Frisk's sniffling subsides as Papyrus reassures them. What did they even do to deserve the ridiculous skeledork? Nothing, really. Less than nothing. They probably actively didn't deserve him. But, well, that was the point, wasn't it? Papyrus was right. They needed to adapt. They didn't have to deserve something to get it. They shouldn't be holding themself up to some stupid pacifistic self-sacrificing ideal in a world where that just wouldn't fly, where it would eventually get themself, or worse other people, killed for the sake of earning karmic brownie points.

Frisk was an expert in being dealt shitty hands at this point, and if making the best of their current one meant occasionally stabbing a monster to death instead of getting themself disemboweled while trying to play therapist for it... well, they would just have to suck it up and deal with it. Screw deserving things for not defending themself. If being selfish and violent by the Underground's standards meant surviving and saving other people here, then they'd have to be selfish and violent. Frisk tumble out of bed and into a hug with Papyrus, hoarsely whispering, "Thanks."