When the wedding arrived, Alastor showed up to Earth in his brand-new suit. A tad bit vintage, but still stylish and classic enough to not draw too much attention to himself. His morning was spent carefully ironing out the suit, brushing his teeth until they shimmered, and combing his hair to just the right amount of fluffiness. The gift was already carefully wrapped up, tucked into a corner of his radio tower in case any of the other hotel guests dared to snoop. Alastor made sure to lock his room before he got ready in his human form, making sure everything was prim and proper. It'd been a while since he went to a wedding.

Last time had been their neighbor, Miss Kathleen got married to a sweet farmer boy from the South. He had an overbite and receding hairline, but both were sickly in love and gooey romantic with one another. As far as he was aware, neither of them went to hell. When Alastor did linger on it, he found that it quite made sense. They always let Alastor sneak on over and grab some medicine if his Pa was rough that day. Kathleen's husband, short and scrawny, as if built like a scarecrow, even dared to stand up to his Father once or twice. Kind people, those two. That's why he didn't mind attending their wedding, watching them find their bliss from the back.

Of course, now that he was in hell, people simply didn't pass out wedding invitations like candy. Weddings were small or pointless, so Alastor either didn't get invited or didn't attend. No one would really bother to invite the radio demon of all people, not when they savored their lives in hell. Much less bothered to host a wedding at all.

Yet there he was, looking himself up and down in the mirror. Brown suit. Bowtie. Shirt perfectly tucked in. Not a wrinkle in sight. Even if his image wasn't something he consciously watched, he would have fretted over his appearance anyways. Papyrus was Sans's everything. Daring to come looking like a lazy slob would get him tossed on his ass.

When he had everything ready, both himself and the present wrapped exquisitely, he opened up his portal to Sans' location. Sans wasn't at his home, not for that night. Papyrus and Grillby had their chosen best people sleepover that night to help get ready, and while Alastor was invited to that as well, he doubted a sleepover would be a good idea with someone he cared nothing about. Alastor didn't think his and Sans' shenanigans would be tamed by the context of a social sleepover. One of them would have woken up with some type of inappropriate or stupid drawing on their arms or legs.

The wedding was not to be ruined, under any context. The sleepover was other territory.

Alastor arrived on earth in a hallway, one he wasn't familiar with at all. They had agreed upon a time for Sans to get himself alone so Alastor could show up, and the skeleton had chosen a secluded back hallway of the facility where the wedding would take place. Sans himself was wearing a nice suit, with a hint of eyeliner underneath his eye sockets to make them pop and the tips of his fingers neatly filed. His bestie leaned against the wall, on his phone with someone before Alastor strolled in. After hearing the portal open, Sans perked, and began to search his surroundings until he locked onto Alastor. Alastor quickly cascaded out onto the soft, plumped carpet, the present balanced against his chest.

"Sans, what a perfect day for a wedding!" He said, glancing towards the window. Snowing, as expected. Light, feathery snowflakes that fluttered about. Alastor hadn't seen true, cold snow since he was alive. A beauty to behold. "You look rather nice today. It's about time you went from shit to average looks."

"Aw, thanks bud," Sans practically sung back, his voice almost delirious from joy. "You look nice as well. Like an old vintage painting that's been shit on."

"Thank you. That's what I was going for. The classic era where people actually cared."

Sans really did need to wear more suits. Alastor was going to make sure his personal tailors were all on standby when Sans ended up down below. Sure, he'd let the skeleton pick his own wardrobe, but he would have a required few suits or nicer tops thrown into the mix. And a onesie, since that was funny to think about.

"So," Sans began, snatching his attention away from his plans. "The wedding officially is going to be starting in about ten minutes. We'll be sitting in the front row. Paps and Grillby didn't want their best people standing awkwardly to the side, so they organized it where we, and our plus one's, will be sitting in the front. You're at the very end of the row with me, because I don't trust Paps to not stare at ya during the whole wedding. And for you not to make faces."

"Me? I would never," Alastor hummed.

Sans continued, giving a steady stare in Alastor's direction. "We're gonna stay for the reception and stuff. I'm cool with dancing, but you can't dance with anyone else."

"Aw, jealous?"

"I just don't trust that you won't eat someone." Sans rested a hand on his teeth, tapping his chin with his other. A nice pose to watch Sans fall into. "I'll be introducing you to all of my friends and my brother. Obviously, no demon form or power shenanigans. I see a single shadow puppet and I'm dragging you out, bud. Just stick by my side, and we should be fine."

His shoulders were tense, likely heightened with emotions over this whole event. Introducing the demon of his home and watching his one and only brother get married must be a lot for him. Alastor didn't mind, though. He didn't quite face anxiety, instead enjoying this moment to display himself, the demon on Sans' hip. His best friend in the world, both on earth and in the afterlife. Someone he dedicated the rest of eternity to. And now he got to help prop Sans up, help make Sans feel steady during a time of his own anxiety. An ego boost Alastor took in stride.

Sans looked a mix between nervous and positively excited, his hands drumming and his eyes darting. The kind of expression that couldn't sit still, because something important and amazing was happening. Even if he wasn't so obtusely obvious, Alastor could have known regardless. After all, Sans kept his wallpaper on his phone as a picture of his brother. A younger image of the small skeleton falling down the stairs, plate of spaghetti in hand.

Maybe Alastor would've turned out different if he had a sibling like Sans. Someone to raise and cherish, weak and pliable under his grasp. Maybe he would have turned out worse. They never had any animals, or any children smaller than Alastor in repeated contact with him. The people who always surrounded him were equal or larger than him, looming adults with sneering faces and weak-willed words.

No, he wouldn't have. There were plenty of examples of terrible siblings; Alastor would have just been another example. Sans was just different that way.

