Ace in a Hole (Undertale x Hazbin Hotel)

Chapter 11

Sans really hoped all of hell wasn't shutting up about the obnoxious friendship bracelet he gave Alastor, because all of his friends would not shut up about Alastor.

All it took was one call, one single fucking call, and Papyrus' excitement spread like wildfire. Everyone became so eager to meet the mysterious human that caught Sans' gaze. Who weaseled his way into a sleepover. Sans wasn't someone who did those sorts of things, so it was anticipated that people would trip over themselves to ask about it. The questions weren't annoying, and Sans wasn't too fond of being on the receiving end of laughter whenever he told them of Alastor's origins. Sans never remembered crying wolf, yet the farmers all gawked at the poor sheep the same. It was damn near insulting, to the point where Sans secretly wished for the ache of "I told you so" to be a tantalizing treat for his endurance.

It felt unfair. Excluded Sans from the group as the butt of the joke. Unintentionally, of course, as his friends all assumed Sans was plenty in on the joke. That he was simply sticking this particular joke through until the bitter end. To cope, Sans sought out Alastor more. And Alastor reciprocated easily.

Slowly but surely, Alastor became a common sight in Sans' home. The moment Sans turned away from self-control was the moment Alastor had become a centerpiece in his décor.

Very few times did Alastor leave his role of lighting up Sans' living room with lively, dark jokes and twisted smiles. What Sans had anticipated, on that rooftop where they swore themselves to the experience of a true friendship, was the occasional weekly visit Alastor and Sans had scheduled previously. At least twice a week, Alastor would slip off his shoes in Sans' pile next to the front door and clomp over to join Sans in whatever he was doing.

Sans wasn't sure of the limitations of the crystal Alastor apparently swallowed to teleport up to Earth. But he knew there were restrictions, the kind that made his expression all soured when he had to cascade down to hell after a pleasant hangout. Sans doubted he would have been able to afford Alastor's presence for any more than a biweekly visit. The wedding preparations cast away Sans' free time in favor of constant calls, driving, and cake tasting. Anything to help his baby brother have the best wedding of his life. An event that Sans willingly gritted his complaints for, willing to suck up Papyrus' assumptions of crying wolf if it meant the wedding would be perfect.

Sans wanted to believe the surface was what attracted the demon to Sans' home, but the lie was far too filthy to even be uttered. Alastor, of course, liked returning to Earth. He would always eye the scenery, emboldened with the brush of grass against his fingertips. Yet those moments were a fleeting taste compared to the way Alastor shifted when he was with Sans. As if everything around him simply ceased to matter.

Sans wasn't an idiot. He knew Alastor, and knew Alastor's attention span. Disinterest or utter obsession. It was why Sans found so much entertainment from Alastor, fun in the most odd of ways. Sans didn't understand every facet of Alastor—there's a very thick line between a serial killer and a non-serial killer that would inhibit his ability to do so. Nonetheless, they still had a very distinct understanding between one another that negated that fact. They were raised in different times, different species with vastly different sets of morals and goals, and yet, Alastor was Sans' bestie. An irreplaceable puzzle piece that Sans didn't know where to fit just yet.

"He seems to be helping you overcome your internalized fear of humans."

That was what his therapist brought to their next appointment. As much as Sans despised such a discussion, being more comfortable talking about literally anything else, his therapist continuously reminded him of the issue. Which he understood. Sans lived in a human-only town, and he needed to be able to work and talk to them to be able to exist.