lostcarnival | [CLOSED] A COUPLE OF BONEHEADS

Entry tags:

papyrus,
sans

[CLOSED] A COUPLE OF BONEHEADS

Who: Papyrus, Papyrus' Nightmare, and Sans
What: Accidental napping leads to an accidental nightmare
When: Season 1 Day 15, late at night!
Where: The carnival grounds.
Warnings: Whatever comes with a nightmare, brother issues, maybe body horror.

Papyrus never meant to fall asleep. Really, he'd meant to not sleep at all while they were here, after the Ringmaster's first announcement. He could stay awake, stay busy, for a few days. If push came to shove, he could take a nap in the trailer, surrounded by his earlier attempts at dreamcatchers. Maybe a week without a nap was too much, or maybe he underestimated the power of the sleepy tea. Either way, it was his own fault, and no one else's, and he'd be sure to say so to the Ringmaster if he ever got the chance.

Maybe thirty minutes into picking up debris from around the ferris wheel, metaphorically skull-splitting yawns began to strike. Strong enough to make him dizzy. He leaned against the base of the ferris wheel, rubbing at his eyesockets, and considered going back to the trailer for a bit. In the minutes he considered this, he dozed off. After a week of depositing his creations near trailers and in the ownership of public nappers, there were no more stashed away in mysteriously deep pockets or secret phone-based dimensional storage spaces.

The skeleton sleeps.

The churning of the dreamworld twists his thoughts to unpleasant, frightening places.

The ambient magic of the place gives them form.

Shadows drip up, coalescing into a long, wavering figure. Its viscous form settles, as much as the word applies, with a bipedal form with long pale fingers... and a white, skeletal mask of a face. Broken, with cracks running through it and no particular distinction of the teeth. Like it had been partially melted, and even one of the eye sockets dripped nearly shut.

It was a mostly-forgotten dream, one that Papyrus preferred to avoid because... it made everything feel gray, and broken.

Like he felt, at the idea that Undyne was having so much fun that she couldn't bother to call. Like Sans wanted nothing to do with him. Like the people just wanted Asgore back, that they cared nothing for all the encouragement Papyrus had tried so hard to give them...

Lɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪᴍ.

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Sans was starting to think that maybe transforming every night wasn't working out. It used too much energy, and after some mishaps with nightmares earlier in the week, he was feeling increasingly drained. Maybe he was too fragile to put his body under that much strain so often. Maybe power just had to have its limits.

Either way, he was spending his patrol that night as himself. Too many people had been noticing him in his big form anyway, and he was still feeling uncomfortable with the idea of telling people outright that the giant monster in the trees was him. He still doesn't know how to reconcile the feeling of it with his regular identity, or how to reconcile his real identity with what he showed on the outside.

He's starting to feel trapped all over again, like nothing he can do will be right. At least this time it's probably mostly his fault again - just like it was in the beginning... when...

His thoughts stall completely as something catches his eye in the darkness. The Warden hesitates, looking out from the trees towards the carnival grounds. His own faint luminescence makes things a little bit less dark, but slowly, hesitantly, he finds himself lifting up a hand to quietly summon up a light spell - just enough to make sure there's no carnivorous blankets swarming the ground, or other sneaky nightmares plaguing the night.

He carefully treads forward, trying to get a better look. A nameless feeling of dread is rising up within his soul, and yet he can't quite place it, even as familiar as it is.

That feeling... it can't be. His tail sways uneasily as he slowly crosses the grass, trying to get a better look - trying to find a way to prove himself wrong about his instincts.

"Hey... if you're not a nightmare... better speak now before I make you rest in peace."

Edited 2016-11-18 03:26 (UTC)

The skeleton sleeps, heedless of the Warden's approach and greeting.

The nightmare barely glances at Papyrus' sleeping, forgettable form. He's not interesting right now, not when someone else is approaching, noticing it for the first time in... Too long, the details are irrelevant. And it's not just anybody approaching, but someone it knows.

It leans forward to stare at him, tilting its upper body to the side as though there's no neck as distinction between head and torso.

Something's changed, about the short skeleton it can so easily tower over. He's... making a threat...? And hardly joking about it. He's walking differently, somehow, too, though it's hard to tell just how in this dim light.

But changes or not, that's unquestionably Sans. Family, despite him having forgotten it and left it behind. It's sure of that, suddenly, and bitter. He should feel how it feels. He should make up for leaving it behind, by giving him all the emotions it could ever wish to subsist on.

"Sans..." The nightmare says, its mask cracking along the mouth to widen its smile almost to the breaking point. "There you are." Shadows ripple around its feet, gathering closer into masses with a pressure Sans likely recognizes as preparing an attack.

Edited 2016-11-19 16:19 (UTC)

Fuck.

Sans sees the smile on that broken mask and wants to scream. It doesn't make sense to him. How could this be someone else's nightmare when he's the only one that ever remembered? Is he dreaming now, just like how he's seen this face in so many nightmares before?

