ribticklers | Inbox

From here, he suspects what's been going on with Sans is... a lot of unhealthy sleep. Or a lot of failing to sleep, and little else. It's concerning enough that Papyrus starts to take a step down the hall, but halts at the sight of his brother bristling up and going blank.

"Well, who else?" He offers something of a smile, though it's weak, and doesn't manage to hit reassuring or relieved. "I realize it's... a little surprising. But precedented?"

The two of them, waking up in the ruins, so long ago. Dinah's revival, more recently.

Papyrus has a point, but this still feels different to Sans. When they arrived, that had been after they both died. Dinah's soul had still been intact, and so she hadn't died exactly, Sans doesn't think. In this case, Papyrus had--

No, don't think about it. Sans has been spending the week trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about anything. San's eyelights return and his feathers smooth themselves out as much as they can in his generally rumpled state.

"You look a little different," Sans says. His expression isn't one; it's the blank grin that doesn't mean anything. "And the house has been kinda weird."

His hand finally drifts up to his face to feel what's happening there. The metallic lower jaw isn't a surprise, but the upper jaw? His cheekbones? Something in his expression falls with the realization, and his shoulders tense up as he tries not to crumple over it. It was all he'd had left of him...

"I... The house," Papyrus says, voice shaking, mentally shoving away the things that can wait a few more minutes before he grapples with them. "That might have been me? I was around. In the grid."

He glances back in his room, at the bits of metal discarded on the floor, at the torn up wiring. "It was... a little challenging, to focus." Challenging to stay alive, if alive's the word for what he's been this last week, decapitation and all. Challenging to get enough energy to keep trying to focus. Is he alive and in this body, properly grounded now, or is he still the loose electrical spirit?

Sans is silent as he tries to think through the idea that Papyrus had been the one haunting the house, leaving Sans looking like a spooky angel statue out of a horror movie in the darkness of the hallway. He remembers the static, his phone acting up, popping and crackling...

"I, uh, think I saw you in the TV once," he says, finally. Sans definitely saw Papyrus in the television, and he'd bolted back to his room like he expected something to crawl out of it. He hasn't been in the living room since then.

"I think I was in the TV, once or thrice," Papyrus offers, eager and immediate as if to make up for Sans's delay - or to find and present evidence that he is who he thinks he is, bones aside. It's not as if he hadn't already had his own dust lying around from his first dea- first decapitation, after all, what's a little more?

"...And the phone?" This is more questioning, trying to make sense of his fragmented memories. If it wasn't Sans he'd screamed at, a few times, then... Well, maybe someone else in the canyon deserves an apology. If he can figure out who to give it to.

Sans doesn't know if it's more comforting to know he wasn't seeing things or less comforting to know Papyrus was stuck in the television a few times.

"I heard... Something," Sans says, because he didn't hear a voice so much as static screeching, even when he tried not answering. "Got a text message from someone you gave my number to."

Which hadn't made sense at the time, but if Papyrus was bouncing around the electrical grid not entirely in control of himself, then that makes a lot more sense than Papyrus handing it out to a stranger under normal circumstances.

Sans still isn't thinking beyond the immediate circumstances and the things that Papyrus says. His thoughts feel all rusted together.

"Someone I... What?" Papyrus starts with confusion, but it slides into wary uncertainty. He doesn't know what text message Sans is talking about.

But, then, he doesn't remember much of the last week, does he? Did he try texting Sans, thinking the numbers clearly out, only to accidentally send them to someone...? Did he mean to send it to someone, as some kind of tag-team for brotherly health? He can imagine himself doing so, and it's enough to leave him unsure.

"I don't... remember doing that," he finally says, not liking even the possibility that it undermines even more of the case for Papyrus-ness. "It wasn't some spam text? I'd understand if it was, and wishful thinking got the best of you! It gets the best of all of us, sometimes."

If Papyrus doesn't know what Sans is talking about, that might be dangerous. Almost everything here is, though, and mostly Sans is tired. Still.

"They asked if I was doing okay. Said you gave 'em my number."

