Sans and Papyrus talked.

They spoke about a lot of things. About the almost foggy weather, about how Alastor had defended Sans. Circling, like hyenas around prey, until Papyrus finally broached the subject of Toriel.

It wasn't just Toriel, though. They both knew that. If it were just Toriel, Sans would have likely tossed her to the curb ages ago. He was a bit of a doormat when it came to his friends, but Sans did have a line he disallowed people from crossing. Naturally the line was obscured to no end, but it did exist, despite Alastor's disagreements with such a notion.

Toriel stepped over that line today. Well, he more so supposed she tumbled over that line, unintentionally diving into the sand after a poorly aimed decision. The only message Papyrus and the others had gotten was a quick note, 'trespassers, come back asap,' neglecting the usage of a knife or a hiccupping laugh that reminded Sans of too much, all at once. Toriel's roaring insult hadn't been born from a wicked witch's laugh who greedily wanted to cause harm; it had come from a friend who couldn't shut her damn mouth when she needed to.

Sans had come to do the same, in his own way. Where Toriel spat words, Sans bought slime. It was a mutual understanding of self-destruction. One they needed to quell in one another as friends. They were supposed to pick away at one another's, but Sans hadn't done a lot of that lately, and Toriel was suspiciously too good at it.

She ruined him with his chisel, and Sans ruined her by letting her rust. They weren't the best for one another when they became too... themselves.

Papyrus hunted for injuries, despite Sans' assurances of otherwise. He rolled up Sans' sleeves with baited permission and ran his thumb along the tender, scarred bones, holding his brother close. Sans let him, basking in the warmth of tender attention.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have invited her," Papyrus choked. "I didn't think she'd be so—so ignorant to ignore Lilac even when they were jet skiing close together; she could have..."

"It wasn't your fault. We all allowed her to come. It wasn't a matter of if she came or not; none of us really... objected. Minus Undyne." Sans said.

Undyne vocalized her opinions, much like Toriel. Honestly, in another world, Sans could see her being their kid. Undyne had that stubbornness like Toriel, but the nit and grit of rulership like Asgore. But unlike the two, who hid their cards up their sleeves due to judgement of others or themselves (stars, Asgore, he needed to stop hating himself), Undyne laid them all out with bellowing confidence. She'd make a good ruler if it ever came to that.

Not to mention, her nose for trouble. It seemed to miss Alastor, but the entire police force did. It couldn't; Alastor was actively killing people, so he couldn't fault Undyne for that. Undyne had sniffed out Toriel's behavior miles away, sending a concerned message to Sans that Sans had ignored. Surely, he had reasoned, Toriel wouldn't lash out. Surely.

Lilac, being all but capsized, according to Papyrus' quiet testimony, spoke otherwise.

"Whatever you want to do," Papyrus said, "I'll support you."

And wasn't that some power?

Toriel would return to nothing but a house and Frisk if Sans did decide to drop her. The rest of the group would fold like cards if Sans wasn't the sticky glue that held her with the others. They'd block her and move on, and that'd be that.

He wondered if that was good motivation or not. Sans wasn't sure of a lot of things anymore. He was just that kind of twisted up at the moment.

Really, Sans should have known his judgement was scrambled the moment kidnapping looked somewhat appealing.

"I don't want to abandon her. She didn't mean what she said like that—she didn't know what just—is still happening, I guess." Sans curled his legs against his chest.

"It's not—"

"I know, I know, Paps, but I still care about her. I think she just needs to get help to deal with her, ya know, bad parts."

Papyrus didn't say anything, but his gaze was supportive and his hum bright. Reassuring.

They sat longer, because the other festering problem needed some air to breathe. And Sans gulped that air steadily, feeding the beast of trauma within himself until the oxygen eventually smothered it into a tamable thing.

Increased therapy was mandatory, either by Papyrus' own instructions or the law. Sans knew that narrowly avoiding jail time didn't mean he was out of the woods with them just yet. He hoped they wouldn't touch his medication; he was quite used to what he took at the moment and wasn't sure what an increased time or a dosage spike would do to him. No amount of medicine could really fix the blinding light of the Judgement hall or those hiccupping laughs. It made it easier to deal with, but some medicine made it too easy, and then they had another problem.

