Sans should have thought about the merits of inviting Alastor over before Papyrus called that morning. A morning ritual they indulged in ever since Sans officially left the nest, despite being the mother hen. Something Sans hadn't considered when he woke up from Alastor moving about. An automatic arch of his back into a cross-legged sitting position, staring beady-eyed toward the radio demon. Alastor laughed, the marker from last night still clutched between his talon-like fingers.

The rest of the night had gone very well. When the sun finally dipped behind the tree-infested horizon, the two men scurried back inside in favor of sleeping indoors. Alastor to the couch and Sans to the floor on the far wall, in favor of keeping an eye on his newfound bestie. If he coincidentally happened to have a marker in his pocket from the arts and crafts shop, and just so happened to have a very empty face a few meters away on his couch, who could blame Sans? Certainly not Alastor, who had crept toward Sans' blanket mound in the midst of shrouded darkness. Marker in hand.

A fool, the both of them. Neither had received any additional art to their faces, and neither had slept too well as a result. As if they both mutually agreed, on their first sleepover, that it was war.

Not that Sans would have slept well regardless. Officially becoming best friends with a demon wasn't something he'd get used to right off the bat.

Sans spent his time that morning—after snatching away that marker from Alastor—getting changed before he tossed on the phone for his brother and busied himself with a lazy breakfast toss-up in the kitchen. Papyrus was going on about a very nice dinner he had with Grillby's parents when Alastor walked in, changed into a spare set of clothes meant for Papyrus. The shirt barely was long enough, leaving a hint of his belly button buried beneath corpse-tinted fur. Hooves clattered against the tiled floor, with an almost shine or glisten to them. The demon already looked put together, despite the lazy outfit Sans had scrounged up for him. Red eyes filtered to the coffee machine; interest peaked.

"Good morning, Comic Sans!" Alastor's voice rang with the familiar tone of an early riser.

Whatever sentence Papyrus was saying was cut dead flat by the sound of Alastor's voice, and shit, Sans was on speaker. Sans hadn't even thought about it. Just autopiloted.

"Who's that? Sans, do you have someone in your house?" Papyrus squeaked. Sans only managed to catch sight of the twitch of Alastor's ears before Alastor laid claim to his phone with swiping hands.

Alastor, the tall fuck, held up Sans' Papyrus-filled phone while he dealt with the phone owner in question, a hand firmly planted against his face to keep the skeleton from stealing back his device. "You must be the lovely brother Sans talks so much about! Sorry for interrupting your phone call with your brother, but I just woke up. We were having a sleepover, you see. I'm Alastor. I'm sure Sans has mentioned me.

"Alastor, dude, buddy, bestie, bro, diddly darn friend—" Sans' hands flailed to grab the phone, but his detrimental height did nothing to alleviate his comfort. Alastor firmly kept his posture and arm narrow and tall as he watched Sans with a grin, no doubt finding it all very amusing. "Give it, Alastor, dude, give it back—"

A very loud and excited squeal came from the phone, causing it to jitter about in Alastor's grasp. Sans' arms drooped as he silently cursed. Too late. Papyrus knew. Fuck.

"He has! I've heard a lot of interesting things about you!" This was the end. Sans needed to go bury himself in a hole. Return to his people.

Alastor looked all too pleased with himself, as if he struck gold. Eyes homed in on Sans, a seeking missile of smugness.

"That's good! I've heard so much about you as well. Sans talks about you all of the time. By the way, congratulations on the wedding!" Alastor sang, and used his free hand to wave at Sans. Sans narrowed his eye sockets and kicked at his shin, which Alastor easily sidestepped. "The first thing Sans did after congratulating you was run to call and tell me! I just had to make sure I could congratulate you as well."

"Aw, Sans! And thank you so much, Alastor! It's so great to finally meet you! I'm so happy you and Sans had a sleepover; my brother really needed a close friend, and I'm so incredibly happy it's you!"

