The Worst Sleepover Ever

[sailorgenerous]

Who: What's left of Defying Atmosphere plus Sans
What: It's not easy to sleep after what's happened, is it.
When: The night of February 3rd
Where: Virgo Penthouse
Warnings: Talk of torture, brainwashing, the aftereffects of the above...you know, all that fun stuff.

It's been anything but a quiet day. Still, it's evening, and hopefully that means that everyone can finally get some rest.

Except, for one reason or another, nobody seems to be able to sleep.

Comments

[exhumerus]

Oh, geez. Sans pauses, a little caught off guard. His answer isn't very exciting though.

"Not really," he says. He answers it as concisely as possible, hoping that Greg might move on more quickly.

[panspermia]

"I can't remember mine. The--the one I... thought I had." His head is pounding. He knows he has parents, he knows they're estranged and live on the other side of the country. That's it. He can't pull out any specifics. "No one around here likes to talk about theirs."

[exhumerus]

Sans's first instinct is to think or some something along the lines of 'well yeah, because families are a train wreck', but it doesn't quite make it through his mind before it seems...off. But aren't artistic types usually at odds with their families? In trouble for this, disowned for that...

He feels like it should be obvious that Greg is having some sort of mental break, but he has no idea why.

"Whaddya mean, 'thought I had'?" he asks. It isn't impatient, it's genuinely curious...and sort of lost sounding, himself.

[panspermia]

"I..." His brows knit. What does he mean? "The... the one without Steven in it." It still doesn't make sense. Even if he has a son, he must had parents, right? The two aren't mutually exclusive. Yet it feels like oil and water.

The throbbing continues, and he rubs at his face. "I don't understand, Sans. Everything feels off."

[exhumerus]

Of course it would, at the moment. It's hard to take confusion on Greg's part as any divine truth, given what's going on. Yet, at the same time...thinking about his own parents is perhaps more difficult than he would expect. Which is why he stops, shortly after starting.

"Tell me about it, buddy," he says, arm around Greg's back in a way meant to be supportive. Is he allowed to blame everything he does on Rarity from this point on, because she told him it was okay? He's going to go with yes, he can.

"...I guess we never really did figure out how exactly you being a father came into the picture."

[panspermia]

He doesn't say anything, for a moment. Any time he tries to figure out that piece of the puzzle--when he met that woman, how long they were together, when Steven was born, how long it's been--he runs face first into a huge, blank wall. Finally, Greg just groans into his hands.

[exhumerus]

Sans doesn't really know how to help, so he settles for commiseration. It's the best he can do...it seems like both of them are struggling with sorting their heads out.

"Hey, well, if you're a dad, I'm a skeleton," he says. Greg knows more about that than anyone. "Just trying to take it for what it is, y'know? Sometimes you just feel something in your bones."

He tried.

[panspermia]

His shoulders hitch slightly with a huff of breath. It's as close to a laugh as he's getting any time soon.

After a moment, he raises his head out of his hands, and looks down at Sans, though his gaze is a little unfocused.

"Hey. Thank you."

[exhumerus]

He doesn't have to ask 'for what?' That would just be obtuse at this point. It's still sort of hard to know what to say to it though, as valid of a thing as it is to thank someone for. Sans falls silent, with a raspy little laugh.

"...I couldn't just do nothing, Greg," he says, as soberly as he ever gets. "It...wouldn't be right."

He knows that for sure now, with the way that poor kid had been struggling along - and with the way Greg's presence had seemed to bring some small amount of peace to him. If he was ever going to use this for something, it may as well be that.

[panspermia]

"You could have. You wouldn't be wrong to." Sans' help put him far more at risk than Greg. There was no telling what sort of stuff they'd do to a skeleton to bring him back in line.

Sans had let down Greg a lot of times. For small things, for big things. Greg didn't hold it against him, but he saw the pattern. This broke it.

"You... you really pulled through for me."

[exhumerus]

He'd been dreading this sort of reaction since even before he knew this kind of extreme task would be necessary. He glances at the floor, scratching the back of his head in way of distraction.

"...I wouldn't read too much into it, pal," he says, at last. He doesn't even know why he's bothering to say it, because he knows Greg won't care. It's like saying 'you're welcome' would be taking too much credit.

[panspermia]

"Oh my god. Sans."

Guess what's happening Sans. Guess. Try and guess what's happening.

Did you guess a hug. Because that's what's happening.

"Shut up."

[exhumerus]

Oh.

And suddenly, he's being embraced, and...he doesn't actually mind? Actually, nah, that's not the right words for it. He never really minds being hugged, it just doesn't usually do much for him. It's just kind of like 'well, okay bud, if you want.'

This isn't like that, though. For a moment it actually feels warm and welcome, in an emotional sense - the physical representation of being wanted. It takes him a moment to know what to do. After a few dizzying seconds, he carefully returns the gesture, patting his hand against Greg's back and then leaving it there. Greg is by no means a huge guy, but Sans is still tiny in comparison and easily enveloped.

"Heh," he says. "Okay."