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You're sure? You're not-- [Sans takes that hand he's not using to accept Papyrus's help and instead scrubs it over his face. He's not making sense. He doesn't want to talk about this.] I didn't--leave anything in your mind. Did I? [He could check Papyrus's emotions himself, something in him hisses, but the rest of his thoughts are just no no no over and over.]

[The grimace continues its journey into frown town, bordering on scowl. It's just as well he isn't accidentally transmitting thoughts to the network quite as easily, today, so far. If he were, the draft of a smartass answer would have leaked - no, he's not avoiding questions the way Sans is. But that's a bad joke in Sans's vein, something that might normally cause a laugh but right now sounds like it'd just prove whatever his brother is worrying so much about, and after this last couple weeks...

Oh. Something left in his mind. Sans has been going around fixing people, and is worrying whether...? Papyrus rubs his own head, brushing wire hairs back to a more comfortable and comforting arrangement.]

...Maybe a little space residue. I haven't... done a full diagnostic, yet. But nothing seems like pieces of you. [Of course, if he's been altered enough, would he be able to tell from here? He won't be sure until he goes down in the basement, and spends some time comparing himself to the backup framework personality...]

[That Papyrus isn't sure is enough for whole new waves of guilt to wash over him.] Sorry. [Which isn't enough, but the last thing Sans should be doing is making suggestions about how to solve that problem. He doesn't know how, anyway; a lot of the power he'd been using has faded. He gets up, careful not to touch Papyrus. Careful not to even look like he might trip in that direction.] I don't--what day is it? Everything's not... In order. [Sans is struggling to comprehend his own memories, which is another problem. The otherworldly perception of the last however long it's been is gone now, and everything's a haze of trampling through minds and rearranging emotions and terror of the dark.]

It's... It's October first. Six forty three and... [He cuts himself, crossing his arms, not wanting to be so robotic as to list the time down to the seconds, not when Sans only asked for the date.

It's something of an absentminded stress reaction, he's been noticing, getting that precise with his measurements even in his more conversational thoughts. Maybe he's more distressed than he realized, and seeing Sans's distress - and clear avoidance of him - is making it worse. Reminding him how much he actually, kind of, wants to flinch back. How many times did Sans try to push him back into that void state of mind, anyway...?

He stiffens with the thought, makes himself repeat the relevant answer:] It's October first. You're not so disoriented you forgot I'm... all robotic, did you? [Is that how badly things are out of order, is that why Sans is flinching away and acting like Papyrus is that easily reprogrammed? (Isn't he that easily reprogrammed?)]

Edited (small tags my beloathed) 2022-10-13 04:18 (UTC)

[Two weeks. He was like that for two weeks. As for Papyrus being all robotic...] I remember that. [That was true before Sans lost track of linear time.] I remember the last two weeks, but I don't. It's. [He struggles, reaches for metaphor.] I've got the files, but not the program they go with. [He remembers being so confident, during the day, that he was doing the right thing. That everyone else was misguided at best and irrelevant at worst. Because you can, you have to.]

Edited 2022-10-13 04:25 (UTC)

That's not how files work, you couldn't even get previews without a similar program. [It's said dryly, dregs of humor scraped out of somewhere in his circuitry. But he plays a throat-clearing sound, and takes a step to the side to lean against the nearest support beam. It's a little comforting, having the metal there, even if it's not buzzing with potential for him.]

Is it all fragmented and out of order, like when you... with my emotions. [He doesn't want to say, when Sans resets him and glitches his memories to hell. But that's what it is, that's what happened once or twice these last couple weeks, and... Wow, the more he and Sans talk, the more he's dwelling on those parts of things, instead of just the tangible things like what he did to the house. The more distressing the weeks are to think about.]