As expected, Papyrus and his fiancé were nowhere to be seen when Sans finally brought Alastor to the main room. A skating rink, one with all of the useless posters and decorations tugged away in favor of a more fancy, lavish outcome. Silky orange ribbons, beautiful white lacing on all of the chairs settled out. Alastor glanced around, the air prickly cold on his skin. An ache of a time once more, lovingly unfamiliar. All the more welcome, of course. In the front was a small setup stage, with a special row of chairs clearly meant for the wedding party.

When Alastor last went to a wedding, the small party stood up with the bride and the groom. Then again, when that wedding took place, two men marrying would have been blasphemy, and monsters on the surface were unthinkable. Ah, how times have changed. In a good way. Very good way. He was glad someone like Sans was able to live in a time where his mere existence wasn't hated.

The venue was already half crowded, with other groups lingering inside and finding their seats. A good few were monsters, but a decent selection of humans cropped up too. Just a bit ago, when their sleepovers were still in their early stages and the pair were giving odd tales to one another, Sans had strewn out on the couch next to Alastor and scrolled through his camera roll, snickering at certain images. As a result of the skeleton's laziness that particular day, Alastor could pick out quite a few familiar faces. The first that caught his sight was an older turtle, bent over with wrinkles and a shell as he hobbled toward a seat. Another was a ghost, looking shy and withdrawn as he fluttered, as lost as a bat.

The more constant faces littered in Sans' camera roll were also there. The closest pair was a goat woman and a child, no older than thirteen, with short and evenly cut hair as brown as his. Their skin is just slightly lighter than Alastor's, too. If their face wasn't all pinched up, their eyes thinner than his and their lips nonexistent, they might have been able to pass as Alastor's distant relative. Distant. The tiny human wore a suit that doesn't pertain to any gender, a muted blue that matched the blue clip-on earring they had dangling from one ear. The asymmetric look was a bit odd, but they pulled it off decently enough.

The woman beside them was an old friend of Sans', a voice muffled behind ruin doors. A tale Sans told him over dinner one day, a tale that had Alastor positively cackling. This woman got so upset over the thought of sacrificing seven children in exchange for an entire population's freedom that she ran away from her responsibilities. Sans insisted there was more to it, that she had just lost a child and projected those feelings onto others... but hadn't Asgore just lost a child as well?

Normally, Alastor would have mocked her once and then moved on. But one of the children Toriel insisted should have the privilege of life almost killed Sans. His vision was forever damaged because of a human she thought was worthwhile. Alastor could attest to just how vile humans were as a species; they shouldn't have protection just because they were younger. After all, it was the children his very age that called him slurs because he hadn't dated a girl yet.

Out of everyone Sans had shown Alastor, ex-Queen Toriel was his least favorite. And of course she was strolling up to Sans, smile blinding, with a small child that saved monsterkind on her hip. The first one he was going to meet was the worst. Go figure.

"Sans, hello! Is this the Alastor I've been hearing so much about?" Toriel asked, sweeping her gaze up and down his steady form.

Oh, what pleasant words to hear. Even from the lips of someone he had no interest in, and even knowing logically that Sans told his friends about Alastor, the words were sweet music he almost wanted to hum to.

"Yes I am!" Alastor outstretched a hand for her. The fur tickled his palm, the sensation awfully unpleasant. "Alastor Augustin, madam. It's an absolute pleasure to be in such fine company! And you must be Toriel?"

"Yes, that's me! Former Queen of monsters." See? She was flaunting the title despite all but abandoning it. From what Alastor had heard, Asgore was running the Kingdom solo. She had no right to the word 'Queen' when she wasn't managing the Kingdom. Her hand reached out, and she planted a paw onto the tiny human's shoulder. "And this is Frisk. They're my child.

"Very nice to meet you, savior of Monsters," Alastor reached to shake their hand. They didn't speak, but the child nodded. Their eyes stuck to Alastor like glue, trying to pick apart the mysterious man who was by Sans' side.

"I can't believe Sans has been keeping you to himself this whole time," Toriel giggled, waving her hand toward him, as if trying to shush someone. A gesture likely automatic from parenthood, but one that annoyed him nonetheless. "You should come by more often around here! I'd love to talk with you from time to time."

Right. Normal people. Alastor briefly forgot how much he hated them after seeing Sans that morning. That skeleton did help erase the annoying pests in his life from his mind, if even just for a moment. Alastor really didn't understand what Sans saw in these people. But he didn't mind their difference in that regard. They shared plenty of similarities where it really mattered.

"Unfortunately, I'm rather busy, so I can't make any promises."

"Oh, you and Sans share that same promise notion—I digress, it's silly to be caught up by the mere motion of a promise." Toriel giggles. "How did you guys meet, by the way? Sans talks about you all of the time!"

"I told ya, Tori," Sans curtly spoke up, his voice on the cusp of straining. "Haunted me, remember?"

Frisk continued to stare, their eyes drilling holes into Alastor, while Toriel's more lush brown ones stared questioningly at the pair. Alastor nearly jolted at the words, his eyes tightening slightly to maintain his relaxed expression. Not holding back the truth at all, it seemed. He hadn't quite expected that, but it only brought out a flash of joy in Alastor that makes his heart feel light and airy.

"Well, I mean, that story isn't exactly accurate, Sans," Alastor chastised. He turned his torso just enough to look at Sans, to look at his bestie that brought him to a wedding as a plus one. "You are the one who started living in my old workplace."

"I bought the deed to the house. Fucking mine now. You trespassed, and haunting is trespassing," Sans said, a smile tugging at his face.

"It's not exactly haunting if I owned it, Cheshire."