His eyes dart from that face to the area surrounding them, fast and desperate for clues. It's only then that he sees Papyrus's sleeping form in the darkness behind and a feeling of dread drapes heavily over his soul. Is this his nightmare? How?

But he doesn't have time. The nightmare is about to attack (why is he attacking?) and he doesn't have even a moment more to think this over. He waves out a hand, and a ring of conjured bones burst up into a cage around the two of them, dividing them off from Papyrus' sleeping form. If what the Ringmaster had suggested to him about the capabilities of nightmares is true, he can't let that thing get away.

"I'd say the same, but I don't think this is you at all."

Another wave, and several more bones pierce the ground beneath the nightmare, attempting to spear it from below.

Not only is Sans paying attention now, recognizing it, but he's cutting them off from the rest of the world, leaving only the two of them in that ring. How wonderful. Even though Sans speaks so dismissively, that attack is so telegraphed anyone could see it coming. He must want this chance to talk.

Finally.

It dodges to the side as the bones surge up and pierce the empty air left behind, ignoring its own conflicted feelings. Part of the nightmare feels almost betrayed by this, that it takes his ~~brother~~ that it takes a fight for them to talk. That violence could fix this, where kindness couldn't.

Oh well.

Fear for his life is a kind of fear too, and it needs that from him; it's enough to start with.

"Manners, Sans," the nightmare chides, all breezy familiarity despite everything. "Who else could I be but myself?"

It crinkles its eyesockets in an increased smile, hands in continuous motion so there's no clear change when the attack comes. The shadows rush forward along the ring of bones, circling around the little clearing to flank the skeleton.

Despite his posturing, Sans isn't actually all that thrilled about getting into this confrontation. Every second of it is overwhelming, and having to converse about it does nothing but drag him down to a mental space he desperately tries to avoid being in. What is the point of talking? It's not like it's him. It's not like any of this is real!

Is it?

Sans bounces himself upward with a flick of his wrist, using gravity magic to let him airily float and land gently upon the upper ring of the bone cage. He starts quickly moving along the edge of it, knowing that those shadows will be following. This isn't anything he remembers from his father's real life, but he can predict what basically looks like shadowmancy when it comes down to it.

He summons up some more bones, shooting them at the.. thing... like sprays of thrown daggers, testing its limits and hopefully distracting it from attacking more aggressively.

"Whole lot of nuthin', I guess," he growls. He knows he could escalate this, but he's apprehensive. Another moment more and he's whipped out one of his classic clasters, the skull looming up and scouring the area where the nightmare stands.

Directing waves of shadows seems familiar and yet not. Slightly off, somehow, like its attack should also be bones. But the shadows are too fitting, a play on being overshadowed and unseen, for it to resist the impulse.

And besides... some fragment of the dreams it originate from were drenched in shadows.

It finds itself curious if Sans' magic can even noticeably effect it. Memory says his attacks are nearly harmless, and if the attack does the negligible harm it expects, well... Maybe renewed despair would be even more nourishing than fear of death. Sans would surely feel conflicted, if it stood and let him attack it, forced him to attack it or else, talking and watching his eyesockets crease with pain.

"That's certainly how you treat me," it agrees, dodging most of the bone spray. "Gallivanting around, hiding from the world---"

The last of the bones hits it, and it screeches a sound of static and broken electronics, curling in on itself at the sudden burning pain. The bone didn't hurt and phase away, but seared into it, a lingering hole in its shoulder.

By the time it looks up, furious, Sans is summoning a blaster. The nightmare doesn't stay a nice, visible target for him to hit twice. Instead it yanks all its burrowing shadow tendrils back to it, wrenching large clumps of soil and stone with to throw in the way of the blast.

The circle of bones is now grassless.

Sans calls it off early, flinching, unwilling to risk collateral damage. Papyrus had been lying right over there, after all, and a stray beam could be deadly if his brother can't even defend himself.

Of course, the nightmare blocking his shot with a projectile means that that shield is now coming directly towards him - he vanishes without a sound, and re-materializes on the smoldering ash that was grass only a few moments ago. He's trying to keep track of the shadow, but the bright lights of his attack is making it difficult to follow. He's just blinding himself in this darkness, focusing on a light so bright.

He summons up a ring of bones to float around one arm, his blaster still floating at the ready. He turns, his gaze sweeping the area and trying to find the specter fast enough to make the first move, though it feels nigh impossible when he's already seeing spots.

He should change, he thinks. This would be easier in his other form, maybe. If this is really a nightmare from Papyrus (How does he still remember this? Does W.D. Gaster haunt his brother too?) then he is going to need more firepower than he can muster by himself. He can’t risk it, though. Changing takes time, and being in pain like that will leave him vulnerable.

Tendrils of darkness snake out of the holes left by the nightmare tearing up the earth, and before Sans can spot them or find grounding, they’ve seized one of his legs, jerking backward and dragging him down onto his back. Sans tries to teleport away immediately, but he can’t manage it while pinned to a spot like that – as he gasps and tries to squirm away, the shadows advance up his legs, making it easier and easier to hold him down.

