Alastor hadn't played any sport in quite a while. He was always much more keen on not showing off much physical exertion in hell, much less walking around in something that showed any hint of his skin. Perverts were free-roaming down there, after all.

Yet there Alastor was, watching as Sans settled onto a towel underneath a tilted umbrella he had set up while Alastor was all but manhandled into a team with Papyrus, Lilac, and Toriel. Across from them stood Frisk, Undyne, Grillby, and Alphys, all murmuring some game plan amongst themselves and occasionally peeking over at their group. Alphys tried to make obvious movements to go join Sans out on the sand, with Undyne wrestling her back with the team with a large smile and promising words.

Papyrus looked positively ecstatic to have Alastor on his team, glancing over at the demon once every five seconds. As if he wanted to ask more questions and go down that get-to-know-you list that was positively drenched in glitter. Alastor would rather throw himself off a cliff, but sadly there were none nearby. So he'd have to settle.

A simple game of volleyball, they all had agreed upon. First to three points wins.

Alastor so deeply did not want to play. He wanted to be beside Sans in the sand, lying back against a towel and ridiculing Sans' friend choices while Sans ridiculed his ridiculing. Truly, a pleasant night.

But here, Alastor would be able to show off to Sans a bit. Which was nice, he supposed. But he came out here to spend time with Sans and show everyone their spectacular bond. He couldn't exactly do that separate from him.

And of course Papyrus had to snatch up Alastor onto his team. So bothersome, that man.

He would have to make sure to introduce Charlie to him, though. If he gave them both a playmate to distract each other, it left him with more free time away from them. And conveniently more time to spend with Sans. How nice.

That was a tragic dynamic pair to make befriend one another after Papyrus died, though. A useless idea for when Papyrus still had pumping blood.

"So, team, what are we planning?" Lilac mumbled, rubbing her hands together. A sly, competitive grin crept onto her face. "I was in volleyball for a majority of my childhood, so I can spike real good."

"Oh, you were?" Papyrus perked up, smiling over at her. "I was in volleyball camp every summer!"

The two of them high-fived. Alastor folded his hands behind his back and watched, content to not be interacting with Papyrus for even a second longer than he had to. Toriel seemed to refrain from jumping in right away, smiling blankly at the group. She looked nearly dull as she did so, mouth in a tight grimace. Ah. So she did dislike Lilac. How fun.

"So here's the plan!" Papyrus decided, his typically high-pitched voice narrowed down into a strained whisper. "Lilac will be in the back and I'll be up front. We can put Alastor with me, since we're both taller, and can spike more easily."

"And we win, of course," Alastor added on.

Papyrus giggled, pointing to Alastor. "And we win! That's also part of the plan! We cannot lose!"

They couldn't. Alastor wouldn't let them. The two most important people to Sans were on this team, and he was watching. Letting them lose would simply be unacceptable.

Alastor flexed his fingers, stiff and jointed. He wouldn't be as flexible trapped in this old human body of his. Unable to twist and contort to his playing pleasure. Alastor had been fine walking around in this body and wrestling in creeks with Sans, but diving after a ball in loose sand may be a bit of a challenge.

A light click of his fingers drew out his shadows, seeping into his natural shadow sprawled out across the sand. For later use, of course. Just in case.

It wasn't cheating if he was using his body's natural resources. And if it was, well, Alastor didn't care. Those who wrote history were the survivors, after all. It didn't matter how they won their battles, just that they did.

Not to mention, Alastor was never a man of integrity from the start.

"Are you nerds ready to get pummeled and lose?" Undyne roared, snatching the volleyball off of the ground. The fish monster dribbled it against the sand. Dribbled the very specifically crafted ball that cannot dribble like a basketball, on a textured surface one cannot dribble on, flawlessly.

Alastor couldn't even be confused. He was just downright impressed.

Keeping up one's physical health was quite difficult, especially nowadays. Alastor kept in touch with his strength by taking walks, jogging, and chasing after his victims in the dead of night. Undyne and Asgore had enough muscle mass to demand respect from Alastor, even if he didn't find their personalities noteworthy. There was passion behind their strength, a love for their bodies and maintaining them without obnoxiously obsessing over it to the point of mutual destruction. A shared love the two likely bonded over, considering how close Undyne was to Asgore. Immediately jumping to his and his girlfriend's defense against Toriel, someone Undyne had no loyalty to.

"Ready as we'll ever be!" Papyrus announced for their team.

"Woo, go team—eh, whatever your team name is," Sans cheered out in the most monotone voice he could muster. When everyone on the team glanced over, Sans gave a sheepish shrug. "I dunno, you guys haven't come up with team names yet."

Oh Sans, you absolute piece of—

"Team names!" Papyrus squealed, turning on his heel to point toward Undyne. "We both need to come up with team names!"

"Oh, oh, I love coming up with team names! Children in my classes always get so creative; it's so sweet to watch," Toriel gushed. The woman leaned back, placing a hand on her cheek as she drifted off into pleasant memories. "Why don't we do some sort of silly combination of all of our names? Or our favorite foods?"

"Can we be Mew Mew?" Alphys asked, tugging at Undyne's hand. The monster's tail wagged, and there was a glisten of joy in her eyes as she stared up. "Babe, c'mon, Mew Mew!"

Frisk gave a thumbs-up, and Grillby offered a disinterested shrug under Undyne's gaze. Seeing as there wasn't much opposition for their team name, Undyne pointed towards Papyrus and declared a loud, "We're team Mew Mew!" that followed with an awkwardly added, "Destroyer of worlds!" at the end of it.

