Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The year is 205X, and humans and monsters are still at each other’s fucking throats.

When the barrier fell, the monsters were faced with a world a century ahead of them, and there were talks of another War, but humans like to pretend we've advanced - that we're above tearing our perceived predators apart simply for existing, who the fuck are we kidding - and we made a bunch of anti-discrimination laws as fast as we could. After that, the government could say, 'See? We can't be terrible, look at all the laws we made!' without addressing any of the systemic issues that had trapped monsters underground for centuries.

New Ebbott is decades old; monsters have been on the surface for a generation now, have had children born under the sun, but… Humanity is nothing if not resistant to change, and that bubbles over into petty bar fights ending in hate crimes, and with the majority of the police force still profoundly human… well. If there’s any bright side, and, trust me, bright sides are hard to come by in this city, at least it’s good for business.”

Rain hitting pavement in sheets. Broken glass under boots. Blue lights reflecting on wet sidewalks. The smell of blood and dust slowly washed away by the downpour overhead, red and white coagulating in the sewer drains. The murmur of onlookers - human and monster - craning their necks to peer over the yellow barrier tape, whispering and pointing, momentarily united in their thirst for information. Above it all, the neon and warmth of city lights, a constant heartbeat weaving it all together with cement.

And then, there was you, soaked to the bone in a dark back alley, the camera in your breast pocket struggling to capture anything useful.

The model was old, and the rain didn’t help. The crowds that refused to part didn’t help either. The cops that refused to answer any questions were the worst of all, though: usually, you could sweet talk at least one of them into giving you something. But these assholes were all old and knew your last name and the history attached to it.

Meaning you were getting soaking wet for absolutely no fucking reason.

You tried for another half hour to get pictures - of the broken glass of the storefront, the graffiti sprayed harshly against the door, a statement from the gaseous, cloudy shop owner and one of your cards slid into his nervous hands - before walking miserably back to your car.

When you finally shoved open the door to your office, Maggie had thankfully already gone home (sometimes she’d insist on staying late with you, no matter how her fluffy antennae drooped and her wings dragged), and your tiny space was completely yours, cramped filing cabinets and beat up couch and all. You threw your camera into your desk drawer with more force than necessary - hell, the rain had likely rendered it fucking busted, anyway - and slumped into your rolling chair.

Outside, the darkness of New Ebbott sliced through the slatted blinds like jail bars. A car on the block honked in annoyance. Music reverberated the bricks from a house party overhead. You sighed, rubbing your temples. You'd hoped to help that shop owner out tonight, but the cops got touchy when you implied they weren't going to actually do anything about a hate crime, so they ate up all of his time.

You hit play on the ancient answering machine - something Maggie had insisted made you more professional - and let the three awaiting messages play.

“Hey, uhm, this is Callum. You helped me find the guy that stole my car last month? Just wanted to say thank you for your help. Uhm… yeah. Thanks.” Click.

“This is an apology call from your insurance provider-” Click. Delete.

“Hi, uhm, is this Forty-Second Street Investigations? My name is Andromeda, and I'm… I'm looking for some help. My-My daughter is missing, and I really don’t know what to do anymore. If you could call me back, I’d be so grateful. Thank you.” Click. No new messages.

You frowned, your head propped on your desk, your thumb idly rubbing the pressed penny on a chain around your neck. You made a sticky note with Andromeda’s number, asked Maggie to schedule an appointment ASAP, and stuck it to her computer as you made for the exit.

Tomorrow was a new day, you told yourself as you locked up. The rain hadn't let up.

“Coffee, Miss Andromeda?”

Maggie’s huge, moth-like eyes were filled to bursting with compassion as Andromeda explained her story, sat on the opposite side of your thrifted desk. The worried mother was a monster, her form vaguely humanoid and shifting constantly, a starlit void in a knit sweater and mom jeans.

Andromeda’s daughter, Phoebe, had been missing for almost three weeks now. She was only seventeen, a starlight monster like her mother, who had fallen in with the wrong crowd. Andromeda had a small residence a few hours outside the city, but Phoebe had met a young human man from New Ebbott who Andromeda immediately disliked.

“Bronx was so inconsiderate,” her void pulled into a facsimile of a frown, her hands wringing. “Always belittling her, making inappropriate comments, hanging out with bad people. I tried to put my foot down, but she would just sneak out to see him. We… had a big fight, the night she ran away. I gave her a few hours to cool off in her room, but when I went to check on her, she had packed her things and gone.”

“Do you know where Phoebe might have gone? Anyone she knows in the city besides Bronx?” you asked gently, scribbling notes as fast as you could. Andromeda shook her head.

“Her father and I split when she was born, and he lives here, so I thought, maybe… but I called there first, but he seemed just as surprised and distressed as I’d been, and I don't believe he'd lie about something like this. And I have no idea where Bronx lives, but…”

“That’s okay,” you smiled, thanking Maggie when she offered you a cold water. “Finding shithead boyfriends is part of my job description.” That made her relax just a bit - the starlight coalescing into a sad half-smile - and she finally took a sip of Maggie’s offered coffee, made how she liked. The entire tiny office smelt like a coffee shop now.

By the time you were done, you’d spent almost two hours with Andromeda, and you’d gotten all the information you could from her and assured her that finding Phoebe would be your top priority. In truth, it was your onlyone: being a human in a predominantly monster neighborhood came with its own set of drawbacks, none of which you blamed the residents here for.

Maggie sighed after Andromeda had left, her black-and-white wings sagging. “Poor lady. She must feel so guilty about the fight, y'know?”

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” you reminded her, propping against the front window, watching cars and people blur by in the mid-morning sun. “Hopefully, we can find Phoebe quickly. Ebbott isn’t a small town.”

“That’s why you’ve got me!” Maggie beamed, her antenna wiggling, her wings flittering as she rolled her chair eagerly behind her monitor. “Give me an hour and Mr. Bronx will be yours.”

Mr. Bronx lived in a dingy, run-down apartment building in a very bad neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood you weren’t stupid enough to go to without carrying. Having spent all afternoon gathering intel - into Phoebe’s entire family and her shithead boyfriend - Maggie had shot you the address to this dismal place, glowing in flickering street lights, heavy with poverty and desperation. You passed under a neon sign advertising the sex shop next door and dipped into the main lobby of the apartment building. The monster at the front desk shot you a sneer as you ascended to the second floor, trying to remain as inconspicuous and friendly looking as possible.

A TV turned up too loud and a rowdy conversation flanked you as you stopped in front of Room 125. It showed no signs of anything suspicious, aside from the abnormally huge cockroaches that had grown fat on magic that scuttled through the hall. You knocked quietly.

“Bronx?” you called. “I just have a few questions. I’m not with the cops.”

Silence. You waited for another second, then offered your name. “Like I said, not with the cops. I’m just looking to get a few things answered and then I’ll fuck off, I promise.”

You pressed your ear to the door. Shuffling movement. Someone was clearly home. A potential someone that dated teenagers, a teenager that had been missing for weeks.

You squared your shoulders and unholstered your gun. With a swift kick just above the handle, the door flew inwards, and you were pressing forward, weapon drawn, preparing for some kind of fight. The lights were on.

“Hold it!” you barked, staring down your sights at the monster before you. He was bent over on the other side of the bed, only his back and shoes visible, but at your unsubtle intrusion, his attention shot up. A skeleton, you realized, with bright red eyes and a jagged smile. “Bronx, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Bronx?” he scoffed, a question, still kneeling. “Sweetheart, you fuckin’ insult me. Mistakin’ me for that little shithead.”

Gun still firmly at the center of his spine, he sighed and huffed and pushed himself up. He was broader than you originally thought: much, much broader, easily dwarfing you as he rose to his full height. He was at least a head taller, twice as wide, his heavy-set bones covered by a black, fur-lined hoodie over a dark crimson tank-top. The dismal light showed the various scratches along his marrow. He smiled: one sharp canine was glittering gold, the same color as the thin chain that scraped against his exposed collar bones.

You didn’t back down. For a second, neither of you moved: your gun trained at where you guessed his soul would be, his eyelights assessing you.

The thing about monsters is that they’d always be tougher in a fight. Magic was one hell of an advantage, and when it came to putting down enemies quickly, humanity simply didn’t have a chance. But humans were endurance fighters: survive long enough for them to drain their magic, and you’d be in the clear. The biggest issue, though, was trying to guess what any one monster could do. Magic was incredibly varied.

Your grip on your gun tightened. “So you’re not Bronx, you’re just in his apartment with the door locked, looking through his shit?”

“Just like you,” he grinned, his voice a deep, rough baritone. “Seems like we’re both on the same page when it comes to breakin’ laws.”

“I’m not looking through his shit,” you pointed out, even though it was a flimsy argument. “And I have a good reason to be here.”

“Just like me,” he parried again. “What I don’t get is what a fleshling like you is doin’ on this side of town. You some kinda vigilante, saving us sad monsters that can’t save ourselves?”

“I help people,” is all you bothered to reply with. He chuckled, clearly not buying it, but his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as though he’d already grown bored of you. “If you aren’t Bronx, what the fuck are you doing in his apartment?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he said. You knew you weren’t going to get anywhere like this. You slowly lowered your gun from his chest - lowered, but the safety still off, the iron still comfortable in your hand - and took a cautious step into the kitchen, your eyes not leaving the monster across from you.

Aside from him, the second thing to catch your eye sat innocently on the tiny kitchen table: a bag of Fluff. Stupid fucking name for a drug. Powered flower of something that only grew underground, inhaled for a psychedelic trip that felt like hours but only lasted a few minutes. Very, very dangerous for humans. Very, very illegal.

You poked your barrel into the sealed brick of it. It bounced like smoke then settled into a solid once again. “So, Not Bronx, you got a name?” You weren’t expecting an honest answer: monsters were funny about giving humans their real names.

“Not one you need to know,” he sneered once again, moving around from behind the bed. “Listen, babe, if you ain’t here to suck me off or tell me where the little weasel is, then you’re pretty fucking useless to me. Why don’t you get the fuck outta here before I break your pretty little spine, huh?”

You sized him up, then, as he made a point to approach, his wide frame blocking out the living room light entirely. You leveled your gun to the center of his chest once again: he walked into the barrel, resting it on his sternum, daring you, that vicious grin growing meaner every second. Magic raised the hair on your arms.

“You can certainly try,” you replied, calm, collected, and it deepened his scowl considerably. He opened his mouth to speak again when the door flew open.

“NEPD! Hands in the air!”

“Fuck,” you hissed, flicking the safety on and slowly dropping your gun to the kitchen table. The bone man glared down at you, the spike of his magic fizzling away.

“I knew you were a fuckin’ pig,” he snarled, slowly lifting his hands from his pockets.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why they’re arresting the both of us, dipshit,” you growled, rolling your eyes. You watched them make a sweep of the room - two humans, two guns at your chests - before the taller one yanked your arms behind your back and snapped handcuffs to your wrists.

“Not a great case for yourselves,” he chuckled, nodding towards the bag of Fluff on the table.

“Uh, I plead the fifth,” the skeleton smiled viciously - a threat - as he was roughly cuffed.

“Uh-huh, sure you do,” the cop grumbled.

A thump, a startled shout from the bathroom, and you sighed deeply as the short cop scrambled into the living room. The shower stall door had been opened, and out fell the dead body you assumed belonged to Bronx.

Behind you, the skeleton groaned, his dismay matching your own.

This got a lot more complicated.

Chapter Text

“That red skeleton is a real pain in my fucking ass. Built like a brick shithouse and with an attitude to match, I haven’t had a single conversation with the fucker that didn’t end in name-calling and snarling. Too bad he's so fucking unlikable, because I almost admire his no-shit-taking personality, especially when it's focused on the cops and not me. I don’t know what he wanted with Bronx, or how he’s involved with the kid’s murder, but I’ll find out.”

“You got a lotta fuckin’ nerve, bitch.”

“Oh my God, will you shut your fucking mouth?”

The skeleton still hadn’t given you his name, so you’d stuck to calling him Red or Shithead or Assfuck until he told you otherwise. You’d both been hauled to the local jail and thrown into the same holding cell, and Red hadn’t gotten off your ass the entire time, delighting in the mounting annoyance in your voice.

“‘Oh, Bronx, I’m not a cop, I swear!’” he mocked, pitching his voice insultingly high. “I thought you people weren’t supposed to lie?”

“Pfft, please, have you ever met a cop?” you laughed, rolling to face the wall from your bench/bed, the chains that bolted it to the wall rattling. Your hips were on fire, but it was easier to pretend to ignore the monster if you weren’t actually looking at him.

"You fleshlings are all the fuckin' same, shoving guns in our faces, only worryin' about yourselves, suckin' cop dick at every opportunity. Shoulda knocked your ass out as soon as you came in the door." You heard him huff and finally stop pacing, and when you lifted your head, you saw him plopped to the cell floor, back against the wall, shark’s grin pulled into a scowl. A blessed moment of silence passed between the two of you.

In that moment, you resigned to be the bigger person, and you pushed into a sitting position, rattling the decades-old bench as you rose. “I wasn’t looking for Bronx, per say. I’m looking for his girlfriend, Phoebe. Her mom hired me, said he was a real scumbag, mixed up with bad people.”

Another minute passed in silence, and when you glanced his way, he was glaring at you. After a moment of eye contact, he rolled his eyelights.

“Yeah, well, her pops got a hold of me. He also hated the little weasel, but that was more to do with the flesh bits and less with the attitude.” He was baiting you, trying to get a rise out of you by calling you fleshling. You’d heard it plenty; it didn’t agitate you like it once had. You simply shrugged.

“Didn’t realize you were a P.I.,” you admitted. He barked out a sharp laugh.

“That’s cuz I ain’t. I used to be part of the Guard, before we came topside,” he grunted, red eyelights staring through the bars to the other detainees. That made sense: from what you’d studied in college, the Guard were the peacekeepers of the underground, tasked with keeping people safe after their king went mad. A thankless job in a hopeless situation.

“It’s a shame you’re such a dickhead,” you lamented, standing and stretching. “We could consolidate resources, work together, since we’re both after the same thing.”

“Pfft, yeah, right. Suck my dick,” he grumbled, glaring up at you. You flipped him off, and he returned a phalange with a harsh grin, golden fang glinting in the dim light.

The hours bled into each other, the two of you finally running out of insults and resigning yourselves to tense silence. When a cop finally got around to unlocking your cell doors, it was already mid-morning, and the smell of coffee as you were led to a familiar cluttered desk in the precinct made your stomach growl.

With a cop at your back, you and Red were asked to sit down by Lieutenant Kowalska, a haggard human in a button-up shirt. Red snarled and snapped like a chained dog at your back the entire way, using every opportunity to grin fiendishly at any human that glanced his way.

“Kowalska, c’mon,” you started as soon as you were seated. “You know a murder charge isn’t gonna stick. All you're doing is wasting our time and giving yourself more paperwork.”

“What I know,” he returned, tired blue eyes peering at you over his glasses, “is we found half a pound of Fluff and a corpse in that apartment, and only you two to answer for it.”

Paperwork shuffling, conversations, helicopters whirring overhead, traffic. The smell of coffee and cigarettes. Despite the years away, some of it was almost comforting to you, a phantom familiarity. You recognized some of the officers here: some recognized you, their faces souring immediately.