Sans elbowed him, a chain reaction that saw to Alastor returning it. The two onlookers stared at their shenanigans mutely and distantly, Frisk as quiet as a mouse while Toriel smiled. A somewhat awkward, tilted idea of a smile, as if she wasn't fully amused.

"To answer your question, Tori," Sans continued, "we met like how I said we met. He's the demon."

"Radio demon, to be specific!" Alastor chimed in. "I very much am fond of that title. Straight to the point."

"Oh, oh!" Toriel gasped, clasping her hands together. Her eyes lit up. "I see, it's an inside joke between you two! How cute."

The corners of Sans' mouth twitched as they fell downward, a motion so quick he almost missed it. Almost. Alastor didn't think there was much of anything he could miss from Sans.

"No, it's not," Alastor said quickly. If Sans wanted to be honest, Alastor didn't mind doing so. Not that he really did care. He grinned, sharp yet human, a little tease considering his demon form would likely end the wedding on the spot. "Alastor Augustin, I died a good few years back. I'd say what I did, but considering there's a child present I'll refrain. I'm thrilled to be back on Earth, it has been a while since I've seen snow."

Toriel blinked. A forced, almost hollow chuckle escaped from her snout. Next to Alastor, Sans leaned back onto his heels, his mouth closing with a click that permeated through the newfound silence.

"What an odd friend you've found, Sans!" Toriel's voice was less chipper than it was moments ago, looking a little bit unsettled by Alastor. He found this expression far more appealing than her last. Frisk continued to stare, their tiny little face bunched up, as if picking through Alastor's words to see if they held any weight or not. Kids were always more lenient towards supernatural ideas. Alastor wouldn't be surprised if it was Frisk who looked deeper into him.

"Indeed," Alastor agreed. "I'm quite glad about it. I've never met anyone who shares the same humor as me to the degree Sans does. So any puns and pranks—it's glorious, really. Why, right now I have a piece of paper taped to his back.

"No I don't," Sans cut in.

"You don't?" Alastor cocked an eyebrow.

"No, because you're not that slick. And I'd kill ya."

"Aw, pity. One day you'll fall for it."

"Nah. It'd find its way to your back eventually."

Toriel and Frisk looked as lost as sheep on a runway, so Alastor gave a curt apology and went on about how nice it was to meet them before he deliberately detailed how this day was anything but his. Followed by a brisk question regarding their relationship with the two grooms. The right topic to choose, considering Sans detailed how hopefully romantic Toriel was a few weeks back, and the woman jumped into a gushing story about how Grillby and Papyrus' first date was ice skating. Of course, it was information he already was acquainted with. Sans told him that story four times, always eager to brag about his pride and joy that shared his blood. It was a tale that made Sans smile wide, as anything good about Papyrus always managed to bring a grin to him. Which was good, considering Sans looked on the verge of being downcast for the wedding seconds ago.

Alastor supposed it would be frustrating if he had so many people in his life he cared for who didn't bother to believe his words, even if they were outlandish. Of course, Alastor could simply turn into his demon form or supply some sort of proof at the next gathering Sans brings him to, but he doubted Sans would appreciate such a motion. If Sans had such a desire, he would have requested it.

Not time to dwell on that, though. Alastor was Sans' plus one to his brother's wedding. This was Sans' day. Papyrus' too, he supposed, but Alastor was only there for Sans. This was the day for Alastor to have Sans on his arm, protecting his weaker side while proudly displaying that they had a relationship unlike anyone else's.

They didn't linger with Toriel and Frisk, thankfully, as the wedding was soon to start and everyone was on their way to their seats. Both Sans and Alastor were conveniently placed in the front row, sitting at the very end, with Alastor's seat being beside none other than Sans'. To the skeleton's left sat a woman Alastor didn't know, monster in species and flame in substance. Grillby's Mother, Sans introduced her as.

"It's a pleasure, sweetheart." Her voice was soft and silky, just like the flames that pressed against his hand as they shook. Alastor felt his eyes sharpen at the sensation, as if he ducked his hand into the most lukewarm of flames. Nothing compared to hell's fires that stretched the streets day and night. After the touch, she was the one who snapped her hand back quickly, as if she were the one who was burned.

"You have quite the... body temperature, dear," She murmured. Quickly regathering herself, she ran a hand through her flame ponytail. "It seems skeletons do have a preference towards more hot running people for partners, huh? You and Papyrus both, Sans, I swear—no, don't give me that look, I meant platonic partners silly."

She patted his head, causing Sans to grumble and swat at it with a smile. Parental, in a way. Looking out for the brother of their soon-to-be son-in-law. Sans, Alastor, and the Mother had a decent, but muted and quick conversation to pass the time. Alastor didn't offer much about himself, mostly taking a backseat as Sans and the woman shared tales about how excited they were after all of the wedding planning. Before the woman could say too much, she pressed a finger against her lips and murmured about spoilers for her speech before the music began to swell.

People stood, one after another, a wave of bodies rising in height. Sans was up the fastest, practically twirling around in an instant in favor of seeing his brother and fiancé emerge onto the carpet.

The wedding had officially started.

Sans didn't remember holding his brother for the first time. He was pretty young when it happened, and a lot of memories from his early years were fuzzy. Sans wouldn't have known of any instances if a few three-by-three images didn't exist. Only a few photos from his early days remained, all brittle and yellow from a long lifespan. One of those photos was Sans, a little tiny boy, holding a bundle with a single tinier hand sticking out, reaching for his older brother. The cloth he was wrapped in was a lightly tinted green, with specks of red and blue throughout. Sans looks so small in that photo, but his joy was obvious and immense. Sans didn't remember that moment, but he knew that he was the happiest little boy in the world.

