Ace in a Hole (Undertale x Hazbin Hotel)

Chapter 26

Ragged, uneven breaths escaped from Sans when Alastor landed in his room. The skeleton, bunched up within Alastor's arms, was flushed with sweat. His eye sockets pressed so far shut that the curve of his nose wrinkled in upon itself. Somehow, despite being naturally white, Sans looked as pale as a sheet.

Dark blood seeped out across his favorite blue hoodie, spreading out across his chest in a rich, red hue.

Alastor, with a lump in his throat, settled Sans upon the tucked sheets of his bed. Sans groaned while he sucked in air, as if he couldn't get enough.

Trembling hands failed to steady as Alastor flung himself through his belongings. Extra blankets, old radio trinkets, and crumbled sheets of planned segments flew behind him as he all but hunted through his room. The horrified predator prowled through his items until he realized, aghast, he had used his only medical kit months ago when he was on the radio with Sans. Alastor failed to replace it.

On the bed, Sans writhed in pain.

On the floor beside it, Alastor writhed in guilt.

It shouldn't be like this. Sans wasn't supposed to die young. That was simply an incorrect future. Alastor didn't want to be witness to that. Sans was supposed to live the full life Alastor had failed to.

"I—I have to go fetch a medical kit," Alastor said, letting his hand fall to Sans', cupping the appendage with one missing bone. "I'll be back."

He delegated his shadow to pressing a cloth against the seeping wound in Sans' chest while he squeezed Sans' fingers, then wrist. To reassure Sans, or to reassure himself. Alastor couldn't tell.

Sans didn't squeeze back.

They were bound by contracts; Alastor would receive Sans in the afterlife he was in. It was a simple fact, etched in Sans' handwriting on a pretty little scroll of parchment Alastor enjoyed glancing at occasionally.

That still didn't mean Alastor liked the idea of Sans being stuck down there so soon. Alastor had been stolen from his youth, from his life, before he should have. He didn't want Sans to go through the same fate.

Most importantly, seeing Sans hurt ached at his chest in the most uncomfortable of ways. The little bud of empathy Alastor never nurtured from a child had blossomed only for his Mother, and now, for Sans as well. The feeling was foreign, a distant emotion that had only crossed him once before. One he hadn't missed, and one he didn't know how to tend to when he felt his fingers twitching from discomfort.

He needed a medical kit, but Alastor didn't have one. So Alastor was out of the doors in a second, a man on a mission. Charlie was too much of a goodie to not have first aid plastered everywhere, but Alastor had never bothered to learn where they were located. Why would he? He had his own that he had needlessly forgotten to replace, like a common fool.

Alastor's hand was two inches away from the wall. The plaster would come away easily, even after the reconstruction Lucifer had aided his daughter with. If he tore through every single goddamn room, he was bound to eventually stumble upon—

"Alastor?"

Of all of the people who had to find him, of all of the people in the hotel who could be in the hallway at that particular moment, it had to be Vaggie. Didn't it? That was his luck at that particular moment.

"Where is a medical kit?" He snipped.

Vaggie drew forward, her skirt swaying. "Alastor, what—"

Alastor didn't have time for her bothersome personality or questions. Nor did he have time to deal with her pesky attitude and waste of breath. He burrowed forward, hands gripping both of her shoulders, and repeated his question with the most even voice he could muster.