Ace in a Hole (Undertale x Hazbin Hotel)

Chapter 6

Sans wasn't too 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. That certainly had not 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, he saw on forums. 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 with his experiences. And surprisingly enough, Alastor was genuine right back. Jarring, in his mind, was the correct term to coin the experience. The kind of odd that shuffled about within him, but something he gritted down and continued through. All the while, he had to remember that Alastor lived in a time and place where concepts of any acceptance toward that stuff weren't quite there yet.

Sometimes he found the whole movement to be a bit much, in the way that Comic Sans didn't like much at all. Sure, he took to the titles just fine, but pride parades and intense flags had never done it for him. Sans could recall finding himself annoyed at the overzealous teenager he had passed the week before, who had been cheering about his best friend finally coming out. Thought that it shouldn't be a big deal.

Sometimes, he nearly forgot that being able to say that openly was still a recent luxury people were afforded to have. And he atoned accordingly.

In a time when anything other than a white straight man was frowned upon, he couldn't imagine what Alastor must have gone through. From the pictures Sans secured online, Alastor donned darker skin and had begun a tirade of straight hair near the end of his days. The kind of hair that matched his more white-leaning coworkers in those company photos.

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 ladder bent against his skin color, Alastor had to bite his bottom lip and just brute force dates and fake crushes just to appear more normal. Sat in a closet with some Juliet girl in eleventh grade that 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 didn'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.

No wonder Alastor depended on that damn smile of his. Just like Sans, it was a survival technique.

Sans didn't 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. The worst possible combination for Sans to stumble upon. Alas, Alastor had managed to weasel his way into some type of mutual understanding with Sans, one foot firmly stuffed between the door of his inner circle. So Sans relented and allowed it.

Things changed after that. They had less heat behind their petty insults and began to slowly creep up to more personal topics. The connection between the two of them being aroace opened up a path neither were quite expecting. No second-guessing any romantic or sexual interest between them. Nor were there any smiles they couldn't see behind or any lies they couldn't prod at. The terror was, somehow, reassuring.

They didn'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 stern about not wanting to hear random jazz music interrupting him. Alastor could answer from anywhere, while Sans had to be home in order to realize Alastor even wanted to talk.