For a moment, Greg has the instinct to argue. Everyone was being controlled, Sans can't blame himself for it, it was all Naomi and Blanche. Sans can't let that eat at him, he can't forget that it wasn't his doing. They'll never be able to move on if they can't remember that.

The impulse dies, though. Sans isn't talking about that, is he? There's something deeper than what happened tonight. Greg doesn't want to think ill of his friend, but the guy's trying to tell him something, so he ought to try and listen.

Deflating, Greg goes back to his guitar. Things really do feel worse when he's not playing it.

"I don't think any of us know much about any of us, anymore."