"Had you been thinking about... all of that stuff from Underground recently?" Papyrus risked.

Sans didn't fester with anxiety, as the answer came swiftly. "No, no, it was just—the kid's laugh. It was the same. Just sorta sprung up onto me, I swear."

Papyrus looked guilty nevertheless. He said quickly, "I'm sorry," and scooped up Sans into a hug. Much needed in both of their opinions.

They didn't bother speaking more, as it would be treading old ground they didn't need to. The bushes for that path were already hacked to hell, covered and understood to a sullen degree. Sans was on the upswing, but this was an odd bump in the road that sent him tumbling. It would be fine, though. He could still stand.

And so Sans did, with Papyrus in tow, walking back hand in hand. He wondered if people found it weird that two brothers never grew entirely out of hand-holding. He started doing it when dropping a waddling little Papyrus off at school, and when they got to Snowdin, they partook in it to cross stretches of ice so they'd slip together if it came to it. Now it was reserved for more quiet rough patches that left an aching need for support. Sometimes holding Paps hand helped more than sitting in silence on the sand.

He imagined, after Papyrus and Charlie inevitably brought sinners up to heaven with redemption, there would be a lot of hand-holding. It would just be that kind of reunion.

Everyone waited for them, in their own way. Alphys and Undyne were already packing, Undyne ripe with fury and Alphys ripe with horrified embarrassment. Alphys hid herself in the front seat while Undyne packed their car, her words furious and spewing while she carefully stowed away their items.

"The nerve of that woman!" Undyne hissed to herself, "The absolute, vile nerve of saying that when—just, just ugh, you know!" She ran a hand through her hair, sucking in a breath and a practiced hum before she withdrew her fury. Now more abated, she focused on Sans. "Are you alright? That wasn't cool of her to say that."

"I think Lilac got the brunt of the attack, 'dyne. What a water-ful experience she had."

"Well, she got the physical part of it, and I already checked in on her when I fished her out of the water. Still, I heard what she said from outside, and that was not poggers of her to do."

From the front seat, Sans could hear Alphys gag. That's what she got for teaching Undyne streamer lingo and then not elaborating on how to apply it. Her fault, really.

"Undyne," Alphys said, her window now open, ready for a conversation. "Please."

"Hm?" Undyne asked, oblivious as she was strong.

"Undyne."

Flabbergasted, Undyne tossed her arms up and made an indistinguishable noise. Sans found a small laugh from that, and Papyrus' hand squeezed tenderly.

Anxiously, Alphys peeked her head out of the window. Hidden away from the woes of conflict and any raised voices. Sans supposed being loud wasn't the particular issue, more so the condition of it being anger. He met her biological Mother, a lizard monster with a disgust toward social decency, and he was just as unimpressed as Undyne was.

To summarize: a narcissistic bitch. Alphys was better without her.

"A-Are you okay?" Alphys asked Sans, almost as quiet as a mouse.

"Yeah, better now."

Alphys nodded grimly.

"I swear, if I see her again, I'll—" Undyne huffed, cutting herself off as she folded her arms and rested against the side of the car. Fury simmering under the cool beach air. "I'll something."

"Undyne," Papyrus said gently, taming the beast, "Why don't you and Alphys head off early? I think the trip is wrapping up regardless."

"Yeah, yeah, we're on our way out. No point in staying."

Undyne grunted and gave Sans a reassuring pat on the back. Once she was done, there was nothing else to stay for. The trip was ruined, both by the teenagers and Toriel alike. They likely would have handled the incident better with the jetskis if they hadn't had to come back to the mellow aftermath of an attack.

Double trouble. Bad timing on both their parts. Sans had a relapse in judgment and Toriel almost caused a major accident. Didn't she get that people could die from jet skis? It was all fun and games until someone got smacked by one, or ran over by a boat, or anything.

And then for her to come back and act like that. Just...

