Sans takes the blade by the hilt, carefully. It's a gift, it's precious. (He was killed by something like this, once. Before he came here. He doesn't have the presence of free will to have thoughts about holding a knife like this himself right now.)

"I can do that." Though he'll have to pick someone. He doesn't have a lot of time until the next full moon, but that's okay. Time doesn't mean anything, not really. He's known that even before he knew Okpaza.