“We’re trying to find a girl named Phoebe. Starlight monster, seventeen years old. She’s been missing for three weeks now, and the only real lead we have is that she was dating Bronx,” you offered, and Kowalska raised an eyebrow, jotting a few notes down on a piece of scrap paper.

“And what did you know about Bronx?” he asked, idly clicking his pen. Red tensed as the nervous tick continued.

“Probably the same as you. He was a drug dealer, sold Fluff, clearly got in over his head,” you leaned back, feeling the anger from Red hot on your neck. When you glanced over your shoulder, he flipped you off again, which you returned.

“Didn’t realize you had a partner,” Kowalska muttered.

“We’re not partners!” you both said, arms crossing, shooting each other a sharp stare.

“Are we fuckin’ done here?” Red barked, shifting in his seat. “I got shit to do.”

Kowalska seemed to size him up then, cold, calculating eyes washing over the monster at your back intently. Red leaned forward on his knees, a challenge, one that Kowalska quickly grew disinterested in. The human sighed and tapped awake his computer.

“Your bail’s been posted. That’s the best I can offer you.”

With that, you were shuffled back to the holding cell, Red’s magic hot on your neck the entire time. When you were alone again, he rounded on you, and you didn’t have a gun this time.

“Do not tell that pig anything else,” he snarled, voice low. “You’re even dumber than you look if you think they’ll help.”

“I’m not looking for their help, I’m looking for their apathy,” you returned. “I don’t need their fucking help, I need them to think they’ve got the situation under control so they let us go.”

“Yeah? Well, that looked an awful lot like boot lickin’ to me.” Red’s right socket was completely dark. His left was flickering crimson across your face.

“That’s why I’m the P.I. and you’re not,” you hissed, getting as in his face as you could, considering you were shorter than him. When it was clear you weren’t backing down, he relented, shoving you away from him to begin pacing behind the bars like a caged tiger. You threw your hands in the air and stomped back to the bench, immediately laying down and rolling to face the wall so you wouldn’t have to look as his stupid fucking skull. Your thumb worried the pressed penny around your neck.

You were losing precious time. Every minute, Phoebe was potentially in danger, that much closer to winding up like her boyfriend. You found it hard to believe she hadn’t known Bronx’s profession, especially not if she’d been living there for weeks. No matter how weaselly the guy was, you can’t hide that forever.

“Your bail is paid.”

You were so wrapped up in thought that you almost didn’t register the cell door clanging open. You jolted upright, staring in fury as Red swaggered into the hall. A tall skeleton, somehow even taller than Red, was waiting with his arms crossed over his black shirt. More human looking, lanky, small black eyes glaring daggers at you. You could see his jaw moving in short, harsh words to Red, who wasn’t listening.

He was too busy flipping you off.

You really fucking hated that guy.

“I’m sorry, boss!”

Maggie was hurrying to catch up with you, her sneakers plodding against the parking lot in a mad dash to match your angered steps. You sighed, collected yourself. It was almost sunset. You’d wasted an entire day.

“No, don’t be sorry,” you relented, running your fingers through your hair. Fuck, you needed a shower. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at… everything. You saved my ass.”

Maggie blushed as much as a moth could blush as she followed you to your parked car. “If it helps, I was on a very nice date!”

Your stoney, tired scowl cracked as she tossed you your keys. “Y’know, surprisingly, that doesn’t help as much as you think it would.”

“I was on a very nice date with someone who shall remain anonymous. However, using my feminine wiles, I was able to learn a bit about Bronx,” the smile she flashed you as she settled into the passenger seat was so shit-eating, she looked more like a fly in the afternoon shade. “Turns out Bronx owed a huge debt to Gooze: he’d skimmed money off the top!”

You lit up, pausing your reversing car long enough to shoot Maggie a smile. “You little vixen!”

“I try,” she giggled, tossing her antennae over her shoulder playfully. “Well, one of us has gotta do some work around here.”

Gooze was bad news. He wasn’t as prolific as some other crime bosses you’d encountered, but he was big enough to be a considerable roadblock, especially if his goons had been the one to murder Bronx. Debt was the most popular reason to murder a subordinate.

You dropped Maggie back off at the office, asking her to let Andromeda know you’d made progress while keeping details vague, while you returned to your tiny apartment to shower and change your clothes. You sighed wearily, letting the hot water soak into your scalp and shoulders, breathing deeply of the lavender body wash Maggie got you for your birthday. You picked out comfortable clothes and padded barefoot into your kitchen.

In a nondescript drawer, you pulled a green burner phone out amongst a well-organized sea of other burner phones. Rule number one about this line of work: you needed to know which criminals you could call in a pinch. None of them were trustworthy. They all wanted something out of every exchange. But so did the cops, and, frankly, sometimes you needed their help, and helping you often kept the cops away from their business for a while.

“Get lost,” was all Gooze’s goon barked at you before hanging up. You frowned at the phone. You could usually introduce yourself before getting told to jump off a building. Damn. You wondered if someone had seen you getting hauled away from Bronx’s apartment last night, if Gooze assumed you were working closely with the cops on this one, even though your history with them was widely known.

Fuck. This was going to be even harder, now.

Broken glass under boots. Cigarette smoke. Magic tingling in your ears. Rowdy conversations against a dark night sky. And you, pushing into a bar notoriously owned by Gooze himself.

All conversation died immediately as soon as you entered. Several monsters turned from their pool games, their drinks, their conversations to sneer at you as you walked towards the bar. You really couldn’t blame them, and you normally wouldn’t interrupt a place like this, but you needed a way to get to Gooze and you were running out of options.

“Just a beer, please,” you asked the bartender, ignoring the flare of his purple flame in indignation of your casualness. For a second, you didn’t know if he’d actually serve you. He eyed the gun holstered under your leather jacket. You kept both hands on the bar top.

After a tense few moments, he placed a cold bottle in front of you.

You’d barely taken a sip when a furry paw slammed down on the counter. You’d seen them coming in your peripheral.

“You lost, baby?” the monster asked, saddling up to your right, dark fur thick with stale smoke and hard liquor. You’d seen her playing pool when you first came in.

“Just looking to get a drink,” you smiled up at her, making a point to take a long swig.

“You must be new here,” another monster drawled, pinning you in on your left. “See, this is one of Gooze’s bars. Gooze isn’t too keen on you fleshlings.”

“Well, tell Gooze I’ll be right out of his hair, then,” you muttered into your beer. As you raised it to your lips again, that same dark, furry paw slammed it back to the counter. The flaming bartender was eyeing the situation tensely, small sparks dancing from his head.

“That ain’t how it works,” the one on your left - thin, yellow skin, five eyes - snarled. A fist tightened into your jacket. You allowed yourself to be roughly dragged away, making sure to fish the five out of your pocket and toss it to the counter. The bartender was on the phone with someone, a hushed conversation, as you were shoved through the side door.

“Look, man, I just wanted a drink,” you sighed, exasperated, shoulders sagging as you turned to face them. “I’m not looking for trou-”

The first right hook was expected. It sent you reeling into the brick alleyway, your vision spinning, lips splitting against your own teeth. You grunted in pain, trying to steady yourself against the opposite wall. The furry one was saying something, but you were too focused on keeping yourself upright to listen.

When a yellow hand balled into your coat, you were ready, the exhaustion you’d been playing at all night dropped in an instant. You shucked out of your leather jacket and threw it into the monster’s face, giving you enough time to dodge the hard, clawed swipe from the bigger one before it tore open your throat. It was impossible to judge pressure points - monsters were too varied to have an exact science - so you gave it your best guess, hitting hard where limbs connected.

The yellow one had broken free quick enough, and you grunted as you were lifted cleanly off your feet and thrown against the hard edge of a dumpster. Stars shot behind your eyes at the pain. You spit the blood pooling in your mouth to the ground.

“Let’s not be hasty, friends,” you smiled, using the dumpster to hoist yourself upright once again. They were backdropped by the lonely light above the door, their magic beginning to waft through the tight brick alley. “I just wanna talk to Gooze. I know you both know him.”

The yellow one burst out laughing. “What’s a fleshling wanna talk to Gooze for?”

“I’m just looking for information, information that’ll keep the cops off his back,” you wiped your bleeding lip against your bare arm. “I’m a P.I., and I’m just trying to find a runaway.”

They definitely didn’t buy it.

Three things happened at once. The first was that you saw the switch flip, the instant you realized they were intending to kill you. You paled. You really hadn't expected them to flip so quickly: you were hoping to rough them up, if charm didn't work, to get Gooze's location out of them. The second was that you went for your gun, but the furry one’s magic made her fast, fast enough that you felt her claws gouge open your back before you saw them.

The third was Red appearing - no noise, no movement, just appearing - between you and the monsters. Good thing, too, because the cuts across your back dropped you to your knees, hissing and cursing and bleeding all over your shirt.

“Are you outta your fucking mind?” Red was cursing, shoving the yellow one back away from you. “Do you want the fuckin’ pigs sniffing around here? If she presses charges, you’re locked away for life, ya fuckin' morons!”

An ambulance rushed by, muting whatever the furry one said in response. You screwed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to breath through the white pain in your back. When you next looked up, Red’s left eyelight was smoking crimson, and your attackers were backing slowly up towards the door.

“Tell Grillby I handled it. And I better not have to come down here to find this shit again, you understand me?” Red snarled, and despite both the other monster’s superior size, they backed down, staring daggers at your crumpled form before disappearing back into the bar.

“Small… world, Red,” you hissed out, bringing Red’s attention back to you. The smoke fizzled out in his socket, his fiendish grin waning just a fraction.

“You don't know when to fuckin' quit, do ya?” he asked, kneeling beside you. His eyelights went wide. He inhaled deeply, and smoke rolled from his nasal cavities as he exhaled. “Holy shit, they fucked you up.”

“So… observant,” you wheezed, trying to force yourself to stand. Red didn’t help until you were already halfway up.

“Shit, you need a hospital,” he grunted. You shook your head.

“Fuck that. They’ll… ask too many questions, want me to talk to the… cops, press charges,” you looked up at him, finally, surprised to see a little less contempt on his skull. “Just… get me back to my office.”

Red seemed to debate something then, gawking down at you bleeding against a dumpster. You bent and grabbed your jacket and pistol from the ground, groaning at the tear of your rent skin as you did, and as you made to straighten, he was at your side with no sound.

“If you fucking bleed out, it’s my ass going to jail for it now,” he grunted, clearly unhappy with his predicament. You weren’t thrilled, either: you’d been hoping to rough up some of Gooze’s goons, figure out where the drug boss might hole up. After that little scene, and especially after Red not breaking your knees and leaving you in the river, you were going to rouse suspicion; your chance of getting to Gooze was basically zero, now.

“Then I guess you gotta… play nurse, huh, Red?” you grinned, blood staining your teeth. He rolled his eyelights and, like you were a dog that had rolled in roadkill, looped your arm around his neck. You were surprised to feel his breath huff across your face - how did that work, with no lungs? - as he hunched over to help you stand.

"You fuckin' owe me for this," he grumbled, and before you could open your mouth to say anything, the scenery changed in an instant. The sharp winds and graffiti bricks replaced by a dark, unfamiliar living room. You squirmed out of his grip, going for the safety of your gun, face pulled into a snarl that let up when his hands raised and his eyelights rolled to the ceiling. "Don't get your tits in a twist. Can't take ya someplace I ain't been before."

"My car was right there!" you hissed and lowered your gun. His crimson eyes were the only light as they settled on your face, casting your features in red shadows.

"Well, I can't fuckin' drive!" he volleyed back, skull pulled into an annoyed snarl. "Keep up this shit attitude and I'll dump you back in that fuckin' alley."

You sighed and reluctantly holstered your pistol, tossing your jacket to the back of a couch. You began undoing the buckles of your shoulder holster while Red flipped on the lights. The apartment was clearly his, from the black couch to the pairs of beat up boots and sneakers by the door. He must've had a roommate, you noted, as you began peeling off your shirt, noticing a long, black peacoat both too tall and too classy for Red. Maybe that tall skeleton that paid his bail? Siblings, maybe?

"Woah, woah, hey!" Red barked, and you glanced over your shoulder, your t-shirt already up to your chin. His eyelights were smaller in their sockets, his brow bone furrowed. "The fuck are you doin'?"

You were about to say something biting, tease him for getting so jumpy around a pair of tits, but the seemingly genuine shock halted the words on your tongue. You peeled the rest of your shirt off, wincing at the pull of the cuts. "Do you have a human first aid kit?"

He swallowed, and you didn't miss the way his eyes traveled over your torso. You'd be surprised if he'd never seen a human beat to shit before. He opened a kitchen cupboard and pulled out a familiar plastic kit, tossing it to you.

You made for, what you assumed to be, a bathroom. "If you want to learn something, you're free to watch."

"I'm not usually one for just watching, but I'll make an exception," you heard the grin in his voice from the bathroom doorway, followed by his shoes against the floor as he slowly approached. You chose to ignore the innuendo; just the slightest bit thankful he seemed to be capable of more than just insults and cursing.

His bathroom was small, almost cramped, with one flickering ceiling light and a succulent on the sink. You observed yourself in the mirror: swollen left eye, split lip, blood staining your chin and neck, but you were still standing, at the very least.

"Yikes," Red whistled, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe, and you met his eyelights in the reflection. You twisted. Your back wasn't as bad as you were expecting; the four jagged gashes looked bad but were less than an inch deep, meaning you'd been right to trust your gut and not go to a hospital.

"Can I use your shower?" you asked, reaching for the stall door, pausing when he didn't answer right away. When you cast an annoyed glance over your shoulder, you didn't miss the flick of his crimson eyelights quickly from your back to your face. "You ever see a human injury?"

"Yeah. Caused a few, in my day. Never had to patch one up before," he admitted, hands stuffed in the black pockets of his pants, shoulder braced against the door. "You people are so squishy."

You smirked. "And all your bones are on the outside. Real easy to break."

He shrugged, not contesting your point, watching as you turned the shower on and waited for it to run hot. You undid your boots and toed them off, your filthy jeans fast to follow. Red grunted something but only gave you an unamused look when you glanced up at him. You wiggled the showerhead free from it's perch, stepping up into the tiles.

You didn't curse when the water filled your flesh, only tightened your grip on the handicap bar and let the redness spill down your underwear and bare legs. You thunked your forehead to the shower, teeth gritting, knuckles white, maneuvering the water to wash as much out of the wound as possible. Your necklace glimmered in the rain.

"The hell were you doin' in a place like that?" Red asked gruffly, moving so he could hear you over the sound of the water. You lifted your head to look at him.

"I was trying to find Gooze," you said through gritted teeth, wincing through the pain. "Or at least someone that would tell me how to find Gooze. Turns out Bronx was in deep shit with him - skimmed off the top and ran sorta deep shit - so he's our number one guy at the moment."

"Ah, shit, Gooze? I coulda told ya where that slimeball conducts business," Red chortled, plopping his wide body to the toilet lid. You briefly wondered if skeletons even needed toilets.

"Well, I was under the impression I'd never be seeing your smug skull again, and we sadly parted ways without exchanging numbers," you pointed out, finally seeing the water run clearer between your toes and twisting off the shower. When you stepped out, Red threw a surprisingly clean towel at your face.

"Look, sweetheart, Gooze is not known for his love of humans, especially humans working with the law," Red said as you dried off. "Even if you do find him, there's no way he'd talk to ya. You'd end up in a landfill somewhere."

