The word does twinge something akin to dissonance in Sans' skull -- that unique cocktail of deja vu, longing, and instinctual recoil. It's a funny thing, family. No matter how fixed you think it might be, people come and go as they please. Sometimes permanently, sometimes just for a little while.

Sometimes it's like they were never there at all.

Hard to say what Frisk is, or what they could be. Sans rubs their back, eye sockets falling shut.

"Well, I'm gonna start trying a little harder to live up to your opinion of me, at least."