It was a little pointed for spam, and also they didn't try to make him click on any dubious links. Sans hadn't kept up the conversation. Maybe later he'll see what happens if he texts back now that Papyrus is alive. Maybe not.

Papyrus frowns, metal fingers drumming on the door frame as he takes this in. Very definitely not spam, then. Something that seems to have been concerned for Sans, and explaining - without prompting? - how they got the number.

"Well... Okay, that does sound a little like, something I could have done, while unconscious," He admits, then considers and rephrases. "Semi-conscious. Did you... answer them? Not that I need the answer!"

Really, he doesn't need it - it's plain that Sans isn't okay, after all. The dim light of the hall is enough to make his brother look spooky, but between the glow and his eyes adjusting, Papyrus can see that tired expression. He's a little curious whether Sans answered, but doubts it.

"It's only, maybe I can figure out who it was," he explains. "And... erase the number, from their message history?" That would be more hacking than he wants to do right now, more than he usually admits to being able to try doing (because people complain). But it should ensure there won't be annoying followup texts... as long as they didn't back the number up anywhere. He can try. It's something to do to help, that isn't turning back time or rebuilding his skull or anything.

"Nah," Sans says in regards to answering the text. He'd asked who they were, had gotten a response about them having gotten the number from Papyrus, and hadn't said anything after that. "I can give you the number, though."

He didn't delete the messages. Considered it, but ultimately hadn't bothered. Not that he remembers the number at the moment, or even if it was an actual number or something restricted. Normally he'd be better about that, but his memory of the past week is pretty foggy.

Sans is still just standing like a statue in the hallway. He doesn't really know how else to act.

"Please do," Papyrus says quickly, then reconsiders. "Later. I need to, well..."

He can't pick one thing to say, because there's a lot he needs to do. Figure out where his phone is - or isn't. Whether he needs to buy a new one, or if he... just doesn't need one, anymore, like he has a sinking feeling is the case.

But more immediately, he needs to do something about Sans's stunned stillness. He keeps a hand to the wall as a balancing aid, and takes a few steps down the hall towards his brother, watchful for spooked wariness or other signs that Sans is going to bolt. He remembers that being in a haunted house was more enjoyable when someone was around to find and translate for the ghost. Being haunted by one's recently seemingly-dead sibling must have been worse. And this not so long after they'd actually talked about so many things...

"...I could look around, make sure I unhaunted the house all the way?" The offer is unsure. He wants to reassure Sans that he's back, and it's better, and it's really him. He wants to reassure himself that, too.

Sans shows no signs of bolting, at least, though he also shows no signs of moving in general. Only his eyelights move, all of them tracking Papyrus's wobbly motion.

"Yeah, sure. You feeling okay? D'you need food or something?" Sans asks, though it might just be how Papyrus's body has changed that's throwing him off. Still, it's technically been a week since Papyrus has eaten, right? Sans isn't really sure how that works in this situation.

The question of food hadn't occurred to him yet, and his tentative steps come to a halt as he considers. He doesn't feel hungry, or tired... Despite spending the last week in some sort of consciousness, trying to consume all the power he could grasp.

"I don't need to charge," Papyrus concludes first, voice going dry. "Not when, uh, I charged enough to knock the power out! Sorry about that." Not that he actually expects Sans to mind the power outage, especially not for the purpose of keeping him going, but it's polite to say so.

"But I could... try to eat." He could have said I could eat, but. He really doesn't know if that's the case now. Not when...not when his bones are all dust, and there's nothing that needs the calcium anymore. It's worth a shot, anyway, in case something like the shock of reforming his body is preventing him from noticing.

None of this feels entirely real. Sans moves, finally, to scrub at his face. Papyrus might not feel tired, but Sans definitely does. He's feeling a lot of other things, too, that he doesn't know what to do with. Papyrus says he'll try to eat, and Sans realizes that he doesn't know if Papyrus even can now. Sans can't see any bone, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything one way or the other.

"Meet you in the kitchen," he says finally, and vanishes. The brief time alone gives him a moment to try and sort himself out as far as acting more normal goes, but he still feels very off-balance.