You sighed as you opened the first aid kit, unrolling the gauze. "I gotta try." You began trying to wrap your back, but the cuts were placed just out of your eyesight, leaving you awkwardly twisting in the mirror. "If Phoebe is mixed up with Bronx's skimming, she's a target. Fuck, c'mon," you grit out, trying and failing to wrap your back.

"Jesus, you humans are pathetic," Red grumbled, rising behind you, dwarfing your reflection in the now-steamed mirror. He held out his hand, and you eyed him for a beat - his unimpressed half-scowl, the glint of his tooth in the bathroom light, the way his shirt stretched over his ribs and hipbones - before surrendering and dropping the unfurled roll into his phalanges.

You winced and hissed as he helped you, bracing yourself on the edges of his sink. His bones were warm where they brushed your spine and shoulders, rhythmically looping the bandages over your chest, and you took the quiet to admire the glow of his eyelights, narrowed in concentration as he worked. He was big, clearly no stranger to a fight, but his fingers were gentle as you instructed him how to set the clips. If you wanted, you could've counted the knicks in his humerus as his jacket sleeves bunched to his elbows.

"Be honest," you frowned, and his eyelights lifted to yours in the mirror, "what're my chances of talking to Gooze?"

"Mm, maybe twenty percent, if getting out of it alive is a qualifier," he smirked at you. "Honestly, probably lower, since one of his few human dealers just wound up dead in a shower. He's likely not too thrilled with your kind."

You nodded, straightening and admiring Red's work. It wasn't bad, considering he'd never done it before. You cracked your stiff neck and bent to grab your jeans and boots from the floor.

"Buuut," he drawled, a mischievous grin splitting his face as you moved past him to the living room (what did he smell like? Almost like campfire smoke), "lucky for you, sweetheart, you know a monster with questionable morals and a few ties to this city's seedy underbelly."

An eyebrow rose and you sized him up. "And why would you, Mr. Questionable Morals, help a little fleshing like me? You hated me this morning."

"Yeah, well, that was before I saw your great tits," he smirked down at you. "And before you looked so pathetic and sad, bleedin' all over my shower. You're like a lil' kicked puppy."

You found yourself smiling, even though you know you shouldn't be. He was rude and rough and vulgar, not to mention had no respect for anybody. But he cared, cared enough to deal with a human to find a runaway girl. Maybe you had more in common than first impressions led you to believe.

You offered him your hand. He eyed it for just a second before his grin grew wider, and his phalanges slapped into yours.

"It's a deal. You help me find Phoebe, and I'll split the payout with you. Don't fuck me over," you warned, jabbing your free pointer finger into his sternum. He laughed, eyelights sparkling in the dim living room.

"Me? Never."

Chapter Text

"Despite my better judgment, I've let Red tag along for this case. He's belligerent at the best of times, but his knowledge of Gooze will be invaluable. I'd rather walk into traffic than ever admit this, but he's… alright, when he's not being a little shit, and he does care about finding Phoebe, despite his attitude to the contrary. Out of every loud-mouth monster in this city, he's not the absolute worst I could've gotten stuck with. I'd never, ever tell him that, though."

For all his bluster and badgering, Red blinked you back to your car - teleportation magic, very, very valuable or extremely annoying - and you made sure he had one of your cards so he knew where your office was. You’d also, maybe against your better judgment, given him your cell number, and the shit-eating grin and waggling brow bones as he cracked a flirtatious joke made you instantly regret it.

Once back in your apartment, you’d crashed, the mental and physical exhaustion hitting you like your back had hit that fucking dumpster, and you woke up way past your alarm to Maggie calling you, squeaking about a “large, red skeleton demanding you get your ‘sweet ass up’ already.” You showered properly, got fresh bandages, carefully brushed your teeth around your cut lip, and dressed.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Red had laughed, a deep, rough laugh highlighted by the bell above your office door, and Maggie had rushed to your side, wide-eyed and trying to dab at your swollen eye. You explained what had happened - up to and including your temporary assistant, who had claimed the cramped couch against the wall - while Red, his ankle bones crossed, sucked down black coffee like it was water.

“Gooze runs an illegal fighting ring on East 16th,” he drawled, sneakers propped on your desk. You smacked them off as you sat, downing two aspirin for your already-pounding headache. “Every Friday night, the bar up top hosts a speakeasy night, but down below, monsters from all over the city sign up to beat the shit outta each other.”

“Barbaric,” Maggie huffed, dabbing antiseptic gel into the cut on your lip.

“So I take it Gooze is actually, y’know, there, otherwise going would be a waste of our time,” you pointed out, mumbling an apology up to Maggie, who softly scolded you for moving.

“‘Course he’s there. Rumor has it, he lets the winner come to his private office and ask him for a favor. He’s a real traditionalist from the underground: strength above all else, ya can only trust yourself, soulmates, yadda yadda,” Red waved his hand dismissively.

“Sorry, soulmates?” you asked, looking up into Maggie’s buggy eyes.

“There’s an old tradition that every monster has a soulmate, similar to human myths, I believe. The idea that there is someone who resonates with your soul on a supernatural level, like you were made for each other,” she explained, her antennae twitching as she concentrated on your face.

“Yeah, ‘cept for monsters, it’s a bit more literal,” Red cut in rudely. “Since we’re all basically magic and soul, when we fall in love, it’s a physical reaction, too. Can’t fake it like you fleshlings can.”

Maggie gasped at his slur, looking more offended than you were. You knew by now not to take his bait.

“Anyway, as I was sayin’,” Red continued, grinning like a trickster at Maggie’s annoyed scowl, “Gooze is a traditionalist. Got a real hard-on for your old-timey shit, too; the booze and the liquor and the ladies in the feathers.”

“What, like, 1920’s shit?” you asked - another apology to Maggie.

“Somethin’ like it. There’s basically only two rules,” Red flashed you a grin, holding up a phalange for each point. “You gotta dress for a night out, and the matches only end when someone taps or KOs.”

“Do people… die there?” Maggie gulped, looking at Red then back to you. “Boss, this feels really dangerous. Maybe we could find another way.”

You shook your head, leaning back in your creaking office chair. “I don’t think so. This is the best lead we have, and we’re short on time. Red, you’re sure you can get us into this?”

“Pfft, please, give me some credit, sweetheart,” he smirked, crimson eyelights twinkling in the mid-morning sun. “All you gotta do is show up lookin’ pretty.”

That night, you’d hoped that "showing up lookin’ pretty" was the most you’d struggle in the next five hours. You only had one little black dress that was, frankly, too little: resting at your mid-thigh, with long sleeves and an open back, you tried to pair it with a passably cute shoulder holster and a pair of boots that weren’t too beat to shit. Your pressed penny necklace rested at your clavicle. You even did your makeup - what little you actually could around your bruised eye and swollen upper lip - and coerced your hair into something passable. You frowned at your reflection. Too much bare skin, too many exposed weak points, the ugly scabs on your back clearly visible.

You sighed, took a steadying breath, slipped your pistol into its holster, and grabbed your leather jacket and car keys.

The bar itself was a brick exterior place with a gas lamp above the darkened glass door, and as you parked and paid the meter, you could hear a sultry voice within. The street was teeming with life: monster and human together, gaggles of laughter and shouts of recognition, distant sirens and the constant flow of traffic. Across the street, a young woman burst into laughter. A taxi driver with a fish head yelled out the window at a biker. The smells of food stalls and pavement and smoke wound it all together, strings of fate in the bones of downtown New Ebbott.

A wolf whistle pulled you out of your momentary reverie. You saw Red’s glowing eyelights before you saw the rest of him emerge from a darkened alley. He had dressed in black slacks and a red button-up under a simple black suit jacket, but damn, did he pull it off. It wasn’t even a conventional attractiveness - the guy didn’t even have skin, for fuck’s sake - it was simply his confidence, the way he approached you with a suggestive smirk, hands in his pockets.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you owned a suit,” you said, hopefully not giving away the rapid little flutter your heart had just done.

“You’ll find, sweetheart, that I am full of surprises,” he smirked, sliding a hand around your waist and pulling you into his chest. You bulked for a moment, until you clocked a shadowed bouncer tucked beside the front door. “You’re gonna wanna stick close to me. Plenty of monsters’ll wanna eat you up in there. Best we go as a couple.”

You weren’t a stranger to a bit. Hell, Maggie had been your fake girlfriend at least seven times before this to sneak into various places. You leaned into his wide chest - spotted the bouncer looking your way - and rocked up on your toes to place a kiss to his cheekbone.

“I’ll watch your back if you watch mine,” you whispered, unzipping your jacket just enough to flash the butt of your gun. You didn’t know if skeletons could blush or if it was just the ever-present glow of his eyelights turning his cheekbones slightly red.

“Oh, I’ll watch your back, you don’t gotta worry about that,” he chuckled deep in his ribs, his fingertips settling into the dip of your hip as he turned you both towards the door. “Hey, Zhaust, how’s it hangin’?”

The bouncer - who you originally thought was just adept at staying hidden but turned out to be an actual, roiling plume of black smoke with a face - took the two of you in. You snuggled closer into Red’s side, pouting your lips a bit, saying nothing.

“Another human?” Zhaust asked, somehow raising a critical eyebrow without actually having eyebrows. Red shrugged, giving him a playful wink. You didn’t drop your act, but stored that information away for later: Red had brought other humans here before.

“What, a guy’s not allowed to have a type?” he grinned, pulling you closer into his side. You thought the nuzzle he gave your hair was overselling it a bit. You pouted more.

“Baby, you didn’t say you’d brought other dates here,” you whined, pitching your voice a bit higher than its usual tone. Red winced, casting a pleading look towards the bouncer. Zhaust, apparently buying the fake fight about to happen if the rest of this fake date didn’t go well, waved you both in with a swoosh of smoke. You waited until the door closed to grin victoriously up at Red.

“Wow. What am I, a floozy?” you joked. “This is the second human date you brought here?”

“If it ain’t broke,” Red returned, matching your devious smile, the whiteness of his scratched jaw reflecting the dim light within. Dark red wallpaper and black walnut flooring stretched out before you, with several classy, candlelit tables surrounding a stage. A dark golden, neon-lit bar sat off to the side. Within the warmth and the dark lighting, you saw an Employees Only door guarded by a totally-not-suspicious monster.

“Okay, so what’re we doing here?” you whispered as Red led you to the bar. “Is there a secret handshake or something?”

Red chuckled down at you - surprising you by holding out the barstool like a gentleman - and waved over the bartender. “Nothin’ so elaborate. When we’re ready, we’ll go to the doorman and say we’re interested in underground bands. This ain’t my first time here, so that’ll be no trouble.”

“And once we get in, then what?” you asked, ordering your favorite beer when the bartender drew close. “Try and corner Gooze, get him alone?”

Red shot you a scheming look out of the corner of his socket. “I’ll be fightin’ tonight, and I’ll win us that favor.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You don’t gotta-”

“Too late, I already signed up while I was waitin’ for ya,” he beamed, golden fang glittering in the neon.

“So, then, why the fuck am I even here?” you asked, staring up at him.

“This is your case. I’m just the grunt, doin’ all the hard labor,” he offered, fingerbones tinkling against the whiskey glass he was delivered. “I wouldn’t have this lead without you, and you wouldn’t have gotten to explore it without me. We’re even.”

You didn’t have anything to say to that. Genuinely, it was a nice thing for him to do, and you certainly weren’t used to him being nice. Companionable, even. You raised your beer bottle, and he clanked his whiskey against yours in a small toast. “To a successful night.”

“Amen,” he grinned, downing his drink in one go. Where did it end up if he had no stomach? “So, you’re a chick. How’s this ‘date’ goin' so far?”

You spun slightly on your stool, admiring the atmosphere, the mood lighting, the private booths, the sultry voice of the long-haired monster on stage, bolstered by smooth music. You also admired his outfit one more time, unashamedly running your eyes from skull to tarsals, again pondering if it was a blush or the glow of his eyelights staining his cheekbones red. “Honestly? Pretty damn good. I definitely would hold off on bringing another human here. That bouncer is gonna get you in trouble.”

He laughed, a bit sheepish, tapping his finger against his temple like he was locking that information away for later. You swirled your glass around your finger, waiting for him to finish his drink before asking, “So. Humans, huh?”

He choked a bit on the remainder of his whiskey, his eyelight narrowed when he glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

You raised your hands. “I’m not judging. Just… the way you called me ‘fleshling’ made me kinda think you hated humans.”

He shrugged, his momentary bluster gone in an instant. “Yeah, cuz you were an asshole.”

“Me?” you laughed, punching his shoulder. “You said you were gonna break my spine!”

“You had your gun pointed at me!” he barked out a laugh, swatting away your hand.

“You were contaminating a crime scene!”

“So were you!”

“You contaminated it first!” you cackled against his arm, cradling your beer bottle as his deep, rough laughter spilled from his sharp teeth. The sound was warm, like smokey whiskey settling in your stomach, and you noticed the smell of cologne mixing with his usual campfire scent.

A gloved hand settling on Red’s shoulder pulled you away from the genuine conversation and back into the bit.

“Well, well, look who it is,” the stranger cooed, and you realized you were staring into the sharp features of a robot, or at least a monster who looked like a robot. Four arms in a wide chest, a small waistline, and long legs all tastefully done up in a glittery, red and black dress. Their hair was black and seductively covering half of their face: two eyes on the left side crinkled as they smiled down at you. “Been a while, stranger.”

“Mettaton,” Red beamed, taking an offered hand and kissing the gloved knuckles. “Ain’t you the image of divinity. I didn’t realize it was your set tonight.”

“Naturally, darling. Someone has to be loud enough to drown out the sounds of violence under our feet,” they chuckled, a joke you weren’t part of, before they finally seemed to notice you, still tight to Red’s side. “Oh, my, I wasn’t aware you brought company! How rude of me!”

You took another offered hand, following Red’s lead and daintily kissing the middle knuckle before giving up your first name. Mettaton, with three arms still free, put a mock-scandalized hand to their chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. He’s told me all about your work, I can’t wait to hear it for myself.”

A lie: Red had never mentioned any of his friends.

“Silver tongue on this one!” Mettaton giggled. “Keep her around, she’s already better than the last one you hauled in here.”

You gave Red a self-congratulatory grin. He rolled his eyelights and muttered something about everyone being up his ass tonight. When a round of applause split the atmosphere, Mettaton bowed to you both with a playful wink as the announcer introduced him to the stage.

“Was your last date an actual on-fire mannequin you found in a dumpster?” you snickered quietly as the first song began. “Why the fuck does everyone think you have shit taste in dates?”

“Yeah, well, I brought your ass here, didn’t I?” he grumbled, but the smirk on his skull betrayed him. You caught the bouncer by the Employees Only door glance your way, and you leaned into his arm once again.

“Dance with me.”

“I do not dance,” he frowned at you, but you were already setting your empty beer bottle to the counter and pulling on his elbow. When it was clear he wasn’t budging, you pouted, looking pointedly to a few other couples who had begun their own slow circles. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

“Baby, please?” you pouted. Red flicked his gaze over your face, his browbones tugged into a snarl without the bite, before rolling his eyelights and rising. It always threw you, when he stood at his full height, especially now that he was so close in such a confined space. He was so damned big, your full height just barely at his shoulders, his chest fully encompassing your view as he grumbled and offered his hand out to you.