Alastor shot Sans a knowing look. "I know, I sure am an incredible influence. Maybe I'll swing by the wedding and drop off a gift? Why, my mama used to make the best gumbo around, or perhaps I can pick you up something from the store. I wouldn't dare want to intrude on the wedding uninvited, of course, so it'll just be a quick hi and bye—"

"No, no, feel free to come! Sans has a plus one on his invitation; you can be it—actually, please, I insist you come! I would love to meet you if you can make it! I might not be able to before the wedding because of my current schedule, so being able to meet you there would be amazing! You're absolutely invited!"

That bastard. Sans was going to strangle Alastor. He obviously fished for an invitation!

"I would love to!" Alastor said, all pleased and joyful. Sans debated which bed of flowers out back would adore some fertilizer. "I'll have to get a proper outfit for it, but I'm sure I'll have it ready by then! I'll make sure to bring a present for a good first impression. I think it's about time I met the great Papyrus, don't you agree? We have so much to talk about!"

"I agree! I can't wait to meet you!"

Sans must have done something to earn horrible karma, because fuck. Alastor was not only invited but also expected at his brother's wedding.

The call ended quickly after Alastor gave Sans back his phone, looking all too pleased with himself while Sans frantically attempted his hand at damage control. Frankly, it was all too late the moment Paps heard his voice. His brother was far too eager to negotiate, leaving Sans with no choice but to relinquish his hope for a victory and hang up in bitter defeat.

"I'm going to kill you," Sans said a mere moment after the call beeped, glare heavy and hitting. The deer demon perked up under his gaze, a sunflower blossoming before the sun.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior! I won't even eat a single guest, I promise on my own unmarked grave!" Alastor held a hand against his heart and the other in the air as he spoke, giving a solemn nod. As if offering a difficult duty he would endure. His tail flicked behind him. "And I've been thinking about it for a bit now that we've officially begun to meet in person. I would love to walk around town one day, so I might as well start getting used to being in public with humans!"

"Okay, no offense," Sans gestured toward Alastor, "but you scream demon. You won't be able to pass as a deer monster unless ya get some of that under control. And I'm not letting you roam about in a way that can freak out my friends and family."

Alastor leaned forward and patted Sans' head. "Why, I'm rather insulted you don't think I haven't already considered that! I'd rather not walk around scaring people if I can help it as well. I haven't started it yet, but there are plenty of demonic creatures out there that go to earth and need human disguises. I'll just commission one. Not a lot of sinners have disguises, but some do prefer to be able to change into how they looked before, so I know it's possible. I'll be a nice, prim, proper human when Papyrus' wedding comes around. I'll even bring a gift!"

"I have to see the gift first before it's wrapped; I don't trust ya. And I have the right to veto any of them."

"Aw, I'm hurt! I wouldn't do anything to get on your brother's bad side. You must have more faith in me, Comic Sans. Why would I try to hurt your brother? It's quite counterproductive when I'm trying to—I suppose, in a broad sense, maintain our friendship."

"Still don't trust you. Especially things from hell. What are you even planning on getting him?"

Alastor pauses for a moment, eyes flickering with uncertainty. Guy didn't have a single plan. He just jumped onto the opportunity to get invited the moment he could.

"I believe," Alastor drew out slowly, rubbing his chin, "I doubt a weapon would be fitting—"

"Yeah, don't give Paps a gun. I'll fucking disintegrate," Sans said. He shoved a cup of iced orange juice into Alastor's free hand before he gestured to the food before him. Briefly forgotten in the great phone scandal of that morning. "I'm making omelets, by the way. I'm not a fantastic cook, but I can do basic shit, so that's what we're having. What do you want on yours?"

"Oh, why, I love omelets! It's a usual go-to in the hotel. But you should have woken me up sooner, Sans; I would have been completely thrilled to cook! It's been a while since anyone let me cook for them without scrutiny. Disadvantages of being a cannibal, I suppose." Alastor leaned over Sans and snatched a half-assed diced tomato from the counter, popping the small cube into his mouth. His eyes flickered with static for a brief moment. If Alastor wasn't so thoroughly asexual, Sans would have believed the demon damn near orgasmed from the food. "Everything, please. I forgot how delicious this all is! We have the same types of food, but the flavors are twisted a bit in hell."

