[Papyrus' hand lifts off his brother's shoulder, drops to his side. It's strange, he feels... bitter about it. Envious, knowing the others remember these things. He's idly thought before about whether it would help Sans for him to remember, but right now... he just wants that memory for himself. Strange and unlike the pleasant Papyrus he chooses to be.]
It's no matter of me owing him anything. If anything... he owes me? But that's not the point! Owing has nothing to do with it, I just want to. To... see him doing well, being the best him he can be...
[He remembers being human, knowing he's screwed up and and envying his skeleton self's innocent helpfulness. The wistful notion of being someone who'd never hurt anybody, never killed anybody, and certainly never would choose to.
If he had a throat, there'd be a lump in it. He settles for rubbing his hands on his upper arms as if he's cold.]
Knowing that he knows someone believes in him... That's what I want, and what I want to do. I'm not asking you to! And, and, even if he did anything... I'll be okay. He can't kill me, or really hurt me.
[Carelessly spewed insults are nothing, and tiny bits of deja vu aren't hurt, not like Sans is hurt. Or like Flowey seems hurt. He's physically well, emotionally... getting by, and secure in his side agreement with the Ringmaster. Even should something disastrous and lethal should happen... he'd be okay again, after a while.]
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[Papyrus' hand lifts off his brother's shoulder, drops to his side. It's strange, he feels... bitter about it. Envious, knowing the others remember these things. He's idly thought before about whether it would help Sans for him to remember, but right now... he just wants that memory for himself. Strange and unlike the pleasant Papyrus he chooses to be.]
It's no matter of me owing him anything. If anything... he owes me? But that's not the point! Owing has nothing to do with it, I just want to. To... see him doing well, being the best him he can be...
[He remembers being human, knowing he's screwed up and and envying his skeleton self's innocent helpfulness. The wistful notion of being someone who'd never hurt anybody, never killed anybody, and certainly never would choose to.
If he had a throat, there'd be a lump in it. He settles for rubbing his hands on his upper arms as if he's cold.]
Knowing that he knows someone believes in him... That's what I want, and what I want to do. I'm not asking you to! And, and, even if he did anything... I'll be okay. He can't kill me, or really hurt me.
[Carelessly spewed insults are nothing, and tiny bits of deja vu aren't hurt, not like Sans is hurt. Or like Flowey seems hurt. He's physically well, emotionally... getting by, and secure in his side agreement with the Ringmaster. Even should something disastrous and lethal should happen... he'd be okay again, after a while.]