“You are taking this fuckin’ bit too damn far,” he complained in your ear as he lead you towards the stage where the other couples had assembled. He kept your one hand in his but settled his other in the swell of your hip, and you rested yours on his shoulder. It threw you off for a minute - feeling the hardness of the ball-and-socket joint uncushioned by anything save the suit - but you quickly recovered. Several pairs of eyes were on the two of you now.

“What? I’m just a ditzy little girl with her big, tough skeleton date,” you whispered up at him with a playful smile. “The more people see us that way, the less suspicion we’re gonna draw when we go below.”

He grumbled under his breath, red eyelight rolling to the ceiling before settling back on your face. Then, a wicked grin settled on his teeth. “Then we better sell it.”

He pulled you even closer, dropping your hand to settle both on your hips. You felt his fingertips, hard and warm, ghosting up your bare spine, surprisingly careful around the scabbed gashes over your shoulders. You shivered at his touch. His breath smelled like the whiskey he’d drunk. You were forced to tuck your arms into the lapels of his jacket, the height difference meaning you couldn’t loop your arms around his neck. You should’ve felt trapped - arms pinned, unable to reach your gun, easily overpowered - but you didn’t. You didn’t, and that surprised you immensely.

“You think you’re so clever,” you muttered, trying to keep the smirk from your voice. He buried his face into the crook of your shoulder: you could feel his teeth pull into a wicked grin. If he knew how human hearts worked, he would have felt your’s beating against your throat, making your breath come quicker.

“I do, actually,” he whispered. “You’re getting some stares, sweetheart. People gossipin’.”

“Are they saying, ‘Oh, wow, she’s so pretty and cool, where’d she get her sense of style?’” you joked.

“More like, ‘what’s a human doin’ with a monster like that’,” he replied, and with your face tucked into his jaw, you couldn’t read his expression.

“It’s not like this is my first date with a monster,” you whispered, and caught the bouncer waving in your direction from your place tucked into Red’s chest. You tapped the skeleton’s ribs to get his attention. When you pulled back, the song had ended, and Red was staring down at you with a suppressed look of shock and admiration, like he hadn’t thought you’d be into monsters. A discussion for another time.

You both joined in the applause for Mettaton, who bowed and blew kisses with all four arms, before Red pulled you into his side once again and wove through the tables towards the Employees Only door. Red shook the bouncer’s hand, you smiled dumbly up at the both of them, and after no objection to your presence, the door was opened for you.

You raised an eyebrow as Red offered his hand out to help you down the stairs. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed, taking your hand anyway. You ended up being grateful for the help: monsters could see in the dark, but you sure as fuck couldn’t. The only lights were woven in the top of the iron fence bolted to the concrete floors and ceilings, and the noise was the first thing to hit you. The sounds of shouting, bellowing, of magic, grunts of pain as blows connected. It was crowded and loud and hot down here.

You flinched when the crowd erupted into cheers, a winged monster falling limply to the cage walls, their arm bent at an unnatural angle. Magic made the hair on your arms stand up: you could taste it on the back of your tongue.

“Are fighters allowed to use magic?” you asked/shouted to be heard.

“In some fights, yeah,” he replied, eyelights reveling at the sight before you. “I always did mine bare-knuckles, though.”

“You used to fight?” you asked, shocked, eyes flicking to the multitude of scars and knicks on his knuckle bones. He nodded, smile wide and hungry.

It was easy to forget (and more comfortable for humanity to pretend it never happened) that monsters suffered in the underground. Resource shortages, overpopulation, no hope of freedom, their king going mad: it must’ve been hell growing up down there. You’d never blamed monsters for distrusting you on principle. If you and your family had been trapped under a mountain for generations against your will, you’d probably come out pretty fucking mad, too. Monsters had always had to fight to survive in a cruel world. Looking at Red, at how he drank in the violence in the shaking cage lights, made you wonder just how much injustice he was looking past to work with you now.

“I’m next,” he beamed, as a plant monster in a crop top announced the clear victor of the previous round.

“What can I do to help?” you asked, suddenly very aware that your role in this was minimal. Red beamed and shucked off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders like a cape.

“You yell the loudest of all these bitches. If I don’t hear ya, I’m gonna come outta that cage and beat your ass,” he grinned fiendishly down at you as he rolled the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. He turned to go as the next round was announced. You caught his hand in yours, pulling his attention back to you for a moment.

“Kick their fuckin’ ass, Red,” you snarled with a smile, and his eyelights bloomed with crimson smoke, his excitement palpable.

You watched him saunter into the cage, the door held open and promptly latched behind him by the plant woman in the crop top. A monster not much taller than him, with blue, scaled skin and long red hair, followed quickly after, and the plant fluttered her leaves excitedly. You began pushing your way to the cage. No way in hell were you missing this.

"Round Four sees the return of not one, but two crowd favorites!" she yelled, and the mob went wild. "In this corner, a former member of the Royal Guard, the gold-toothed silver tongue himself, the Red Menace!"

You rolled your eyes as Red hammed it up, whooping and hollering and riling the crowd. He found you in the sea of faces and gave you a wink.

"And in this corner, the former captain of the Royal Guard, the fanged fish of fury, the Undying!"

You watched, confused, as they met in the center of the ichor-stained floor and pulled each other into a rough hug. They knew each other? They exchanged words that you couldn't hear: the Undying must be insanely popular, if the roars of the crowd were anything to go by. Dressed in a simple black tank top and athletic shorts, she looked incredibly familiar, but you couldn't place why.

The plant held up an arm leaf. The crowd held its breath. Red drew his forearms up, protecting his skull.

The referee blew her whistle.

It was like a wave crashing against a cliff side, the way Undying flew into Red. She was fast as hell, landing blow after blow after blow, her jagged grin wide and chaotic as she cackled in glee. Red didn't break, even as he was backed against the cage wall, resolutely shielding himself with his arms.

When she finally slipped, he pushed his advance, swinging a powerful jab into her ribs, knocking her away enough to finally get some mobility. The roaring thunder of the onlookers drowned out everything.

"Her right side!" you shouted up at Red, knowing damn well he didn't hear you. "Attack her blind side!"

Crack. You winced as she landed a strong blow to his shoulder, the joint threatening to dislocate, his snarl of pain clear. The Undying wasn't letting up: Red was struggling to gain any ground. Whatever their relationship was, his opponent was not giving him any openings.

The referee blew two short whistles, and they pried themselves apart and settled into opposite sides of the cage. You shoved people aside to get to Red's back: he was breathing hard, nursing a new knick in his knucklebone, his eyelights flickering in what you equated to pain.

"Red!" You pushed through and wove your fingers through the cage. He cast a glance back at you, his scowl turning into a sadistic grin. "When she swings, she always starts right to push you further into her line of sight. Block that right to open her up, throw her off balance!"

He glanced towards the Undying, who was being given a similar pep talk by a shorter, yellow monster with wide glasses. Two more short whistles and he was pushing off the fence in a rush.

Undying's fist rattled the cage where he'd been seconds before. Staring up into her crazed features, it hit you why she was so familiar. She was a cop. You'd worked with her before, before you were discharged.

Recognition dawned on her face, too, her jagged grin dropping just long enough for Red to bull into her side, picking her bodily off the floor and slamming her into the ground. You winced. Undyne's next breath came in a ragged inhale, but Red didn't let her get up. He drove a knee into her stomach and started wailing on her head, many blows blocked by her raised arms but enough getting through that you saw a splatter of blue ichor begin to pool under her red ponytail.

A short whistle. The referee yanked Red up and away, letting Undyne stand. She spit blue blood to the floor, several cuts across her face - bones hit hard against skin - but as the plant monster asked if she wanted to keep going, she nodded, her wild expression locked on Red. Another short whistle.

Red met her in the center, and so fast you almost missed it, you watched Undyne swing in a wild haymaker that left her blind side wide. Red lashed out with a quick, hard jab directly to her ribs (and likely where her soul resided) that sent her staggering back. You heard something crack. Undyne landed against the cage, leaning hard, her breath coming in shallow wheezes as she spit out more ichor. Red moved like he was going to close her in, but Undyne raised a taloned hand.

Surrender.

The crowd erupted into boos and cheers as Red's wrist was pulled into the air, his sockets closed with how wide he was smiling. People rattled the cage - in victory or defeat - as Undyne was helped up by Red, who pulled her into a quick hug. She rolled her eye and pushed him away; good-natured, like a sibling, her grin wide despite her defeat.

You shoved through the crowd as two already beat to shit combatants clambered back into the cage. "Holy shit! That was great!"

You thumped Red's shoulder with your fist, regretting it as he cursed and you remembered the sharp hit Undyne had landed there. Before Red could say anything, you felt a hand on your upper arm. You turned and felt the hot, sweet scent of monster ichor hit your nose. Undyne stared down at you, her yellow eye narrowed.

"Sergeant," you greeted. Her nostrils flared.

"You never fucking saw me here, you understand?" she snarled.

"Saw who? I only saw the Undying," you tilted your head in mock-confusion. A tense moment passed of Undyne sizing you up. Red limped to your side and slid his hand around your hip again, and when you looked up into his face, his fiendish grin was softer at the edges.

"She's alright," is all he said.

"For a fleshling," you added, and both monsters smirked. Apparently satisfied, Undyne gave your shoulder a quick, sharp squeeze before allowing her girlfriend to lead her away into the crowd.

You helped Red to a scattered row of chairs pushed against the wall, huffing with having to support even a bit of his weight. He grunted as he sat.

"So," he grinned, peering at you with one eye, "what'd ya think? Get ya all hot and bothered?"

"Oh, yeah, nothing gets me harder than watching my date get his shit rocked," you rolled your eyes, using the sleeve of your jacket to wipe away some of the stains on his cheekbone. He winced as you touched his scuffed skull, the sound of his sharp, short inhale drowned out by the outburst of excitement as the next round began. "Do you need, I dunno, water or something?"

"Pfft, nah. Monsters are basically all soul. Nothin' much you can do for little shits like this 'cept sleep," he explained, red eyelights casting shadows through the bones of his hand as he flexed. In this lighting, you saw the vast array of cuts, knicks, chips on his hands and arms, telling a history of violence that made your stomach churn. He seemed to sense your train of thought, because he crossed his arms across his chest and pinned you with a cocky smirk. "Lucky for you, I'm a tough bitch. You wouldn't last a second in there."

"That's pretty presumptuous of you, considering I could dust you in thirty seconds, max," you shrugged, and you saw the flash of his eyelights on your face. His laughter was smug and boisterous, his golden tooth glittering in the cage lights.

Something happened, then, that you dismissed as a trick of the light. His chest seemed to grow bright, like someone had turned a lightbulb on in his ribs, and when he opened his eyes, the crimson lights in his bruised sockets almost blinded you with their brightness. You wondered if magic exhaustion happened as a side effect of physical exhaustion. Whatever it was, Red was quick to cross his arms over his chest, effectively hiding the odd phenomenon from the outside world.

"You are so fucking on," he beamed.

The rest of the rounds passed quickly, and soon, Red was entering the ring once again, cracking his knuckles eagerly, drinking in the violence.

"This is the final round of the tournament!" the referee shouted as Red once again rolled his sleeves to his elbows. "The final round is fought No Holds Barred: magic is allowed and encouraged! First one to surrender or KO loses the tournament!"

"Tear 'em apart, Red!" you screamed into the cage as the whistle blew.

Your hair rushed back at the torrent of magic that filled the room, sending a full-body shiver through you and dilating your pupils. Goosebumps pimpled your arms. You felt drunk for just a minute, high on the flood of the uncanny that sped your heart in your chest. You wondered if it was something left over from prehistoric times, like the uncontrollable spike of adrenaline upon seeing a snake or a spider or open water: magic was deadly for humans, inherently. That was why the War had occurred in the first place - that ever-present, unfounded fear that a monster could kill you with no provocation and you'd have no way to stop it.

Watching Red erupt was like watching a bomb go off. His magic was the same color as his eyelights, strong and rough and deceptively fast: fractured red bones scattering the cage, creating impassable barriers and choke points almost too fast to keep track of. When his opponent - a monster with a diamond-shaped head - managed to knock him down, you winced. Red had hit with enough force to break a human rib, directly on his back. When he rose, his left socket was roiling with crimson smoke, his right completely devoid.

It was over quickly after that.

You joined the cacophony of cheers that rang out when the diamond monster hit the ground hard and made no move to stand. Red was panting, spitting out dark red ichor, his button-up torn in several places, but that shit-eatting grin was wide as his arm was raised in victory. He scanned the crowd until he picked out your face. His grin grew as you cheered him on, filled with the noises and energy of hundreds of people surrounding you.

You pushed through to the gate, immediately looping Red's arm over your neck to compensate for a pretty bad limp in his left leg. You were about to haul him into the bathroom upstairs to clean the ichor and red-tinged sweat (skeletons could sweat?) off his skull when a monster in all black waved you over.

"You did well," he rumbled, his voice matching the thick, smokey tone of his fur. Red scoffed, like of course he did, despite the scuffs and stains and tears in his shirt. "Gooze will see you."

You tucked further into Red's chest, trying to be as small and overlookable as possible, until the monster turned without another word and led you up the stairs into the bar proper. If anyone wondered why you were hauling a beat-to-fuck skeleton through a classy bar, no one asked, decidedly not looking your way at all, especially as another Employees Only door opened at the far end of the room.

The inside looked like a movie set for mobster film, nothing but dark wallpaper and vintage paintings and a chandelier made of Underground crystals. Behind a rich, mahogany desk, veiled behind a curtain of cigar smoke, undulated Gooze, the crime boss who likely killed Bronx and would likely kill Phoebe to get what he wanted. A gelatinous slime in a 6X suit. You tensed as a bodyguard clicked the door closed behind you and Red.

It was now or never.

“It’s been a while,” Gooze said, his voice wibbling like jello. “You haven’t lost any of your gumpshin since you’ve been outta the game.”

Red shrugged, making a point to stand straighter as Gooze whirled slowly around in his chair. What equated to a face peered at you stuck to Red’s side.

“Thanks, boss,” Red smiled, approaching with a hand on your hip, still. “It’s good to teach these young pups how things were done underground, y’know?”

Gooze warbled with laughter, his green body burbling happily. The cigar in a glass ashtray continued to plume as Red pulled out a chair to sit. He shot you look, quick and subtle: don’t sit until Gooze tells you to. You remained by the door, watching the interaction for the first sign of trouble. They continued to talk - about the “old days” - and you noticed that, under your feet, the floor wavered and became clear like glass, granting you an overhead view to the cage below.

“Yeah, I heard about Bronx,” Red said, accepting the cigar Gooze offered him. “Dirty business, but ya gotta be firm with fleshlings, or they’ll start gettin’ ideas.”

Gooze burbled in agreement, and despite not having eyeballs, you felt his gaze linger on you. “And this is your new fleshling, then? Another pet?”

You tensed as Red’s chair creaked, and he held out a hand to you. You timidly approached, making sure to look demure and frightened, and Red pulled you forward until you were settled between his knees. Warm, scratched phalanges rested on your outer thighs.

“Ain’t she pretty?” Red smiled, asserting just the slightest bit of pressure with his hands, encouraging you to spin. A music box doll in a window. Gooze didn’t make a noise, but you felt his dissatisfaction reverberate in his chest.

