His feelings on sleep have turned around a lot, lately, thanks to Sans. He's gone from hatred to conflicted to begrudgingly grateful; they're a lesser evil. A lesser, necessary evil. Merciful, compared to other things. But sleep's merely a mechanism for delivering dreams where the dreamer won't hurt themselves, walking around and making mistakes. Blissful ignorance.

Something he doesn't get to have anymore, anymore than he gets to go without that look on his brother's face. He doesn't want to do this. He isn't even sure, yet, what he's going to do. Hurt him, obviously. Kill him...

"What else am I supposed to do, walk away?" Papyrus asks, defensive and irritated about it, and he spreads an arm to encompass their dim and nearly featureless surroundings. It's just them, and the dust slowly spreading.

His fine control with his bullets would let him fling ordinary bones at his brother without hurting him as much as he pleased... but does that extend to these powers, which he's still figuring out? Oh, he really doesn't want to have that extra pain weighing on him through the end of things. He wants to go back to the penthouse, laughing and plotting with Carly.

"Y-You brought us here. Give me an out, if you want to stick around hurting for the rest of time."