"For as long as he's been gone," Sans says, his body filled with tension, anger and sorrow build up and sitting on the edge as if any movement could cause it to tip over. It's only now that Papyrus has put it all together. So much of his life, so much of everything wrong with him, all ties back to this.

"And it's the kind of gone that's never coming back," he snarls softly, though his socket seems a little bit watery too. "Believe me! I tried." He laughs hollowly, with a shudder. "Some mistakes there's no fixing, and I should have known that from the start."

Suddenly, this stops being satisfying. Now that it's out, he's so disgusted by all of it that he can't bear to have it weighing on his mind, as if its still relevant. He bears his fangs more widely.

"And while I'm at it - you know who else should make themselves gone? You. I'm done here."

And then he disappears.