He’s too fragile like this. This creature is going to snuff out his soul with barely any fight. Even though fae magic has bolstered him over the years, the monster soul can still be hurt by evil intention – and nightmares seem to be about as mindlessly cruel as they get. Even now, he can feel his bones straining under that oppressive desire to hurt, ready to snap like twigs. He wills his soul to stay closed to those influences, but there’s only so much he can do.

Without any other choice, he starts trying to shift, urging that bestial magic to defend him from what his natural frailties can’t. Bones start to shift and crack, thickening in size with painful surges, but he’s certain it’s too slow. Either that, or the combination of pain from the nightmare’s attacks and the transformation will kill him.

"Papyrus, please," Sans calls out through clenched fangs, knowing it probably won’t do anything. But this is all inside his brother’s head – if anyone can stop it, then-

He grabs one of the tendrils between his lengthening claws and forces it back, staring deep into that darkness with a flinching expression of stubbornness. He can feel the fire begin to burn inside his chest. His jaw starts to snap and rest itself as that almost-familiar face looms close, an uncanny valley replica of the man he still only faintly remembers knowing.

"Sans," the nightmare hisses. "You’ve failed."

Sans bends, allowing himself to be pulled forward, as if he’s prepared to surrender himself – but then he digs his claws in deep, at the center of the beast, and unleashes a blast of cyan and golden fire from his throat, with all of the strength his soul can muster. The entire cage of bones goes up in the blast.

The rest, to Sans, is a blur. He vaguely remembers tearing the nightmare apart, piece by piece, until the lingering flames have consumed it all, but it’s a memory that feels like he never experienced it in the first place. The aftermath of it leaves him awkwardly and painfully half transformed, knelt in his circle of bones, which dismiss themselves due to his lack of energy.

"Fuck," he says, his jaw slowly reforming to its normal position enough that his voice will work. His limbs breaks and reshape, pulling back into his smaller form without the grace that releasing the transformation usually has.

"I know," he says, more quietly, tugging the remains of his burnt and torn clothing back around himself. As much as he just wants to lay down and give up, though, he knows that he can’t. He crawls forward, off of the burnt grass, and makes his way to his sleeping brother. By some miracle, he’s mostly unscathed.

Sans stares at him for a few moments, eyes wild and bright with the dwindling energy of his transformation. They both almost died there. If not worse. And yet...

Papyrus would have died never knowing what he did wrong. Never knowing that none of this had been his fault, and none of it ever would be.

Sans shakes at the shoulders, his chest heaving with the beginnings of a sob. Finally, he begins to cry, reaching down with his still sort of messed up claws, jostling Papyrus desperately.

"Bro?" he says, his voice strained by his tears, a sound that is unfamiliar even to his own ears. "Bro, wake up. Please."

"Nnnn, desist," Papyrus grumbles, shifting and brushing a hand at the air beside him. "I'm not your chew..."

He stills, awake enough to notice he's not in his bed, that wasn't a dog's mouth on his bones, and there's an awful sound nearby. Awake enough to remember that he shouldn't be waking up. Not because he shouldn't be alive, of course; that would be absurd, fleeting memories of dying in burning shadows aside. But because...

There were rules about sleeping, and he'd been walking back to the trailer. Hadn't he? He remembers intending to, at the least.

"I'm not asleep!" Papyrus yells, opening his eyesockets and pushing himself up quickly. He glances around for signs of witnesses to his near lapse of attention, and loses words at the sight.

There's huge gashes in the ground framed by smoldering, smoking grass. There's pits of familiar blast craters. And there's Sans, right at his shoulder, flickering with unfamiliar lights, looking rather pointier than ever. An even more unfamiliar expression on his face, too afraid to really be coming from Sans, right?

"Is that... really you, Sans?" He asks, finding his voice again. Maybe this is more of the same strange dream. Everything around them looks like it did, towards the end of it.

Edited (meant to click preview not reply. o well, just need to add an icon) 2017-01-15 01:37 (UTC)

There is still a clean crack dividing the center of his skull from the top of his nose hole, looking rather unpleasant as it had been halted right int he middle of reforming his face into a muzzle. He puts a hand over his face as if to conceal it, along with the tears, because Papyrus is a awake and yet he can't stop crying.

His clothing is torn to shreds and burned, draped over his shoulder more than he's wearing it. He should run, part of him says. He should get out of here, before Papyrus sees anymore - before he realizes, before he knows.

But he doesn't. Even as his shoulders shake, he stays there, pulling back his hand from Papyrus's shoulder when his brother moves, like he doesn't know what to do now. Like the actions are too unfamiliar to him to make any sense. Slowly, uncertainly, he moves his hand to reach for Papyrus again, and then slumps forward to embrace his brother's chest.

It could have been over. It was so close to being over.

But it's not.

It is Sans, despite the strange differences, despite the way he's crying, wordlessly, instead of making a joke and disappearing.

And so Papyrus stays in place, stays near, gently wraps an arm around his brother's shoulder when Sans leans against him. Gently, gently, because it seems like Sans is hurt, and even more, it seems like too much pressure would ruin what remains of his brother's clothes. Those burns, those tears, that smell...