“Come here, girl,” he demanded, and Red’s fingers squeezed once - I’ve got your back - and pushed you slightly forward. You folded your hands in front of your chest - both to appear more frightened than you were and to hide the gun holstered under your arm - as you approached the drug lord.

“It’s a… a pleasure to meet you, sir,” you simpered, bowing a bit. Gooze’s laugh was deep and wet. A dripping hand reached out to you, and you hesitantly let him take your hand. Your skin crawled: he was so goopy and cold.

“I’ve always found humans… hideous,” he frowned, twirling you around, observing you like you were a meat cow. “So boring. So… dull. So infantile, throwing fits and storming off when they don’t get their way.”

You clamped down your anger. You felt Red’s crimson eyelights on your side, ever present. Gooze jerked you a bit closer. Red’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward, and Gooze glanced at him.

“Oh, my, Red, do you actually care about this stray?” he wondered. His ooze was now to your elbow, completely engulfing your forearm: you had to fight the disgust that threatened to worm from you.

“I care that she’s obedient and takes my dick well,” he laughed, and Gooze returned the chuckle, finally letting you go. His residue clung to your skin as he waved you away from him, seemingly satisfied with whatever sick intimidation tactic he’d done.

“Well, enough idle chit-chat. You’re a busy man,” Gooze garbled, flicking the cigar and extinguishing it in the ashtray. You hadn’t seen him take a hit, wondering why until he slithered around the astray and placed it where his neck would be, emptying the ashes into his body. “I believe I owe you a favor.”

“I do, an’ I’ve been thinkin’ long and hard about it,” Red grinned, leaning back in his chair again as you resumed your place in the background. He bit the cigar between his sharp, golden fang, folding one knee over the other. “See, Castor, over on forty-third street, you know him? Well, Castor’s little girl, Phoebe, is having a bit of trouble. Seems like she’s run away from home, and the only lead I’ve been able to scrounge up is that she was dating that weaselly little fleshbag, Bronx.”

You stared at Gooze while Red spoke. At Phoebe’s name, he’d warbled in distaste, turning his attention to the now-empty ashtray and lighting another cigar. So he did know Phoebe.

“So, I try to find the little shit, but, as it turns out, he’s already dust. And the only thing anyone’ll tell me is he fucked over the big Goozeman himself,” Red splayed his fingers out as he spoke, confidence apparent in his relaxed smirk. “Skimmed off the top. Stupid fuckin’ humans, huh?”

“Indeed,” Gooze blurbled, turning an unamused gaze your way. “If you came here for information, then I’m afraid you’re out of luck. None of my men killed Bronx, and as for the girl… Well. We know she’d stayed with a Sister Calla, on West Fifty-Third, but the old fleshling refused to talk to us, and we’re not looking to get the law involved.”

You made sure to remember that. Red’s smile grew as he ashed his cigar. “I’m sure I can win her over with my sparkling personality.”

Gooze chuckled, his body undulating. Red made to stand, but Gooze waved for him to hold. “Before you go, I have a word of advice.” Below your feet, a combatant was laid out on the concrete, gasping and spilling ichor onto the floor, a terrifying silent film. “You will want to be careful with the company you keep.”

A slimy gaze fell on you once again. You stiffened. Red shifted on his feet, inhaling deeply of the cigar and exhaling it on a cloud. He didn’t say anything.

“Humans are pathetic, stupid creatures,” Gooze continued, still looking at you. “They are frail and conniving and incapable of mercy. They will use you to their advantage then discard you like refuse. I’ve learned this, in my time on the surface, and you will learn this lesson eventually.”

“That’s why I keep ‘em on a short leash,” Red grinned, glancing back over at you. “Gotta keep ‘em house trained.”

Gooze studied the two of you silently for a moment. Your thumb worried the pressed penny at your neck. Below your boots, the downed combatant hadn’t stood back up. She didn’t look good.

“You’ve proved yourself capable, and you’ve provided me entertainment tonight, so consider this a part of your favor,” Gooze mulled before standing to his full height. He towered over Red, a massive blob of pure malice. “If you ever bring a gun-toting, ex-cop human into my establishment again, it will be the last she ever draws breath, and you and your brother will find it very hard to live in this city. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Red said, his smile growing dark, his eyesockets devoid of light. You swallowed. Below, the fighter began to wither into dust. A tense moment passed, before Gooze sat back down and waved you both towards the door.

“Have a good night. Tip your singer,” he called as Red leaned on you again, and you helped him limp out the door.

You couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You dumped Red into the passenger seat and rushed behind the wheel, not bothering to fasten your seatbelt before you whipped the car into the street. For three blocks, neither of you said anything. Then Red began to laugh; soft at first, then a boisterous cackle that had him wiping crimson tears from his eyes.

“You shoulda seen the look on your face!” he guffawed, and you snapped your eyes to him, incredulous.

“I’m sorry, did I see a different interaction just happen? I’m pretty sure we were made by a murderous fuckin’ drug lord!” you exclaimed, staring in disbelief as he continued to laugh.

“Oh, yeah, we absolutely were,” he chuckled, trying to calm himself. “Honestly, if I hadn’t done work for the guy, we’d probably both be dead. ‘It’s a puh-puh-pleasure to meet you, sir.’ Holy shit, I almost blew the whole thing right there.”

You sighed, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb from your veins. “Sorry I committed to the bit! Here I thought you were a thug and not a fuckin’ theater critic.” Despite your best efforts, you found his wide grin put you at ease. You were out of the clear, at least for the moment, and neither of you were dead, and you had a very good lead for Phoebe. All in all, the night had been… pretty fun, actually.

If it had been an actual date, it would’ve been… not that bad.

Chapter Text

"God fucking damn it. How fuckin’ sad is it that that speakeasy was one of the better dates I’ve been on, and it wasn’t even real? And how fucking annoying and stupid is it that he looked so damn good in that suit? I can’t believe my fucking taste in romance partners. And God damn that skeleton, his plan worked. Gooze told us where he’d tracked Phoebe down to: some place run by a Sister Calla. We’re heading there in the morning, hopefully before Gooze gets tired of asking nicely and breaks the doors down. We’re one step closer to finding our runaway."

.

.

.

You were expecting the first knock on your office door: Red in comfortable black joggers and a red turtleneck under his usual fur-lined jacket, pushing past Maggie and plopping to the couch.

You were not expecting the second: Lieutenant Kowalska, in uniform, asking to talk to the two of you. Red had tensed immediately, but you knew better than to threaten the cops away from cameras, and invited him in and asked Maggie to get the coffee going.

“Do you have anything?” Kowalska asked, not bothering to sit down.

“Nothing solid yet,” you replied, staring up at him from behind your desk. Red looked like a stray dog with its hackles raised, glaring daggers at Kowalska’s back from his spot on the couch. “Isn’t it your job to find this shit out?”

Kowalska took a steadying breath. You were getting under his skin. “I’m doing you both a favor right now. The DA is up my ass to make an arrest for Bronx’s murder, and right now, I’m looking at the two prime suspects.”

“That’s horseshit and you know it,” Red barked, arms crossed over his chest. “Those charges won’t stick.”

“Maybe not for her, but for a monster with known criminal ties? Try me,” Kowalska replied, his tone collected but the threat clear. Red went to stand - immediately ready for a fight - before Maggie appeared with three cups of coffee and a sweet smile, standing between the two of them, politely breaking up the potential fight. “You have twenty-four hours to get me something before I issue warrants.”

“A day?” you exclaimed, rising to your feet. “Kowalska, c’mon, you know we need more than that.”

“We can only hold the apartment for one more day before we have to turn it back over to the landlord,” he sighed, his tone easing some. “Get your asses in gear or you’ll both be spending a lot of time behind bars.”

Red snarled at his back as he left, the bell over the door clanging ominously as it closed. You met Maggie's concerned gaze, poured your coffee into your travel mug, and palmed your car keys. Red chugged his coffee, despite it being scalding hot, and immediately fell in line behind you, grinning at Maggie as you left.

"Thanks, Mags," he gave her a little salute as the bell jangled once again.

.

.

.

It was as you stopped at a red light that you noticed you had a tail.

"Look sharp," you muttered, pulling Red out of his thoughts, his eyelights flickering to the side mirror. "You recognize them?"

"Two humans," Red grunted. "Looks like your pig buddy is keepin’ tabs on us."

You scowled as the light changed. "I dunno. Kowalska doesn't seem like the type. Too much of a rules guy."

"Pfft, sure, that's what every pig says," Red snickered, rolling his eyes. You scowled and pulled to another red light. You'd worked with Kowalska while you were still a cop, you knew him better than you'd care to admit: if Kowalska wanted NEPD eyes on you, he'd have come himself. He'd owed your dad that much.

"Hang on," you muttered, pulling sharp out of the stop and flinging your car into a left turn that had Red flung against the door, swearing loudly. You pressed down on the gas, cutting people off, trying to put as much space between you and them as possible. The mid-morning sun glinted off your car hood.

"Fuckin' Christ!" Red barked, phalanges wrapped tightly around the arm rest. You smirked to yourself. A quick glance at your rear view: a few cars behind you, but still there, the tail now blatantly trying to keep you in sight. You whipped onto a side street, didn't heed the stop sign, and yanked your car to the left to vanish down a residential block.

You whipped back out into traffic, several cars honking as you did so, and when you glanced back, your tail was stuck in that side street, unable to make the left-hand turn without risking an accident. You exhaled. How long had you been holding that breath?

"Hang on, I know where we can make sure they lose us," you offered, peeking at Red who was still staring at you, gripping tightly to the arm rest, eyelights tiny with fear. "Oh, I'm sorry? Did I spook ya?"

He coughed and quickly sat himself back into his seat, rolling his eyes. "Go fuck yourself."

.

.

.

The spring breeze was cool on your face, your elbows braced on the metal guard rails that boxed in the top of the parking garage. Below you, the traffic of New Ebbott blurred into a steady line, the ambience of cars and conversations and music melding into the veins of the city. And in the background, ever-present, was Mount Ebbott, jutting like a broken bone out of the earth.

"So," Red drawled, resting his back on the guard rail, facing the opposite direction of you. "Ex-pig, huh?"

"Yup," you popped the P, "Did about five years with them, fresh outta college. I was fired, though, so."

"Woah, wait, really?" Red asked, his grin wide with disbelief. "Here I thought you were a goody-two-shoes."

"Oh, I was," you explained, absently rubbing the pressed penny at your throat. "I was really good at licking boots until a few years ago." Red tilted his head towards you, his crimson eyelights focused on your face as you talked. You looked back to him, an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"C'mon, spill," he said, elbowing your bicep. "What, did you kill someone? Have some sexy office affair?"

You smiled sadly, looking down at your folded hands. "It's, uh… not so romantic. You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, hit me with it," he grinned, leaning casually against the guard, pinning you with an easy expression. You frowned. Took a deep breath.

"So, my dad was a great guy. Like, truly, the best of the best. It was just me and him for my whole life; mom skipped out not long after I was born, so who the fuck knows where she ended up. He ran a corner store on our block. Everyone loved him.

"He used to tell me stories about all his friends that he had - human and monster. He'd been a young man when the barrier fell, so a lot of humans from that era were real unhappy with monsters settling into the city, no matter what the government did. But my dad… he would say 'the soul is what matters, not the body it comes with.' Ah, anyway…

"One of my dad's best friends was a monster. Apparently, his friend got into something bad and she asked my dad to help her out; asked him to hold something for her while she sorted her shit out. I begged my dad not to. It was stupid as hell, doing something so obviously shady, but… my dad was the best of us, and his friend was in trouble, so…

"Anyway, one night, he sits me down after dinner and says, 'You know Trine wouldn't do anything to hurt me, right?' And I didn't really know what he meant, but I said sure. And he grabbed my shoulders and he made me promise that I would never blame Trine for what might happen, and at this point, I'm cryin', right? Cuz I'm not stupid, but he wouldn't tell me anything, so I had to drop it.

"Next week, my dad turns up dead. The cops knew Trine had gang ties, and it's not like she could hire a good lawyer. So she goes to prison, I get his piddly life insurance, and there I am, eighteen and alone.

"So I figure, hell, I don't want what happened to my dad to happen to anyone else. Bad guys should go to jail before they hurt people, blah blah Thin Blue Line brainwashing blah blah blah, so I get a criminal justice degree, minor in monster sociology, do my trainings, and there I was, a peacekeeper of law and order or whatever.

"That lasted about five years, and that's when I discovered that it wasn't a gang Trine had been in deep shit with, it was the fucking cops. She'd gotten evidence of corruption and was gonna get a lawyer, so they… set her up. My dad 'mysteriously' murdered by a monster, that monster goes to prison, the media eats it up, starts fear mongering, y'know. The usual.

"Anyway. I go to Kowalska, present my case. He goes to his boss, then the next week, they fire me. 'Bias towards monsterkind from unresolved childhood trauma,' was the official reason. So I pack my shit and I leave and I don't look back."

You were staring across the cityscape, the wind tugging on your leather jacket, doing your best not to let Red see you crying. "So, here I am. Told you it wasn't dramatic and exciting."

When you finally glanced his way, he was looking at you with something like sympathy: his eyelights hazy on the edges, soft, his sharp teeth pulled down into a sad frown. He sighed and pushed off the guard rail, and you followed the movement, both eyebrows raising as he held his arms open.

For a moment, you both stood there, looking at each other. Your tears began to fall harder, and his expression kept softening at the edges until you were stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his middle.

It was different, hugging him; the only solid support under your arms was his ribcage. He smelled like cologne and campfire smoke, his red turtleneck soft and warm under your cheek. If you moved too much, you were worried that your elbows might slip under his ribs: obviously, where a stomach would be was nothing, his spine rigid by magic and soul alone.

You felt his finger bones smooth over your back, slow circles beginning to help ease your tight throat and shallow breaths. You fisted the back of his jacket as you cried. This was fucking pathetic, you thought. Crying into his fucking chest like this, over shit that happened years ago, like you hadn't already cried plenty over the injustice of it all.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's alright," he muttered into your hair. "This world ain't fair, but that don't mean that it's your fault shit was fucked. You're doin' more to set things right than most people would."

You laughed, wet and weak, snuggling into his sternum. "That's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say."

His laugh was warm and slow: you heard it clearly against your ear, deep in his soul. "I'm not a bastard all the time. Gimme a bit of credit."

You smiled and scrubbed your eyes with your sleeve, taking a few deep breaths to help calm down. Red's face was gentle as he studied you. In a bold move that brought your brain up short, he reached out and brushed his thumb against your cheek, helping you stop the flow of tears. In an even bolder move, you nuzzled your head into his palm, using his bones to further scrub away your weakness.

"Thanks, Red," you smiled up at him, surprised to see his cheekbones dusted with crimson coloring. He grinned but refused to meet your eyes; rubbing the back of his skull, he simply shrugged and kicked at the cement of the parking garage. "C'mon, I'm sure we're good to go. For your kindness, I'll let you pick the music, as long as it doesn't fuckin' suck."

He laughed loudly at that, taking a long couple of strides to throw himself into your passenger seat. He fished his phone out of his pocket and rudely yanked the AUX cord out of your cell. The first song was about what you expected.

“Nooo,” you groaned, trying and failing to turn the volume down: he slapped your hand away. “What are you, fifteen?”

“Like you don’t have the same shit taste in music I do, sweetheart!” he cackled, bouncing in his seat. “C’mon, don’t pretend like you don’t know every fuckin’ word!”