Sans' first memory of Papyrus was after their parents died, and Sans had taken up primary custody despite being no older than eight when their parents passed. He had managed to use their remaining will to somewhat get a life for them, and with Asgore's help through his offer, Sans was able to single-handedly raise his brother. Papyrus' first day at preschool had taken place just mere days after Sans began his first day of training, so his soul was jittery with nerves and lingering magic as he walked his little brother to school. His very first day in school.

Papyrus was nervous. Stars, he was so shy. Cried for ten minutes that morning, was scared to be somewhere new and scary without Sans. Sans tried his best to calm him down before he held his little brother, and told him all of the fun people he'd meet and the cool things they could do before he walked him off to school. They lived in the Capital at that time, so the walk was brief, the streets crowded with monsters also taking their children to school. Once outside of the classroom, Papyrus had given Sans the biggest hug before finally letting go and nervously saying hi to his new teacher. Sans didn't stay—he couldn't, not when he himself still had middle school to trudge through. When he picked up Papyrus, though, the boy was eagerly ranting about all of the cool toys and people he met as Sans got him ice cream.

That day is the first memory of Papyrus Sans can recall. He doesn't have much before that, just random snippets of blurry faced parents, a crib with what he thinks was pink pillows, and some rat by a sewer that ate his dropped cheese. So that memory was the first memory he had of substance. Of real value. Naturally, there was no other option than for his earliest memory to be of Papyrus, of his sweet little brother whom he held dear. The light of his life. His family that he raised through thick and thin. Sans remembers when Papyrus used to be so small, a little short stack of bones who still pronounced spaghetti as "spaghehi" and waddled when he walked.

That little boy was now the man who was getting married. Wild to think about. It felt like just yesterday Papyrus was graduating from high school. Now he was going to have a husband.

Sans could only feel content and pure, unbridled joy in each and every bone over the wedding. Perfect spot both of the men were happy with. A husband who loved Papyrus like he was the sun itself, who would care for his little brother and protect him with his life. Grillby's parents were both fine people with a long-lasting family tradition that would carry financial stability for the rest of their bloodline. And they loved Papyrus like one of their own, becoming the parental figures Papyrus never had. If there was any partner Sans would promote, it would be Grillby.

Most importantly, though, they would be happy together. Grillby and Papyrus meshed nicely. They loved each other's company and worked well together for their restaurant and bar. They knew when to talk when they had disagreements; miscommunication was next to nonexistent. It was everything Sans wished for Papyrus. Grillby's more subdued personality quieted Papyrus' louder one. Opposites that attracted perfectly.

And his brother looked so handsome in his suit, neatly tailored to his exact measurements. His bones clean and his makeup even, subtle. Papyrus was walking with Grillby and his Dad, who insisted he walk them both down the aisle. Grillby's Father is a short and plumply built man, his flames a deeper orange and his fire hair cut shorter. Grillby was to his left, wearing a clean cut suit that's deep, royal black. Papyrus to the right of his Father-in-law, wearing a dark blue suit with accents of orange that blended nicely.

Sans had to blink back tears of bliss as he watched Papyrus and Grillby walk. This was it. This was everything he'd ever hoped for. Papyrus finding true happiness in his life. Papyrus was getting married. He had a successful career, an ice skating rink full of friends and family, and a soon-to-be husband who positively brimmed with love for him. Papyrus got everything Sans ever wanted him to get. Sans was so happy he could cry. In the far corner of his mind, he could process Alastor chuckling, and felt a cloth being pressed into his hands and dabbing at his eye sockets to make sure his makeup didn't smudge.

The wedding officiant started without delay once the two made it to the front, both of them looking their best and smiling so hard their jaws might very well have fallen off. Their vows were read, deeply emotionally ballads about how they met, how Grillby remembered Papyrus picking up a slightly drunken Sans from the bar and thinking how Papyrus smiled like how he imagined the sun did. Grillby's speech was short, to the point but with enough emotion to melt the heart of anyone in the audience. Papyrus' was much longer in comparison, as he had kept a memento from every date. He said, with the biggest smile on his face, that he knew Grillby was the one from the first time they kissed.

The officiant continued, and before long, the beautiful words of "I do" were spoken by the pair before they shared a kiss, sweet and blissful. The whole audience roared in cheer and applause, and several bounced to their feet as they screamed and clapped. Sans was one of those people, and he nearly tumbled over from how fast he was up. Alastor steadied him easily, a hand resting on his shoulder while Sans nearly cheered himself hoarse.

His little brother was married. Paps was married.

The music swung into full force once again as the wedding wrapped up, the two walking down the aisle, now with a new pair of rings signifying their marriage slipped onto their fingers. It was a blur of emotions, really. Sans felt like he was flying high when he saw how perfect and happy Papyrus was. His darling little brother got married. He was going to live comfortably and happily for the rest of his days.

Sans wasn't sure when, exactly, but he and Papyrus somehow found their way toward each other after it ended and hugged, close and tight, both practically crying on one another from excitement. Sans knew Alastor was close, but the man kept a reasonable distance while it happened so as not to intrude on the moment. Grillby too, but he was busy preoccupied with his Mother who was crying herself until her cheeks threatened to extinguish from the liquid.

Sans was sure that day was one of the best in his entire damned life.

Alastor all but manhandled Sans into the bathroom after the service was over, the handkerchief smeared with slight mascara grasped firmly in his hands as he positioned Sans in front of the mirror. Alastor looked just as put together as he always did, his suit pristine and his hair so wonderfully fluffy. Sans knew Alastor always put in effort for his physical appearance, but he still couldn't help but be thankful for Alastor doing all of this for a wedding he had no personal stakes in. Just because Sans asked him to.