Oh, Tori.

Alphys and Undyne left without much fuss. From the looks of it, Lilac and Asgore were gone as well, judging from their absent car. He felt like shit not being able to see them off, but he was glad that Asgore prioritized Lilac and got her away from Toriel. Sure enough, a check of his phone revealed a message from Asgore to Sans.

Grillby and Frisk were in the living room, quietly collecting loose blankets and Styrofoam cups. They nodded at Sans and Papyrus, then went back to their task diligently.

Alastor was nowhere to be found. Nearby, no doubt about that. Sans was sure that the demon was waiting patiently, ready to swoop in for attention and support once Papyrus was done. Maybe he was away in their room, packing and organizing their belongings to get away from Toriel and Papyrus' presence faster. Sans could see it. The beach was all but ruined by this point, sullied by words and the blood of a drunken fool, along with memories he'd be better to forget.

"Hey, Paps, I'm going to go talk to Tori," he said, patting his brother's hand gingerly.

Papyrus took a look at Sans. A heavy, concerned look where his chest slightly heaved and his grip tightened.

"Don't force yourself," Papyrus said, gentle as a mouse. His sweet little brother released his grip, holding both of his hands in front of his chest as he looked at Sans. "I'll stand by whatever you choose, but I don't want you to tolerate Toriel because you feel bad. We... we need to start acknowledging her behavior, even if she was a close friend of yours."

Damn. Sans blinked once, then twice, offering a curt smile to Papyrus. "'Course, bro."

Papyrus, the notorious forgiver, wasn't keen on forgiving. Sans wanted to believe that this was an entire shift from Papyrus alone, but he had a feeling Alastor's slimy claws dug into his mind. Combine that with Toriel's lovely little behavior as of late, and that was enough for Papyrus to back down from enjoying the forgiveness of Toriel.

It was nice to see Papyrus finally putting a stop to that. His brother always tended to forgive some people who shouldn't be.

And judging by what Sans was about to do, it was probably in their genetics.

Sans tried not to think of bloody sand or future therapy appointments as he hunted down Toriel's room. Sure enough, it was sealed shut, with the silent murmurs of movement inside. He knocked his knuckles against the door twice.

"Knock knock," Sans mumbled, his smile not quite reaching his cheekbones.

The movement stopped.

Sans didn't remember the last time they did this. It was nice, even if tainted by the events of the day. His hands still felt sandy.

"Who's there?" Toriel asked, soft and almost spacey.

"Ida."

A pause. "Ida who?"

"Pretty sure it's pronounced Idaho, bud."

She didn't laugh, but he could hear the tattle of a rough exhale. Sans couldn't blame her. He wasn't in the laughing mood at the moment, even if he wished he was.

"I came to talk to ya," Sans said. He took residence next to the door, sitting upon the sprawling aqua blue carpet of the hallway. "About everything."

Toriel took another moment to answer. He could hear the rustling of her clothing as she moved to sit against the other side of the door.

"I didn't know, Sans... I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Sans leaned his head back, sucking in a breath. "But you know that wasn't the only thing you did."

"Yeah."

"Just... why? I don't get it," Sans said, turning toward the door. "You aren't in love with Asgore anymore, but you just can't stand to see him happy for some reason. I don't know why you're lashing out so much, and I don't like it."

Quick and easy. Sans went to follow up, to demand answers and pluck them from her paws. To his left, something shivered and wriggled about on the ground.

Sans stole a glance. A shadow: his shadow, to be precise. Bigger, though, as if something else were clinging to it. He'd only seen it a few times, but it was as familiar as Alastor's false smiles.

Looked like Alastor was keeping an eye out for Sans. Sans ran his hands across the carpet, feeling the wisps of static curl against his fingers and settle into his skull. A comforting ache he grew to adore, in its own way. Almost like Alastor was giving Sans a whisper of backup. Enough to placate Sans, but not too invasive.

Sans hadn't realized how much he wanted that until that moment.

Alastor really did know him too well. What a bastard (lovingly).