“Red, you’ve got a pretty fucked up perception of me if you think I would - Everywhere I go, bitches always know!”

“Yes!” he bellowed, his laughter echoing across the parking lot as you threw it into reverse, headed once again towards your goal.

.

.

.

Much to your disappointment, Sister Calla’s wasn’t a strip club, but a human church.

Red was a shadow at your back, his wide shoulders blocking the sun as you knocked on the convent’s doors. “This might be more of my area, big guy. You should hang back while I talk to the old lady.”

“Fine by me,” he scoffed, staring around the busy street like he was worried someone would recognize him. “Human religion makes me break out in hives, anyway.”

Before you could respond, the old, heavy wooden door groaned open, and you were faced with a middle-aged woman in head-to-toe priest garb. She looked at you with barely-concealed shock: you two must make quite the pair, dressed in black and leather with a gun under your arm.

“Hi, we’re looking to talk to Sister Calla? Is she here?” you asked with a pleasant smile.

“I am her,” she replied, looking you both up and down. “Is there something I can do for you? I’m afraid we don’t officiate weddings here.”

You barked out a surprised laugh, quickly waving away her concern. “Nah, we’re not in the market for that. We’ve actually heard you take in girls that might be in trouble.” You pulled out your phone and opened up the picture of Phoebe her mother had sent you. A starlit void in a boy band shirt, her face pulled up into a smile. Sister Calla carefully palmed your phone for a closer look. “Her name is Phoebe. Her mother hired us to find her and make sure she’s safe.”

There are a lot of ways to tell if someone is lying; fidgeting, changes in vocal patterns, eye contact, non-congruent body language. You noted that Sister Calla, despite having looked you both in the eyes when you arrived, was very hesitant to meet your gaze again.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid she’s not here,” she frowned, looking sadly up at you for a brief second before looking back to your phone. “And even if she was, we value our girls’ privacy very highly.”

“Absolutely, we completely understand,” you kept your tone caring and calm. “Has she been here at all?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t…” she floundered for her apologies, looking up at Red. You glanced his way and found his eyelights trained on her face.

“We’re just trying to help her, Sister,” you continued, hoping to get her to crack. “Her parents are both very worried about her. If she’s caught up with anything dangerous, we’d like to help her get out of it.”

“I’m sure you’re both very kind souls for wanting to help the child, and I’ll keep her in my prayers, but there’s nothing more I can offer you,” her voice raised just a bit, her expression tight and sheepish.

“If she does happen to come here-”

“I will keep her in my prayers, detective,” Calla cut you off, her hands already on the door, eager to close it. You gave her a tight smile and tilted your head, conceding, letting her retreat. It was clear she wasn’t going to tell you anything.

She’d already told you enough, anyway.

“What a waste of fuckin’ time,” Red grumbled behind you, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as the door shut in your face. You began to walk back to your car, parked a few blocks up.

“Phoebe is in there,” you said, careful to keep your body language relaxed. As you approached the corner of the block, you snaked your arm through Red’s and tugged him, intent on making a loop of the block.

“Huh?” Red asked, swearing when he had to jog to match your increasing pace.

“Humans are easy to read,” you grinned, “if you know what to look for.”

You entered a sprint, shoving past pedestrians and skidding around the next turn. Red teleported to your side - his magic making your hair stand on end - before easily matching your pace. “What’s the plan?”

“She’s gonna bolt, so we have to cut her off if we can, try and get her to listen to us,” you called over your shoulder as you made the final turn. “This convent has a back garden - I saw it on the way up - and it’s open to the rest of the block. You go to the front door, and I’ll try and cut off the back way.”

“Got it,” Red replied, and in the next heartbeat, he was gone.

You sprinted around the corner and into the edge of the community garden, earning quite a few stares from similarly dressed nuns. You jogged further in, peering through fruit trees and trellises, briefly wondering if you’d been wrong.

Then you saw a flash of starlight.

“Phoebe!” you yelled, breaking into a sprint to catch up with her. Her swirling body made her stand out, and she kept apologizing to people as she whacked them with a beat to hell suitcase, frantic to escape. “Phoebe, wait! Please, we’re here to help you!”

She bolted onto the sidewalk, where Red was pressed against the front door. When he noticed her, he quickly jogged down the steps, his hands raised. “Kiddo, hey, listen to me. We’re not gonna hurt you, okay? We’re just trying to-”

Distracted by Red, you could see her face, tight with fear. The poor kid was terrified. Without warning, she rushed into the road.

“Fuck! Phoebe!” you yelled, watching her weave through the rush of oncoming traffic, horns blaring and people screaming at her as she cut them off. You saw her destination: a bus stop, and the bus was turning around the block, lights blinking.

You locked eyes with Red, who nodded and teleported to the opposite sidewalk as you tried to find a break in the traffic. You heard Phoebe scream. “Fuck this,” you muttered, following Phoebe’s footsteps and simply barrelling into oncoming traffic, ducking and weaving the best you could, apologizing to drivers as you went.

The bus doors were open. Among the line to board was starlight. Before that, however, were three human men the size of linebackers blocking Red’s path. You cursed and unzipped your jacket, freeing access to your pistol.

“What’s your fucking problem, buddy?” one of the men was demanding. A human woman was asking Phoebe if she was okay: Phoebe was desperate to board, and as she locked eyes with you, she began cutting in line.

“My problem is your ugly fuckin’ face in my face,” Red snapped, fists balled at his sides. One of the men shoved at his shoulder, incensed. Phoebe was boarding the bus.

In that moment, you knew you had two options: stopping Phoebe, or saving Red’s ass.

…

God fucking dammit.

“Gentlemen!” you approached, looping your arm with Red’s, your placating smile wide. “Oh, I’m glad you stopped him! That wasn’t Phoebe at all!”

Red’s left socket was roiling with smoke when he looked down at you. He was ready for a fight. You heard the bus door close with a whoosh. “That wasn’t Phoebe! Phoebe has yellow smoke!” You turned back to the men. “Monsters are colorblind, y’know. We thought that was an old co-worker.”

Your presence had diffused enough tension that they weren’t about to beat the shit out of each other, but the three well-meaning humans continued to look at the two of you like they didn’t quite believe your story. A little disbelief is all you needed. You tugged Red’s arm and started to back up. “Sorry for all the trouble!”

You yanked Red away like an untrained dog, feeling eyes beginning to pile on you, needing to cut your losses before things got out of hand. As you tugged Red away and he reluctantly followed, you looked up at the bus, seeing a scared, sad starlit face staring back at you from the rear windows.

The bus vanished around the corner, and was gone.

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Chapter Text

"God fucking damn it! She was right there, and we let her get away. We tried like hell to follow that bus, but with Red already low on magic, we couldn’t keep up with it. By the time we figured out the bus routes, she was long gone, and Red and I were back where we started. We had twenty-four hours to find this kid, and now we got less than eight. Why was she so scared? Does she know Gooze is trying to find her? We need to make sure she’s safe from him… God damn that skeleton. I can’t believe I wanted to kiss him yesterday, in that parking garage."

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You were pacing through Red’s apartment, boots off, scarfing down take-out. Without your jacket or holster, your arms were bare under a plain t-shirt. It was night, the city a sea of stars beneath the shadow of Ebbott. You were quickly running out of time.

“Quit pacin’. You’re givin’ me a fuckin’ headache,” Red barked, struggling to work a pair of chop-sticks without muscles. “It ain’t doin’ anything besides wearing a line in my floor.”

“It’s making me feel better,” you grumbled, conceding enough to sit on the couch arm. “I just don’t get it. Why did she run?”

“She thought we were with Gooze,” Red replied like it was obvious. “The slimeball said he’d already tried talking to the old lady. She knows she’s being hunted.”

You frowned, still staring out the window. “Is Gooze that vindictive? He’d murder a human child for simply dating the wrong guy?”

Red barked out a laugh, quirking a browbone up at you like you’d asked something dumb. You sighed, flopping beside him on the couch, careful not to spill your rice. “Hey, c’mon, sweetheart. We still got time. Don’t look so fuckin’ mopey, you’re makin’ me depressed.”

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your chopsticks into your food dejectedly. Red’s knuckles punched lightly at your shoulder. When you finally looked at him, his eyelights were glowing in the darkness of his living room; he’d refused to turn the lights on, instead opening the curtains wide and letting the city lights illuminate things enough for you to see. “Look, I ain’t exactly a trained detective, but you’re smart as hell. With your brains and my brawn, we’re gonna figure this shit out.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sighed, resting your container on your lap and letting your skull drop to the back of the couch. “Why’d you have to be so fuckin’ intimidating, anyway? We woulda had her today.”

“Oh, sorry, lemme just shrink a foot so you fleshlings don’t get so jumpy,” he smirked at you, and you smacked playfully at his shoulder. When you’d entered his home, he’d taken off his jacket and turtleneck, revealing a plain black wifebeater underneath. You’d stared at his exposed bones for way too long, wondering idly what it’d feel like to touch them, if they were as warm as his hands always were.

As he struggled with his chopsticks, you watched the bones in his wrist twist, his scapula moving rhythmically as he ate. It was a morbid fascination, you told yourself: nothing at all to do with how he’d touched your face this morning, or how he’d been so determined to find a runaway girl. Morbid fascination and not a certain amount of attraction. That’d be fucking stupid.

“You keep staring at me like that, sweetheart, and I’ll start gettin’ ideas,” he chuckled, his voice low in his chest, and you jerked back into reality, realizing you’d been openly gawking at his shoulders for way too long. You rolled your eyes so you wouldn’t have to speak, stuffed rice into your face to avoid answering for your crimes. You could tell where he was looking in the dark from the glow of his eyelights, and you could see every time his gaze lingered on your thighs or your face as he made you laugh.

A moment of quiet passed, where the only sounds were the tipping of chopsticks and the city outside.

“I’m, uh… sorry. About your dad,” Red muttered out of nowhere. “That’s really shitty.”

You let a small, sad laugh escape. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s… I mean, what the fuck am I saying? You grew up in the Underground. It’s not like you had things easier.”

Red nodded, his expression growing sadder. His eyelights lingered on your face, then turned back to his food. He picked at it for another moment, then sighed, agitated. “Listen, sweetheart, I’m not… good.”

You cocked your head, but didn’t interrupt, and after a heavy sigh, Red tossed his take-out to his coffee table and stood, beginning to pace.

“I’ve done bad shit. Here and underground. It wasn’t… look, no matter how bad the Underground was, I was worse. I was mean and vindictive. I justified it by telling myself I was protectin’ my brother, but that ain’t the whole truth. The truth is, I liked the violence. I liked gettin’ to terrorize people.” Red was agitated, his fingers rubbing over his skull like he could physically coax his thoughts onto his tongue. His golden canine glittered in the city’s lights. You opened your mouth to say something, but he didn’t give you time.

“But that’s just how it had to be, we said. Kill or be killed, all that shit that we told ourselves after Asgore lost his fuckin’ mind, it was all bullshit. Humanity might have locked us under that mountain, but it was monsters that drove it to the state it was in.” Red was pacing, refusing to look at you. When you rose, he gestured and backed away, like he was a stray cat leary of any sudden movements, and you let him retreat.

“Red, it’s-” you tried to say, but he was agitated, his eyelights diminishing in anger as he stared out the windows.

“It’s not the same,” he laughed humorlessly. “That’s the difference between you an’ me. You were dealt a shitty hand and you still came out good, still came out wantin’ to help people. I was dealt a shitty hand and I used it to justify hurtin’ people.”

“Red,” you said, calm but firm, and walked forward into his space. He didn’t retreat. Instead, he let you approach, his eyelights rippling out, refusing to meet your gaze. “What was done to monsters was an injustice. It was cruel and unnecessary and it should’ve been righted generations ago. If that’s who you were then, then that’s who you were. You can’t change it. You can only try and do better now.”

When he still refused to look at you, you reached slowly out to touch the inside of his wrist. He surrendered his hand to you, finally, finally looking at you as you brought his phalanges to your chest, resting them just above your heart. “We’ve both done shitty things, were complacent while shitty things happened to others. But we’re here now, doing good. That’s what counts.”

His exhale was slightly shaky across your cheeks. His hand covered your entire pec. You noticed the size difference plainly, now that you were close enough and he’d removed his jacket. His bones were wide-set, wider than human bones, making him look hefty and dense, a marble wall in a black wifebeater. Slowly, he slid his hand from its place on your chest to the curve of your neck, using his thumb to tilt your head up to meet his eyelights.

Something happened, then.

You initially thought it was just arousal, with the way his crimson eyes roamed over your face and shoulders. Something warm bloomed in your chest, like hot chocolate on Christmas morning, like your dad's smile as you pressed the penny in a Boston plaza, like your first kiss at homecoming. It was slow and soft, then blossomed into something uncanny, something so comforting and familiar yet completely alien.

You pulled away, a question on your lips, then you noticed the yellow light glowing on your chest. Red was staring down at it, enraptured, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and you touched a hand to your heart, admiring the glow of light between your fingers.

"Heh. That figures," Red smiled softly at you, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smile. "Justice."

"What?" you whispered, stepping out of his arms so you could see the light better.

"Your soul. It's a soul of Justice. Your strength comes from doin’ what's right, stickin' up for people, no matter what," he explained, letting you back away, and when you looked up, you felt your cheeks grow hot.

The glow of your soul cast shadows over his skull, dancing through your fingers and across his cheekbones. His eyelights were wide in his sockets, hazy at the perimeters, his fingers curled into your belt loops like he didn't want to let you go. As your gaze locked, his brow bones went soft, his usually confident smile replaced with something clement.

For a second, you wondered how he would kiss you. If he would kiss you. If he would taste like whiskey and campfire, how his magic would feel against your tongue, if his phalanges would settle to your hips like they'd done last night. Without realizing, you were leaning back into his embrace, and his eyelights were dimming, threatening to close, his fingers were pulling you closer by your jeans…

It wasn’t a kiss, not in a typical sense, not in the way you were used to. His pointed teeth were warm against your lips, and for a moment, you felt like you were fifteen again, fumbling through braces and acne, trying to figure sex out. You kissed below his teeth, where his bottom lip would’ve been, pulling away slightly when you realized you had no fucking idea what you were doing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t-” you whispered, but he pulled you back to his chest, burying his face in your shoulder. You felt him shiver beneath your touch, felt his fingers dig into the meat of your ass. Then, you felt his tongue.

Your inhale was sharp through your teeth. He didn’t have a tongue, how could he, yet you felt it lave a line across your throat all the same, the tingle of magic a livewire on your skin. Trying to control your sudden burst of arousal, you gripped tightly on his back, shocked when your fingers accidentally slipped between his ribs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned. God, his voice. Deep and husky and tinged with arousal, right against your vein. You felt his mouth open, felt the gentle press of his teeth against your flesh, as he continued tasting you.

“Red,” you whimpered, pulling away so you could look at him, at his eyelights, blown wide with lust in their sockets. “We really can’t, we… have a time limit…”

“Let ‘em take me away,” he purred, trying to bury himself back in your neck. “I’ll rot in prison a happy man if I can fuck you tonight.”

“Fuck,” you shivered, trying to assert some control over the situation (and definitely not because you liked being on top) by pushing him back onto the couch. Unfortunately, you miscalculated the distance: he ended up knocking against the coffee table and tipping over his glass of whiskey. “Fuck!”

