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Summary
We all know this script by now. We're read it over and over, nearly as many times as he's lived this day. It always ends in dust, doesn't it?
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Papyrus stood like a puppet on stings, unable to delay his own retreat. The script was demanding. Unchangeable. Inevitable.
As he walked out the door, he heard Sans call out in a whisper of a voice, audible over only the silence the script imposed on him.
"love you, pap."
He never got his hug.