"I won't pry, because I'm not sure if you even know fully either, or if you'd be willing to spill the full truth. I care about you, Tori, but yer got Lilac almost injured. Intentionally letting other people get hurt is too far."

Sans allowed the shadow to curl around his fingers, running it across his knuckles. It was warm, like a breath brushing against his hand. He knew his words didn't hold much weight to himself, considering Alastor's existence. It was an odd duality he balanced, but Sans held to it.

Even Alastor held back from attacking when Sans asked, unlike Toriel. Like a well-trained mutt of a dog.

Then again, Sans had higher standards for Toriel than he did for Alastor. Alastor he expected to lash out, bratty and demanding for attention. Whining when he wasn't considered badass and flailing about when he didn't get everything he wanted. He was flawed, but his flaws were manageable. Sans could work with that. Alastor could whine all he wanted, but when Sans said to heel, the bastard did.

Sans shivered from that thought, almost giddy from the power he held. Yeah, he was fucked. Lecturing Toriel would never hold any water once she finally believed the truth about Alastor.

But Toriel should be better than him. Better than both of them. Seeing her stoop to their level felt awful, especially when it launched his way after he wasn't in the right headspace.

"Go get better, Tori. Go get therapy. Talk about it. Fix yourself. I want to believe in you. You know I care about you, so... just... I don't like seeing you this way. I know you're a wonderful person when you don't let this sort of thing get into your head."

Go get better, unlike Sans.

Well, that wasn't true. Other than his relationship with Alastor, Sans was working on getting better. He didn't want to lash out when a human held a knife or giggled with hiccups. He wanted to exist with them fully, wanted to look in the mirror and be proud of who he was. Not just okay, even if okay was an improvement from his time Underground.

"Are we still friends?" Toriel spoke up with a choked breath.

Sans paused.

"If you fix yourself, yeah," Sans said. "I'd like to. But I'm not going to sit around on my hands and tolerate bullshit, alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

And hopefully, they still would be friends. If it didn't happen, at least Sans tried his best. It would have to do.

And so, Sans stood. He gathered himself up, the shadow clinging to his own, and bid Toriel a goodbye. There was no point to stay in the escape that turned to anything but.

Sans clung the shadow to his hands as he trotted back to his room. When he entered, Alastor was standing over their shared bed, almost done folding their clothes into their duffle bag.

He didn't say anything when Sans collapsed onto the bed. Alastor simply sat next to him, a hand reassuringly resting upon Sans'. Gathering up the sand, flicking it away with even, soft movements.

It was nice.

As it turned out, Papyrus had one surprise saved for Alastor and Sans.

It was one of those surprises that sprang forth last minute in a desperate bid for emotional gratification. Everyone packed and left silently, leaving Toriel behind as Sans eventually picked himself up from the bed and managed to drag himself to the car. He wasn't quite thinking about the human, but hadn't quite forgotten, either. It was the sort of ricocheting thought that bounced about, leaving long enough for him to function but returning in force to remind Sans of probably permanently ruining that kid's hand. That sort of injury didn't heal without repercussions.

The kid might have attacked him. But the kid might not have. It was a foldable switchblade, dull and small and pathetic. Might have just tried to threaten Sans, scare him a bit. Might have tried to stab his skull and bleed him dry. Either way, Sans knew how to take down people like him without injuring them. But Sans ruined his hand before he even thought about it.

Sans leaned against the cool window of the backseat, glancing at Alastor's reflection. Alastor was holding onto Sans, accepting a conversation with Grillby regarding the ridiculous prices of the store they visited that morning.

Right. Sans had to give him that plushie. He should hand it over before Alastor returned to hell, so Alastor could set it up as soon as he got back.

Alastor's reflection moves in tandem with the man; sweet and snippy. If Sans wasn't quite Sans, he would've fallen for that easygoing smile and pleasant words. Alastor really did have his behavior controlled to an almost perfect degree. A serial killer at heart.

Sans didn't think he'd ever be as comfortable as Alastor was with violence of that nature, even in hell.