"I can do that."

"And about presents, I doubt Papyrus would enjoy finger food—" Alastor continued, and Sans had a very distinct feeling finger food meant literal finger food. "- or would be keen for a new outfit when I don't know his size and haven't met him yet... hm... from what I know, something pirate-themed would be perfect, or possibly some sort of action figure."

"How do ya know that?"

A stare was given towards Sans. "You told me, remember? You talk about Papyrus a lot more than you think."

Sans, apparently too much of a good brother, grumbled. Turned back with a scoff and began to whisk some eggs in a bowl. A rumbling laugh echoed from Alastor. For a moment, a sturdy yet comfortable silence took hold in the air as Sans loaded up Alastor's omelet with as many fresh veggies as he could.

The wedding should be fine, even if Alastor shows up. At the very least, the guy was charismatic. A serial killer couldn't get away as long as he did from the law without being able to charm his way with words and appearances. Especially since he managed to make his way up the ladder to being a radio host at a time when some places wouldn't even let different-colored people poop in the same restrooms. Which Sans despised. It would be an honor to be able to shit, he liked to think. The amount of whoopie cushions Sans had to buy because he was biologically incapable of farting was just sad.

"Can dead people poop?" Sans asked suddenly.

Alastor choked down a snort, placing a single finger against his lips to try and keep himself the normal, calm man he was. "Yes."

"Good."

Either way, Sans hoped the wedding would be alright with Alastor. It should be in a grand oblivion of a theory. Alastor had succumbed to the temptation of friendship and seemed quite... dedicated to it already. With Alastor's previous track record of literally getting away with murder, and his sudden new real relationship, Alastor was chained to social laws.

(Though, it wasn't like Sans had been secretive about Alastor being a serial killer demon. He had been very vocal about the whole thing. Papyrus just didn't believe him. Which was fine; Sans understood it's bonkers, but he thoroughly warned his brother before Alastor stepped foot into Sans' home.)

"Do skeletons have a waste disposal system?" Alastor asked suddenly, looking Sans up and down. The man was perched up against the counter, already looking way too at home for Sans' liking. But the more Sans lingered on the thought, the more it settled, until he decided it was actually quite fine. "Or do you just process food differently than us?"

Sans shrugged. "Sort of, in a broad sense. Anything we eat our soul digests into raw energy, and the used energy gets filtered into the air. If ya squint hard enough at the science, we're technically pooping excess magic into the air at all times. Cool, huh?"

"It's rather inconsiderate to relieve oneself in front of their esteemed guest," Alastor chastised, and when Sans rolled over the omelet, he let out a soft exhale at the sight before him. "And my dear skeleton, it also feels rude to make that very same guest an omelet with a phallic shape in it. This was a christian office, you know, and I believe that may be considered blasphemy."

"First off—" Sans pointed the rubber spatula at Alastor, who only glowed at the movement. His shoulders perked, as if anxiously awaiting another fight. Almost like a middle school student who caught their first glimpse of a cafeteria scuffle and couldn't go back since. "- Yer ain't an esteemed guest. You are an intruder I haven't kicked out yet, so don't fawn over yourself. Secondly—eh, yeah, it looks like a penis. Was trying to make a middle finger with the veggies, but art is not a skill set of mine. And I also think letting a demon into my home is more blasphemous than accidental penis art. Either way, I got what I was trying to communicate across to you: Fuck you."

"You will never," Alastor said, and snagged the plate of an egg and vegetable mashed attempt at an omelet before bopping the tip of Sans' nose socket.

Sans snorted. "Just to spite you, I'll somehow cure myself of being asexual, grow a dick, and fuck you. Don't test me. I will go against the laws of nature just to make you my bitch."

Alastor narrowed his eyes down at Sans, grin thin and pointy. His teeth were all perfectly even, his smile neatly measured. "In this hypothetical situation, I highly doubt you can make anyone your bitch, least of all me. And how do skeletons even reproduce? I understand this is a little hissy fit for me talking to your brother, but I must say, I am curious. If a skeleton can be asexual, it means there's a baseline understanding that skeletons aren't asexual creatures and that you are not the status quo. Which means there's a possibility for sex."