Toriel took charge of their team name, which Alastor allowed graciously. He just didn't care. Soon, Toriel settled for an odd combination of all of their first names, 'Paplialastori.' It was a long-winded name that felt like a poorly translated word, or some name of a foreign town someone made up by smashing letters on a keyboard. Judging by how everyone accepted the odd name without so much as a glance, it seemed that Toriel had a history with odd names.

He remembered that Sans mentioned it before. How their first, very temporary residence outside of the mountain had been called 'New New New Home.' Alastor had thought it was just another joke Sans had made in the moment. He hadn't actually considered that some authority would call it such a name.

Then again, Papyrus and Sans were named after fonts. It must just be a general societal expectation for unusual names.

Now that they had that bothersome decision done and over with, thanks to Sans' unsubtle interference, the groups had returned back to the game and begun spreading out for the first serve. Undyne stood before her group, center stage with the wind in her hair and a fiery look of passion in her eyes. The woman lived to compete.

A loud, throat-drying roar escaped from her as she launched herself into the air, throwing the volleyball above her just moments before. As the volleyball cascaded down, her hand met it midair, slamming the ball towards the other group at unfathomable speeds.

Alastor, not keen to die a second time, didn't move an inch to try to hit it. Not that he needed to. As the volleyball, a fourteen-dollar investment for an hour's worth of fun, exploded against the sand the moment it landed, the air escaped from the force of Undyne's first serve. Leaving behind a small crater and a now decrepit-looking corpse of a ball.

No one moved for a moment. With only the soft churning of waves to Alastor's right to accompany the silent processing of the group.

Ah. Frankly, Alastor should have expected this. He really did need to start believing Sans when his bestie casually went over a story about Undyne suplexing boulders with her bare hands.

"Oh, shoot," Papyrus said, his tone all too light and airy to be considered anywhere near mad. The skeleton laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "I thought a more expensive volleyball might be able to stand you this time, Undyne. Sorry about that!"

Undyne returned the sheepish look, looking a mix between guilty and awkward. "It's fine; I should've probably volunteered to sit this one out, considering my track record of volleyball so far. I swear they make these balls too soft!"

"Nyeh, it's fine!" Papyrus waved his hand, walking towards the large duffle bag beside Sans that he had dropped off on his way over. "I bought twenty just in case!"

There's an audible choking sound from Sans' direction. "You bought twenty volleyballs for fourteen fucking dollars, Paps?"

"They were reasonably priced, Sans! They were promoted with extra durability, and clearly the extra volleyballs have come into use! I thought ahead, and it's coming to fruition now!"

"... actually, yeah, smart move bro. You're just so smart. At least you didn't do fifteen per—that would've been too much for twenty volleyballs."

An ecstatic giggle escaped from Papyrus. "I completely agree!"

And so, with a refill of a volleyball from a surplus of them and a promise from Undyne to try and tone down her hits, the game was back on.

This time Frisk served it, a more gentle hit that had the volleyball soaring over the net and toward the middle of their group. Toriel dove in easily, swiping her arms and hitting it high into the air for Papyrus to follow up and launch over the net. It was a simple back and forth between the two teams, all of them in shape enough and observant enough to have a fairly even game.

Except for Alphys. She was very clearly out of shape, so she mostly stood still and only struck the ball whenever it was a threat to hitting her. Despite that, her team still made an effort to include her. Grillby tended to hit the ball higher when it was bound to go toward her, giving Alphys more ample time to prepare herself and her arms, already red from the repeat contact. Undyne would just cheer and holler her girlfriend's name, as if she had done a miracle.

The second ball break occurred by Undyne's hands again, during a spike she had leapt up to perform. Sure enough, the sheer force of her impact broke through the cheap product, exploding midair against her hand instead of against the sand.

What the hell was this woman made of? Pure muscle? It would have been extremely frightening to Alastor if he were a human, with nothing to back him but his words and a knife he kept tucked within his kitchen. People being stronger than him had always been an insecurity, back in the day. Back when life was the only existence and bullets felt permanent.

Alastor swiped a tongue across his cracked lips as Papyrus trotted over for a replacement. The weight in his forehead felt heavy and cold, as if the bullet were still there.

"Here, let's have Alastor serve this time!" Papyrus announced, all but shoving the ball into the demon's hands. "Do you need any help serving?"

"Oh, no, I believe I'll be fine," Alastor said. He steadied the ball in his hands, and gave a basic serve that had it flying over the net comfortably.

This ball lasted for a point, surprisingly. The gears of the game began anew. It lasted long enough for Grillby to swing a forearm that had the ball thudding into the sand right between Papyrus' feet. Toriel clapped and cheered for the nice hit, with Papyrus joining out of love for his husband, and Alastor joining along simply to blend in with his team.

"Maybe next time you'll be faster, babe," Grillby joked, trailing along the volleyball net like a duckling following its Mother. His gaze was far too innocent to compare it to any predator, his taunt lacking in fire.

"I'm sure I will!" Papyrus said, pumping both of his fists by his side.

The two eyed each other like they were delectable, and Alastor stole his gaze elsewhere. Anywhere else. Landing on Sans simply was a happy coincidence, immediately erasing the previous disgust he was experiencing moments ago and filling Alastor with elation.

Sans had already been watching him. Pose lazy but firm, upright with a bent back and a relaxed gaze settled onto Alastor. Alastor sent a grin that Sans returned easily, nothing spoken yet so much understood. It helped ease the burden of being on the same team as Papyrus.

