Chapter 7

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A horribly abnormal standstill was created between Sans and Alastor. The type of change that baffled him to no end, but the type of change that could only make sense between them. Because Sans crossed an aspect into Alastor's life that he's never quite let people into before. Even Rosie, his closest friend in hell, never obtained that sort of privilege. No one had ever seen Alastor hurt and vulnerable like that, and frankly, he wasn't sure how to react.

Alastor had friends while alive, of course. Work associates and colleagues that would further his reputation. Had friends in hell that he enjoyed the company of but kept firmly in a box.

Technically, Sans hadn't even been in that sealed box. He had been a toy in the same vein as the others, where Alastor smacked him around a few times for his own, twisted amusement.

However, Sans' intrusion into his life had warped that into a new reality that Alastor was out of his depth for. Out of everyone on earth that could have chosen to approach that building, it was Sans. The one man in the entire universe that somehow seemed to understand Alastor. He'd never met someone like that before, and might never do so again.

And oddly enough, it was comforting to know that. Because no one else could risk getting as close as this Sans person. Only him. That comfort itself was inherently confusing; confusing enough to loop right back to righteous, stress-riddled rage.

Alastor didn't like to leave things open or unfinished. When he ate, he always made sure to take care of leftovers. When he killed, he left nothing to his name. So he didn't like leaving this nebulous relationship in the air. Not quite friends, or enemies, or lovers, or haters, or anything that could be defined through a single word. And Alastor didn't like that. Rosie was a friend. Carmilla was a colleague. Charlie was a stepping stone, and Vaggie was in the way. Sans was Sans, and that helped define everything and nothing.

Alastor wanted to rip off his flesh. He wanted to throw him into the depths of an acid river and revel in the flopping limbs. He wanted to chain him to his side and tell him to keep talking. He wanted to own his soul so Sans couldn't even think about looking to anyone but Alastor and explain.

How infuriating.

No one could just waltz into Alastor's life and pick him apart, raw and vulnerable, uninterrupted. Alastor wouldn't allow that. Even if he was the one that let himself become open. Every inch of his skin burned with the knowledge that he let Sans in to that degree. Alastor hadn't even realized such a thing was possible anymore. People were always so firmly interested in sex or romance, easy to please with words. How was Alastor supposed to defend against his perfect opposite when he slithered in through the back door, like a damned snake offering the sweetness of an apple.

Sans had to be dealt with. Somehow. It's like a switch had turned, because Sans went from a silly little toy to Sans, Sans, fucking Sans. That damn man managed to somehow bypass Alastor's defenses (by his own hands, no less!) and firmly planted himself into an inner circle no one but his mother had stood in before. Sans.

Is this how Vox felt about him? No wonder that television was constantly running himself into power outages at the mere mention of Alastor's name. It's suffocating.

Unfortunately for Alastor, there wasn't much he could do in that regard. Sans still had a beating heart, and Alastor did not. Even with those fancy crystals roaming about the undermarket, a deceased soul simply couldn't step through a portal and call it a day. They were bound to hell just like how Husk was bound to Alastor. If hell could be left on a whim, sinners wouldn't be there.

Sans, though, seemed pretty convinced that was his destination when he finally croaked. The monster was very upfront about not answering questions, so it wasn't like he was necessarily hiding something; he was more so leaving the response blank. It was quite refreshing to see someone alive acknowledge they were not a good person. Living with Charlie had led to some... adjustments in his afterlife. No wonder he sought out contact with Sans more. Any good alternative he was bound to latch onto, he supposed.

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