Sans the Skeleton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
osteothropy) wrote2016-10-13 11:06 pm
osteothropy) wrote2016-10-13 11:06 pm
IC CONTACT
DESCRIPTION: Sans will frequently ignore messages about stuff he doesn't want to deal with, but the second something of importance comes up on the channel he will appear as if he's been listening intently all along.
DESCRIPTION: There is a skeleton statue next to his trailer door with an extended, bowl-like lower jaw, that looks like it's meant for putting Halloween candy in. He would like it if you did. It's technically his mailbox, though, so mail is probably fine, too.
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I deserve it.
[ Because Frisk had saved the world, taught him the meaning of love in his heart again-- specifically from Sans and Papyrus as well while they were trapped in there, that simple 'nah, I'm rooting for ya, kid'. Sans had the most doubt. 'Why even try?' This was the last person who would have ever believed him. It meant nothing to him to stay away from Papyrus' trailer, he was a flower, he could find anywhere he wanted.
He had hoped... Frisk's miracle could influence his own, but that simply wasn't the truth. Frisk had given a miracle to Flowey and Asriel, not the other way around. Therefore, these objects of his torture have no reason to forgive him. To believe he's just a child underneath. To believe a child would go to such lengths.
He starts to cry again, same as when Papyrus saw them, and of course, they might look like crocodile tears to Sans. ]
I'll stay out of his trailer.
I'll stay away from you.
I'll--
[ * Ｆｌｏｗｅｙ ｒａｎ ａｗａｙ. ]
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But... Sans doesn't even acknowledge the question, barely acknowledges that Flowey's said anything at all. He flashes magic of fearful aggression, tightens his grip all protective, and warns Flowey to stay away. Even that tail's grasp tightens, frankly painfully so, as Flowey... complies, with a really pained look on his face.
Papyrus takes a slow, for-show breath, and drags a hand down his face. A frustrated sound escapes his mouth.]
Oh my god...
[If he were the sort of skeleton to dwell in regrets, he'd probably be thinking... why didn't he talk with Flowey some more? Explain the situation better? Insist that he go over and talk in person?
And... okay, while he might not be the sort of skeleton to dwell on those things, he can practically hear Sistina saying these things. On some level, he is thinking that. But he can't go through life like that, thinking if he just changed this choice or that he could control what others do. All he can do is his own very best, and encourage others to do the same! Their choices are their own! With occasional, gentle nudges!!
Which... really leaves the question, just what is Sans thinking? Chasing away his friend without so much as an 'excuse me', threatening to hurt - or worse - that same friend... and isn't it Sans' job to stop carnival folks from breaking the Ringmasters rules? The rules like, no attacking each other??? Maybe they should have talked more.
...Nothing stopping them from talking a little more now. And he really can't just let this happen, it's unfair to all of them.]
Brother... what are you doing?
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Sans manages to collect himself enough to stand, finally loosening his hold on Papyrus's leg with a few suction cup popping sounds. He pulls back, and will let go of Papyrus's arm... provided that Papyrus is willing to let go of him in return.]
I... I told you what he did.
[He still looks threatened, but also confused, like he can't rationalize what's going on right now.]
I thought you believed me...
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A thorny question fraught with fear, and doubt, and being alone too long... Papyrus relaxes his grip, but doesn't quite let go. He's still here for you, brother, and as confidently as he can, he says:]
I do. I really do. I just...
[It's hard to look at Sans' face, saying this, and Papyrus studies his feet instead. Squeezes his toes tight together, dragging marks in the soil.]
I want to believe both of you. He admitted, before I called you, that he did terrible things! It isn't as though he denied it. But, if he wants to be a better person... How could I refuse to let him?
[It's not just his usual, naive-sounding optimism. Largely that, and could easily come across as that... but he's pleading a little bit, too. He's projecting, a little bit, at the notion of someone who messed up, wanting to change.]
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You... don't have to forgive someone to let them get better. You're not stopping them by just existing, you... we... we don't owe him anything! He doesn't have to do this while rubbin' it in the faces of the people he hurt.
[He's talking about Papyrus to some degree, but Papyrus isn't the only one projecting. It's easier to talk like he's concerned primarily for someone else's safety, even though he knows it's Papyrus's right to choose, and to decide what matters to him. His own fear of being hurt is very present now, and so much harder to express.
After all, he's the one that remembers the pain.]
It doesn't matter if he's lying or not, you don't have to be involved in this. Not when he's fucked us over more times than... than I can even remember.
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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.]
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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.
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[Papyrus feels his face fall, as something drops in his rib cage. That tone of voice... it's not much different than how Sans sounded, talking about their father. That feeling... Papyrus can imagine the worrying, the bursts of self-recrimination, the wanting to do anything to protect him... the grieving regret.]
Right, I... died on you, before. I try not to think about that...
[Because, it's like it's not real. For all of Sans' distance and grief, Papyrus can't remember it. How can he be personally impacted by what is, effectively, a sad story? Plausible enough, he willingly believes in it.
