video; what's gonna be left of the world if you're not in it

[skelebro]

[Sans has something in his hands. It's a bolt of fabric that he runs between his metacarpals with a distant, unfocused precision, something to idly turn between his phalanges as he speaks. Might take a moment to realize that the backdrop to his video ain't the typical one. It's not his room he's sitting in, after all. He's reclining atop a racecar bed. The sheets are perfectly made, as though the owner were planning on returning at some point. On the bedside table, there's a small stack of belongings that clash rather astutely with the layout of the place. A snowglobe, a binder, an ECHOcomm, and at the very far right of the frame, a folded-up sweater vest.

He dropped in to visit some pals of his, you see. Only to find they ain't around anymore.]

For those of you who knew 'em, seems the docs've gone home. You know the ones. Newt and Hermann. [A pause.] Dr. Gottlieb.

[Being a pain in the coccyx suddenly gets to be less funny when there ain't anybody to yell at you about it, huh?]

Hope it's home they went, and not, uh...wherever it was before they got here. Yao know what I'm talkin' about.

[He folds up the cloth in his hands and stands up, grinning at the camera without a lick of despair. Maybe there's somethin' a bit tired to the whole facade, but who can say? He's always tired.]

I hate to tell ya, but it looks like my bro might'a been the guy to slack off for once. Funny, right? Takin' that hard-earned title from yours truly. Here I thought I was supposed to be the guy who nips off without a word.

[Those with sharp eyes might pick up that the cloth ain't just any old thing. It's Papyrus's sash delineating him as an official member of the City Guard - twice torn, twice mended, and now without an owner. Like hell Sans is cut out to wear a thing like this.]

'Pologies to the Guard. Looks like you're one member short. 'Fraid I can't help ya there either; Papyrus, he's got some big shoes to fill.

[He winks at the lens before reaching for the communicator and then, almost as an afterthought, adds:]

Someone ought'a take care of the lab the docs built. Lotta their stuff's still in there, too, and lyin' around my place. Figure it should go to the people who knew 'em best.

[Y'know, whoever that is. But you all know who you are, don't ya?

Yeah. He'd think so.

He cuts the feed.]

Comments

[skelebro]

[Hell of a fun conversation to be havin', ain't it? Plenty of jokes to share until...well, until things go south. As they inevitably do. As they will have to, 'cause if he knows one thing about kids with too much determination for their own good, it takes more than a politely worded conversation to sway 'em from where they're headed.

But maybe that's just him. He's tired. Too bone tired to touch that just now.]

Thanks, kid.

[With any luck, neither Asriel nor Frisk will question why there's a skeleton crashed out on the couch. They'll just accept it without question.

He'll end up there in a matter of minutes anyway.

Somethin' about this place is - better. Better than a too-empty house, bereft of Papyrus. At least for now.]

[somuchlove]

[One would consider putting things off, after everything that happened, to be dangerous. That event had allowed almost every single secret that they all sat on top of explode in their faces and in the worst ways possible. And Sans is right in thinking that it'll take more than a few nice words to stop Chara and Frisk from taking his double's advice. Chara's own had said it after all. Nice words do nothing.

But for now...every single one of them was going to need some sleep.]

I will be in the kitchen if you need me.

[He probably won't, unless the Gods decide that couches suddenly eat skeletons. But Sans can rest easy here before resuming his walk. This place was not better by any stretch of the imagination.

But it was home. And for now that was enough.]

[skelebro]

[Funny, how he don't feel nervous dropping off to sleep on the couch of someone who, back home, was somethin' of an enemy. It don't feel strange at all, except in the thinking of it.

It'll take more than kind words and bad jokes to ease what's happened. More than even hugs and the offers for forgiveness. But it's something, maybe. It's something, and maybe, given time, it'll be enough.

Funny how that happens.

Even funnier, he sleeps easier than he has in a while.]