He thought this was incredibly amusing, watching you scramble to right the glass and hurry to the kitchen. You swore in the dark, fumbling for paper towels completely blind.

Keys turned in the front door.

You froze like a raccoon in a porch light. The kitchen light flicked on as a tall, imposing figure ducked down to enter the apartment.

Three things happened at once. First, you locked eyes with the tall skeleton who'd bailed Red out of jail, a momentary beat of awkward silence. Secondly, at the same time, you saw him snarl and summon a torrent of the same crimson magic that Red had used in the cage and, in response, you snatched your pistol from the kitchen table. The third was Red rounding into the kitchen, hands up like he was trying to placate two velociraptors.

"Easy, easy!" Red soothed, eyelights dashing between you and his hostile brother. "Jesus, Paps, put the magic away."

"Tell the human to lower her firearm," he replied, small eyelights pinned to you, his jagged, scarred snarl sharp and menacing. Red turned commanding eyes to you, and, in a moment of absolute trust in him, you slowly lowered your pistol back to the table.

The tension bled from the room, then. The magic evaporated into nothingness around you, Red's brother straightening his black peacoat haughtily as he untied his boots. You sighed and ran your hand through your hair.

"This is Papyrus, my younger brother," Red smiled, looping an arm over your shoulder to pull you towards the simmering skeleton. "And Paps, this is the human I was telling you about."

At that, Papyrus eased slightly, glancing over his shoulder at you as he hung up his coat. "Ah. I… understand you have been corralling my brother the last few days."

"Something like that," you smiled halfheartedly, offering out your hand. Papyrus eyed it like a venomous snake. You let it hang for a moment before tucking it into your back pocket. "Uh, it's good to meet you, officially. And not through a jail cell this time."

The taller skeleton sniffed as he hung his coat neatly on its hook. "I take it since you are both here, you have yet to capture the runaway girl." Damn, this guy was hard to impress. Before you could defend yourself, Papyrus was stepping into the living room, frowning at the mess of spilled whiskey on his floor. Oh, right.

As Red slid past you, paper towels in hand, you were left standing awkwardly in Papyrus' line of sight, aware that he was studying you like a predator in a zoo. You crossed your arms defensively.

"I trust you will not lead the human authorities to our home when they come to find you," he huffed. So Red had told him, then. You frowned at the reality of your future.

"I just wish we knew where she could've run to. We're outta time to search blindly," you sighed, beginning to pace again. You were more or less just talking to the air, not expecting a response.

"She ran? Why?" Papyrus asked.

The pieces clicked. The lightbulb turned on, blindingly bright. Your eyes went wide. You smacked Red's back and rushed for your boots.

"Jesus, what?" Red asked, pushing to stand and join you.

"Why?" You weren't making any sense as you slid your holster over your shoulders. "We never asked why she was running. This all started because Bronx skimmed off the top, but the cops never found that money. Gooze has been hunting Phoebe down because they never found the money, either: they think she has it, or at least knows where it is. And if she's been so intent on running, then she does."

Red's eyelights went wide as he followed your rapid train of thought. "And if she had the cash, she would've skipped town at the start. Phoebe's gonna go back to the apartment. Her and Bronx stashed it there, and the cops and Gooze haven't fuckin’ found it yet. She's just been buyin' her time until the cops cleared out so she can go back!"

You clapped twice in excitement, pointing at his sternum, your smile borderline manic. "You smart fucking bastard." You fisted his tank top and pulled him into another weird, not-really-a-kiss kiss before bolting out the door with your keys in your hand. "C'mon! We've still got time!"

Red's laughter at your back echoed down their apartment hallway as you both sprinted for your car.

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You parked and shut your headlights off. Overhead, the sky rumbled and threatened rain. Red's fingers drummed anxiously on the passenger door rest.

You both stared at the dinghy, run-down apartment building in a very familiar, very bad neighborhood glowing in flickering street lights, reeking of poverty and desperation. It was just as depressing as you remembered, only this time, you weren't alone.

The interior of your car was deathly silent. You both had eyes on the apartment entrance, both tensely staring through the darkness and the moth-swarmed streetlights. It was almost midnight.

"So," Red whispered, making you jump. When you glanced his way, he was grinning like a trickster. "Were we gonna fuck back there, or…?"

"Potentially," you whispered in reply, returning your attention to the task at hand. "If you walked me through what to do."

His laugh was low and slow, bubbling like a deep winter brook in his chest. "So, you know how red magic works?"

You rolled your gaze back to him, laughing in disbelief. "You're gonna walk me through how to suck your dick now?" You waved out towards the apartment to accent your point.

"Yeah! What? It's not like we're fuckin' doin' anything right now," he smirked, leaning on the center console to brush his shoulder with yours. "So, red magic is all about movement."

"I can't believe I wanted to fuck you an hour ago," you tried and failed not to smile at his shit-eating grin, his eyelights glimmering in the darkness.

"Basically, as long as you move, I'll get off. Real simple, no clean up, no birth control needed for humans. You're makin' out like a bandit," he chuckled, lolling his skull on his shoulder, his face framed by the fur of his hoodie. "You, on the other hand… all this squishy stuff is a mystery."

"You've never fucked a human?" you asked, shocked, turning to look at him. You'd assumed, with how he'd talked and how everyone had regarded you at the speakeasy, that you weren't his first cross-species liaison.

"Nah. I usually date humans to make all the traditionalists mad, piss off my brother," he grinned. "And most humans get to the, uh, No Lips thing and get turned off of the novelty."

"Good thing for you I'm stubborn," you muttered, not missing the spread of his fiendish smile or the way his knuckles skimmed your arm: not affection, not yet, but not nothing. "Shit, there she is."

Poor Phoebe. It was then that the rain began to fall, soaking the poor girl to the core as she hurried into the lobby. You gave her a few-minutes lead. Adrenaline pumped in your veins.

Tick tock.

You and Red pushed into the downpour at the same time, meeting at the front of your car. His fingers wrapped around your forearm and pulled you into his chest. He waggled his brows as his magic bloomed: one second you were on the street, the next you were standing before Apartment 125. It was deceptively normal, the only sign of anything suspicious was a poorly-done repair job to the door you'd kicked in.

"She's gonna be skittish, so maybe it's best if I lead," you whispered, expecting Red to argue like he argued everything, but he raised his hands and stepped back. You nodded, and knocked on the door.

"Phoebe?" you called gently. You heard a gasp, something clatter to the floor. "We're not cops, and we're not with Gooze. My name is-"

Another clatter. You glanced back at Red: his eyelights were trained on you, waiting for your move. You turned the door handle, shocked to find it unlocked. Someone yelped inside as you slowly pushed the door open.

Phoebe looked like she had in the picture her mother had given you: a twinkling humanoid conglomeration of galaxies and stars and swirling purples in a raincoat. She spinned as you entered the room, what equated to her eyes wide with fear, a screwdriver in her hands. You raised your hands placatingly.

"Get back!" she squeaked, brandishing the tool like a knife. It shook. "I'll… I'll scream!"

"Phoebe, easy. We're not going to hurt you," you smiled softly. "We're actually hired by your parents to find you. We're not here for the money."

She sniffed coldly at the mention of her parents. "I'm supposed to believe they stopped fighting long enough to notice I was even gone? And they hired a human?"

"A human that wants to help ya, kiddo," Red said, his voice soft, as he appeared at your back. Phoebe took him in, recognizing him from the bus stop, the screwdriver still pointed at the two of you. "And Castor might be a snarky bastard, but he just wants you safe."

Her attention flit between the two of you for a minute. Apparently satisfied that you weren't going to haul her away, she laughed humorlessly and lowered the tool to her side. You noticed the TV she was trying to hide, a decades-old model, with the back partway screwed off.

"Whatcha got there?" Red asked, following your eyes.

"Fifty thousand dollars in cash."

Red whistled. Your eyebrows shot up. Phoebe sank, defeated, to the beat-to-fuck couch, sinking her head into her hands. "I told Bronx not to do it. I told him that he wouldn't get away with it. But he didn't listen, and now he's…"

A shuttering sob escaped her. You glanced to Red, who nodded towards her and leaned up against the doorframe, a gargoyle. You sat at the other end of the couch, careful, making sure not to touch her.

"Phoebe, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna call your mom and dad and have them come get you, okay? You made a few bad choices, but those don't define you. We're always growing and learning and you're surrounded by people who care about you." You tried to sound maternal, comforting, and it must have worked because Phoebe was scooching across the couch and burying herself into your shoulder.

You embraced her. You rubbed her back and repeated that it was going to be okay and that you and Red would make sure she was taken care of. You watched Red leave his post and finish unscrewing the back of the TV: his eyes shot to yours, and he tipped the bulky thing to show you stacks of wrapped hundred-dollar bills. He waggled his brows - we could keep it for ourselves - and you shook your head, careful not to disturb the teenager crying in your arms.

Red sauntered back to his spot against the doorframe. You helped her stand, your arms around her shoulders, and pulled your phone out of your pocket, beginning to lead her to the door. You'd pulled up Andromeda's contact when Red's arm shot across your chest, blocking your exit. His eyelights were pinpricks. Danger.

The walls exploded inwards.

Phoebe screamed as Red folded over the two of you, rushing you to the kitchen table and flipping it over. You unholstered your gun and clicked the safety off.

"Gooze!" Red snarled, still shielding you with his superior size, his eye sockets completely devoid, his jagged snarl tight in his throat. Magic flared his coat out as he stood. Cracked and crimson, his magic created a cage of bone in the openings: you could see three monsters on the other side, their own magic making your heart speed unbidden in your veins. "If that pig friend of yours wants any of this evidence, he better get his ass down here!"

Ivory magic whizzed past your head, blasting a hole to the outside city. You cursed, shielding Phoebe from the debris raining over the three of you now. "Phoebe, I need you to call 911, okay? Give them this address and explain what's going on. You understand?"

You handed her your phone, already pulled up to make an emergency call. She nodded, sparkling galactic tears running down her face, and Red stood and threw his hands out. His magic furled around his knucklebones and fingers. He bought you enough time to duck out of cover and line up a shot. The bullet shattered a shin. One monster fell, screaming, to the hallway floor. You needed these fuckers alive.

"Fuck this!" Red bellowed, kicking the table out and hurling it with his magic through the hole in the wall. You grabbed Phoebe, who was frantically talking to the 911 operator, and hauled her into the bathroom. From your new position, you had a clear line of sight - Red was screaming insults at them, edging them on, his eyelights glowing with red smoke and malice.

You fired again. Another monster fell. The remaining attacker dodged away from a ruby javelin made of bone and began to sprint down the hall.

"Don't kill them!" you screamed as Red as he dashed out the door.

"No promises!" he cackled and took off running after the final monster. You heard a scuffle, a loud bang and Red snarling insults, before the skeleton was dragging the deserter back into the hallway and throwing him unceremoniously into the pile.

Phoebe remained tucked into your chest, crying, until the red-and-blue arrival of the NEPD twisted through the windows.

Chapter Text

"It's been a week, and things are finally starting to calm down. Castor cried when we handed Phoebe back to him; Red had talked to them privately while I explained to Kowalska what had happened in the apartment. Any potential charges against Red and me were dropped, which, frankly, wasn't the big fucking favor Kowalska made it out to be. Phoebe, Red, and I testified in court that it was one of Gooze's thugs that killed Bronx, and the poor bastard was hauled to prison. Gooze lost his money, the thugs who blasted apart the apartment, and a dealer in less than a month, but when Red had gone to talk to him, he conceded his defeat: apparently, he hadn't ordered Bronx dead, so he wasn't too upset about losing the trigger-happy bitch that did it.

For all his arrogance, Red's proven to be… a good guy. I thought he was really fucking annoying at first, but we've spent so much time together, and I… Jesus, I fuckin' told him about dad. And he opened up about the Underground. He's… reserved when he needs to be, strong and cocky and… and… ugh. Maggie, don't laugh, but I'm probably gonna fuck him. Jesus, what the fuck am I doing? Maggie, don't put that in the final report. Actually, just throw this whole fucking tape away."

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"To fuckin' justice!" you grinned.

You clanked your plastic cup against Red's whiskey glass in a cheer, laughing as he downed his bourbon in one solid glug.

"And to fucking Justice," he grinned, waggling his brow bones and unashamedly ogling you. You rolled your eyes and grabbed another piece of pizza from his coffee table.

Maggie had gone home early; you asked if she was gonna turn into a pumpkin if she stayed out past eight, and she'd blushed and stammered and fluttered her wings and revealed that Papyrus was going to take her home. The waggling eyebrows and kissy faces both you and Red had given her and Papyrus made her hide her face in her antennae and hurry to catch up with the taller skeleton: his entire skull was crimson.

And then there was just you and Red.

And things were normal. He didn't press or even make any moves: he just cracked his usual lewd jokes and talked about how he was gonna spend his share of the payment. The only New Thing was his phalanges resting on your knee, your legs swung over his lap on the couch, but the conversation didn't stutter because of it. Normal, comfortable, and that made you want to suck his dick even more.

"So I'm standing there, covered in BBQ sauce, and Pap is just bawling, right, cuz he's six and he thinks I'm fuckin' dyin'," he grinned at his own story, and you found his laugh infectious - a deep, winter brook over sharp stones - and you caught yourself staring at his teeth, the gold of his fang, the easy red of his eyelights, and you were leaning across the couch to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His laughter turned into a low hum as his eyelights flickered closed and he turned into the kiss. His hand inched further up your thigh. Your eyes closed - you felt him move, heard him set his whiskey glass to the coffee table - and then he was tugging at your leg until you were straddling his lap.

"Howdy," he grinned and you pretended not to laugh by smooshing your hand against his face.

"How have you ever gotten laid before?" you asked, and he turned his head to nip his gold fang against your palm.

"It's my sparklin' personality," he purred, his eyelights hazy and dim, and you took that to mean he was at least somewhat turned on. "And my adjustable cock."

"Adjustable?" you asked with a disbelieving smirk. "That a magic thing or a skeleton thing?"

"Bit of both," he opened his jaw, eyelights never leaving you as his teeth grazed the vein of your wrist. Your expression went slack when you finally saw his tongue: deep red magic and adjustable, if the way it curled completely around your wrist was anything to go by. "Now, sweetheart, I believe you said you'd show me how to make you cum."

Your saliva was thick in your throat. "So, uhm, what do you already know?"

"Hmm," his hands soothed up your hips, your ass, dipping under your shirt and settling on your sides, making you squirm just a bit, "I know the basics. Dick in hole, thrust, we cum, we have a cigarette. It's not fuckin' rocket science, right?"

You laughed. He wasn't far off. "So, have you ever touched tits before?"

You didn't wait for his answer before tugging your shirt over your head. His eyelights were hazier, heavier, and the bones of his fingers drifted up, settling on your ribs, the fingertips itching to cup your breasts. It meant a lot that he waited before he made any move.

"Here," you whispered, placing your hand over his and guiding him over your bra. You watched the give of your flesh as he squeezed, the odd sensation of hard bone trying to be gentle.

"...so soft," he muttered, bringing both hands up and squeezing gently. He pinched your nipple through the cup, and you rocked forward on his lap a bit, his eyelights snapping back to you and a smug smile blooming across his face. Knucklebones ghosted your sides and dipped under the band of your bra. "You wanna take this off?"