"Brother..." He starts, hesitates, looks around them again. It's already hard to remember, but it was them fighting here, wasn't it? Somehow? But not, either. Shadows and a broken smile, glowing eyes and claws and open maw...

"Am I still dreaming? If I am, we need to wake me up, because. I wasn't myself! And it was... awful." There really aren't words for how awful it was, to go from being Papyrus to being some... angry yet indifferent person, who wanted to hurt and frighten Sans for the sake of hurting him.

He shivers. "And also against the rules? It was one thing under Asgore, but I really don't want to get caught breaking a rule here."

His arms, legs, and back crackle softly as they slowly reset themselves, shifting back to his normal form with broken, jagged movements. It still hurts. He's never stopped himself half way before, but now he surely knows the cost of it. Shedding his other form while its complete is usually exhausting, but refreshing physically, as the dust takes his wounds with it. This just feels like she smashed his frame apart and is trying to put it back together like a puzzle.

He's slowly becoming himself again. Maybe in more way than one. Yet, his mind lags behind, caught up in the trauma that they've both just been through. He pulls back from the embrace slowly, looking up at Papyrus with eyes that feel more naturally Sans. The wildness is ebbing away in favour of genuine sorrow in his gaze.

"You're... you're not," he explains, because it's easier to explain the facts of what happened than it is to explain the emotions. Did he experience that, through his nightmare? The idea repulses Sans on a level he can barely tolerate. Its two worlds that should never have touched again. "I killed it. The thing that had you."

He's killed a lot of nightmares this week, but none that were so personal, or so threatening. He's going to be shaken up by this one for a while.

"She doesn't have to know," he says immediately, to Papyrus worrying about the Ringmaster. If she thinks that Sans would let her hurt his brother, she has another thing coming.

The sobbing has calmed, but remaining tears are still travelling silently down his cheeks. He's so transparently hollow, right now, in a way he tries so hard not to let on. He's nothing but empty and lost.

Edited 2017-01-15 03:17 (UTC)

"Hmm," he withdraws his arm as Sans crackles like a fireplace, full of popping sounds as he shrinks and starts to look more like himself.

Did it look like that when that blast blew the shadows away? But no, no, that was over... there. Somewhere. One of those especially dark craters.

With his newly freed hand, Papyrus reaches up to his face, testing his skull where the nightmare's cracks had been. He finds nothing, but probes with his fingers for a moment or two, not quite believing it. Something about that face, that voice... Didn't he know it?

But about the Ringmaster, well. "Won't she ask about all of this?" Papyrus waves at the round battle scene. "Lying's hard enough, and she's scarier than Undyne ever wa--" Catching himself, catching that past tense that they don't admit to, he amends himself to, "than Undyne. I know, she doesn't yell. As much. But."

Without Sans rattling off irrelevant minutiae to distract from the emotions at hand, it's fallen to Papyrus to take up the task.

Mainly because it's hard to know where to start.

This is why he didn't want to share any of this. What were they supposed to do? How he could they just accept this? How could Papyrus be expected to understand that Sans wasn't the person he knew, not for intentional deception but out of lack of other options. He's never seen Sans out of that environment, just like Sans has never seen himself.

If Sans doesn't know what he is, how is Papyrus supposed to?

But then Papyrus mentioned Undyne, in the past tense, and oh so carefully manages to correct himself - and something inside of Sans breaks all over again. He laughs, even though though that isn't funny at all. He laughs with an edge of hysteria, bending forward and clutching his head, resting against his folded knees, his tail shifting listlessly behind him.

This is his fault. He did this. It's his fault.

Sudden hysterical laughter after a fight, Papyrus knows about. He remembers Undyne doing so, especially after that first spar where he showed off his coolest attacks. Laughter edged with fear, fear that the laughter's supposed to disperse... but maybe isn't able to, just yet.

But that was Undyne, and she'd grinned widely and brightly not long after. Sans just seems to be curling in on himself more miserable than before. Maybe this wasn't the best way to distract him.

"No, don't be upset! If you're fretting about my question, feel free to forget all about it! Telling the truth can't be all that bad."

There are far scarier things in the world than the carnival's leader. Things like people turning to him, chanting his name, eyes finally brightening... as they call for murder.

It's been easy to forget in these last several days, as small as the carnival grounds are, his world shrinking to a new and easy routine. But he hasn't forgotten. He can't.

He needs to stop this, he really does. Yet it's just not happening. Maybe this is what it feels like when you finally lose your mind? He'd been expecting that would happen, eventually, but...

He curls his arms around what serves as his gut, trying to pull himself up again with force if not by will. He gets about half way up, feeling dizzy with both magical exertion and with emotional distress. He should just take Papyrus up on his attempts to change the subject, to fill the space with nonsense. But... it's not happening.

He's breathless with the weight of it all when he manages to speak again, the tears having slowed, but the despair of it lingering.

"We're really fucked up, bro."

"Sans!" Papyrus bursts out, "speak for yourself!" He manages to hold on for just a beat before adding, "I think we're only significantly fucked up. Heh."

