The sharp sound of a knife cutting through the air.
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The soft sound of chimes as bone was cut through, fresh marrow escaping along with clumps of blood magically forcing itself up his throat and out of the wound.
He fell to the floor, the lights in his eyes small pin pricks, though he had been in this situation countless times, the feeling always surprised him. The shock of adrenaline as blood forced itself out of his mouth, was always... Exiting. He touched his chest. It wasn't anything compared to what he did to himself. He picked himself up, shrugging, speaking words that even he couldn't understand.
They were just broken syllables put together anyways, but it was ALWAYS... Always the same words. He stepped to the side, watching as they smiled. But their smile was broken. Like there was no point.
*welp. i'm going to grillby's.
He looked up, wondering why Papyrus was wearing his jacket? It didn't matter so he reached for the taller sibling, and smiled.
*papyrus, do you want anything?
Papyrus stood in the golden hallway, he gripped his chest. The murderer had aimed for his neck, only getting his chest instead.
He bled out of the wounds, his 'battle body' and sans' jacket becoming clouded by red. But wasn't this normal?
He could almost hear his voice, like an illusion. A parody or mercy, faking to befriend him before torturing him slowly. He reached for it, biting the figurative bait, seeing his brother with a smile, crying as he reached for Papyrus, speaking broken but coherent words.
"YOU KNOW I DONT LIKE GREASE... BUT HOW ABOUT SOME MILK INSTEAD..?" It was a reference to their past, before the human ever came along, before things went sour.
Sans had brought Papyrus to Grillby's and ordered him some milk. It was of course sweetened by bits of sugar and a sweet, soft nectar. If and when ever Papyrus went to the restaurant, he'd always order one, kinda like how sans drank ketchup.
They grasped onto each other's hands and wrapped themselves into a hug as they turned into dust.
A sweet but mournful death for both.