"I dunno. He might just be tired." Greg himself isn't doing a lot better, unable to really register the Zebra and her rhyming as especially strange. He sets Sans down on one cot, all but collapsed on the other, and then hisses in discomfort from moving so carelessly.

"I'm not used to--there were nightmares, like, monsters." With adrenaline fading, everything in the last fifteen minutes has mushed into a big, terrifying, pretty rad blur. "He stopped them."