"You'd rather eat with your own hands?" Papyrus asks, nodding slowly as he puts the tray down on the bed. "That's fair enough, I would too."

He rests a hand on his brother's shoulder, considering the remarkably tight blanket. There's no sign of it being tied after all, no point where it's been snugly sewn into place... It's like it was woven into existence around him, too tight below the arms and above the shoulders to be pulled off in any direction. So the only way to remove it would be, to tear it? At which point, his brother would be entirely free, and...

"Wait a minute." Reality catches up, and Papyrus yoinks his hand back. "You said, you want to go back! Where, you'll get hurt you even more?"

Even as he says that, starting to reject the request, his expression gets pained and conflicted, and he looks around them again. It's hard to fathom whatever's going on inside his brother, but some of it's clear. Tied up and trapped in a small space... Unable to read, or talk on the radio, or indulge any hobbies... Those scratches on the wall, remarkably like footprints dragged out in some unhappy emotion... No wonder he feels so helpless. Nobody's done much to help him not.

"Helping you do that isn't help. I'm not aiding, or abetting, your... it's not self-destruction, but..."