Kind of like that. [The emotion is draining out of his voice; Papyrus knows Sans well enough to know that's not a sign of Sans not caring but rather bone-deep exhaustion over what his emotions are doing.] And a lot of it's more... Suggestions. Feelings. Probabilities I did one thing or another thing. It's kind of always like that? But not so much. There's too many branches, I can't work it all out. [Sans's mind doesn't work like a computer, of course. This is the first time he's tried to verbalize how it works now, though. That it's so heavily quantum is probably not really that surprising, if you think about it.]

[It's... not that surprising to hear, but still pretty surprising - or maybe confusing would be more accurate. It seems so undefined, unmoored, unspecified... Okay, it sounds like Sans's mind is always in that intangible fog state, when it's not up in space somewhere. That much matches existing patterns, even if it doesn't make sense.]

How can you ever work it all out? [He's incredulous, but mostly from trying to imagine tracking all of that with his old skeletal mind. Now he can process enough information to keep those sorts of predictions ongoing, sure. But it's taken some augmentation to make it viable, and it still eats through his emotions at an increased rate.]

I used to do that all the time, y'know. [Back when he was in grad school and immersed in quantum physics magic all the time. It's not much of a joke, but little by little Sans is composing himself. It's also a very unusual topic for a joke, given how Sans usually avoids talking about anything that might have implied he used to have ambitions and work ethic. There's something to be said about the ways San Benedicto has helped Sans, but it doesn't really make up for the other ways it keeps grinding him down.] The stuff I actually do stands out more. It's like all my extra eyes--you just kinda learn how to put that in the background. But the last two weeks it's more like I was focusing on everything at once, I guess. [He can work out some of it, but a lot of it's tangled up.]

[Yeah, that is an unusual topic for him to joke about. It's hard for Papyrus to tell just why Sans is sharing it now, actually. Is it because his brother's has gotten a little better at acknowledging the past without berating himself about it, or... is it just more of him being unmoored in time?]

...Ah, you usually stop consciously focusing on it all. [That at least is a realization that makes more sense. The intuition that comes of picking up on trends while dropping memory of the details? It's much more in a skeleton's wheelhouse than ongoing and active analysis of all the details, and he can believe something like that of Sans.]

Well. Take it... healthily slow. Don't put it off forever! But, we don't need to unpack everything right this minute. [Papyrus kind of really doesn't want to unpack everything this minute. The last few hours, he poured a lot of his attention and distress on things like testing the various things he'd changed over the weeks, then trying to make his way to the ground without injury. His own feelings... Aren't, quite, as analyzed.]

Right. Yeah. [Papyrus doesn't seem horrified by Sans's mere presence, at least--or he's putting on a very convincing act--so Sans's tension ratchets down by degrees even though he manages to feel guilty about that too. Papyrus should hate him--but no, even with that little voice in his head telling him that, he can't believe that Papyrus does. Maybe he believes Papyrus should, but he also knows Papyrus doesn't.

His hands go to his wings, working at the feathers. There's a lot to smooth down and sort out. He look at the house. It's so spindly now. He remembers this. Yeah. But he hadn't really studied it until now.]

You're gonna need to build some longer front steps. [A front staircase.]

Ughhh. [The groan is, if anything, one of frustrated agreement. He turns to glare in the direction of the step ladder, and the chain dangling above it, and the looming shadow of the garage above - suspended unhelpfully high in the air.] And a ramp. And maybe just a whole extra floor underneath!

[If Papyrus is hiding horror at Sans's presence, he's less evasive with his agitation on this topic. It's gone through a lot more processing, the last couple hours.]

How I wish I could say, I don't know what I was thinking. But I know very well what I was!! [A little too well, but that's not the point right now.] I was thinking, wow, what a great idea this is, no more casual window thieves! And maybe I'll expand the workshop later. And who needs paperwork for approval for big house renovations, that's a problem for the future. Now here we are.

[Now here they are, in the future. He's a robot, Sans has been playing at being god and Papyrus was helping thanks to altered will, their house is too tall for him to climb into it anymore... And if he wants to drive anywhere, he's going to have to ask Sans for a lift to get it down to the driveway.]