"So, uh, I sort of... Are you guys okay with us making a pit stop?" Papyrus asked sheepishly, glancing up at his passengers through the rearview mirror.

"A pit stop?" Sans echoed.

Papyrus perked. "Yeah! Grillby and I meant to have a date night tonight, and we still have the reservation, but since we're driving home early, we thought about... well, there's a jellyfish event nearby."

Alastor hummed for Papyrus to continue.

"A school of glowing jellyfish from the Underground are going to be migrating to the shore next to the restaurant. Only monsters really know about it; the humans are still studying some of the animals and flora from our time Underground. They're still stuck on the echo flower."

Sans snorted at that. Yeah, they'd be chipping away for a good while. No wonder they hadn't gotten to any of the lesser animals yet, like the glowing jellyfish.

"I'm guessing you didn't have any part in keeping it from the others?" Sans asked.

Papyrus stuttered and pelted out excuses, none quite landing yet all the more amusing. By the time he claimed it was a coincidence, he swore, Alastor and Sans agreed. Alastor seemed interested, and Sans would like a bit of solitude with his bestie before he is punted down to hell for his crystal to recharge.

Alastor's hand tightened around Sans'. He was looking out the window, arm perched and eyes glazed, but not quite all at once.

Sans would typically dig into that expression, try to rip Alastor's fake smile apart as he used to whenever he looked at mirrors Underground. But... fuck, you know? He was tired, and his bones ached, and goddamnit, he just wanted to look at glowing jellyfish.

And so they do.

Papyrus and Grillby dropped off the two lacking smilers at the edge of a rockless beach, on the cusp of a sunset. With the free space, they traversed the sand, Sans and Papyrus settling for a time before his brother and his husband left. Once alone, Alastor had taken Sans' arm into a hold and led him out into the open abyss.

It wasn't quite what Sans had imagined in his mind. The siren didn't sing, and he stopped once the water licked at his now exposed ankles.

"Are you doing better?" Alastor asked.

Sans stared across the waves, the humming of water and the churning of self-guilt. In all of the complicated emotions he balanced over the past few days, the quiet of the ocean drifted through him like a dribble of water. A soft growing mass of calm that swept away the idle worry of blood. And for the bit that remained, the soft self-doubt and the guilt that Sans wanted to erase away into nothing but bliss.

"Yeah," Sans said. He glanced over at Alastor, at the human disguise the man once was. A pretty face and a prettier liar. "Am I overreacting?"

"About what?"

About what indeed. Sans didn't know anymore.

"I don't know," Sans replied earnestly. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. If he wanted Alastor to tell him that yes, he was being picky despite the demon he'd given his life to in mutual obsession. Or perhaps Alastor would sweep toward Sans with a no, all too pleased that Sans was baring claws toward his friends.

Alastor doesn't do anything. Instead, Alastor leaned forward, always so darn prim and proper, with a hand on his chest and that pesky smile on his face.

"Does it matter?" Alastor asked.

And just like that, the lingering traces of self-doubt were chased away.

Because it really didn't. Either way, Sans didn't approve of Toriel's actions, but he would always love Alastor to death despite his.

Sans wanted to care. But he wasn't a good person.

"No," Sans said, pure bliss on his face. "It doesn't."

The jellyfish came in swarms under the sun-kissed sky. Big, small, chubby and narrow. They glowed bright with hues of blue and purple, sweeping under the waves and brushing across Sans and Alastor. Neither flinched, one without skin and the other lacking genuine flesh. The texture, akin to a spongy silk, drifted past him.

Alastor watched, his brown eyes drifting back and forth across the show around them. It felt rare, seeing these on the surface. They used to linger in the dark confines of waterfall, only making their trip to the capital's rivers and ponds in small doses. Here, though? Under the brilliant sun, with Alastor by his side and sweet freedom?

It was perfect.

"You know, I do love you," Sans blurted out suddenly.

Alastor startled, spinning on his heels to face Sans. Sand kicked up under the crystal blue water, and a few nearby jellyfish floundered away.

