living skyward

Sans-Serif takes hold of his brother's hand without hesitation, when he sees S-4 reaching out. He squeezes it gently and smiles tremulously. It scares him, seeing S-4 like this. The somber mood of the castle had dragged on all three of them, in its own way, as they all struggled with the holes that had been torn in their souls by Frisk's absence. But Sans-Serif, at least, feels determined to make himself shine brighter to keep his brother with him. He wasn't made to protect or heal or keep safe like S-4 was. But maybe fighting bad things or bad feelings can be a way of keeping people safe, too. He doesn't want to lose the sound of S-4's voice in his life. He knows that none of them do, none of the friends that S-4 has made.

Frisk wouldn't want that, either.

"i probably won't need to, though. you'll do great. but, but i wanna learn to read like the other me does." In case Sans gets too tired to do it.

"and, and my soul's not blue anymore. s-so i'm already doing good. i'm doing the right things." He sounds hesitantly proud of himself. Sans had been reluctant to even let him come to the funeral before. And now he's standing here, and even if he feels weighted down and heavy with the emotion from everyone around him, at least he's standing. "and...so are you."