Who, at that very moment, decided to throw another surprise question Alastor's way. Something about convincing Sans to play. A question that Alastor declined, as forcing Sans to participate in a physical activity would be a wasted effort.

Not to mention, Sans only did things with Alastor. Be it throwing himself at Alastor on the rooftop, or ripping him into the creek water, Sans only became physically active when it came down to inconveniencing his bestie. If Sans were to join, he'd likely lie in the middle of the sand as a tripping hazard.

Papyrus agreed easily, knowing his brother as much as Alastor did. The only thing in the world Alastor thinks they could get along over.

Two more volleyballs broke before any other team made a point. Neither by Undyne, surprisingly enough. The first came from Papyrus, who hit the ball that swerved backwards and landed on possibly the only jagged rock on the entire beach. It deflated instantly, with a torn hole in the side that proved a simple inflation wouldn't do the trick. This time, Sans kicked them a ball, somehow perfectly managing to sail it with strength he claimed he didn't have right into Alastor's shin.

Alastor didn't need to retaliate. With volleyball, anyway. He already had his shadows out and about, so all he had to do was use one to shove sand into Sans' shirt and then tug it over his unsuspecting skull.

Papyrus only noticed after Sans was wiping off sand from his skull, and questioned his brother, who only responded in a sand-related pun. Huffing, Papyrus stomped back to the game with a vengeance.

Despite both Alastor and Lilac being new to the group, the two of them meshed easily into the routine Papyrus and Toriel had. Even if Toriel adamantly refused to call out moves for Lilac like she did for Alastor and Papyrus. Lilac easily joked with Alastor about being newbies and joined in on the taunting with Papyrus, as lighthearted as the taunting from that man was. Out of everyone, she and Undyne got along splendidly. There was passion in their moves and for the competition, with enough balance between them both to keep the game running.

Alastor, on the other hand, was just used to manipulative people-pleasing behavior. A simple routine he slipped into without a second thought, buttering everyone up with compliments and just enough competitiveness that it felt earnest. A parrot was what he became, necessarily. Echoing back thoughts that would best suit the group hearing them. Great hit! Oh, maybe next time! I love how warm and pleasant it is; doesn't everyone else agree?

It was such bland talk that Alastor didn't pay attention to the game that much. He struck when the ball came close to him and gave plain smiles when it veered elsewhere.

Eventually, the dynamic shifted when Alphys bowed out following another broken volleyball, heaving with exhaustion as she trembled over to Sans' spot. She didn't even sit, standing for a moment beside the skeleton before she flopped down into the sand. Alphys lay, limp as a brick and about as useless as one.

Lilac hissed softly behind Alastor, shifting back and forth on her feet as Undyne glanced toward the group.

"Well, we're one short," She said, the new volleyball perched under her arm against her hip. She stole a look to Sans and her girlfriend, lips pressed as she thought for a moment. "And Sans isn't going to join us, so uh, any ideas?"

To balance the game, Lilac volunteered to leave before Alastor could even step forward. It was so fast that it nearly startled him, causing everyone to glance over at the woman.

"I want to go check up on my king fluffybuns," Lilac said, her tone tight near the end as she picked at a loose leaf sprouting from her wrist. Purple eyes peered out over her shoulder, in the direction Asgore had petered off to go catch them dinner. "I miss him, you know?"

There was a slight strain to her voice, as if she was holding back a hiss. The woman carefully balanced herself on one side, preferring her left foot to her right.

There was a line in the sand, and Toriel was standing closer than she had been before.

Alastor crossed his arms, with a sharp smile daunting at his lips. "Of course—do go tell him not to fish up the entire ocean; he's been gone for some time now. We'll run through our stash of volleyballs if Undyne has anything to say about it."

"It's not on purpose. If it were, I would crush those volleyballs! Own them!" Undyne roared, almost like a battle cry.

Alastor didn't bother to reply. Instead he took a glance towards Toriel's hooves, and wondered which one she used to trip over Lilac behind his back. And how she managed to do so without him noticing.

He doubted she gunned for it the entire game, but if the opportunity presented itself, she would have stolen it. Lilac didn't say a word, likely too new to this group to let herself complain and shift the dynamic just yet. Social conventions were much too demanding at times. Especially when the drama was so easy to go over terribly.

It always served Alastor well, of course. If one memorized the lines and phrases well enough, you could run any room you stayed in with enough effort. Charm your way into being everyone's friend, no matter how much you despised them. It was a downfall for Lilac, since she hadn't utilized it right.

Lilac was annoying, new and stupidly trying to form a bond between them as the group's newbies. But he preferred her to Toriel any day.

Toriel felt wrong. Alastor himself was quite good at picking out outliers, and she was certainly one. In some way. He had yet to fully decipher it, as new to the group as Lilac was, but it seemed he had no need to exert himself. Toriel did so plenty herself.

So the enemy of his enemy was his... acquaintance. Not friend.

"Are you alright?" Alastor asked, tilting his head to the side. A concerned mask washed over his face as he stepped forward, glancing at the slight limp the flowered monster displayed.

The woman paused, glancing over at him. Her lips strained. "What do you mean?"

"You're limping. I heard you and Toriel made a noise a little bit ago; I thought you both had bumped into one another." Alastor's careful expression glanced over to Toriel for a second, and the woman straightened under his gaze.

Warmth from the sun kissed Alastor's downturned cheeks. The fragrant scent of the salty ocean hung in the air, sweet and tantalizing with his act. Like the gentleman his Mother taught him to pretend to be, Alastor swept forward, gently placing a hand forward in a request for her own.