It's not funny.

He moves a little closer so Sans could brace against him, if he wanted, to help straighten the rest of the way. And he watches Sans' twitching tail, so the lack of eye contact maybe makes up for standing too near, so Sans doesn't do yet another of his rapid escapes from a situation that's getting too personal and involved.

The problem here is, his brother was right, things are different. And if the carnival has a library where he could check out a book on Reconnecting With Estranged Family, Papyrus sure hasn't found it yet. No brother filling in the tasks he overlooks... No yellow flower offering helpful tips... No captain or mentor or teacher guiding him. He's going through this with only dramatic movies to lean on.

"Do you... want to talk about it? This is the kind of emotionally cathartic scene where people make progress, talking about the things bothering them. I know, you don't like to! But you said you're different than I remember. Maybe...?"

Well, at least now he has the invitation. Maybe that will make anything that his words ruin slightly less his fault. He doesn't know. Maybe it's not anybody's fault, anymore.

He's too scared to look for physical support from Papyrus, feeling the irrational worry that he doesn't deserve it or that he might just be dropped because of something he says or does. He straightens a little more, on his own. In the place of panic, his look is becoming increasingly resigned. He just keeps telling himself that he can't stop now. If he stops, then he'll have to start all over later.

"That part hasn't changed much," he admits, with a quiet note of humour. It's hard. "But..." He tail curls itself up at his side, tense like his whole body is tense, filled with apprehension. "The... The truth?"

What an ugly concept.

"It's about a lot more than just stuff that's happened since I got here. I... I'm kind of a serial fibber, you know that right? I always kind of thought that... maybe you knew..."

"You are a master of deflection," Papyrus agrees, wondering just what the tail's changing motions mean. It's a lot more mobile than his brother's mouth, that's for sure. And if it's a secret bony barometer for Sans' mood, then that's very convenient.

...But doesn't that mean there's a risk Papyrus will get something terribly embarrassing or awkward, someday? Better not think about that too much.

"For years, you've plagued my every attempt to make you do things, or tell me things, with your awful jokes, and your fake obtuseness! Believe me, I've cottoned on to your mendacious habits, brother." He rocks back and forth on his feet, and admits, "but that doesn't mean I necessarily... have much idea what the true things are. Exactly."

Would it be tacky to summon some bones and spell out the words HINT HINT at this point? As an expert in standing in place for hours if need be, Papyrus will not be the one to end this conversation by leaving. He'll stay right here, by his brother's side... and conveniently avoid being alone, and asleep, again.

So, pretty much what Sans expected. It doesn't really make things easier, though, when Sans barely knows where to start. At least he doesn't feel like he could get much lower, at the moment, with tears on his face, his soul aching, and his clothing still torn to shreds.

"I used to tell you things. Sort of," he says, the words feeling clumsy and out of touch. "But no one ever remembered, so... didn't seem like much point in bothering... when it was just gunna happen again."

Which makes no sense out of context but he still doesn't really know how to explain.

"...Something really bad has been happening back home. More'n just the... the human. And what they did." AKA all those murders he lied about. "Something that no one could give me help with, so I stopped trying to ask for it."

When his brother is right, he's right; 'vacations' and secret paperwork aside, Papyrus doesn't know what Sans is referring to, which sure implies that he doesn't remember it. Though what kind of thing Papyrus could forget, that Sans would consider his responsibility to deal with... He has no idea.

Papyrus occasionally quickly glances at Sans' face, but it hurts to see him with those slowly drying trails on his cheekbones. Better to focus on the top of his skull, or that tensely curled tail, or those strange toes. And hope they don't suddenly disappear, when he makes his very important and valid objection.

"When I remember something but nobody else does... it's because I dreamed it."

Case in point, that nightmare. That cracked reflection of an old bad dream, those feelings of being forgotten and abandoned... But, Papyrus's fingers test and confirm again, his face is still as uncracked and handsome as ever. He shivers and hastens to add, "That's why I see no point in sleeping much! Why accomplish things in dreams... when I could accomplish them for real? But, you nap a lot, you're basically a master of napping, too. So maybe you can tell the difference more easily than me."

Despite Papyrus's attempted leniency in his suggestion, Sans immediately goes tense, his body curled and defensive.

"I didn't dream it," he snaps, like it's an argument he's had a million times and he just refuses to deal with it anymore. He looks away from Papyrus then, real frustration showing in his eyes with a harsh brightness. The flash of anger surprises even him - especially when he can't really remember being angry at Papyrus for at least a solid decade.

He knows it isn't fair, that it's out of place, and that reality immediately just makes him feel ashamed of himself. This isn't Papyrus's fault. It's never been his fault. He tries to force the hurt down, staring at the ground, his expression softening as his immediate remorse settles in.

"...I used to wonder," he adds, hoping to soften the response a little. "But... it wasn't a dream. I have proof of that now."

That much is invaluable to him, for all the pain it's brought him.

Papyrus jumps at the snapping, startled in a way that even a surprise headlock wouldn't have caused.