It's a few minutes before Papyrus makes his way downstairs. If there's eyes in the hallway, they might catch Papyrus immediately sagging against the wall after Sans leaves. It's one of dropping a mask, of relief to have found his brother so quickly, and weariness with worries what else might have changed. He stiffens self-consciously only a few seconds later, glancing around the hallway for signs of new eyes, then makes his way back into his room with a hand on the wall for extra support. A couple minutes, and he emerges again in shorts, skeleton t-shirt, and a spare pair of gloves.

The footsteps down the staircase aren't as unsteady as his hand on the wall and railing might imply, but they're heavier and thus louder than usual - the week without moving around makes everything unfamiliar, and well. Maybe his body is denser, now.

Papyrus glances around everywhere as he goes, checking for signs of changes and stagnation. Some mess, but less than he might have expected, even with the sense that Sans wasn't out here much. Had someone been cleaning...? He pauses in front of the television to look for signs of a lingering digital ghost, but the only Papyrus there is his own reflection on the screen, despite everything.

Finally he reaches the kitchen, continuing his survey of the house's status. The power's out, still, and he suddenly remembers this puts the food in jeopardy. "Hey, uh... Do we have a lot of perishables? Maybe I should go, get the generator on. Not for me, for the food." If there is much food left, if Sans didn't empty the fridge again today.

Sans can see Papyrus nearly the entire time he walks to the kitchen, except for the time Papyrus is in his room, but he tries not to focus on that too much. It's impossible to put it completely out of his head, and not just because he can't turn off his eyes; it's hard to stop himself from confirming Papyrus is alive and moving around again. Looking different, but acting like Papyrus.

Sans is sitting in his usual spot in the kitchen when Papyrus asks about the food. He looks up from the kitchen table and then over at the refrigerator.

"You've still got stuff in there." Sans went through his side, but hadn't really touched Papyrus's, even thinking Papyrus was dead. Of course, a lot of that stuff has battery acid in it, but even the acid-free products are still there.

Good to know, even though it isn't an answer to his question. Papyrus glances back down the hall, reluctant, then decides the generator can wait a few minutes - or an hour.

"I'm glad you didn't eat my stuff," he says instead, with a ghost of a snort. It would have been pretty terrible to return from the dead only to find Sans dead in his place, having eaten acid or worse. He shivers the morbid thought off, and focuses on the relief that Sans had stuck around through this week. "What about your stuff? Is this a family meal, or..."

There's a prodding to his voice, and he's not sure he'd apologize even if called on it. If no, it's not like this would be the first time Sans has just sat and watched him eat, the focus on verifying Papyrus's health. But... the idea of doing so now drives home the experiment of it, testing whether he's even capable of eating anymore. Not much of a welcome home.

"I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while," Sans says, shrugging a little. Not since Papyrus died. But actually-- "Think I've got takeout left."

He doesn't remember ordering the takeout, but it had arrived and he'd eaten it anyway. Which does mean he has something in the fridge, but that's all that he's got in there.

"You can have some if you want, but I don't think you'll like it." Since it's food Sans orders semi-regularly, and therefore not exactly healthy.

Except for that shrug and slight, occasional movement of his head, Sans seems to have taken up being a statue again.

It's not a good sign, that stillness. Is it from lying around doing nothing all week, Sans's own version of no longer being used to moving?

...Or, maybe, is it careful watchfulness? Some unspoken distrust about Papyrus being who he says he is, alert for anything that will give him away...?

"Maybe I should, just to test if my tastes have changed," he risks saying, like he's daring his brother to contradict him. "Not that I was asking for me, anyway!"

Papyrus suggesting a test does get a raised eyebrow--or raised brow ridge, at least--out of Sans, though since Papyrus is using the no arguments allowed tone, Sans doesn't actually say anything. It's hard for Sans to imagine Papyrus's tastes having changed that much, but if he's all robot now, maybe he doesn't even have taste buds, in which case...

