When Husk and Angel Dust had come together to make a gift basket, Sans had been flattered. Really. A high-end, stuffed, and tall goodies tree with chocolates and beers and anything he could want to get his hands on. Some of the bottles were coated in dust, some of the candy bars had the slightest splatter of blood upon them, but the two had really tried their best. Got some cheap, red glittered bow to complete the look. The type of cheap material you'd find in the dollar section of a gas station, yet was carefully cultivated around the plastic wrap of the plastic in near-pleading, small details.

Which was nice. He knew Angel Dust and Husk didn't have a lot of money, but they put a lot of what they had together in order to get Sans something extremely nice. Which they didn't have to, he had reminded them of. Alas, Sans had saved both of their souls from eternal control through the power of casually asking his husband. So he doubted he was being removed from their christmas list anytime soon.

(Which, Sans had to wonder—didn't Christmas have some biblical background to it for certain religions? Did sinners even celebrate?)

The gift basket was nice. Pleasant, even.

But since Sans was stable enough to walk around for extended periods of time, and wasn't entirely dependent upon Alastor, a trip home was preferable. Paps was, no doubt, downright hysterical with Sans gone.

And Sans rolled up onto the surface with a gift basket bunched up within his short, tiny arms. Half as big as him. Something Sans had to peek out from, to shuffle his legs forward through the portal that took him and Alastor back up. It was damn near humiliating, walking through that portal into Papyrus' living room, gift basket in hand and Alastor behind him.

What met him, in the vast room of Papyrus and Grillby's common space, was a corkboard. Maps drafted upon it, strings connected with careful precision. Several chunky books of demon encyclopedic knowledge grew in mountains on his coffee table, all of it with dust and none of it with truth. And, right smack dab in the middle, huddled together like a rickety band of children ready to solve a town's disappearance, were them. Papyrus. Undyne. Grillby.

Secretly, Sans had been hoping that Papyrus would have left his finger elsewhere. Been at work, or abroad, or at his own home, fruitlessly searching for him. He knew that would never be the case—Papyrus couldn't abandon even a piece of Sans, no matter how trivial the bone was. It was the only connection he had to him; the only connection he had that proved Sans wasn't dusted.

Sans had no chance of a sheepish hug, awkward greeting, or even a peep. Papyrus was up, over, and holding onto him in the span of a second. Breathing heavily, checking every inch of his brother with trembling hands and begging words. If he was okay, alright, safe, sound, healthy, if there was a bullet or not and where the hell did Alastor take him—

Things like that. It was hard to gather everything in the commotion. Papyrus was on Sans, Grillby was tugging them both back, and Undyne threw herself between the supposed victim and abuser. Voices barricaded over one another, desperate to be heard in the cacophony of desperation while Undyne's blue spears summoned. Yet only Undyne's rang loud enough for her words to be tangible.

"You stay away you—you—" Undyne roared, shoulders hunched and damn near feral. Her posture wavered with each attack that landed, as if she was feeling the impact instead. "You demon!"

The chaos continued to blister while Alastor tanked the spear hits, looking near amused the entire time. Maintaining eye contact with Sans until he inevitably sighed and flicked his hand.

The plethora of vibrant blue spears that impaled his body were ripped out instantly. They clattered to the ground, the sound akin to a utensils drawer being emptied and tossed aside.

"Since you know I am a demon, you must know trying to kill the unkillable is a tiresome task," Alastor mused brightly. "Stop wasting both of our times—I brought Sans back, didn't I? In better shape than Papyrus left him."

Suddenly, Sans was welcomed into the embrace of being smothered into his brother's chest, cradled against him as if he would be stolen away so soon after being returned. "Stay away from him!"

"Ah, well, I do suppose that would be difficult. We are married, after all."

Sans' muffled voice gurgled from his throat, smothered by the cloth of Papyrus' shirt. "Paps, I knew he was a demon—it's fine, we're cool."

Suddenly, there was light. Sans' face met air, freed from his brother's chest, while Papyrus' face took center stage. Eye sockets nearly filled with tears, hands trembling with worry. It made Sans' chest groan and clutter, a fragile sapling of a tree caught up within a bustling storm, flapping against the ground and barely holding on.

Sans' hands anchored themselves into his brother's shirt where his face once rested.

"I told you all, remember?" He recalled, bitter. "I told you guys he was a demon ages ago."

"I—" Papyrus cut himself off with a hum, the sort of vibrating noise that echoed through his body to give him a second to think. Alas, that second passed, and Papyrus still floundered with his words.

Undyne continued to stare and stand toward Alastor, another attack ready despite its useless damage. Grillby watched Sans, his flames flickering with uncertainty.

Eventually, inaction gave way to action. Papyrus clung to Sans, ordered a brother meeting, and half carried Sans out of the room.