Admittedly, things had been getting a little more tense between them the last year. Papyrus, busy with the duties of kingship, of being present in the lives of all the people, encouraging them and pushing them to keep going. Sans, busy with his paperwork and organizing and behind-the-scenes work. Less time, broken routines, and those easy, comforting falsehoods about Sans told and Papyrus went along with them partly because Sans was, for once, working hard...

But even in their busiest, he can't remember Sans ever speaking so sharply. Almost speaking over him, instead of in the silences between Papyrus' words.

"There you have it, then! You know better and you can prove it to somebody else," Papyrus commends him, as there's two things anybody ever wants to hear: what they're hoping is true, or the actual truth. And right now it seems like both of those things are the same.

He considers what Sans has said so far. Something bad back home, that no one else recognized or could help with. Telling Papyrus about it, only for him to, somehow!, forget about it. Memory loss is a pretty bad thing. That could only mean...

"Is the bad thing back home a contagious short-term amnesia??"

Some of the tension is broken when Sans compulsively snorts at that, a bit of his usual humour returning. He can't look at Papyrus right now, but most of the angry defensiveness has drained away. He's still surprised that it came on so rapidly.

"Sorta," he admits, folding his arms over his knees. Obviously not totally, but... practically speaking. "Maybe if... instead of just wiping out memories, it wiped out everything else, too."

He's being needlessly opaque about the point, and he knows it. He doesn't really want to tell Papyrus this, so maybe if he just... softens the blow, it will be better. Imply some thing, but not get into the gruesome details.

"Oh no!" Sometimes being so insightful and right is a burden, he hadn't truly wanted to be right about it. At least it's probably not still happening. Papyrus thinks he remembers everything that's happened since making his deal with the ringmaster and working here.

Well. Except for the fine details of that nap, and fight, just now. But even that's not entirely gone.

Their conversation goes quiet for a moment as he considers, and Sans dithers, and it becomes obvious that Papyrus will need to prod for more information if anything is going to happen here. Which is nothing new! The new thing is that Sans hasn't distracted him with terrible jokes yet. Maybe there really is something to these changes that those notes ominously hinted at.

"But, what else is there than memories...? Feelings? It didn't wipe us out, obviously, we're still here!" It's almost too obvious to bother saying, but sometimes you have to start with the basics.

Well, they sort of are. Past iterations of them... maybe not so much. Wasn't Papyrus being king already in the past so far as his consecutive timelines are concerned? He really hates to think about it.

He considers how he's going to answer that question for a while. The pressure to say it right is heavy. Eventually, he raises a claw to tiredly gesture out pictures (faint lines in the air) to illustrate his point.

"Imagine if... you go could back in time," he says, slowly. "Whenever something didn't go your way, whenever you did something you regret... you could just go back and make it so it didn't happen. So you could try again. Hours, weeks, years. It didn't matter."

"Now... think about what happens to everyone else. When you go back in time... what happens to the people who are being rewound?"

The same person, but slightly different. Like building snow sculptures displaying his own greatness, building fresh ones when the old got messed up by magical wind and playing teens and whatnot. IT'S ONE OF HIS BETTER LUMPS, he'd said to the human once upon a time.

"They'd still... exist? They would just be young--errr," Papyrus cuts himself off, glancing sidelong at his brother. "Hmmm. That's tricky."

Minutes or hours, that was one thing. Not much happened in that kind of time. Well. Not much besides keeping houses from burning down, or saving a friend's life... But.

"Months or -years-... That's long enough for people to not even be born."

"...Yeah."

He says it after a long pause, looking distant. Papyrus hadn't quite gotten what he was alluding to, but that's fine. Maybe he did and he just hasn't voiced it yet. Either way...

"What I mean to say was... they forget."

He's staring at the ground between them, solemn and quiet despite the grin still fixed on his face. In some ways it's been longer than just there years since him and Papyrus really spoke.

"Like I did!" he exclaims, triumphant at having connected the dots. "You knew, but you couldn't prove it! So you couldn't get anybody to help make it stop!"

The way Sans isn't looking at him, is insisting that things were really messed up between them, that they were fucked up. The connections between the dots start to sink in. They forget. Used to tell you things. As though Sans was an exception to th rewind amnesia.

...That would explain a lot. A whole lot. As much as Papyrus enjoyed doing the same things day after day, comforting routines with the promise of accomplishment, it felt awful when he didn't believe he'd get the chance to do something else someday. Encouraging the people to keep going, when there were so few signs of progress... It got difficult. Difficult enough to take the chance to run away to a carnival for a few hours, difficult enough that he'd agreed to work a year in hopes of freeing them without anybody doing anything awful.

And, well, it's Sans. So prone to giving up. This last year... Papyrus' last year, the amount Sans had been doing and trying had truly amazed him. Normally his brother would have gone back to his slacking sooner or later, but he hadn't.

Though, come to think of it, Sans hadn't always avoided work to the same degree, had he? Years and years ago... He'd been brighter and interested in things, curious and hopeful.

...And Papyrus couldn't remember when that changed. Which was more than a little bit ominous when they were talking about people forgetting things.

