It's a nice sentiment, in theory. Hell, maybe someone else can fix it. That's what he's always counted on, right? That if he sits back, maybe someone else will step up and do the many things that he can't.

But he can't rectify it with himself. He can't hold on to hope when he didn't have any to begin with. (But he had, though, another part of him argues. He'd had hope, which was why he'd taken the risk in the first place, which was why he'd put himself on the line to get Greg and the others out - once, and then again. It had been such a bright few moments when he actually felt like he was living, and it was taken from him so quickly-)

He sags against Papyrus's hand, obviously not objecting to that part, at least. He wants that comfort. He just wishes that he could feel like any part of him was worth the energy.

"I don't think you get it, bro." His voice is very small.

Mostly because he doesn't think he's ever given Papyrus the chance to understand. He doesn't like the idea of what would happen if he did. It's a miracle enough that he's somehow helped allow Papyrus to be the person he is now, and even that Sans can't bring himself to internalize.