"Yeah. Good guesswork. I'll give you a sticker next time you say something smart; remind me to buy some. Technically I can have sex, but it's just icky for me, so I'd rather not. If you want an example, hentai-watching freak, I can throw on some skeleton porn in the living room. Just for you. Want some popcorn with that?"

"I can say, from personal experience of being both shot in the head and being forced to watch porn," Alastor spat, leaning closer to Sans as he spoke. The radio filter over his voice picked up as his fingers twitched against the paper plate, a white, heavy static creeping up Sans' back like his sins did every night. "I'd rather have another bullet to the head."

"Ain't that curious?"

"I'm afraid not! I am curious about biological differences, but not that curious as to subject myself to what I would consider worse than eternal damnation."

"Yeah, fair. It's not that interesting anyways. We can summon parts. We can already summon bones, ya saw, so just throw an 'r' onto the end of the bone word and call it a day. Or any part we so wish upon, really. Ain't that so cool?"

"Don't let people in hell know that. People will froth at the mouth for abilities like that, so best to keep that little tidbit to yourself, Comic Sans."

"Noted, Augustin."

Alastor seemed to almost shiver from Sans calling him by his old last name, and he patted Sans' head.

Alastor was so fucking fun that Sans could barely breathe. Even though he just pissed Sans off with that little Papyrus stunt, Sans was having a blast with this little sleepover idea. Why the hell didn't Sans think of this sooner? This frenemy 'bestie' relationship was amazing. And so far, it was going well. Alastor hadn't tried to kill him once. That's progress compared to their last physical meeting.

This was a successful, good interaction between them, Sans liked to think. He got to see Alastor as a pleasant, almost kitten-like drunk; got to convince the guy to wear his stupid cheap bracelet; and learned that, yes, interacting with this man in a daily manner was extremely fun and scratched that little itch he had.

Alastor was easy to read for Sans, but not weaker than him, so there was no strained need to take care of him. Openly everything that scared Sans about humans, and yet so neatly tied into a bundle where Sans could enjoy his company and charismatic approach to conversation. The sleepover cemented it. Alastor was going to mean more to Sans than he anticipated.

Alastor certainly was in a conundrum when he returned to hell.

So far, the only people who really knew about his little trips to the surface were the people in the hotel. And after that battle with Adam and the other spear-wielding angels, they certainly had grown closer. The rest of them, anyways. To Alastor, they remained the same, firmly locked into the role of little playthings he would discard if amusement became tedious. And it wasn't particularly like he necessarily needed them anymore. After all, Alastor has Sans. And the baffled look on that skeleton's face was enough to keep him smiling for months.

Alastor really did need to get onto that commission as soon as possible. If so, he'd be able to roam about the streets of his old hometown unburdened. That already was a pleasant thought. But having Sans on his arm, tucked beside him, as Alastor went on and on about where he and the boys used to play kick the can, or where his mama and he plucked cherries? Oh, that was something he wanted very much. Alastor was already itching to get back up there.

The hotel certainly had been a comfortable place to stay for amusement, but if it kept interrupting him, it'd be a nuisance.

Alastor had no need for such nuisances.

Especially when he returned to that hotel, drenched in red much like the rest of hell, with a little pink bracelet firmly locked around his wrist. It was—to quote Husk's opinion of his personality—horseshit. Alastor wasn't a man for pink. It clashed with his eyes, both before and after death. Didn't suit him. Much less the unicorn charm in the middle that still had the 99-cent sticker on the bottom of it or the stupid nickname of Bambie. Never saw the film, personally, but context clues certainly gave him enough knowledge as to what that little creature was.

Normally, it'd piss him off. He wasn't a big fan of nicknames that reminded him that deer were weak and prey-like creatures. But Sans made it, so he supposed it might as well stay.

The problem was what he would have to do regarding people seeing it when they saw him.

