Crass or not, the joke does at least scrape some of the last vestiges of worry from Sans' face. Laughing, he rubbed at one of his sockets with the heel of his palm. Leave it to a friend to drag him back from the worry bubbling past his ribs.

"You're right. He's probably fine, my bro can handle himself." Still, hands shoved deeper into his pockets, Sans looked much keener on Varric's second idea. "Checking around for him wouldn't hurt though, if you're up for it."