"Ummm. How long have we... have I... been... forgetting things?"

Sans is becoming reluctant again, at that question. He runs his hand over his skull, scratching the surface with his claws slightly as he tries to figure out how to quantify it.

"Eh... hard to say..."

The truth is that Papyrus had been forgetting things for a while before that already - or one particular thing anyway - but there was nothing to be done about that. Maybe it wasn't relevant? He's not sure, but he doesn't want to talk about it right now.

"I didn't always remember everything myself, just... bits and pieces. Enough to understand." His expression flinches, for just a moment, with something like the memory of pain. "But... when I found the carnival, I asked to know more as part of my contract. It worked but... it's a lot."

"'A lot,' huh," He nudges a foot into one of the gashes in the ground, one probably left by a wayward bone.

A lot is, in at least two ways, not the answer he wants to hear. It means this has been going on maybe longer than he can imagine. It means who even knows what Sans remembers anymore, and no wonder he's being so weird and distant, and saying that he isn't who Papyrus remembers. A lot can change in a year, let alone... however long this was.

But they're finally talking again, so he makes himself keep thinking about what to ask, instead of yelling whatever first comes to mind.

And, admittedly, it's probably hard for Sans to describe how much time has rewound. How would you? The total amount of time lost? The total number of times things went back to an earlier state? Listing both out, and letting him guess how long the longest amount of lost time was? Figuring out all of that would be boring and awful. He couldn't blame Sans for avoiding figuring that out, when it's so much worse than other things Sans avoids.

"No, nevermind that. I can guess the answer, and it's 'too much,'" Papyrus offers. He stops poking the ground and sits next to his brother, instead.

It occurs to him that, if Sans could ask for all those memories with a contract, so could Papyrus. That if he ever really wants to know, he could just do the same thing; stay another year, ask another favor. The Great Papyrus could withstand it.

But there were more important favors to ask, first. Finding a way to make the rewinding stop, so everybody would go free and stay free. And... And, first, maybe...?

He drums his fingers on his knee, unable to quite keep still with a sudden exciting idea.

"Sans! Do, do you remember... the furthest things go back to? Is there any chance that things will go back to... when Undyne, and, Asgore, and. Everybody. Were still... around?!"

Edited 2017-01-29 19:02 (UTC)

Sans shudders at that question, and knows that he doesn't want to answer it seriously. He hates how transparent it feels now. Like both of them know that something is wrong, but that he still had the audacity to lie about it. His fingers clutch around his opposite arm uncomfortably.

"It... yeah," he barely manages, still shivering slightly, causing his bones to rattle ever so faintly. "Way before the human. Before... all of that."

Of course that's what Papyrus is still worried about. He's believed until now that those people were irreversibly gone. Everyone was gone in the freshest of his memories, too, but... for the longest time, it's felt as if everyone is both alive and dead simultaneously. Schrodinger's Friend Circle, or something.

"It was always centered around one person. It used to be someone else, but then... when that human showed up... the first one. It was them. Always them. Sometimes... lots of people got hurt. Others... not so much."

Except him. Sans was always still around for some reason. Someone has to ruin their fun. Or maybe he was just a coward.

Papyrus positively slouches with relief at Sans' first answer, at the news that Undyne's really not gone forever. Mettaton, and Alphys, and Asgore, they're all cause for gladness too, but especially his boss, his friend.

His relief fades back a little as the answer goes on. There's lots of subtle social signals that Papyrus sometimes misses, but not something as fundamental as the rattling of an nervous or unhappy skeleton.

Sans seems miserable, and no wonder.

"The human, the one I was friends with, hurt lots of people? Not just... the ones trying to hurt them?"

It was one thing, to think that maybe they'd had something to do with Undyne, and Mettaton, and Asgore disappearing. All three of them had... been really vocal, really clear, about what they meant to do with a human.

But he doesn't remember Doctor Alphys meaning to do anything awful to them. Indeed, he remembers that she'd been just like him, giving them advice and help! Lots of messages on Undernet, all about guiding them through the puzzles of Hotland! So why would they have ever hurt her...?

Sans honestly doesn't get it either. Over time he'd come to expect that the anomaly was searching for something - some kind of reaction from him, or the others, that they never quite got. But if Sans knew the answer to that, maybe it could have stopped a long time ago.

"Yeah," he says again, obviously reluctant. "Sometimes. Other times... I almost thought..." He trails off, a rare moment of looking as small and damaged as he feels. It's stupid, how he remembers feeling somehow betrayed when they made the wrong choices, like he knew they were capable of doing better. But yet...

"Sometimes they played nice. Sometimes they almost seemed like... a friend? Just maybe one that was scared, and got pushed around by the wrong guys. One that made some mistakes. But..."

He looks down at his hands for a few moments, thinking about it.

"...The last one I remember living..."

He trails off. After long moments of failing to say it, he just shakes his head ruefully, staring at the ground. He doesn't know if Papyrus realizes that he was potentially on that hit list, but Sans doesn't have the heart to tell him.

After a surprisingly long silence, Papyrus decides to fill in the gap for his brother. The answer seems obvious enough.

