He regards the guy evenly. Not exactly what one would call real forthcoming, ol' Sans, but it's high time he got to owning his sins. They ain't going away anytime soon, and he's stopped stamping down on the implications.

On where that places him.

"I don't wanna lie to you, Doc," says Sans, tiredly. That rictus never slips; it may as well be locked into place. "Told you I did a real shit job of keepin' that promise, huh?"

He's a smart guy. He'll put it together.

Regardless of whether or not Sans can claim he cares any, he sure as hell didn't act on it. 'Cause once you care, you're fucked.