Ace in a Hole (Undertale x Hazbin Hotel)

Chapter 24

The first results that always appeared for the legendary Alastor Augustine regarded his body count. Articles upon articles regarding one of America's deadliest serial killers, caught by a mistimed hunter instead of police efforts. True crime enthusiasts drooled over him; reddit threads online dared to question if he was guilty or not. The man had been burying a body, One person had claimed. There wasn't any proof he had been involved with the rest of them, or that he hadn't been bought off by the true killer.

Another comment was jotted on two years later, by another user with an icon of a slender tree with wide branches engulfed in fog.

You're just defending him because he was hot.

Sans doubted Alastor could have gotten away with a silky sweet tongue without his face to go with it. One could not persist without the other in his particular hobby. A sword and a shield, respectively.

There were a few photos of Alastor here and there—being the first colored radio host in New Orleans had been a major deal, leading to several organized conferences and photoshoots alike. Alastor was always the handsome lad of the bunch, with his crisp cheekbones and neat suits. And god, those bowties. Sans was ever so pleased when he first looked up Alastor, back when the demon was an uncertain voice humming over the radio. And he was still pleased now. Alastor was just a bow tie guy. It went with his... everything.

After two hours of rummaging about online, Sans found his prize. One of a kind—quite literally. There was only one digital copy in existence. His printer hummed to life, and out popped the efforts of his online binge.

Sans recognized neither of them in the photo. He shouldn't have, either; they were born decades before he had even been a thought.

But that didn't matter.

She had Alastor's smile.

Not the smile Alastor always wore, as fake as the one Sans often donned when his emotions got rough. No. The real smile that was found in the pit of a ditch after a church visit, or when he stood in the ocean, the waves up to his ankles with glowing jellyfish lingering about. Alastor's real smile, hidden away with his real voice and his real excitement.

His Mama.

They looked eerily similar when Alastor was in his human form. The same dark complexion of skin and hair alike, same structured cheekbones and well-kept body. She was beautiful. A soft beauty that was more suited for a fairytale featuring cursed apples or spindles on a wheel instead of becoming the bride to the vicious man stationed behind her chair.

His Father, no doubt. The person Alastor damned to hell, and the person who damned Alastor to hell. A mutual destruction neither had been aware of. He was more plump than the Mother, with a crooked mustache and thick, round glasses. Alastor's Mama, if alone, would have looked like a modern model who tried to keep her body well for the flashing cameras. Together, it looked like the keeper and their underfed kept.

Sans wondered if food was ever a problem. Or if she never fed herself because it was difficult to keep down.

Or if her husband never let her eat too much.

Despite the clear genetic winner in the Alastor lottery, his Father and Alastor had the same straight hair and sweeping bangs. Something Alastor probably detested, yet couldn't help but use in his time of need. Anything that got him closer to being whiter was an advantage to the man at the time.

If monsters were on the surface, humans wouldn't have resorted to such ideas. They would have simply banded together, skin be damned, and defeated the different species. Yet they had dared to banish away their common enemy, and had no one to turn to but one another. For the sake of hatred.