"Here, tripping over a hoof can be painful. Why don't I take you inside to grab an ice pack?"

The predator in him rumbled as she clasped onto his hand. Behind him, he could hear Undyne gnashing her teeth, and the silence of compliance rampant.

Alastor was gone for no longer than two minutes, with Lilac's weight heavy against him as they escaped from the sand to the sanctuary of the home. Lilac was prepped on the couch, an ice bag Alastor fished from the freezer for the cooler Undyne brought for sodas repurposed for health reasons. A quiet thank you left Lilac's lips, her eyes focused on her phone screen with Asgore's name peppered onto it. Whatever she texted him wasn't Alastor's concern, so he paid it no mind. Deducing it wouldn't take long, anyways.

Lilac hadn't brought up the concern at first, but once someone else had, she didn't reject his help. So keeping the boat rocking wasn't her goal after all. She was just trying to play nice with what information she did have.

Not a complete pushover. He'd keep that in mind.

When Alastor stepped out of the house, standing on the sweet-scented porch, he flicked his gaze upon the volleyball players.

They stood, silent and awkward, all fumbling for excuses to play.

And fumble indeed they did.

Volleyball silently came to an end, with no winning team. Only with one silent goat monster standing there, too proud to be shrouded by such accusations that had yet to be aired. With only the veil of self-righteousness to keep her upright.

They disbanded in favor of different activities.

Finding his way to Sans' side was a trail Alastor had taken many times, one so familiar that even in the unknown sands of the beach, he trekked it mindlessly. Sans was as quiet as a cat when Alastor finally did settle onto the speckled towel, eye lights trailing after the volleyball net as it was being folded and packed up. Alone, once more. Alphys had found herself back to her girlfriend, entranced by her presence that it erased her previous exhaustion.

"What an interesting game," Alastor snipped.

Sans' skull turned, revealing the near scowl he had. Near. It was always difficult for that smile to truly become dirtied with a different expression, and even now, the faint uptick of his cheekbones stuck.

The sycophant besides him smiled enough for the both of them.

"Did I do something wrong?" Alastor asked, just in case his assumptions were wrong.

"No." Sans tapped the corners of his knees, each hand at a different pace than the other. The rhythm fell flat. "I dunno why she's acting out this badly."

"Does she still love Asgore? Romantic competition often causes people to overreact."

"Nah, I know her. She'd rather eat glass than go cozy Asgore up again—I dunno, she feels off today. It's pissing me off."

Alastor slivered a hand over, the snake of an appendage seeking its equal. The equal relented after a second, too distracted by his own thoughts to warrant physical contact before he sneaked it down beside his waist. The beads of his bracelet felt almost bitterly chilling against Alastor's fake skin as his thumb hooked around it. Secured.

"Toriel hasn't found a new date yet," Alastor offered tentatively. "Perhaps she's finding jealousy in Asgore's success compared to her failure."

"She's decided not to date anymore; she's focusing on Frisk and her work."

"Yes, well, that doesn't mean she's whole-heartedly agreed with the decision, subconscious or not. Or perhaps it's something more than jealousy."

Sans hummed, the noise silent. Tell me more, the hum spoke.

"Hatred is the only emotion so close, yet so intense, as love," Alastor elaborated. His hand waved absentmindedly. "She hates him. So seeing him happy drives her mad. She's not sabotaging Lilac and Asgore's relationship for any reason other than the fury that it brings Asgore joy. She needed to see him unhappy, and Asgore flourishing is a source of despair. In its own way."

Sans didn't reply. Whatever internal battle of a monologue he was having over Toriel's now repeated offenses went untold in the air. Quietly, he leaned over and flopped his head against Alastor's shoulder.

"I was going to cheat," Alastor admitted, to quell the flames of Sans' indignation.

"Yeah. I figured."

Sans' voice was an uptick more pleasant than it had been moments ago. The skeleton eyed Alastor briefly, before returning back to watch Undyne pick up Papyrus and sprint toward the water.

"They did make a good fight during the game. I was going to use my shadows to pin their feet down or make them stumble to score points if needed. Or just because I thought it would've been funny. Shame I couldn't do it, but I suppose it's a good thing the game ended early. I would have gotten quite cocky, you see."

"Oh, you would have? I would'a never guessed."

"You wouldn't have, because I wouldn't have given you the option. Choices A through C are 'Alastor is amazing', and choice D is simply 'we run away together and become farmers'. I think I'd look mighty fine in a cowboy hat, Comic Sans."

Sans laughed, so full of joy and life that Alastor shivered as he stored it away within his memories. A treasured sound he wanted to hear on repeat for the rest of his life. So different from his Mother's, yet it filled Alastor with the same, pleasant warmth of care. A rare emotion he had forgotten until Sans swept into his life in a fiery blaze of a static radio call.

A drag of feet sounded in the air. Alastor took a short glance to his right, and sure enough, it was who he had expected. Frisk. The little savior of monsters that didn't just laugh away Sans' truth like the others had done. Who took their time to prod into the open testimonies Sans had left.

The genderless human stared at Alastor. An open-ended question that was never spoken hung in the air, in much the same way the realization that Toriel had been involved in Lilac's injury did as well. While that specific notion was dissipating by the second, this one remained firm, clinging to the scent of sand and sweat while the sun beat down upon the umbrella shielding the two men away.

"It wasn't me," Alastor answered easily. "I would be more upfront if it was, Frisk. Not to mention how Sans made me promise not to injure any of you."

Frisk continued to stare. Silently, they cocked their head to the side.

