S-4 screams, and it is the single worst, most horrifying sound Sans-Serif has ever heard. He clamps his hands over the side of his skull, screws his eyesockets tightly shut, but it doesn't stop, this isn't a dream. His most important person is in agonizing pain, and a version of himself is the cause of it. For a moment, a bad moment, Sans-Serif viscerally hates his other self for doing this, for hurting in a way that S-4 can't heal. His brother's own panic and agony vibrates across the link between them until all Sans-Serif wants to do is scream with him.

But he can't. His brother needs him. Both of them do.

So Sans-Serif surges forward again, holding tight to S-4's hand again, lifting his other hand to try and direct his brother's eyelights to meet his. He speaks, the words tumbling out all in panicked rush. "i-it's okay, s-4! we can make it okay! he does have a lab here, w-we just have to find it! we know dr. gaster, too, we might be able to figure out what he did. he was okay before and, and he'll be okay now, we just have to work together, we just have to..."

He doesn't think that S-4 is hearing him. He can't make himself heard over S-4's panic, he can't be strong over S-4's panic.

Sans-Serif takes a deep breath, and holds onto S-4 tighter.

"Look at me!"