[And, somehow, Sans has no comprehension of Papyrus's guilt. The things don't connect in his mind - two different worlds, too far apart for him to compare. His own angelic experience feels closer to his soul, but how Papyrus had been in Portland? It doesn't feel real, and his resentment for everything that Papyrus had been there had died with the barrier trapping them.

After all, it couldn't be Papyrus's fault that he'd been dealt a bum hand. If anything, it only proved his goodness, by showing that he actively chose to be the person that he is. It wasn't like goodness came to him anymore easily than anyone else, right?

It's hard not to see it that way, even after everything that happened as a result of warlock Papyrus's choices. Sans doesn't want to see it any differently, and so he doesn't.

This doesn't seem right. He doesn't know why Papyrus feels this way, besides the naivety he's boasted in the past. Maybe he's spent too long trying to hope for the hopeless, and he doesn't know how to be any other way. San doesn't know.

He does know that he can't actually tell Papyrus what to do, though. He can sneak around, he can watch him from the sidelines, he can make threats to the people that would hurt him. But he can't stop Papyrus from making his own decisions. He never could.

He watches Papyrus's hand as he pulls it away, and then looks at the ground. His tail curls away, slipping around his own feet instead. He hugs his body with his arms.]

I don't get it.

[His voice is quiet and defeated. He isn't going to fight this any more than he already has, and so now he speaks with what is practically a tone of mourning.]

This is exactly how you died... the last timeline I lived. The one I remember the best. You wouldn't quit with that kid. Until they killed you. Almost every time, it happened that way.

So... I stopped trying to stop it.