Stars, if that wasn't ego-boosting. A demonic serial killer from hell came to a wedding for a man he didn't know as a plus one just because Sans asked him to. And Alastor backed Sans up when Toriel talked to him about it, even though Alastor usually was one for decent appearances and witty words to carry his social reputation well.

And there Alastor was, bent over as he gently cupped Sans' face and fixed him up to be an appropriate image for a reception ball. His hand was warm, boiling hot just like Grillby's family lineage was, with a thumb to his chin and a sharp look on his face. Tucked into Sans' personal space, a familiar closeness Alastor had been very fond of inhabiting as of late. From here, Sans could see the bright hazel hint to Alastor's brown eyes, his sharp cutting jaw with only a tint of baby fat in his cheeks. A hairline that maintained itself in full, with lavish hair prime for fingers to roll within. Alastor really was objectively handsome. Not the kind where sexual urges would suddenly manifest within Sans—that would take divine intervention for that to happen—but the kind of handsome that suited a portrait. Something to pretty up Sans' wall.

"You really should have warned me you were going to wear makeup, Sans; I would have bought extra in case you cried. Even if it's a wedding with people you know, appearance does mean quite a lot," Alastor chastised, no real heat to his voice. He had a grin on his face as he spoke, soft and sharp. "I can guarantee one of the reasons I wasn't caught was because I was granted nice genetics with looks. If I were a plumper man or had an awkward tooth like my Father, I doubt I would've gotten past ten kills before I was locked up. You should always strive for a decent appearance."

"Yeah, sure," Sans said, in a tone which they both knew indicated that would never happen.

Alastor rolled his eyes and continued to dab at Sans' eye sockets. His movements were all set and calculated, gentle in nature. A sweep of a wrist here. A tap of his fingers there. An artist upon the canvas.

"Didn't Paps look so good in his suit?" Sans asked, giddy with his words.

"He did; his height lets him pull off that kind of suit very nicely. And Grillby's flames matched the color of his suit as well. They also managed to coordinate their outfits with the decorations, which I must commend. What a splendidly visual wedding."

"And their vows? They both looked so damn happy, holy fuck," Sans breathed out, grinning like an idiot.

Alastor paused for a moment before laughing. The laugh was genuine enough for a creep of static to trickle in, lasting for mere seconds before it dissipated.

"Everyone did, yes," Alastor agreed. "As do you. People might mistake this wedding as yours considering how happy you are."

"Heh, yeah. But can you blame me?"

"No. I suppose I can't."

Alastor finished up soon after, his grin as sharp as all of his other features. His eyes lingered over Sans' for a moment, taking in the round bulbs of magical sight and trailing along the cavities in his eye sockets before he settled, seemingly satisfied in his work. Sans noted how neat his makeup was in the mirror, wiped it down to its previous existence before his excited sobbing led to some leakage.

"Thanks," Sans mumbled. His soul felt light, fluttery and high all at once. "For everything. For being here and supporting me, even though I know you don't like him."

Sans would adore if Alastor liked Papyrus, but he knew forcing a genuine relationship between the two would be a dream that could never come to fruition. A shot in the dark when the target never bothered to show. Considering Sans was his only genuine relationship ever, asking for someone like Alastor to be friends with someone like Papyrus was the same as setting himself on fire in a pit of gasoline.

Sans cared about them both so deeply. So he knew it was best to keep them on opposite sides with no intentions to force them together. Honestly, the only thing that they could possibly have in common was their tendency towards jealousy regarding Sans. And he'd rather not encourage them to bond over that. He might as well invite the rapture to Earth personally if he saw to that friendship exercise.

Fuck, Sans could still remember how many excuses Papyrus would make to skip out on basketball practice to have their movie nights instead, and how he'd pout and whine whenever Sans had to stay out for a few nights back to back. The teenager boy full of middle school angst who used to do that was now a man who was married.

Paps and Sans really have come so far.

That would have scared him before. That they were now full adults, that time was persisting, and that Sans would lose this all to uncertain ends one day. But not anymore. The man that revealed the truth of the world's afterlife was standing right before him, tucking a used handkerchief into his back pocket as he chattered on about the importance of appearances. The inevitable fate of death many people feared still had a crushing ache to it, but now, knowing who waited for him, it simply felt like a necessary step he'd have to take one day. One day in the far future, when he lived life to the fullest and where old age will come and put him to rest.

Now, though, he could simply enjoy the process of living. Look around at the wedding he was at and know that this would be a cherished memory he'd have for eternity. That in a hundred years, Grillby and Papyrus would be able to look back together and care for it fondly as well. He was glad to be able to make these memories with them.

And Sans really did hope there was a way to heaven from hell. He didn't think he'd leave right away, not when Alastor was there and Sans was content in their plans for a future together. But eternity without Paps sounded unappealing. Heaven wouldn't truly be heaven for his brother, either, when Papyrus was fully aware of where Sans ended up.

A later Sans issue, though. One he knew a woman called Charlie was already feverishly working at with a passion he could never hold.

"Eye didn't realize how messy makeup can be, sorry about that," Sans chuckled.

Alastor laughed, and tucked a hand around Sans' shoulder. The arm easily snaked itself into a relaxed position, wrapped around his skeletal friend he held dear to his unbeaten heart. A lazy pun, really, one easily grabbed off of the pile in the midst of his emotional state that particular day. But Sans got a pass because it was Papyrus' wedding, and that's all that mattered.

"You really are a hoot," Alastor said, sounding all too pleased about everything at the moment. "Quite clever, Cheshire. I'll have that on a wall somewhere. A plaque of your funniest moment."

"Thanks. Can't wait until you eventually get yours. Must suck not having any humor or wit."