"I can guarantee that I did come here for a simple, pleasant beach visit. I don't see any temptation to piss off Sans and ruin this for everyone."

Another stare. Eyes bore into Alastor while Sans continued to half doze against his shoulder, pleasantly tucked away from the sun's intrusive rays.

"If Toriel wants to act out, she can be my guest. I don't see any reason to interfere when she's demanding to make a fuss. None of you did, either." Alastor met their heavy gaze with his own. "I'm the guest of the group, you know. It's not my problem to deal with her. She's your Mother; why don't you step in and ask her to stop harassing Asgore and Lilac?" Alastor's finger trailed against another bead on Sans' friendship bracelet. "Now, would you mind giving us some space? Sans is trying to sleep."

Frisk pitter-pattered off back toward the group, leaving Alastor and Sans alone once again. The silence lasted for a whole record upwards of two seconds before Sans broke it.

"Kids so onto ya, bambie." Sans glanced over at Alastor, seeming content to lay there until the waves would eventually trek and lap them up into the ocean.

"It seems so. I suppose they are suspicious of me."

"Can't blame them. Then again, the kid is the most vocal in trying to fix Asgore and Tori's relationship. I think they knew it was her but had to double-check with you first. Just to make sure. Cross comparing references and such."

"Yeah," Alastor agreed.

"Yeah," Sans agreed. He went to say something else before settling down against Alastor again. Boneless. "Just yeah."

They didn't do much of anything until dinner. The others followed suit, letting towels and fold-up chairs litter the sand as everyone took station for a beach day. The situation steadily recovered, as everyone seemed content to just ignore the festering issue until the waves washed it away into nothingness. It wouldn't, of course. This type of behavior would continue to grow until dealt with. He wondered which of her parents failed to properly educate her, to teach her to quell her difficult habits.

A stubborn woman, that one. That's what Alastor had ingrained into his mind from the final evidence presented that day. Stubbornness birthed from a self-proclaimed righteousness. The type of woman who was fantastically supportive in the best of ways, and horribly fiendish at her worst. A person of extremes, who could never settle in the middle.

It must be hard, loving her. Alastor knew Sans did, that Sans treasured her like the others. Sans believed in her and adored her strengths, but her faults so easily consumed her whole and left the rest behind to pick up the pieces to maintain their love for her. Mainly Sans and Frisk, seeing as everyone else simply seemed to be more distant and vague with their affection. Undyne stood out from the rest, her frowns evident and bold against the others displeased grunts of endurance.

Undyne would likely snap first, then. He wondered if it'd take the three days for her to break or not.

It ultimately depended on how Toriel escalated. Oh, she would. She certainly would. Toriel hadn't been told a no yet, considering Alastor only half accused her, vague enough to keep her running and head high, yet her heart ripe with paranoia. The impetuous woman was bound to come swinging again, to prove her worth over Lilac's in some self-proclaimed control. Everyone had something like that. Papyrus' was his need to befriend people, to prove to himself he was likable. Some were less destructive than others, but all equally as ingrained and shameful as one another.

If Alastor's Mother and Sans didn't exist, Alastor would dare to say he was exempt from such behaviors. Alas, those two dug their ways into his heart and left them-sized holes in him, and Alastor would constantly chase the high of slotting their puzzle pieces into place.

Asgore eventually arrived with two pieces of fish for everyone, all stationed within an ice filled cooler as he carried Lilac on his back. She must have asked him to bring her to his fishing spot. A smart move. Being alone inside sounded dreadfully boring.

Though, judging by how everyone else didn't seem slightly shocked at this change, either she or Asgore must have informed the group chat.

Alastor detested phones so very much, but this was an inconvenience he had to acknowledge. An inconvenience he didn't dare bring to light, as there was no doubt in his mind that Sans would taunt him to the dark side, a come-hither motion on his fingertips as he lured Alastor toward him.

Next thing Alastor would know, he would have all sorts of new gadgets that were useless, countless bothersome notifications, and, most horrifying of all, a social media account. He would never. If it ever reached that point, Sans needed to be a good friend and put a second bullet right where the first had landed.

Dinner came and went with ease. Far easier than he had anticipated. While Toriel's intentions had been far from Alastor, her unintentional destruction of the volleyball game was enough to cause Papyrus to be focused on cheering everyone up instead of a one-on-one interrogation with Alastor. It allowed for Alastor to give snippet replies and remain planted by Sans' side the entire meal, a hand smoothing down the bones of his spine. Toriel avoided talking to Alastor like the plague, humiliation tainting her face whenever her gaze dared to loiter in his direction.

It was splendid that Alastor didn't need to step in to cause trouble. It restored his faith in people, and their ability to continuously create their own downfall.

The night continued its steady march, the taste of the sea upon his tongue as Alastor scraped his and Sans' remaining fish bones into the nearby trash can. Sans had been on an upswing with Alastor and everyone else by his side, easily back into a complete hopefulness that he had been carrying earlier that day.

The beach would have been relaxing if several screaming insects didn't constantly roar around his head in the form of several ignorant monsters and one well-informed human. Even if games were wordlessly called off for the night by the group, a fire was mutually agreed upon. Which Papyrus also had materials for.

How convenient. It was almost as if Papyrus had planned it out on the glittery board that Alastor didn't bother to look at.

The waste of the brother title gathered everyone with warm smiles and pleasing words toward the fire Toriel was creating, a sharp flame protruding from her finger as she waved it underneath the stacked logs. Interesting. Skeleton magic was rather straightforward, but he supposed that gravity magic was a hint towards monsters and their nonlinear magic. A brittle cold weight that dragged at his soul, clinging to Alastor with bitter paws that dug into him on that rooftop. And now Toriel, a goat monster, further proved his curiosity to be ripe and true.