Edited (from =/= above) 2022-10-14 06:35 (UTC)

[At least there are probably way more important things for the city to deal with than someone not filling out the paperwork to make their house tall. Sans doubts they'll even get a letter about it.]

If you add an extra floor under, you can have a two-floor workshop. [Sans doesn't know what he'd do with the extra space; Papyrus can have it. And maybe that idea will make him feel better about this entallening.]

[There is that. At least law enforcement and other bureaucratic types have far larger fish to fry. He's never been so happy to be a ~~small~~ medium fish in a large ~~small~~ pond before.]

Yeah, there's a lot of options. [His voice is still sour, lightning up almost begrudgingly in response to Sans trying to help. He doesn't want to discourage the optimism, he really doesn't...] I have drafts. Drawn up at random times. [Multiple drafts, and not just two-floor workshops. Some of them are three-, even four-floor, extending down into the basement that he's dug into. He's way too aware of all the possibilities his weird state self made for him, and he sighs about it all.] Do you feel like we've been... on a bender?

Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it. [Sans does feel quite a bit like he does when he gets a hangover, except maybe even more tired somehow. Sans's hands are still sorting out his feathers, moving methodically. It's not soothing him as much as it usually does. Better than nothing, probably.] Don't think I left myself any notes, though.

[What would those notes even be? Sans isn't going to think about it more than that; they'd probably be terrible.]

Notes? [The question isn't the complete confusion it once might've been, back before they shared minds a couple times. He glances sidelong at Sans, taking in that methodical cleaning.] I think visiting all the people we... Whoever we ran into. That can wait.

[It seems obvious to Papyrus what Sans would have left notes on, after all. After teleporting out in a frantic rush, repeatedly asking after how Papyrus's mind is doing... Isn't that what Sans would want notes about, the people he's helped the last couple weeks?

It's not like there's any other quantum anomaly to be tracking. Not except maybe Sans himself.]

[Sans hasn't thought much about the idea of visiting the people he ran into, which is to say he's started thinking about it a few times and forcefully pushed that train of thought off the tracks.]

I, uh. I was terrorizing whole city blocks, bro. [He says it very quietly. Sans can't remember who he ran into, for the most part. It's too many people.]

[True, to the best of Papyrus's memory, which is apparently the more consistent and accurate one - or at least the most consistent, not being broken up and disorganized in quantum ways.]

Well, what else would you make a list about!

[It's not as quiet as it could be, and as questioning as it is a demand. Maybe not the best question, either, but it is one that might distract from the matter of the reign of not-terror. Not-terror, thanks to the brainwashing preventing terror from being a thing that could happen. If Papyrus had a throat, he'd be having difficulty swallowing. The more they even approach this subject, the more upset he's unencrypting. If forcefully shoving trains of thought off track is a thing that's happening, he wants to get out and help with the pushing.]

Um. [Sans comes up short on words for once in his life. Sure, not the first time, but it's rare. Sans could leave. He's great at running away. He just keeps standing there.] Dunno. Guess that's why I didn't keep one. So, you need anything from the store for the staircase, or whatever you're gonna do?

[Sans will go get the materials. And then he doesn't have to be here standing on the lawn. He's started tugging some of the loosest feathers out of his wings, but he hasn't really noticed.]

I... [The conversational whiplash is extreme, but not unwelcome, and Papyrus covers his face with a hand.] Uh, yeah. I... I don't even know what to get.

[He drags the hand down his face, briefly glances his brother's way, then stares up at the garage. It would be really, really nice to have the car down here, so he could go driving and browse some stores in-person. But of course Sans isn't eavesdropping or twisting his memories or thoughts right now, so Sans won't know that unless Papyrus tells him. Ugh.] I need a sturdier staircase than the rickety ladder in the dirt, for a start.

I can get you--uh, d'you want wood or metal? [Papyrus has been favoring metal lately, sure, but that doesn't mean wood is off the table. Get it, because tables are usually made of wood, and-- Wait, are the stores even open this early?