"I'm not gonna stop you, as long as I can watch." You know, to see the look on Papyrus's face if his tastes haven't changed. Or maybe just to stay close to Papyrus now that he's back. Whichever.

He should have expected Sans just rolling with whatever like this. Somehow, he had expected a little more pushback, or at least a little more investment in getting to eat these takeout leftovers. Maybe it's not that his brother's ability to take a hint was dusted with Papyrus's second head, but that he's seeing how far Papyrus will go with it...?

"Yeah, okay. One performance of Dining With Papyrus, coming up," he announces, not about do back down now.

The few strides to the fridge are steadier than before, he realizes once he's in front of the door. Automated locomotion once he's focused on the task, rather than second guessing his every movement, probably. Doesn't help with the looming sense of doubt in himself, but he shoves it aside again in favor of opening the fridge. A few things from his side, and then whatever takeout containers are in sight, all transferred to the counter before the door is thoroughly closed again.

While he could just bring them all back to the table... presentation is important. He grabs two plates reflexively, pauses to consider, then puts them both down. The better to sort machine-only and things either of them could eat - could have eaten before, at least.

Sans watches as Papyrus brings out plates. Sans hasn't been using plates much this week, so there's plenty to use. Of course, they are a little low on clean utensils. It seems like Papyrus is moving more steadily, which is good. Soon enough Sans is going to get used to how Papyrus looks, and then they can just--go on, he guesses. Not think about this again.

When he's sure Papyrus can't see him, Sans looks at Papyrus's neck. Making sure it's solidly attached. He knows the impulse is stupid, but he can't ignore it.

Not only is his neck attached, but it may be more solidly attached than ever before. A couple of vertebrae - those previously severed, where his scar had lingered even through the transformation - are thicker than the rest. Extra reinforced, exchanging a little flexibility for stability.

The back and side of his head shows similar changes - a cover for the temple port that properly blends in, and thicker plating in the parts of his skull previously damaged in the cave. Unconscious design choices to be a little less vulnerable.

In the conscious world, Papyrus is unaware of the observation, portioning food out on the plates. Large enough servings that the overall spread would satisfy even if he were ravenous... Even though standing over the food hasn't awoken any particular sense of hunger, yet. Maybe because the food's just out of the fridge, and it's nearly all meant to be heated. He refuses to dwell on it, scavenging what few utensils he can with a sigh at them, and brings the plates to the table. The containers he leaves on the counter - no sense opening the fridge again so soon.

Definitely solidly attached. He notices the thicker vertebrae; is that the universe being ironic or did Papyrus subconsciously recreate himself like that? It probably doesn't matter, but Sans would prefer the latter. Better if Papyrus made some sort of decision, even if it wasn't one he was aware of. Thinking about changes, though...

"Hey. You've got somewhere the food can go, right? Like--a stomach, or something."

Thinking about practical stuff like that is easier than dealing with the emotional weight of the day. Of the week. He's trying to keep that tide dammed up but he's not sure if it'll hold.

Papyrus doesn't pause in the process of putting plates on the table, but only because he'd absentmindedly automated the motion. He's frowning as he finishes, and turns to blink at Sans.

"A... I don't know! This is a test."

It being a test is true. A test of taste, and a test of eating at all alike. As long as he'd still had some of his skull, he'd been able to eat about the same as ever: with a bit of focus, the food had just absorbed into his body's magic, and somehow that energy had partly converted into electricity... which he'd had to increasingly supplement with charging. Magic, calcium, and so forth had dispersed through him as needed.

But this isn't like the initial days of his transformation, when he'd been so unused to the relative strength and weight of metallic limbs that he'd accidentally damaged the floor of the hotel in a few spots. He knows his body - changed as it is. Knows the gist of what sorts of programs and functions guide his parts and let him self-assess for damage, simulating pain and so on. It's the act of a second to know he could just scan his own body to figure it out. He... could. He doesn't want to, yet. It feels too much like defeat.

Inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

the power of the night flows through me

sanssweep: the true power bringing electricity back to the canyon, or our hearts

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

good thing I have all these food icons

it's important to have his essential icons

(no subject)

(no subject)