Ace in a Hole: Collaborative Shenenigans

Chapter 6

Sans isn't really sure what happened to him and Alastor after the guy randomly called for his attention on a Wednesday afternoon and asked, in a slightly strained voice, about being aromantic and asexual. Sans wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but that certainly not had been on the itinerary.

If anything, Sans would've thought the serial killer was all about sex. Some of them tended to be. Got some sort of demented thrill from it. Alastor, though, sounded almost like a confused kid who was poking at their toes asking about what an adult term meant. And that did something to Sans, more than he would like to admit. Because Sans was once that very kid, confused and scared and not really sure why he couldn't understand what everyone else seemed to.

So he helped. Was genuine and open about his experiences. And surprisingly enough, Alastor was genuine right back. Sometimes it's jarring to remember that Alastor was raised in the early 1900s right after monsters were sealed away, and to discover bits and pieces of what human society had become. Monsters were creatures of love, they couldn't necessarily go without it. Humans could. It spoke in their actions.

In a time where anything other than a white straight man was frowned upon, he can't imagine what Alastor must have gone through. From the pictures Sans secured online, he was darker skinned, and seemed to start straightening his hair to blend in more with the whiter coworkers of his he stood side by side with. It must have been agony holding that sort of confusion close, unable to go ask anyone about it for fear of being outcast as gay. Already clawing his way up a systematic latter bent against his skin color, Alastor had to bite his bottom lip and brute force dates and fake crushes just to appear more normal. Sat in a closet with some Juliet girl in eleventh grade who stunk of cigars, pretending to be entranced by her kissing just so the other kids wouldn't throw him into the creek out back if they found out.

It left a vile taste in Sans' mouth. Especially since he knows that Alastor's Father was the first victim of his. It doesn't take a science degree to figure out plenty of plausible reasons why Alastor would target him first. Parent issues were typically a major cause of bad habits down the road.

So pair the the skin tone and the Father? That was enough issues. No wonder Alastor all but shoved the idea down and didn't confront it. That was a survival technique, no doubt about it.

Sans isn't going to go out of his way to pity the man. He's still the bastard who spat out jazz ripe in the morning to wake him up and purposefully liked to egg him on for a reaction. And of course, he was still a demon serial killer. Sans wasn't going to forget that any time soon. But he understands him a little bit more now. And that's enough to get his foot in the door and feel a little tension melt from his back.

Things change, after that. They have less heat behind their petty insults and begin to slowly creep up more personal topics. The connection between the two of them being aroace opened up a path neither was quite expecting. There's no second-guessing any romantic or sexual interest between them. There were no smiles they couldn't see behind or any lies they couldn't prod at. It's terrifying but reassuring all at once.

They don't really stick to the weekly schedule like both had originally agreed upon, mostly settling for a call whenever one of them was feeling particularly talkative. Sans was mostly the initiator, since he was very stern about not wanting to hear random jazz music interrupting him, and Alastor could answer from anywhere while Sans had to be home to realize Alastor even wanted to talk.

Once they put that foot through the door, Sans started even having more fun with the discussions. Alastor was a genuinely interesting person, despite his many, many flaws. Good with puns and charisma and had wild tales of hell to weave into the mix if the conversation stagnated.