Alastor's fingers plucked at the arch of Sans' nose, and Sans retaliated by pulling at his swept bangs. What followed was a minute or two of what Alastor typically referred to as 'tomfoolery,' an older term Sans always cackled at. Alastor's old lingo that popped up from time to time was always amusing. They tugged at each other's clothes, pushed and pulled, and slapped around their limbs without much force behind any of it. It was simple nonsense they partook in just because they could, so they did. Alastor prevailed because of his height and upper body strength, easily pinning Sans' back against his chest and holding the skeleton as Sans giggled and cackled at the silly battle in their never-ending petty war. Alastor laughed too, the usual triumph in his day-to-day performative voice gone as he lost himself in the moment, snorting and giggling like a schoolchild.

They settled down soon enough, as they had places to be, and were forced to reside within the bathroom for another minute as they fixed themselves up again. In the scuffle, their clothes had gotten all wrinkled and bent out of shape, along with how tousled Alastor's had become, as if a mini tornado swept its way across his scalp alone. Sans made a joke about how they looked like they just came from a quickie in the bathroom, and adored the way Alastor's face scrunched up with sour disgust over the thought. Same, bud, same.

"If you tell anyone that was the reason for our delay, I'll have to simply agree with you. And then insist that it was the worst 'quickie' in history because neither man even got hard during the encounter. Truly a pathetic experience," Alastor grumbled bitterly. He was fixing his top with a comb he had summoned with his powers, quickly reorganizing his one pristine hair.

Sans turned to glance at Alastor after his tie was neatly fixed. "Well, I mean, I got around 206 boners if you just remove the 'r' and squint hard enough."

"Why, that's a lot of penises to manage. And a lot of lost blood flow to the brain. No wonder you're so tragically distant from wit. One day, perhaps."

"Says the guy with a hentai form."

They had a round two after Alastor turned on his heels and launched himself at Sans, and spent even longer smoothing down their suits and hair once again. Maybe this really was a quickie, just the kind asexuals partook in, instead of the horny version of it. The platonic version, filled with goofy giggles, wide smiles, and messing around until their voices were hoarse from laughing.

And it was nice to know that they could joke about sex all they wanted. It wasn't something Sans ever craved or would ever crave, but joking about it was a different topic. Especially with Alastor. He could make snide comments, silly little gestures and references, and simply enjoy how Alastor was on the same page as him. Unlike other people, who always tended to pull Sans aside and ask if he was "really asexual" or if he was secretly trying to hit on them and just "couldn't admit it." Alastor could hear a joke and immediately join in, equally as disgusted over the act of it but perfectly fun making fun humor between themselves they would never enact.

Sans indulged in the joy of mutual hatred as he fixed up his own tie, the fabric nearly coarse against his bones. He really did wish he could continue that for an eternity. Just him and Alastor, making odd jokes with a security none other could quite provide.

And by the look in Alastor's eyes whenever he glanced over, focused and softened with care, Sans never needed to question if Alastor felt the same or not.

The reception took place just a few buildings down, in an event center Papyrus and Grillby rented out for the day. The decorations were more relaxed, instead focused on the natural architecture to take lead. The air was chilly when they stepped outside, a brittle cold that seeped into his bones and made him huddle against his favorite heat source.

Despite Sans being asexual, he found that he very much likes physical contact. A conundrum, frankly. He wasn't sure if it originated from his lacking body heat, or if it was just a monster thing, but Sans enjoyed it all the same. The warmth was pleasant, and the comfort more so. Whenever Alastor wrapped an arm around his shoulders or tucked Sans against his side, the creeping loneliness that Sans always had in the back of his mind chased away.

Then again, it was just nice to hug someone or pat their shoulder or just flop onto them. Sans was more tolerant of physical contact compared to Alastor, who was so thoroughly asexual that Sans assumed anyone other than himself touching Alastor would make the man physically ill. That sense of trust and boundaries they understood between one another helped ease Alastor towards Sans, something the demon would never replicate with others.

Sans and Alastor, despite their lingering within the bathroom, arrived in the middle of the general wedding crowd. Sans gave a quick greeting to Doggo, nodded in the direction of their old Snowdin librarian, and grinned at Grillby's niece as they shuffled into the reception building. The space was more catered to all sorts of events, with a wide area below Napstablook's small but loyal band. They had on a variety of songs Sans helped Grillby pick out, songs that either Papyrus or his newly married husband adored.

It was a little less crowded this time around, as unavoidable obligations came to steal away the busier of guests. The only invitation that returned a solid decline of time for either part was Asgore. Running a Kingdom would do that for your schedule.

At least Asgore had been getting back into dating recently. He met a flower monster recently named Lilac, and they were on the cusp of the official dating title. Sans was happy for the guy. Tori moved on ages ago with adopting Frisk; it was about time Asgore got someone.

Everyone else Sans was closely familiar with was gathered at the top table, where two seats lacked a certain skeleton and disguised demon. Sans had insisted Alastor didn't need a seat up top, but Papyrus was adamant about it. Insisted anyone important to Sans was important to him.

The bitter reveal that would eventually take place left a pit in Sans' imaginary gut. The kind of uncomfortable that settled, thick and daunting, within him. He knew he could—that he should—try and lie about Alastor's origins despite how adamant he was regarding them before. But he didn't. Trying to pretend Alastor wasn't who he was when it would inevitably be revealed was something Sans couldn't do. Be it selfishness or the inability to truly lie to his brother, Sans found that lies wouldn't work for him.

It was, admittedly, a little bit upsetting that his friends and family couldn't be bothered to believe him without proof, but he chose to ignore it in favor of enjoying his time. It wasn't the end of the world. Insisting his newfound friend was a demon who tried to kill him once before was a tale more suited for a drunken man than a sober one.

