Entry 43

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April 1, 2006

(3 am)

~Sans~

Hey Dad. We got Paps out of his capsule without incident. So... yeah. He's, um... still asleep, but Katrina says that he'll probably wake up within the hour. The minute he does, I'll bring him to come see you.

He doesn't really have a room of his own yet, so he's going to be sharing mine for now. We brought another mattress in here, and we put him on that. It's gonna be a little tight in my room for a while, but I don't mind. He's my brother, after all.

He...

Wow, Dad. He's so...

I don't even know what to say. He's really cute. I'm literally just sitting here, watching him sleep...

But there's something about it that's making me really happy. Heh. I... I love him, and I haven't even met him yet. Is that strange?

At the same time, though... seeing him makes me sad. Because I know... that you traded your soul for his. I... I dunno, Dad. I want to say that this should never have happened, but seeing him over there, breathing and mumbling in his sleep...

Am I a bad son? If I want him to be here, even if it's at your expense?

...

Why did it have to be a choice? Why can't I have both of you? I just don't understand...

Why?

...

...

...

Oh! He made a noise. I think he's about to wake up.

I... I guess I'll stop writing now, then. But I figure that you'll wanna see this, so...

You remember that camera that I said I built? Well, I guess I'm gonna test it out.

...

Bye, Dad.

~Video~

After a moment of frantic fumbling and a haze of blue, the camera is turned on. It seems Sans has levitated it up onto a high shelf—you get a good bird's-eye view of what's going on. That, combined with the relatively high quality of this new camera, makes for a very nice viewing experience.

You look at the unfamiliar room, taking in how small and cramped it is. It's about the size of a large walk-in closet—it's barely able to accommodate the two frameless mattresses that've been placed there. Beyond the two mattresses, the room is more or less devoid of other furniture. But that doesn't mean that the room is empty. Far from it, actually—clothes, paper, and other odds and ends litter every millimeter of spare space, making navigation near impossible without risking stepping on something.

Sans' guitar is perched precariously on a narrow shelf on one wall, along with a few books (most of which appear to have something to do with quantum mechanics). Posters are plastered all over the walls, ranging in subject from movies to games to decade-old propaganda from the surface (vote for Ronald Reagan!). Among all the chaos, though, something stands out to you. There's... a surprising amount of socks amid the clutter. It seems that even as a kid, Sans never bothered to pick up his socks. The similarity makes you smile.

When you catch sight of Sans, though, that smile instantly dies. He... doesn't look so good. He's sitting on the mattress closest to the door, back against the wall, and legs pulled close so that he's in a loose ball. That's not what concerns you, though. Judging from the wrinkles in the young Sans' shirt, and the stains on his jacket... he hasn't changed clothes in a while. Now, there could be plenty of reasons for that. But coupled with the dark indentations under his eyesockets, you get the feeling that he hasn't been sleeping like he should be. His ever-present smile seems kind of tight around the edges, and though there's no sign that he's been crying, his irises are so dim that you feel he could start any moment.

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