Sans is just going to keep pulling his feathers out.]

I could grab something from your workshop.

Edited (enter key...) 2022-10-15 03:39 (UTC)

Like my car? [It's said too quickly, somewhere between desperation and hope and a joke. Like he has to get it out there, before he changes his mind about admitting the request. And now that he has, he glances Sans's way for more than a second of noting his (body's primary) location, and notices the scattered feathers on the ground.] Wait, are you molting?

[Don't tell him the last two weeks have had more than just all kinds of mental effects, if they're about to get sick from it all that's getting very close to as many things as Papyrus feels up to handling. And he's hardly even up to handling the house, because he can't safely get back in the house!]

Yeah, sure, I--what? [Sans was a second away from vanishing to get Papyrus's car before he brings up molting and catches Sans by surprise.] I don't think so, I'm--

[Sans pulls his hands away from his wings to examine the situation and fistfuls of feathers go with it. Ah. No, that's not molting. ...It doesn't matter. He drops the rest of the feathers on the ground.]

I'll go get your car. [And he's gone, but only for a second. Sans and the car will be in the driveway momentarily.]

[With the lack of answer, the teleporting away avoidance, something in Papyrus settles into dull dread. He doesn't react to the returned car, doesn't run to jump in and drive away - doesn't flee this whole situation, the way his brother so obviously wants to.

Instead he stays standing, staring at the feathers dropping and settling on the ground. Do they still glow a little, detached like this? Is there something still alive in them, the way Sans once gave the sense that Papyrus's detached limbs still had his magic..? Or do they go dull and empty, once torn off and rejected like this?

Another portion avoids this downward trend by focusing on practicalities, rapidly searching information about pulling out feathers in birds, because angels-- No, cancel. Because birds are the relevant search topic. (The safe search topic). Feather plucking, it's called, a reaction to a multitude of things but overall stress. Overstimulation, understimulation, changes that the birds aren't able to handle. Various lists of advice how to help, and something like chew sticks are obviously not helpful, but snacks and television might be, of course it figures that some of Sans's bad habits might be the ones that maintain whatever semblance of mental health he has...

After several more seconds of staring at the feathers than is polite, possibly long enough to miss a short question, Papyrus looks up his brother's way again.] ...Thanks, Sans. I... I think it's time, to go to a home improvement store! And get some home improvement things. While not being anywhere near the house, for a while.

[It's not quite an invitation to come along. It's not an overt rejection of coming along. He doesn't know what to offer. He's going to look into some of the things on this bird health list. Is that too much like wanting to fix Sans, drawing up a list of extra things to shop for that might help? But he won't... He won't force it. He'll just get them, leave them as options. With post-it notes and texts pointing them out. With the option to refuse. He has to... He has to leave that option. There's something too wide-eyed as he glances around the eyes of the halo, breaks from looking at his brother's face (thankfully?) not calm face.]

[Detached from his body, Sans's feathers lose their glow, looking like strange, clear plastic feathers. Sans, left standing uneasily by the car while Papyrus stares at the feathers Sans left behind, manages to get another two fistfuls of feathers loose before he stops himself. They glow briefly after being plucked, but the glow fades rapidly.] Papyrus? I got your car. [In case Papyrus somehow missed that. But Papyrus doesn't respond right away, and Sans feels his soul knotting up. Even so, the only thing to do when Papyrus does finally speak up is act like there wasn't such a long, awkward pause.]

Sure. You do that. [It doesn't even occur to Sans he might be invited, in this case. He doesn't see why Papyrus would want to be stuck in a car with him right now.] Maybe I'll go try to get some more sleep. [That way, if Papyrus isn't going to be hanging around the house for a while, Papyrus doesn't have to deal with him.]

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everything everywhere all at once... I still need to watch that

same

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Glad I went w/ "Papyrus has been Not Thinking About It" so the other thread can keep getting worse

a constant downward spiral

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