Sans couldn't necessarily judge them, though. He wasn't in their shoes. If Papyrus had come insisting the very same thing, Sans had no idea if he would have believed him or not. That's just the kind of world they lived in.

Papyrus, looking very handsome (per usual), was in the middle seat alongside Grillby. The two were the center of attention, as they deserved. Toriel and Frisk weren't there quite yet, likely lingering behind because Frisk roamed off again in their little explorative adventures. Everyone else in the main wedding party was there. Undyne and Alphys both sat side by side, adorned in beautiful dresses they had custom-made. He hadn't seen them yet since they had been sitting on the other side of the wedding during it, but now Sans got a full view of them. They were wearing matching-styled dresses with complimentary colors to one another. Alphys' dress was a rich seafoam blue, while Undyne's was a thick gold with red frills. Undyne's and Alphys' favorite colors, respectively.

The other two people at the end were Grillby's siblings, his older and younger sister. Nice women who stopped by in Snowdin once a month for a sibling dinner. He only met them a handful of times, but they were pleasant enough.

And, finally, Sans approached to join the party, a devil on his shoulder and the dread of Alastor and Papyrus meeting face-to-face so close he could taste it. There was no going back from such a meeting. The two most important people in his life were about to clash. And from the slight twitches of Alastor's eyebrows whenever Sans interacted with Papyrus over the phone, he doubted the vocal introduction would go well.

Which Sans thought was stupid, his little brother's voice was perfect in every way, but not everyone had to love him. Forcing it upon Alastor would be stupid. Papyrus was a fruit, a perfectly ripe and amazing fruit. Some people just didn't like fruit.

"Sans?"

Papyrus was up in a second, the tablecloth practically flying from the wind his movement generated. There was no hesitation as Papyrus rounded the table, hyper and there as he rounded toward Sans. His platonic plus one offered a curt and quick wave to Papyrus, before snatching his hand away and placing it back right over Sans' own, coiled neatly around Alastor's arm. The position still made him ache uncomfortably, not used to latching onto anything for that long. Though, it wasn't quite terrible. Was nice to have a leash on Alastor, admittedly.

Sans didn't trust Alastor to roam off somewhere and make something go wrong, the bastard.

"This whole day is amazing; thank you so much for helping organize it!" Papyrus drew Sans into a quick hug, one tight and demanding. Alastor's arm naturally slipped from Sans' own as he returned the comfort, and Sans could practically feel the bristling static of annoyance in the back of his skull. It lingered for a moment, until fleeing once Sans was back out of his brother's arms and situated beside Alastor once more.

Papyrus took a moment to gaze at Alastor. Really gaze at him, dragging his vision across Alastor's clean and organized stance. If there was a word to describe him, it would simply be vintage. Organized, though. Neat and trimmed and combed and clean. Nothing out of place, with a wide and firm smile on a handsome face. Not a blemish in sight. Sans felt his anxiety rise the longer Papyrus stared. The sort of anxiety that triggered from the depths of the unknown. Good and evil were quite literally staring at one another at that moment.

Papyrus' hand eventually found itself outstretched. Warmly and pleasantly, he smiled. The tides of awkwardness were abashed in seconds, leaving only pleasant air for greetings in their wake.

"It's so nice to finally meet you!" Papyrus said. "Alastor, right?"

Alastor's hand gripped his brother's in an instant. "Yes I am. Quite happy to finally meet you; Sans talks about you constantly! He's very fond of you."

There was no room for embarrassment when it was rather obvious. Fondness didn't equate to how deep and caring his love for his brother ran. Of course, the only people in this room who would understand the true depths of this were Papyrus and Alastor themselves, the objects of such close affection.

Papyrus smiled brighter, all cheery and chipper. The best kind of man to exist. "And he is of you. I'm really happy he has a friend out in Louisiana—I was really worried about him."

"Of course! He and I have very similar senses of humor; it makes sense that we'd find a common ground eventually. Especially since romance and sex are issues neither of us needs to fret over. Very reassuring." His hand slipped out of Papyrus', subtly wiping down on the side of his wrinkleless dress pants. Sans could see the subtle twitch of his fingers, as if tiny maggots were crawling along his skin. "I'm so thankful that you extended an invite towards me! The wedding is very lovely."

A gushing orange encompassed Papyrus' face. Vibrant and almost golden. "Thank you! I'm so happy with how it turned out! Everything looks amazing, nyeh heh!"

An eyebrow twitch. Subtle yet demanding of Sans' attention all at once. He took quick measures to dig his fingers into Alastor's arm before letting go entirely. A warning as obvious as Alastor's disgust for any being that wasn't Sans or his Mama.

Not that Sans particularly cared. Papyrus was a must-have for Sans, and thus, kindness in his direction was required. If Alastor could put up a front when lying about claiming lives, he could smile his narcissistic ass through a wedding.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at all being sat at the head table," Papyrus quickly squeaked out, reaching forward and clasping onto one of Alastor's hands. A move meant to be reassuring, but for the man it was directed at, it provided anything but.

Sans moved quickly, easily untangling Papyrus' fingers from around Alastor's hand. He was quick and careful, and didn't wilt when both men stared at him.

"Alastor doesn't like it when strangers touch him unexpectedly; he's only pretty comfortable with me doing it," Sans said. A hand reached out to rest on Alastor's arm. "Asexual boundaries. Sorry, I should've warned ya."

The blush of gratitude ripened to embarrassment in seconds. His brother fumbled, covering his mouth and frantically apologizing. Accepting the apologies that spewed forth was no problem for Alastor, who did so in his silky voice that he used for show and tell. Not his true accented voice, a bit deeper and more raw. The voice saved just for Sans.

Sans didn't feel the need to tell Papyrus that.