"I mean, obviously, not like that," San continued. "Genuinely, I love you as a best friend. As an equal. I always thought I'd have to settle for someone who wants to have sex or someone I wouldn't get along with, but... but with you?" Sans smiled to himself, light and airy. He felt almost drunk from the whiplash of guilt to joy, the high he was riding to help bring out this sudden confession. "I don't have to worry about that; we laugh, we have fun... you're my best friend. I never had to explain why smiling sometimes takes too much to do, but why I do it regardless. You get it."

Alastor laughed, and the brilliant static of a radio changing stations echoed in Sans' skull while his eyes flashed. His real eyes, not the false ones. Red and glorious.

"I can't exactly blame you; after all, I am quite a catch, as my Mother once claimed," Alastor joked. His chuckle simmered down, and Alastor stared at Sans with a fond look he likely showed none before. It made Sans feel all the more special. "But I do agree with you. You're... Comic Sans. You're unlike anyone else I've ever met. I'm happy to have met you, and I do suppose that you somehow helped me realize that someone as horrible as me could love. It's... nice. Very nice. Loving you as an equal, and being loved in turn."

Around them, the jellyfish glowed and swayed.

"Though, may I ask what brought on this sudden confession?" Alastor asked, his head cocked to the side. "By no means am I upset about it, but this does seem rather... out of the blue."

"I was just... thinking," Sans started.

"Oh, were you now?"

"Yeah. About the future, and about us. We've already dedicated ourselves to one another as eternal besties, right? But I was thinking... And I dunno if it's weird, but I don't like the idea of others not immediately knowing we belong to one another. Legalizing it would...it sounds nice, I guess."

"You want," Alastor snorted out, disbelief coating his face. An infection. "You want to get married, Comic Sans?"

"I want people to know that we've bound ourselves to a future, I guess," Sans offered with a shrug. "The bracelet represents that, but we need to... speak their language, ya know? And what better way to do that than becoming husbands?"

"How romantic," Alastor spat out, like a fool.

"Do you really think I'd spread my legs the moment you got a ring onto my finger, Bambie? Seriously?"

That shut up Alastor. The man nearly reeled back, smile straining as he placed his finger onto his chin and actually considered it.

"You're right, we wouldn't act any more romantic than we do now," Alastor settled for. His eyes drift back to Sans, sharp, focused, and obsessed. "You know, I wouldn't object to it. We've already dedicated our futures to one another; I see no reason why a ring and a title change would interrupt that."

"Exactly," Sans said. "Not to mention, it'd allow for us to show people instantly we're dedicated to one another, and if they assume, they will regardless. I think it'd definitely piss off your little TV friend down below."

Alastor's grin became wicked.

"Yes, it would," He said, now all too pleased with the idea. "And it would also show your brother a little performance so we can calm his nerves."

Right. Even if Sans wanted to just sign a page and add another accessory to his outfits, Papyrus wouldn't settle for a weddingless-marriage. Despite the marriage lacking the expectation of romance, it was still Sans showing the world he was bound to someone else.

It would make Papyrus more comfortable with Sans and Alastor as well, knowing they went out of their way to make it official despite not needing to.

"I wouldn't oppose to this at all," Alastor finalized, taking a step forward as the wind swept through his hair. He was as sharp as a whittle, as always, tall and powerful and dominating, but this man was still willingly tying himself in another way to Sans. Binding themselves further until none could claw their way out.

Somehow, that just made Sans more excited. He really was a lost cause.

"I think it's a good idea," Sans said to his enabler. "I just saw a ring at the shop, and I got thinking, ya know? About how nice it'd be to let others know instantly what we have, since they'll assume regardless of what we do. And we can make more jokes."

Alastor positively cackled, pressing a hand against his forehead to stabilize it. "Yes, yes, that would be quite exquisite, Cheshire. I think I'd be quite pleased with this outcome."

And that was that. Under the sunset, surrounded by the glowing jellyfish native to the Underground, the two shared an agreement. They lingered on the topic, figuring out how they would tell the others and how this would look considering neither was a legal citizen in the other's city. All the while, nature persisted.