It's kind of nice, especially right now, to know he hasn't changed much. That he's able to make similar-looking kinds of choices now, as he did back then. And it's a fun anecdote to briefly share on the radio, a curiosity to wonder at - what was dying like, anyway? - but the notion of time passing where he was just dead, for a long time... it's awful to imagine.]
But, I shouldn't forget how it's affected you. I'm truly sorry to have died! I'm... sure I never meant to.
[He understands that people... might choose that, out of desperate pain and the need to escape. Even people he knows, if not well, talk sometimes about... things like that. Moreso online, in sudden dark jokes. (Which reminds him, he really should spend more time with Doctor Alphys.)
But knowing isn't understanding, and if Papyrus had a friend who seemed to keep putting themself in harm's way, he might just start to... wonder, and worry. So, just in case Sans has been worrying something of the sort, that's a clear and easy reassurance to give. For the rest...]
Any more than I mean to now... So, maybe that isn't reassuring.
But... unlike back then... I'm well aware of the risks, and I've taken steps to avert any chance of dying.
[His voice lightens, brightens, gains in confidence. Somewhat forced, because pain and loss and uncertainty are still real things, surely no amount of dying and reviving would erase them... but he needs Sans to take heart from his confidence. Not to shrink away like this, especially not so soon after they got him back.]
A-after all, I can't abandon my responsibility, or leave you alone! So I talked to the Ringmaster already. You know the thing that the man Gongenzaka went through, the egg thing?
No matter if Flowey rediscovers a 'murdery' feeling, I will... be okay.
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Maybe Sans never should have learned the rest of the story. Maybe he should start thinking about trying to forget.
But there's at least one thing they have in common, that Sans can find some hope in. He looks visibly surprised by Papyrus mentioning that he's also worked out a deal to restore his life, if need be.]
...Oh.
[It does encourage him, actually, as absurd of an idea as it seems. It's a bit like the stable certainty of knowing that seeing someone die will not by the last time, without the futility of returning to square one. Not that its a mistake he really wants to see the aftermath of, regardless.]
I, uh... I did something similar. [That is, the exact same thing.] I didn't really... tell anyone about it. But... you should know. Then.
...But.
[He says it, but doesn't know how to finish. Like, maybe he could say how getting revived wouldn't make that okay or an acceptable risk, for the sake of a creature like Flowey. There's no point, though. He looks at the ground, off to the side.]
...I dunno how to end conversations like this without just... going somewhere else.
[It doesn't feel fully resolved, but he's not exactly angry, either. He's never going to be satisfied. So, what does he do?]
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[Confused, disappointed. Because that's the only reason he can think of, for ending the conversation right now, just like this. He doesn't want to, not yet knowing Sans believes in him, in his judgement. That he won't feel hurt, when Papyrus invites Flowey back to the trailer. That he's...
That he's going to be okay, eventually. That he knows Papyrus believes in him. After all, anything that applied to Flowey, about wanting to believe in him and support him, surely applies at least as much to Sans.
But... maybe he can't say any of those things, and silently leaving is the most honest thing he could do.
Papyrus nods slowly. If that's the case, then, well, it's better than lying reassuringly to his face. Even if it's hard to feel that it is, right this moment, longer-term the practice at honesty is better.]
It's fine if you want to! This... These are difficult topics to traverse.
[Difficult for both of them. Maybe they could just do this in... little pieces.]
We could end it like, a more ordinary conversation. Go to the mess hall, get a glass of milk, something to eat! Do something... normal.
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I just dunno what to say. I know... this is how you feel. But I can't. I don't think I can feel that way right now. Maybe I don't know how anymore.
[He can't manage to make eye contact while he says it, because it if him feels lacking in all of the traits that he finds himself holding dear. That kindness is one of the things he is in constant awe of, with his brother. How could he keep up arguing against it, even while it hurt?]
But...
[His voice gets tighter and lower, like he's struggling to make himself speak at all.]
I don't wanna... go back. To how it was. Running away and making excuses. So... If that's somewhere we can go. Getting milk or whatever.
Then ok.
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[Papyrus nods, quick and sharp, and easily enough reassures:]
You can get a glass of milk with me anytime!
[It's probably best that Sans drink it, too. All that sickness and injury... the calcium would surely do him good.
But before they do this, before they leave this place and this conversation behind, with Sans so visibly discouraged... There's one more thing he needs to say. Even through Sans' choked-up voice, that he can already tell is contagious... that he's sure is part of why they never talk about these things, always retreating to jokes and evasions and bantering arguments.
They're so... different, about what they struggle with, that it's hard to know what to say.]
And... take the rest of it a little bit at a time. I believe in your potential! It may take a long time, for it's surely painful and difficult, but, that's okay. Just... take it easy, easy enough, for you to keep going, in some direction or another, besides back. Okay?
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He's quiet for few moments, his arms wrapped around his chest. Until, finally...]
I'm gunna. I mean. That's... what I'm going for. So... yeah.
[He pauses, and then tries to sound a bit more positive and decisive as he adds:]
Thanks.