"It's no worries at all. I've always simply found physical contact to be a tad bit much for me. I try not to make a fuss, so you wouldn't have known," Alastor said, smile tugged tight.

"Still, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It's a day to celebrate; you should be having fun! Make sure to try some alcohol, or dance, or whatever you'd like!" Papyrus giggled, his inner host coming out easily. Second nature to the man. "We're going to be doing the speeches soon, but after that it's just party central!"

"Nah, nah, none of that host shit, Paps. It's your wedding. If there's anyone here who should be partying it up, it's you. You can always host Alastor another day; we're here to celebrate you." Sans snatched onto Papyrus' arm and began to lead him back to the table. Not daring to leave Alastor unattended at such an important event, his other hand easily dragged him along as well. Alastor easily fell into step, looking all too smug with himself. Sans wasn't sure what was going through his mind at the moment, but if he were to guess, it would have something to do with Alastor being chosen on equal grounds with Papyrus.

If Sans were to guess. Even if Alastor was his bestie, his thoughts sometimes eluded Sans.

Thankfully, time for the two to linger and talk wasn't given, as the wedding reception got underway. Sans, of course, went first with his speech. Public speaking was never an issue for him, so he easily dove into the speech he'd been mentally preparing ever since his brother and Grillby kissed for the first time. Heartfelt, heart-tugging, and funny. That's how he delivered it, with just enough jokes to keep everyone smiling and sincere thoughts to keep his brother crying with joy. No one topped it, Sans personally thought. By the time he sat down, his limbs were jittery from excitement, and Papyrus wasted no time going over to hug him.

Alastor nodded along and clapped the whole way through, giving Sans a sincere smile whenever he glanced in his direction.

Grillby's sisters followed, and then Undyne and Alphys, and the speeches wrapped up with everyone entering the dance floor to watch Grillby and Papyrus have their first dance. Sans didn't join, not talented in that particular area, and instead lingered on the sidelines with Alastor as his brother and new husband swayed together. Sweet and romantic. The kind of romantic Sans could appreciate from a distance. Just because he didn't understand the sort of love the two men held didn't mean he couldn't be happy for them.

And Sans understood that need for companionship. It's a weird middle ground Sans found himself within. Romance itself had always eluded him; those butterflies people insisted upon simply never existed for the skeleton. Loneliness, sadly, persisted. He had Alastor now, though, a friend who understood feelings others couldn't quite grasp.

The man who stood by his side, a fancy wine of Grillby's family legacy, downed easily. Alastor peered over at Sans, his eyelashes fluttering over the rim of the glass. His fingers spread as he offered his hand.

"Fancy a dance?" The human-faker asked, his voice taunt and eager.

"I'm not good at it," Sans replied swiftly.

"Ah, but the pleasure of dancing comes from the joy of it, not the quality. I can lead too, you know. Had quite the number of women standing on my toes."

"Talking about your past lovers in front of me?" Sans mused. "Rude."

Alastor squinted. "If you were my lover, I'm sure we would have killed one another by now."

"Which is why you killed those girls, huh? Dancing whore. Always out there dancing with the ladies," Sans said. He couldn't help but laugh afterward at Alastor's face, all puckered from an invisible, nonexistent lemon. Alastor snatched Sans and dragged him onto the dance floor after that little comment, the skeleton laughing the whole way.

They danced that night. Though, it was mostly just Alastor instructing Sans on how to move to the beat, with toe-stepping allowed in favor of pursuing a dance. It's fun, more fun than Sans thought. The jokes were more lightly toned once they were in the midst of everyone, the music blaring as the reception carried on. Undyne and Alphys were quick with both their hi's and bye's, as their cheeks were flushed from alcohol and they stunk of need as they all but dragged themselves to the bathroom. Sans made a mental note to not go in that direction for a good hour, just in case.

He also pointedly remembered to shuffle Alastor, toe first, away from where his brother and husband were. Papyrus, a curious little thing, kept peering over at them, a glint of intrigue within his eye sockets. Sans would rather any further interactions between the two to be under a more lax, controlled environment. Grillby had the same idea, with an obvious effort to bring Papyrus back into their dance whenever he became enraptured with staring at Alastor. Though, Grillby probably was trying to keep Papyrus from turning their wedding into interrogation central, not trying to prevent the apocalypse.

From their combined efforts, neither Papyrus nor Alastor had the chance to even give polite greetings. A perfect outcome, in his opinion.

The wedding went amazingly. The decorations were vibrant, the guests lively. Once the songs ran through and the cake had been eaten and smushed to its fullest extent, Papyrus and Grillby (both with cake smudges firmly etched onto their cheeks) loaded up into a limo and were driven off to where their hotel was for the night. Sans waved them goodbye and cheered with everyone else, before moving inside to help wrap up the night. About nine in the evening was when he allowed the mess to be dealt with by the promptly arriving cleanup crew. The two of them folded themselves neatly into his car, and drove to the nearest bed and breakfast before they collapsed onto the thin sheets.

Makeup smeared against the pillow Sans headbutted, the soft plush easing him into a sleepy state after the last few days of exhaustive business. He didn't even hear Alastor's quips about leaving stains on the pillowcase, as his body had decided it needed to shut down, and do it now. The bed dipped as Alastor joined him, a wet washcloth in hand. The demon rolled Sans over, who flopped like a dead fish, and prodded at his face to clean the makeup. Warm water, thankfully.

It took no longer than a minute until Alastor permitted Sans to finally return to his attempt for slumber, and Sans found himself drifting off easily to the quiet tunes of jazz on the hotel radio. Alastor himself began to hum to the music, fluffing the pillows and drawing the blinds as he slipped under his covers. Whatever Alastor did after that was lost to Sans, as he was gone within seconds.