Alastor really did wish his species weren't racist bastards when he was alive. School would have been a more enjoyable process if he had learned about monster biology.

Not that it necessarily mattered anymore. Sans would provide anything Alastor's curiosity demanded.

Campfires were the tragic kind of innocent fun one had. The scent of the crackling wood tempting, yet the smoke always billowed in your face no matter which direction you had planted yourself. The smoke would seemingly strip away your defenses, leaving you vulnerable to those around you, deep secrets spilling forth through the dark night sky.

Fires were comfort. Grillby was the walking embodiment of such a principle, quiet and pure in every word he spoke. The wallflower of integrity who swooped into Snowdin when the residents needed a pick-me-up. If it wasn't the soft night sky and the allure of s'mores luring one in to let their tongues spill honest words, it was the booze and the quiet barkeep who only stopped you when it got too rowdy. Sans believed that, if the group tried hard enough, putting marshmallows to Grillby's head could elicit the same types of conversations these campfires did.

A pleasant cool breeze swept through the beach the group had been situated at, curling around Sans' bones and through his loose shirt before escaping to the open sea.

Waves licked against the sand as Alastor's hand, a tricky little thing, rested adjacent to Sans' left ankle, perfectly wrapped around the back of him to keep Sans afloat despite not being in water. Not that Sans necessarily needed it in a physical sense. Sans might have collapsed into himself if Alastor hadn't been there, so the embodiment of his emotional support was all the more welcome.

Sans tended to fall fast the moment things happened with his friends. It was distressing, after all. Sans was fine living far apart from them because he could text, call, or drive. Simply knowing of their existence across land, waiting for Sans like he did them, was reassuring. That they cared about him.

It didn't work when the implication of that support falling apart. Sans wasn't sure what he would do if they all... ceased. Sans grew to depend upon these people, loved them dearly, and was willing to depart from them and his mortal existence willingly, as long as they loved him as he did them. Doing so was a more frightening process if he left with the knowledge that there was nothing left between them, a broken collage of memories and past experiences that dusted away.

Alastor would delight in it, the prick. Would gather Sans' parts up and re-piece him together, with some cheap-ass glue he found at a hell supermarket with an 'I told you so' never leaving his lips. The demon would set aside some perfect shelf for Sans and would spend each morning basking in the imperfect vase he stole away for himself.

Sans would like it, for a while. Then he'd be reminded of the friends he once had, and it would sting all over again.

So, yeah. Fuck Toriel for being a drama queen that particular night. Sans wasn't in a place to lose his entire friend group at the moment, and very much doesn't like the risk creeping into sight, bearing its teeth with a wild look in its eyes. Toriel all but brought the pesky creature there, and hadn't quite realized Alastor's back pockets were full of lure to bring it closer for the hell of it.

Sans really did want this trip to go well. He had anticipated Alastor getting overwhelmed, or whatever taunt restrained the man had snapping and the gates of hell would meet Sans' gaze as he was dragged down there, wrapped up in the arms of a possessive fuck he somehow had grown to care about in slightly less obsessive terms. Sans hadn't expected for Toriel to step up to the mantle and decide that yes, she needed to make her problem everyone's problem in the worst of ways.

Sans needed to pull her aside and talk to her at some point. Normally the group would have done so already, communication so damn important that the idea of not following it was practically blasphemy.

That was their close group, though. Where walls went down and everyone spoke their minds without a care in the world. That group had two new arrivals now stapled into it, intruders that caused walls to rise and best behaviors to flourish. A close conversation was difficult about recent ill behavior when you had two new people staring at you.

That's why Sans hadn't pulled Tori aside yet. And it's likely why everyone else seemed to bottle up their complaints, and move on silently despite the rocking boat they all floated upon.

And even under the fire's brilliant light, pure honesty couldn't be sought.

Then again, Sans brought Alastor to the campfire. Alastor would naturally bring down the status quo in that regard. The psychopath was an outlier in every sense of the word.

Gooey, sticky marshmallows were propped up onto metal skewers as the group passed around several bags of the sugary objects. Sans stuck to a single marshmallow, his sweet tooth nonexistent. S'mores were a pile of gooey sugar that Sans was happy to stay away from. But the act of roasting a marshmallow was fun, twirling the stick round and round until the whipped gelatin became nothing more than charcoal. Papyrus' expression at such an offense was always something to revel in. And likely Alastor's too. The both of them shared that sense of reluctance towards Sans and his diet.

"Undyne, that's way too much; you're gonna g-g-get sick again," Alphys mumbled, weakly pawing at the metal skewer clutched in Undyne's confident grip.

"No, Alph, c'mon! We gotta make the tallest s'more!" Undyne almost whined, holding the stick stuffed with marshmallows away from her girlfriend's prying hands. "It'll be awesome! I don't gotta eat it, just make it!"

"Then I'll h-have to eat it, and I can't h-handle that much sugar tonight. I just had three cans of s-s-soda, babe."

"You can waste the foodd it doesn't matter to us," Grillby offered the two.

Papyrus gave the most lacking glare Sans has ever seen toward his husband. "Excuse you, don't tell people to waste food! There are starving people out there, you know. Donate it somehow!"

"Yes, there are hungry people. And trust me, not eating a s'more isn't the end of the world," Grillby said. His hand reached out and tugged Papyrus into a small kiss. "Let them have fun."