Papyrus' room was a labyrinth of tidiness. Books organized by color and size upon the shelves, their sheets fire and wrinkle proof. Papyrus was a man of opposites, when it came to cleaning. The messier the room, the happier he was. It meant he had the freedom to live with dirty dishes or the occasional sock and not feel the need to fuss about it. Only when his room shimmered did it show that he had enough stress to try and work it away with bloodied knees and soap-covered washcloths.

Despite all of that, Papyrus trampled across the carpet, sat Sans down neatly onto the bed, and tossed aside his hoodie onto the otherwise perfect floor to check for injuries.

Sans simply helped hold up his shirt while Papyrus inspected the entry and exit wounds. First the front, then looped around the back, where his fingers lingered. Fleeting, eventually. The shirt retucked itself after the bandages were redone, and Papyrus skirted about the bed. Sat down eventually as well. A lot of eventuallys, with Papyrus that afternoon.

"Are you mad?" Sans prods.

Papyrus' shoulders hiked up, and he whipped toward Sans, holding him close and tender. "No, no, of course not," he whispered, rubbing at Sans' shoulder blades. The safe zone on Sans' back.

"I did warn you; I told ya so many fucking times."

"I know."

"Told yer he was a demon, used to be a serial killer—I gave his full legal name; just one google check would'a—"

"I know, I know."

Sans blinked and sheepishly thought back to the odd corkboard set up inside of Papyrus' living room.

"Looked him up finally?" Sans snorted dryly.

Papyrus' arms crossed. "Only after you disappeared in his arms into some portal thing after being shot, Sans, I—" A breath, a covered jaw. Tremors picked up across Papyrus' bones, movements Sans quickly sought to quell by shoving his whole body up against Papyrus.

"I know, I'm sorry—"

"No, don't do that. Don't apologize for getting shot. It wasn't your fault. Never apologize for that."

The urge didn't subside. Sans doubted it ever would. The constant desire to soothe his brother's woes was an integral part of his being, a foundation to his structure. Trying to extract it would fundamentally topple him until he was dust, both mentally and physically.

Sans supplemented the desire by plopping his weight onto his brother, continuously pressing up against him. Papyrus nearly reciprocated enough to push back against Sans, yet not all of it to cause them both to fall and pin Sans beneath a mass of sad, bony brother. They balanced against one another perfectly, in a mutual lingering silence.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you," Papyrus said, after a decidedly long enough empty air to fill it.

"Sorry for not being more obvious about it," Sans said. "I—it's frustrating when you guys didn't believe me. I told him not to use powers or transform, and he didn't."

"But he did kidnap you, Sans!" Papyrus said. "Why did you keep contacting him, why did you—why did you marry him?"

"Why did you leave him in the other room with Undyne and Grillbs if you think he's dangerous?"

Papyrus looked at Sans with bewilderment. "Because I trust Undyne to protect Grillby, and I trust Grillby, and I trust you. I don't know why you married him, but you—you did, Sans, and I know you struggle a lot with stuff at times, but you aren't stupid. And you wouldn't let anyone dangerous near me, period."

Sans snorted. Right. Sounded like him. Even if he had been held hostage through some means, he wouldn't have let Alastor anywhere near Paps.

"It wasn't... anything, at first—" It never is goes unsaid. Sans never started with anything, ever, with people. Never a first glance of friendship, or an ache to get to know someone. People either blurred into the background, or became a part of his life.

Then it was. The timeline blurred for Sans. He once hated Alastor, then had to begrudgingly respect him. That man's voice calling over the phone for his Mama, who was lost to heaven ages before he himself became lost to hell.

When exactly had he begun to drown, Alastor's hand clasped around his ankle?

Oh, no, he knew when. It hadn't been the ankle at all. It had been his neck.

"Alastor was owed a favor by one of the highest-ranking demons in hell," Sans recalled, "any favor at all. Could'a used it for more power or wealth, to rule over his own section or something... but he used it to come up here and be able to meet me. I really did make an impression on him, cause he swept up here in big Alastor fashion and admitted he didn't know why he kept thinking about me. We agreed to become best friends, but then it kept getting more and more serious. I proposed a platonic marriage and he agreed. He's been real open about—well, everything since I met him. Never lied about being a serial killer or a demon."

Then again, Sans never gave him the chance to. Sans had weaseled himself into being an equal right off the bat. Never let himself take shit from Alastor, and in turn, Alastor had respected and flourished with it.

"And you're..." Papyrus waved his hands aimlessly. "Just fine with it? No concerns or worries or anything?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's already getting punished for it. And being a serial killer isn't a dealbreaker for me."

Which it should be. It absolutely should be. And Papyrus knew that too, by the expression he made at Sans for such a statement.

"But he kidnapped you, Sans, I—"

"Took me down to hell to heal me," Sans clarified awkwardly. "He doesn't really... not a big fan of you, I have to admit. Or hospitals on the surface—he's seen how a few places treat me because I'm a monster, and how they treated him because he was colored, so Alastor was worried I wouldn't get medical attention in time. Did it himself. He did what he thought would be best for me."

Papyrus, bless his sweet heart, melted down into a limp pile of contemplation, hands pressed against his face. "Sans."

