Sans doesn't even muster up a reply at that point, awkwardly bumping into a tree trunk as he passes beyond the treeline. He only waits a few more paces before he fully lets go of that form, excess bone and claw melting into a mound of dust with a soft woosh.

At this point, it feels like dumping a ton of weight off of his back, even if it ends up with him being small and naked and feeling more fragile than ever. It's extremely tempting to go to sleep right in his own pile of dirt, even as he tries to remind himself that he has to get his dreamcatcher out of his pocket dimension first.

Too much magic in one night.