything about everyone else... Papyrus turns the camera app back on, turns the phone on himself.]

[ribticklers]

Uh. [Sans's expression does that same complicated thing again, there and gone in an instant, because:] Actually, now that it's all wrapped up, it's kind of weird not being able to see all over the place? [But as soon as he's said that it feels too honest, or too--too something. He shrugs, hangs onto his casual attitude.] Guess I just got too used to being able to use my phone and watch TV and use a laptop at the same time. [Triple the laziness. See, it was just a joke.] Anyway, it's not like I could see my own face when I just had two eyes.

[spaghettimonster]

That's true... [As he figured. Yet, as much as a good portion of his attention is focused on the phone, and not staring at Sans's painfully glowing form, Papyrus still catches a little of the weirdness. Something of how his expression flickered, and that he's doing the too-casual voice and posture. Papyrus shrugs back, trying to open his eye sockets enough to get a some light in there without having to turn towards a light, or worse, use the flash.] Not even having to turn your head from one to another... When you put it like that, it really fits you. [Whatever else is going on, he can at least help back up Sans's usual stories of laziness.]

[ribticklers]

And my wings can be a blanket or a pillow. [So they fit him, too. A complete laziness package. He watches Papyrus fussing with his phone and eye sockets.] You lookin' for something specific? [Maybe Sans could help if so. Even if it's about the machinery growing in Papyrus's skull.]

[spaghettimonster]

[At the note of blanket or pillow, Papyrus coughs a laugh - truly, the whole package is kind of fitting, except for the weird stuff in Sans's chest. But at the question, he shifts uneasily.] I'm... just trying to get a look. Since, I can't see my own face either, without help.