Frisk wails and drags him to their chest, trembling. He might get their blood on his shirt. They don't care right now, not after hovering over his body for what was probably only a few minutes but what felt like hours and hours, waiting for him to turn into dust.

They can barely talk, nothing coherent spills out of their mouth, but they try anyway, hard-- "Sans--Sans--th-th-thought--thought--thought--you, you jerk, you ass, fell, not allowed notallowed Sans why did you you shouldn't ever ever ever--"

Frisk's voice gives out into shaking, cracking sobs. They don't want to ever let go.