"The last one... Was the same one as me! Because, I'm here! And I don't plan to go home, until we find a way to fix everything..."

He hesitates. If the obvious answer were the true one, though, would Sans have trailed off so strangely? Wouldn't he have moved on to some other point? He pushes on.

"Otherwise -- this is too much like a comic book, I can't believe I'm saying this -- otherwise, there'd be another -you- back home! Or, another me??"

How unsettling. To go back home, time rewound so everybody's alive again, the barrier broken so they can live freely on the surface, his story told so he can be popular and respected without bearing the responsibility of their hope... Only for there to be another Papyrus around?

Sans actually chuckles, very softly, at Papyrus's apparent distress. It breaks him away from the depressing reality he was just thinking about, and only a subject much more abstract and complicated to explain. He'd wonder about this problem, too, if it hasn't already been explained to him over the years.

"Nah, it doesn't work quite like that," he says, his tail loosening from its bundle. "Though... how it actually does work may be something we have to see for ourselves." He's been researching it for a while, and he's not quite sure, even now. "From what I've gathered, our timeline is in a state of temporal flux up until all of its pieces get put back in... meaning folks like you and me. Once we go back, or commit to not going back..."

He gestures vaguely.

"Doesn't matter where we got pulled out, the timeline is going to try to balance itself so things make sense. I've been told to anticipate it being pretty confusing."

"Wow, I don't understand all of that," Papyrus admits after a moment of knee drumming. "I'm not in two places at once. That's good news. But..."

Commit to not going back? Not at all an option. But, if something happened to them, while they were out here. If they died...

"If we don't get back home, it'll be like we just disappeared...? With no hints how or why?"

How terrible. At least he'd had Sans to tell him something, unlike how most people had avoided the names of those who'd disappeared. If both of them never returned... Undyne would never find out what happened to her best and brightest recruit. Sans' many acquaintances would miss his horrible humor. And unless one of them chanced into the carnival...

Sans falls quiet for a few moments. There's really no good answer to that, or ways to mitigate how uncomfortable that might be to think about. Eventually, he shrugs his shoulders weakly.

"Yeah. I guess so," he says. He looks down, taking a bit of a darker turn, but mostly it's just sad. "Not too unusual, though. Back home."

It takes Papyrus a few seconds to speak, which is nearly an eternity.

"That all. Seems plenty unusual to me. People don't just disappear," Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, Asgore. He corrects himself, "usually. There's hints."

They're being honest. Relatively honest. Honest enough. He might as well fess up.

"...I knew something was wrong, about Undyne and the others leaving. Everyone was... too sad."

They were never on vacation. But if time kept rewinding, keeps rewinding, it's like they're not really dead, either. So the polite not-quite-truth, in that case.

"I never guessed the rest of this. All these secrets, these things you couldn't say before. Are these things why you've been... avoiding me?"

"...Yeah," he says after a pause, thinking over that question. "I guess they are."

There's more to it than that, and he wants to explain, but it's difficult. Explaining why he does the things he does is one of the worst aspects of fessing up, because it means relating it to what he's thinking, and what he's been going through. Uncomfortable facts about time travel are much more distant.

"There was... never any point in gettin' into it, back home. With the way things were. I... I lied about what happened. Because... it was sort of true. In its way. They were going to come back, eventually. I just didn't... there wasn't any point. In making it worse."

He hadn't wanted to deal with it, and from the way Papyrus and him had always dealt with conflict he'd expected Papyrus wouldn't want to deal with it either. It was just so convenient to avoid.

"But after being here, away from all that... after remembering everything I did... I didn't know how to... talk about it. I didn't want to tell you, until it was fixed." He looks away. "That's what I've been tryin' t'do."

Papyrus shakes his head. This mix of vindication at guessing right, and being blown away by surprising reveals... It's all a bit difficult to keep track of. Especially for what, a half hour conversation? It almost feels like he's still dreaming.

"That's very noble and selfless. But also... a little bit silly?" Is there a more pleasant way to say that? The last thing he'd normally want to do is get on his brother's case for actually working hard. But if the work is making him lovely and miserable, what's the point? "Following my example to work hard is very flattering! But there isn't any point making this worse either. Two people can get the job done in half the time!"

He considers, tapping his chin, then clarifies, "well, maybe not half the time. I don't know much about this time stuff. So my help isn't a full share yet."

And there you have it. It's something Sans had known, in a way, all along but didn't want to face - if he shared this burden, he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. At the cost of Papyrus's ease of mind, maybe, but... if the other option was breaking down and avoiding his presence, what choice does he have? Heh.

"What can I say," he says, a bit of life coming back to him as the relief of this admission slowly takes effect. "I'm a silly kind of guy."

He'll take it, though. He has to remember - this time around things can be different.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[CLOSED] A COUPLE OF BONEHEADS

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OKAY FUCK LETS DO THIS FOR REAL

LET'S GET THIS PARTY EVEN MORE STARTED

HAVE A FUCKING NOVEL

READ YOUR OWN OBITUARY

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