His brother really had matured. From glitter-infested spaghetti with wasted sauce left and right, to worrying about the overuse of marshmallows. It was nice to have a brother that could now make edible food. The switch from cooking with Undyne to learning with Grillby really did have its benefits. Sans got good food, Papyrus found a new passion, and he got a husband out of it. Good use of his time.

Sans lolled his head toward Alastor, interested in seeing exactly how his quirky friend was getting along. He wondered if Alastor was like him, and preferred the gelatin block burnt to hell and back for the pure crunch of a flavor. Or maybe Alastor wasn't a fan either, as a s'more was rather demanding for sweet-leaning taste buds.

Sans hadn't anticipated seeing Alastor's eyes blown wide, the demon staring down at the unassembled ingredients as if it were a puzzle only Sans could solve. His glasses fogged under the smoke of the open flame, brown eyes peering at Sans with a silent plea for help and understanding.

"You've never made a s'more before?" Sans asked, more in awe than anything else.

"Well, I mean, I heard of it making rounds in my area when I turned twenty-nine," Alastor mumbled. His sharp finger squeezed the marshmallow against his thumb, nail digging into the gooey center. "By then I was far too old to be bothering around campfires with the youth, Sans. After that, I went to hell and never went camping, so I only heard it in passing once every ten years."

Right. Alastor was a dead bastard from ninety years ago. Sans hadn't realized that s'mores were invented after Alastor's birth; they felt so deeply ingrained into culture that he had no idea it came after monsters were tossed away. Sans wasn't sure what caused it to spawn Underground under the same name and concept. Likely some books from the garbage, considering how many of their cultural changes that matched the surface spawned from spare droppings in their dump.

"Yer so old," Sans grunted out.

Alastor made a noise of complaint from the back of his throat while Sans took the opportunity to snatch up the marshmallow into his grasp, sticking it onto Alastor's skewer. "There. Ya do that, stick it over the fire until it's cooked to your liking, then put it onto the graham cracker. Chocolate on there, too. It melts and gets everywhere, so hold it away from your clothes, bambie. Else you'll burst into flames or something."

"That sounds..." Alastor narrowed his human eyes at the ingredients. "Disgusting."

"Aw, c'mon, give them a chance," Sans insisted, despite knowing full well he was too old to tolerate the intense sweetness. "Give 'em s'more love."

Alastor cackled and dangled his skewer over the crackling flames right beside Sans'. Other than a few intentional bumps against each others sticks, they were content to sit in silence and relax for a moment.

Until the fire talk started.

Sans wiggled his toes in the sand as the idle chatter turned to something a bit more serious. The inventor of the topic was Papyrus, as subtle as a house on fire with the way he all but eyed up Alastor as he mentioned people's hopes and dreams.

"I dunno, I-I'm pretty happy with where I am now," Alphys stuttered out. "I got Undyne, and next week I'm going to a science conference regarding the construction of t-t-the core, so... pretty good."

Sans's bones felt cold all of a sudden. Despite being pressed up against Alatsor, with the open flames licking his marshmallow just a foot or two away, he felt so bitterly cold and empty all at once.

Sans dug his feet into the sand until everything below his ankles was encased in the cool particles. He tried not to think about it.

"Life is fucking rocking right now, Paps!" Undyne declared, hoisting her marshmallow-infested skewer into the air, as if she were charging into battle. Alas, there was no battle, and Undyne lowered it into the center of the fire once more. "I'm just glad I'm able to sit on a beach. Underground was... you know. Difficult for fish people."

A murmured agreement carried through the group, minus Alastor, who watched in hardly contained amusement. Pity wasn't something Alastor forked out very often; instead, he got the manic joy from seeing weakness poorly masked with a neutral expression.

"I'm just happy to have big oceans and ponds to swim in, and to see the sun and—hell yeah, you know?" Undyne asked, her voice softer than before. "But I want to keep peace going strong between our races. Alastor and I have been hosting a bunch of meetings, and we've even spoken about forming a holiday for when we escaped."

"Really?" Grillby cocked his head to the side. "That's amazing."

"It is," Asgore added in easily, swiping a hand over to ruffle Undyne's head with a fondness Sans would likely never understand. "And it's all thanks to her. Undyne is fantastic at negotiation—never backs down."

Undyne didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. The smile she gave was plenty enough, toothy and brimming with joy.

"I am happy our species can coexist easily," Toriel added, cupping a water bottle between her paws. Toriel did detest marshmallows, preferring more 'sweet and salty' foods to anything else. Even if many people retched at her odd-tasting snail pies, Sans would fight tooth and nail for them every time. Toriel had good taste buds. "I'm content with myself right now. Teaching has been so splendid, and Frisk is simply wonderful."

Frisk nodded with a thumbs-up, their face relaxed and posture slack. Frisk didn't add anything, but like Undyne, the silence spoke for itself. Frisk was quite good at speaking without any words.

"What about you two? Are you both enjoying your business?" Toriel directed her gaze toward Papyrus and Grillby as she spoke.

"Nyeh heh, of course!" Papyrus answered. "We're doing great! I never thought I would enjoy management as much as I do! It's a challenge, but I've really come into it!"

"He's doing splendidly," Grillby added, snaking a hand around Papyrus' waist. "We do hope to relocate sometime, though. The current building was the first we could get, but now that monsters are settling down more, we were hoping to build a new restaurant. With fireproof wood, hopefully."

"Oh," Lilac chipped in, "I could actually help with that?"

"You could?"