"I know, I know, it's weird and fucked up that I wanna be best friends with a serial killer and dead guy and everything, but... Alastor is anything I've ever wanted out of a partner. He's not interested in romance or sex, he is funny and likes puns, he's supportive and even though he doesn't really enjoy you that much, he'd still do things to help ya out because you're my little bro. And I can mess with him all I want, and he never gets upset over it. Good cook. Cleans up."

Sans doesn't know how to explain all of it to Papyrus. It was always so easy with Alastor. Looking at him and knowing, just like that. Never had to communicate it if they couldn't. Sans struggled for words to describe any of it: the obsessive need for him, the mutual knowledge of false smiles or forced jokes or anything of that sort. As if he's fishing through a bucket of legos for a specific piece that just doesn't exist.

"I do love him," Sans settled for. "I enjoy his company, he won't hurt me, or try to trick me into something I don't want to do. And I chose him to be with for the rest of my life, then after it."

"But what if you get into heaven, Sans?" Papyrus asked.

"Oh, uh... that won't happen. I already kinda sold my soul to Alastor in an eternal contract—"

Sans cut himself off when Papyrus choked on his breath, blinking rapidly while he processed Sans' sentence. Shock and confusion gave way to fussing and absolute fretting. Papyrus rambled, giving Sans a stern lecture about the 'do's and don'ts' of selling a soul; in particular, not selling it at all. Period. Sans explained it all, went over how it was a mutual ownership, and even summoned both the contract and chain to verify. Alastor even lightly tugged on the chain from the next room, to which Sans reciprocated.

"I don't like this," Papyrus admitted, finally. Still leaned against Sans for that support, to know his brother was there and alright.

"I know," Sans said. "I promise, if he ever tried to manipulate me, or tried to weasel his way into hurting me, I'd be out. You know this."

"I know, I know, I—" Papyrus pressed Sans into a hug. "I trust you, though, so I—I'll have to trust him, as well. He brought you back and kept you safe." A pause. "Even though he is really, really scary. I will try to... let him be... here."

"Thanks, Paps." A pause from Sans himself. "Brought a gift basket, if you want it."

A heavy sigh. "Sans."

"Just offering," Sans snorted.

Alastor was still in the living room when Sans and Papyrus returned, looking all too satisfied with himself. Perched proudly upon the couch across from Undyne and Grillby, who both glared at him with enough force to set anything ablaze. Sans rounded to the table first. Stole back his finger and pressed the tip of his finger right where it belonged. Back on him. The magic reconnected easily, and Sans was whole once more. Every bone back in place.

"Sans is alright," Papyrus told the other two, begrudgingly looking over at Alastor. "And Alastor is... going to be accepted, for the time being. With some rules!"

"Are we seriously going to just let some demon guy waltz around with Sans?" Undyne asked, jabbing a hand in his direction. "He killed five people! He ate them!"

"It's not like we can stop him, Undyne," Grillby offered, voice quiet and murmured. "Your attacks did nothing—what can we even do?"

"Precisely! Why waste your energy and magic when you could use it on something else more useful?" Alastor said with a hum and click of his tongue, and turned his attention to Papyrus. "What rules are you considering?"

"No hurting Sans, obviously."

Alastor's left eye twitched. "Obviously," he repeated, dryly.

Papyrus' eye sockets narrowed. "Obviously."

Sans sighed, picked up the stuffed gift basket, and set it down onto the middle of the table.

As he expected, the rules took an hour. An hour of Papyrus pacing around, scrounging for anything to cover regarding Alastor's continued presence in their life. Respect Sans' boundaries, don't kill innocent people, things like that. If it had been anyone else, Sans knew they would have probably tossed him into a sack and forcibly dragged him away from Alastor, "for his own good."

But Papyrus wasn't anyone else. He was Papyrus. And he would trust Sans to be capable of picking his own partner, even if he couldn't comprehend why. So Papyrus trudged through it all, his face hardened and wild with settling nerves and worries he poured out into his expansive list of rules.

The list wasn't difficult to follow, though. Most of it was common sense for a relationship, romantic or platonic. Most of it was things Sans would have killed Alastor for disregarding if he ever did.

After all, he did make a promise to Alastor. A second bullet to the head was a guarantee. No need for Papyrus to meddle about when the outcome was pointedly decided.

Undyne and Grillby huffed through it all, but couldn't do much. Undyne's failed attacks proved all that.

Then came the questions toward both Sans and Alastor. Where Sans went, how heaven and hell worked, how Alastor's disguise and powers worked. Alastor was vague for a lot of it, per typical Alastor behavior. Despite the constant intrusive questions, Alastor looked gleeful. Perfectly content, knowing he was damn well where he pleased in Sans' life, and that Sans' friends and brother couldn't do a damn thing about it.

After all, they had the bracelets for it. And the rings, if they had to prove it.

Either way, Sans continued to listen to Papyrus' rambles about future meetings, and smiled gently.

What a good outcome.