Sad, philosophical Sans is slightly easier to deal with than angry, destructive Sans. At the very least, because he's easier to pick up and carry home. See, the occasional night at Grillby's. It's still enough to make him miss the jokes. Almost. They're reassuring, a sign that Sans cares enough to pretend he's okay.

As far as Papyrus was concerned, anybody who stepped into Sans' bedroom would know better than to really think he was okay. Who could live in that horrible mess? The state of his bed, with those rumpled sheets. The dirty socks. The complete lack of knick knacks from his hobbies. Nothing in there could possibly bring Sans joy, surely.

"That sounds... scary. I don't know if I want to imagine it! But, since you're insisting on thinking about it... I'll do my best."

Papyrus steps over the broken things on the floor, leaning against the counter a couple of feet from his brother's perch, and plays along a little longer.

"Hmmm. If I forgot I ever had a phone... I would probably find myself having unexpected difficulties! And wonder what was wrong with me, that I was having so much trouble with easy things. But with the story... If the fake one makes sense too, then it's just a new story!"