Alastor could just take it off and place it somewhere safe, much like the two little two-colored pride flag pins in his radio tower. He could. It would allow him to keep it safe but also view it whenever he pleased. On the other hand, he did agree to wear it if Sans wore his, and the idea of people seeing Sans with a similarly obnoxious bracelet and wondering who gave him that sent a giddy thrill up his spine. A spiritual level of pleasure that made him want to giggle and cackle in the solitude of his room.

So yes, it remained on. Firmly planted around his wrist where it belonged.

"Woah."

Of course it was Vaggie that saw him first. The woman was sitting on the couch, a hand running through Charlie's hair in a sick imitation of what Sans had done to Alastor just last night. For Charlie and Vaggie, it was clearly the disgusting, gooey sense of romance that he didn't quite understand. That was why he much preferred his relationship with Sans. The man could run his fingers through Alastor's well-kept hair, could joke about making love to the man all he wanted, but they both knew it would never delve to that. Why, Alastor dared to think it was something more than romance or sexual attraction entirely. Something far superior. The type of relationship much better than some horny lesbians on a couch.

Besties, Sans' voice rang out in his mind, low and deep. Alastor held that memory close, like a secret to cherish with sullied hands.

"Alastor, what is—" Charlie squealed, leaping up from Vaggie's lap. The angel sent him a glare, as if it was somehow Alastor's fault her girlfriend had the attention span of a walnut. "What's that! OMG, Alastor, you have the cuteeeeeesssstttttt bracelet I've ever seen in my LIFE I love it who made it do you have a kid is she your daughter do you have a girlfriend—"

Alastor officially began to tune out her rambling, placing a hand against her lips to quiet her. Instantly (the traitorous little thing), his mind jumped to point out why Sans was tailor-made for him. His voice was low and pleasant. The perfect tone and volume to listen to.

Alastor really needed to get a grip on himself, or at this point he very well may go mad.

"What I wear is none of your concern, Charlie," Alastor huffed, tugging himself back from her to not be within hugging distance. Just in case. "I just returned from my visit to Earth, that's all."

"Earth?" Vaggie narrowed her eyes, arms crossed. "Shouldn't that be the last place you would want to visit—and I thought it was a one-time thing."

After Alastor had returned the first time from Earth, oh, that woman had thrown a fit. Tried to talk to Charlie and beg her to reconsider giving him unlimited access to the mortal realm. All it took was one reminder from Alastor that he could have made the deal so very much more vile that the angel shut up. Everything was fine. Alastor had even been on his best behavior!

"Not really, I made the deal with the idea of constant visits in mind," Alastor hummed, walking past Charlie to further enter the hotel. "I have someone I plan to regularly see."

"Who?" Charlie squeaked, so excited that she may as well implode.

"No one you know."

"Some great-great-grandkid or something?" Husk mused from the bar, his usual bored expression wiped clean off his face. Curiosity tugged at his eyebrows, tail perched tall as if anticipating some sort of surprise.

"Hah! No. Reproducing wasn't one of my concerns while alive," Alastor said. He brushed off an invisible little dust spot on his shoulder just to avoid thinking about it, before returning to his perfect posture. "And I won't be telling any of you, but please, do offer your thoughts on who it is! I am rather curious!"

"Pass," Vaggie mumbled, turning to walk away. "Have fun, Charlie."

Alastor had to refrain from an eye roll when Charlie sucked in a breath, clearly about to start some tangent about every possible idea about who could have made him such a cutesy little bracelet. It'd be amusing to listen to for the total of three seconds, he was sure, but Charlie would have no luck; it was a man in his mid-thirties that made such an object.

While she began her tireless guesses, Alastor let his mind wander off with other plans of much more importance. He needed to get Sans a radio, first off. The skeleton had far too many screen electronics in his house for comfort, and the man clearly needed better entertainment. And if he could find a way to connect it to his broadcasts so Sans could listen live while Alastor performed for all of hell... oh, that would be fun. That was certainly on the list of things to do, now. Along with getting that human disguise. Also prepare some recipes to cook for Sans; his mother left him bountiful foods that he felt important to share. Sans was in desperate need of a few more outfits, which would be nice to handle, and Alastor was curious about his room, so he'd like to see that soon...