Ace in a Hole (Undertale x Hazbin Hotel)

Chapter 13

Alastor loved and despised the bracelet locked around his wrist, never to leave his sight. He adored it. Pink never was his color, but whatever Sans made bypassed such restrictions. Alastor loved knowing that everyone could stare all they wanted, but that this was undeniable proof that his one and only best friend slot within his heart had been claimed by another.

Oh, how people bitched all of his life. While he was in high school, it was the local rich kid named Bradly and the farmer boy named Paul who fought over him. When he was an adult, the local men at the speakeasy loved how gentle he became when drunk, and each tried to weasel their way to his booth to sit at his side. At the side of one of the few pleasant drunks there.

In hell was a different story.

Everyone wanted to be the one by the radio demon's side, whether it be platonic or romantic. Wanted to be his one and only. Wanted to be associated with the terror he was, to have a piece of that unfathomable power. The old overlords who didn't laugh and scoff at him giggled at his power and tried to brush up against him, as if begging for his attention. The ladies in Cannibal Town fawned over him, with the pleasant exception of Rosie. No one could replace him, she insisted. Not in personality or taste. Then, of course, there was Vox, and Alastor didn't want to touch him with a ten-foot pole.

So when Alastor began to roam around with a very sudden new accessory firmly planted onto his wrist, with a nickname for himself on it...

Well, Alastor's days became filled with more annoying idle chatter. Especially since Alastor had been out on the streets less, too busy getting to bask in the presence of a true equal to retain his own within the underworld. Why stay in hell when his best friend was on earth, after all? Alastor knew it would be suspicious for him to disappear for days on end with nothing but happier attitudes when he returned, but he found no reason to care. Everything was a little better when that skeleton was in his life.

Introducing Sans to that church was the right call. Alastor had a rare moment of hesitation when he had looked up at that old building, decrepit in both life and in his memories. The place where people spouted about God and didn't care about his own beliefs, only that he follow the status quo. Alastor didn't despise church because he practiced voodoo, or because he was a demon. He despised church because it allowed a bastard to run it and allowed such vile behavior to get away from authorities under the spirit of God. A cult, Alastor personally believed.

Alastor was never vocal about it. Even in hell, he just gave basic lies about how demons couldn't dare to believe in such a thing and moved on. But telling Sans felt like a proper step. A step he found himself almost relieved at once he took, a stone off of his shoulder. A stupid hatred to harbor, he supposed, yet one Sans understood. Sans always just knew him so well. Knowing he needed a moment to rant and not forcing in pitiful looks or empty words about how sorry he was Alastor went through that.

Sans' previous words of comparing shit to shit on a scale still rang in his head occasionally. Sans felt pity yet never overused it. He was real and bitter, yet witty and fun.

Alastor adored this man so much. That day in church, Sans barely spoke, but it was just enough for Alastor to know for a fact he was going to spend the rest of forever with Sans. He was simply too much of an enigma to give up.

So even if people in hell bothered him so, he couldn't be bothered to care. Not when Sans was waiting on earth for his next visit.

The bracelet is questioned extensively by the people in the hotel, but once Alastor was very obvious in his lack of answers, they learned to avoid the question. Why waste time when it wouldn't reap rewards? Naturally the group tried to sneak in questions to catch Alastor off guard, but he remained steadfast in dodging their attempts.