"Of course." She looked sheepish while admitting it, but smiled as bright as Grillby's flames. "I'm an architect. I would love to help you design a new building and build it, if possible."

"You are?" Papyrus echoes, before he perks up, positively vibrating. "I would love to work with you about it—another time, of course, but we'll give you a phone call sometime soon!"

The conversation continued in that vein, soft-spoken words regarding their happiness on the surface and plans for the future as the monsters (and single real human) all agreed over how much they adored their current lives. Sans found himself nodding along, because yeah, he was extremely content with his life. Even with the difficulties of what happened earlier, the minor inconvenience washed away to reveal something more meaningful and dear to him. Sans never would have imagined that he would have this many close friends and a companion of his own, yet there he was, feeling a soft murmuring joy through his bones as he listened to how happy everyone was.

"What about you, Alastor?" Papyrus suddenly asked, springing a surprise attack onto Alastor.

The man beside Sans didn't even blink. Expecting the question, Alastor pretended to hum to himself, as if mulling over his answer.

"Well, I suppose I am happy. Very happy," Alastor said. He glanced over at San through lidded eyes and tugged idly on Sans' bracelet again. "Ever since my Mother died, I've... been a bit lost, I suppose. Just working and existing, but meeting Sans really did wake me up again. I've... I've never felt so alive."

Hah. Sans scratched at the man's finger as he spoke, trying not to point out how it was a half-truth. Not his place. In a way, Sans reveled in it. Being part of a group listening to the words, yet being the only one who truly understood those special words spoken.

It made him feel powerful, in his own gross and special way. His soul hummed, twisting with all sorts of emotions. Look, look how much he adores me. Alastor is powerful and crazy, but he's mine.

Holy shit, Sans was so fucked.

"I sometimes find it difficult to connect with people, but Sans..." Alastor looked fully at Sans, his expression carefully calculated into something normal. His eyes, though, were red. Behind those glasses his obsessive desires churned powerfully, and Sans could see the tense line of his shoulders. As if he wanted to dive forward and consume Sans whole. "He's quite a joy to be around. I think I would love to live with him if he'd let me, one day."

Sans' pulse quickened, hammering itself through his bones, a dam threatening to spill. His toes wiggled under the sand. This relationship gave him way too much power, more than he could comprehend. A giddiness bubbled within his chest that Sans desperately tried to tamper down, as if he was on that damn roof again, exhilarated and alive. An emotion that Alastor gave so readily to Sans that none other could provide.

"One day," Sans agreed, because if he said now, Alastor would whisk Sans away into hell and keep him all to himself.

And Sans wasn't sure if he'd be willing to fully muster up the courage to say no right off the bat.

The night passed easily. Papyrus and Grillby were the only two who didn't return to bed right away, pointing out how they'd like to mark off the turtle eggs so no one would accidentally step on them over the course of the trip.

An excuse, in Alastor's opinion, to go have intercourse. Alastor didn't pry, because the mere idea of Papyrus engaged in that sent him into a disgusted rage.

Vox and Papyrus were so vastly different, yet he found himself placing them into the same hatred he held deep within his heart. Charlie was similar to Papyrus, but she was obtuse enough to help him with his schemes unintentionally. Papyrus's mere existence foiled his desperate bid for Sans' undivided attention. And that man kept jumping onto Alastor, trying to claim his attention and time with meaningless bonding.

His personality was Charlie, his persistence was Vox, and his protection from being killed was so ultimately inconvenient. Alastor really didn't comprehend the man's thought process. His relationship with Sans was entirely their own; it made no sense for Papyrus to force his way into Alastor's life as a leech would. Alastor wasn't busy trying to cozy up Grillby, was he?

If Papyrus wasn't so horribly aloof, Alastor would have dared to claim Papyrus was trying to steal Alastor away despite being happily married. Not the first time a ring on a finger didn't stop someone from sauntering up toward Alastor with that disgusting gleam in their eyes.

Papyrus wasn't a cheater, though. Instead, he was an attention whore, needing to be involved in Sans' life like it was his right. Needed to involve himself because he wanted everyone to like him to an unreal degree.

Frankly, Alastor thought this was worse. If Papyrus committed such a deed, then Sans would like him less, would pay more attention to Alastor. But no. Papyrus' faults were bearable, and likely cute in Sans' opinion, so Papyrus would stay. Begrudgingly by Alastor.

The two of them took a short trek back up to the house, easily being the first pair to slip into their room and get ready for the night. With the amount of sleepovers the two already had, they easily fell into a domestic routine, brushing teeth and disconnecting joints to shake out sand before the two slumped towards the bed. Sans, the little greedy cat he was, swept aside the blankets and tucked himself under them, patting the now empty side of the bed expectantly.

"Nice and cool out, just for ya, bud," Sans had said.

Alastor grinned, and so began the wrestling match for his fair share of the blankets.

He won, of course. Sans' physical strength was that of a twig, and Alastor dragged both the blankets with Sans attached to his side of the bed. Sans was easy to dispose of, picking him up by the scruff of the hoodie he slept in and dropping him to the floor, one mangy pillow dropping to provide him comfort while Alastor cozied himself underneath the covers.

And sure enough, when Alastor awoke the next morning, a blanket had been wrestled out and draped over Sans, now on the bed beside Alastor. And Alastor's hand was suspiciously placed into a bowl of lukewarm water, a cheap parlor trick that did not, in fact, cause people to wet the bed.

Alastor didn't even warrant Sans a response. He simply grabbed the bowl and poured it over his side of the bed, returning the ill-intended liquid to its sender.