"CHARA!" Frisk screams after their retreating back, racing a few steps in their direction after Sans lets them go. The side of their face stings; the knife nicked them in their struggles, even if it wasn't the horrible gash that would've come to pass if it'd been right against their skin.

But even in their haze of rage and pain, they can't just leave a friend behind. They slide to a stop, shoes scraping over the stone floor, wildly looking from Sans to Chara to Sans again--

They whirl and race back to his side, hand patting over his skull. "Sans, SANS, Sans, Sans, Sans wake up, Sans you ass you can't give up now, Sans, Sans, Sans, Sans--!"