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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.]

Yeah, you probably haven't slept much! [It's too-bright, too agreeing, supportive in that way of desperately relieved to have something to encourage Sans to do - something normal for Sans to do. If it seems like relief that he's not coming along, Papyrus doesn't think of it or do anything to dissuade the impression. Instead, he adds:] Maybe watch some TV, while you do. Comforting background noise.

[That's the closest to the suggestions on the list he can really nudge right now, since it's not like they have cheese in the fridge - why would void gods eat cheese, why would a machine eat cheese, and so on. Cheese goes on the list. It's good for bones. He's not sure what's good for replacing missing feathers yet, but the search for bird health recommendations is ongoing, so he'll know by the time he reaches a grocery store.

Thank goodness he didn't lose his job this time. He's going to be spending a lot of money, trying to clean up the tangible parts of this mess. (And the emotional parts?) The emotional parts... he'll figure something out. Maybe throwing money at therapy would help, though what therapist can help with ex-gods making peace with their mortality is a question.]

[Sans immediately goes to the interpretation that Papyrus doesn't really want to see him right now but is being nice about it. Sans feels a little pathetic that he's so grateful Papyrus is being nice about it. Papyrus should really be able to be as mad as he wants. Arguing that point on the lawn seems like a stupid idea, though.]

Yeah. Couch naps are good for the soul, y'know. [He's going to grab his heated blanket and create a cocoon on the couch and listen to infomercials or something similarly mindless until he passes out again.] ...I've got my phone if you need anything. [It's always gone without saying, but given how Sans acted the last two weeks, he wants to let Papyrus know he's not avoiding things entirely. It's 90% avoidance instead of 100%.]

[A weak laugh escapes, a hint of static to the sound. Ridiculous as it is, he's starting to believe that bit about couch naps. Clearly they're grounding, profoundly mundane in a way that helps to shake off all the extremes of emotion and pressure to change into something More that their underground neighbor keeps shoving their way. The difference a year's perspective can bring...]

Good, I'll have mine. [...Obviously. Maybe his nerves are getting the best of him.] I'll be back later!! [It's a promise, because for all his eagerness to get away from here for a bit, he does remember that relief at the start of the void godding round 2. They're still here together. Despite... everything.]

[The reassurance that Papyrus will be back later is another thing that he probably shouldn't feel so reassured by, but he clings to that anyway.

Sans is true to his word today: he ends up almost entirely buried under his heated blanket. Only his halo is sticking out enough to see the television. They're trying to sell some super absorbent towel or something. The guy sounds way too excited about this super towel, which is funny. Good background noise. Still hard to sleep. His mind keeps working, after all, reminding him of everything it can piece together of the last two weeks. Of messing around with Papyrus's mind over and over.

Still, raw exhaustion wins over sometimes. On and off, he catches snatches of unconsciousness. He does his best to keep his hands off his feathers, which is to say he only tugs a few more out.]

[A couple hours pass with Papyrus out of the house, no texts sent. He wants Sans to actually get some rest, after all, and the sound of text messages wouldn't help with that... But maybe there's a degree of relief in the escape, and not wanting to break a good thing with talking. Alas that the silence is long enough for all kinds of worries and self-hatred to churn in Sans's skull unimpeded.

In one of those periods of restlessness, when Sans tugs another of the feathers out, his phone buzzes with a text message. Not from Papyrus's number, but it is a number with an existing text history - the same unnamed number as before, with a similar message.]

Are you feeling any better now?
It seemed like
This time really hit you hard.

[Sans reaches for his phone automatically. No flinching from the vibration or handling it like just touching something so solid is a struggle; the phone is just a phone again. The text message he got, though... Sans's feathers stand on end.]

who is this?

[He wants something more concrete than he got last time. Unless whoever it was who Papyrus contacted last time also ran into him in the city the last couple of weeks? Talk about bad timing. Or don't. Sans doesn't want to talk about any of it. Still.]

[A non-answer, but not an evasive one - that's a direct question back. Not Sans's usual or preferred communication style, and indicates wariness and suspicion. Something of an ultimatum - if the directness isn't met with a plausible and direct answer, then... Sans will likely cut the conversation off. Silence, possibly blocking the number. And that wouldn't be a real obstacle, but it would mean setting up another dummy number if he wants to evade additional suspicion and find another avenue for doing the checkup Papyrus fled from doing.

...Which, he does want to evade. If Sans risks the honesty to tell Papyrus about the message and hand over the phone, it could mean... Papyrus getting a hold of him. And... he really doesn't want to be overwritten, either.]

I don't
I really don't know how to answer that.
I'm kind of a concerned neighbor.
Is that enough?

buddy
do you know where we are?

[Concerned neighbor could mean anything. Could be Okpaza taking a really weird new approach.]

anyway i'm good

[Might as well just lie. Should he ask if he messed with their head? No, that's--he has no idea how to approach that.]

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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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proposal: time skips, 1st Tracker texting w/ Papyrus out, 2nd later them Not Dealing w/ things well?

works for me

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