"Nuh-uh. I'm teaching you how to do this. It's an important life skill," you smirked at his annoyed frown. You guided his hands to your bra clasp, walking him through where to pinch and how, until your bindings were loose and sliding from your shoulders and you were bare before him.

"God damn, look at you," he grinned hungrily at your chest, cupping your breasts, admiring how they bounced when he moved. "And you liked…" he mused and pinched at your tight nipples, chuckling deep in his ribs as you squirmed against him again. He kept testing and your breath started to come shorter and harder. When he rolled your nipple between his index and thumb bone, you actually whimpered, and in turn, felt him shift under you, pressing up into you with a deep, low chuckle.

"This isn't fair," you gasped when he replaced his fingers with his teeth. "Show me how to touch you." That got his attention: his hips pushed up into you once more and his eyelights flared again. He hesitated. "If you don't want me to, you don't-"

"It's… gonna be different," he warned, and you gave him a questioning look.

"Yeah, I… assumed?" you said, and he sighed - the breath peaked your nipples again - and slowly began removing his baggy black hoodie. It landed to the couch cushions with a thwump, and you were left staring down at him. You knew what to expect - he's a skeleton, duh, what else would there be - but the implication left you breathless.

You gawked at him - may I? - and he returned his hands to your sides and inhaled like he was bracing himself, then nodded. You ran careful fingertips over his clavicle, his shoulder joints, feeling the mineral hardness of him dotted with scrapes and scars. The bones were thicker than you would've found in a human, making him look broad and burley.

His breath hitched when you skimmed his ribs, and you pulled away, not wanting to hurt him or make him uncomfortable, but when he looked up at you, his eyelights were blown wide, his confident smirk falling just a bit.

"That's, uh, what's the word… erogenous," he swallowed.

"So, this feels good?" you whispered, bolder in your exploration now, your fingers falling like a pianist across his ribs, and his grip on your hips tightened. You tested a hypothesis: you let one finger dip into the space between the bones, and he jolted and buried his face into your shoulder with a groan.

"Now look who ain't playin' fair," he mumbled. Your laugh was low and breathy and you didn't stop, kept trilling your fingers over and into his ribcage, the hair on your arms standing up as you dipped inside him and brushed the ambient magic within his body. He shuddered and his breath quickened until he tipped his skull against the couch, browbones furrowed, his usual snarl softer and betraying his arousal.

"This is cruel," he moaned, cracking an eyelight open to peer at you.

"Oh, I know, poor baby," you pouted placatingly. He scowled at your tone, and then you were laughing as he tackled you to the couch, smothering you with his body. You weren't expecting him to kiss you - kiss you as well as the two of you could kiss, anyway - and when he pulled up, he was frowning. "You okay?"

"I dunno what the mouth thing is supposed to do," he muttered, looking almost embarrassed. You smiled, letting your hand rest against the outside of his ribcage.

"Kissing kind of only works if both parties have lips, I think, but it's done for lots of reasons. Mostly for affection," you explained, your voice low, watching his expression. He frowned again.

"All the porn I've seen has a lot of it," he smirked, but it didn't reach his sockets. "Kinda figured kissing bone would be, y'know… a deal breaker."

"Dude," you scoffed, "you should know I'm a stubborn bitch. Just because one thing doesn't work out doesn't mean I'm giving up. Red, relax, okay? I'm here. If I wasn't into this, I wouldn't have initiated."

He sighed, his face unusually pensive. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Do you?" you asked, your voice low, as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his black joggers. "Do you know, Red?"

"Fuck," he moaned, his forehead dropping to yours. You kept tugging, and he eventually grumbled and stood and kicked his pants off. Standing in the glow of city lights, he looked so bare, body and soul. You'd never seen him exposed, naked, and you sat upright on the couch in awe. His bones cast shadows against your bare torso.

"Holy shit," you muttered, taking in the heady taste of his vulnerability. "I could climb you like a rock wall."

That got him to finally laugh - real, deep, bold - and he rubbed the back of his skull. There was no doubt that he was blushing now. Realizing that things were now unfair, you removed your socks before standing and shimmying out of your pants and underwear. Red watched with wide eyelights, his confident smirk wavering as close to open awe as his ego would allow, and he carefully reached a hand out to your bare hips.

For a moment, you did nothing but explore each other - fingers and fingerbones over ribs, hips, collarbones - until Red's eyelights narrowed slightly as he touched the juncture of your thighs.

"You have hair here, too," he muttered, a statement and a question. "Huh. Lotta the, uh, research I did had all the women bare."

"Some do, some don't. It's a personal cho- oh," you gasped sharply: phalanges swirled over your clit. Red chuckled and wrapped his free arm around you, pressing you into his ribs - supporting your weight and asserting a level of control - and made another exploratory pass over your clit; your traitorous knees threatened to buckle.

Red dipped his fingers in further, soaking them in your arousal, then brought his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers dry. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Mmm, you taste so sweet," he purred, his tongue flicking out to lap between his fingerbones, the glow of it soft against your face. "You should let me tongue fuck you."

"Hah, yeah, okay," you laughed, already breathless. He sat you back to the couch and kneeled before you, his golden fang glinting with his eager smile, and you were reminded briefly of the sharpness of his teeth - a predator's sharpness, designed for tearing flesh - before he laved his tongue up your center.

All thoughts quickly evaporated.

He was slow at first, testing and curious, but he was attentive, and he quickly found what made you squirm the most and became relentless. You felt the tingle of his magic deep in your core. It arched against your flesh, sweet and sharp like syrupy lightening, setting your nerves alight with its intention.

You remembered reading that a monster's magic was as strong as their will: a monster that didn't want to fight would become physically and magically weaker, a monster eager for a fight could level a building. You wondered if that translated into every use of magic, especially as you felt his tongue taste your entrance and push, filling you in a way no human ever could.

This sent you scrabbling. You arched from the couch and grabbed the back of his skull, keeping him flush with you, and you felt his chuckle against you, the sound making you dig your nails against him. His hand was firm and steady against your clit and his tongue was thick inside you and you knew you weren't going to last very long. He knew, too, because he started groaning encouragement into your folds, gruff and kind of self-congratulatory, "Oh, fuck, are you gonna cum for me? C'mon, baby, cum for me, cum for me."

Your eyes shut so tightly that you saw white. Your whole body tensed and shuddered and everything felt warm, and when you opened your eyes, you realized the whiteness that burst behind your lids was at least fifty percent because of the glow of his soul in his chest.

He was grinning up at you, cheekbone rested against your thigh, his face shiny and wet in his own soul's light. His crimson eyelights were soft and hazy.

"What?" you asked, your voice little more than a breathy gasp. His smile grew and he shook his head.

"Nothin'. Just admirin' the view," he said, his voice low and rough. "And maybe watchin' ya squirm does somethin' for me."

"I hope it does, or sex is gonna be pretty fucking lame," you laughed/sighed, trying to compose yourself enough to engage with him and failing. You felt him run his tongue up you again and you jolted, squeaked, and tapped his shoulder. "Give me a minute."

If skeletons could pout, he definitely would be, but he acquiesced and simply watched you struggle to calm down. His soul was still bright.

"Why does it do that?" you asked, pointing limply to his chest. "It did that in the cage, too."

You weren't expecting him to look surprised, like he didn't think you'd notice, and he shrugged nonchalantly. "When a monster feels strongly about somethin', they do that. When you're mostly soul, it manifests a lot easier."

"And that's why mine glowed? I've never had that happen before," you admitted. Red threaded his fingers with yours when you offered them - dangerously close to affection - and smiled up at you.

"You have a strong soul," is all he said, and you thought he might be lying - his eyelights left yours, his grin turned down despite the compliment, his attention fled quickly back to your hand in his - but you weren't going to call him on it, not here, not while his breath left your wetness cold on your thighs. Determined not to let the moment pass, you pushed up into a sitting position and tried to tug him onto the couch.

When you succeeded, he was where you had been and you were on the floor, admiring the bend of his hip bones. A moment passed where he simply looked at you with a shit-eatting grin.

"Okay, ha ha, I know you have to summon it or whatever," you rolled your eyes. He snickered and leaned into the couch, draping his arms over the back, and you watched his left eye glow bright. A surprised laugh escaped you as an ethereal, red dick appeared where a human one would be. "You can just whip this thing out whenever?"

"Sure can," he grinned, giving it one long stroke. When he touched it, it became corporeal, real and warm, and you admired the glow of crimson through his phalanges. "Pretty much beats any human men you've been with, huh?"

"Don't get fucking cocky," you warned, earning a genuine laugh at the joke (and another warm surge from his soul), and you waited for his direction. He took your hand in his and enclosed it around him, his eyelights shuddering a bit. "Just keep moving, right?"

"Mm-hmm." He watched with rapt attention as you began at his head, rubbing your thumb over the odd, magical softness of him, watching the red light shine through your fingers. You started slow, meandering, taking your time, and when it was clear he was getting worn thin, you placed a gentle kiss to the tip.

He bucked and groaned and tightened his grip on the couch as you continued your descent, your cheeks warm and tingly from his magic. He tasted like campfire smoke and whiskey - so unlike anyone else and so like him - and you flattened your tongue and dragged it up where the main vein should be.

His hum of approval was deep and low, and when you looked up, he was already watching you: his carmine eyelights shone like lanterns in the darkness. You took this to mean that the process was about the same as a human: you took him as far as you could and reveled in the moan that tore through his throat.

You set a steady pace. His fingers eventually wound in your hair - not pulling or forcing you down, but keeping it out of your face for you - and you thanked him by deep throating him once again.

"Fuck, s-stop, stop," he hissed, and you released him immediately. "Fuck, you suck cock good."

You laughed. "Thank you! I don't have any fancy, retractable dicks so I gotta make up for it somehow."

His laugh was breathy and light, and his grin was wide when he looked at you. "Sorry, didn't mean to stop your flow. But, uh… and forgive me for bein' romantic, but the first time I cum with you, I wanna be inside you."

Oh, shit. "Well, then. We better get to a bed."

He grinned, and then you were falling a few inches onto a soft bed that smelled like Red. The remnants of his teleport misted over your skin. You blinked, trying to reorient yourself, but Red was quick over you, climbing onto the bed and pulling you up with him until you were straddling him once again.

His cock sat against your folds, the glow painting him in a lovely blushing shade beneath you. "This okay?" he asked, and you nodded, hoping not to betray your eagerness with words. Together, as a team, you lifted your ass up and he positioned his cock at your entrance, and you slowly began to sink back down.

"Fuuuck," he groaned, rocking his skull back on his pillows and arching his ribs up into your hands. You hissed, the stretch borderline painful, and the sound brought his hazy gaze back to you. "Too much?"

You nodded, about to tell him that you'd have to take it slow when you felt his magic recede inside you, just a bit. It was alien and strange but welcome, and you slid the rest of the way down until you were flush with his pelvis. You paused for both your sakes. His hands soothed along your hips and sides, settling just under your breasts.

You rose up and sank down again. His fingerbones squeezed and pinched at your nipples, and you couldn't help but whimper at the sensation. The magic was thick in your veins now, had your pupils blown and your hair on end, warm and cold and foreign and so, so fucking sexy.

You set a slow pace, bracing your hands against his ribs. He began to meet you, the hard rhythm of his pelvis pressing into your thighs making you hold onto his ribs for support; the penetration made him curse and roll his eyelights back in their sockets, his sharp teeth pulled into a tight gasp.

Fuck, he was sexy like this. All fucked out and groaning beneath you. You realized, then, that he'd been refusing to meet your eyes, so when you sank down next, you pressed your hand to his jaw and tilted his chin down. His expression turned surprisingly soft, confused, and true to his word, you felt him turn incorporeal within you.

"Look at me, Red," you asked on an exhale, and his browbones furrowed, his expression looking almost, barely afraid. You smoothed your thumb over his cheek. "Please?"

"Ah, fuckin'... shit," he muttered. His soul grew brighter in his ribs, his eyelights taking up more space in their sockets, and he covered his face with his elbow. "...'s Sans."

"Sans? Your name?" You almost couldn't believe he'd told you. The gravity of how much trust he was putting in you made your heart warm: figuratively and literally, as your soul began to bloom golden in your chest, cascading over your arms and hands and casting shadows on the headboard. "Sans."

You began to move again, immediately shuddering and causing Sans to grit his teeth. You kept repeating his name - his name - and his eyelights never left yours, tender and vulnerable as your name spilled from his teeth and your fingers curled around his ribs and everything felt good.

"Fuck, sweetheart, 'm close, fuck," he cursed, his grip on your hips turning almost bruising. You remembered what he'd said earlier - real simple, no clean up, no birth control needed for humans - so you chased your own orgasm with wanton abandon, not worrying about the What Ifs and Implications and just wanting, needing, to feel him finish with you. You knew you were close when words stopped forming, "Ssssa - ah!" the only things tumbling from your throat.

You came together, and your souls burned so brightly that you almost thought there'd been a power surge.

He'd been right, of course, not that he had any reason to lie: when you pushed yourself up, sweaty and out of breath, you were sitting against his bare pelvis, his dick tucked back into the base of his magic, and he was panting beneath you, a satisfied smirk on his face. He tugged you off of him and tucked you into his side.

You burst out laughing when he pulled a cigarette pack from his bedside drawer. "You are so fuckin' cliche."

He grinned and fished out a lighter. "Yeah, but you love it." He offered you the pack, and you accepted - what could you say, you were a social smoker - and inhaled deeply when he lit your smoke with the burning tip of his.

You watched the city pass by in comfortable silence, you tucked into his side, him looking almost blissful beside you, until both of your cigarettes had burned completely down. He offered you the ashtray and you snuffed out your smoke.

"So you're sleeping here, right?" Sans asked without meeting your eyes, and you peered at him through the darkness.

"Is that an offer?"

"Sure. You humans are notoriously fuckin' blind in the dark, can't have you stumblin' around out there like an idiot." He shrugged like it was obvious, like there was no universe where you could've just called a cab, but you let him have it. He'd probably used up his reserves of vulnerability for the month.

"We can't have that," you yawned and nestled underneath his blankets, and neither of you commented on how easily you fell asleep together.

Chapter Text

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When you awoke, the bed was empty, and your first thought was, damn, that fucker really ran out on me.

Then you heard conversation floating by on the smells of coffee and the early morning rays of sunshine through the curtains. You made to stand, but paused when you caught the middle of a hushed conversation.

"... understand what the problem is," Papyrus was saying, his higher, rougher voice muffled by the closed bedroom door. "If your soul-"

"Fuck my soul," Sans barked, then lowered his voice like he was afraid of waking you up. You missed what he followed it up with, but didn't miss Papyrus's disbelieving scoff.

"Honestly, Sans, you are acting like she proposed marriage. She probably does not even know the gravity of it. Lashing out because you hate tradition-"

"And what the fuck has tradition ever done for us, huh? It didn't save Asgore's kid, it didn't get us outta the Underground, and it sure a shit ain't helpin' us on the surface. 'Tradition' wasn't right then; why the fuck do you think it's right about this? She's fuckin' human, Paps. "

Ouch.

"Because if you did not believe in it whatsoever, you would not be throwing a fit this morning, brother. If you do not believe in soulmates, then what does it matter? She will get in her vehicle, go home, and you will not ever have to see her again, if you choose."

There was silence after that. You stayed perfectly still in bed, wary about any noise alerting them of your presence. Is that what he wanted, you wondered, your feelings hurt. To have you fuck off and never talk about it again, never even speak again?

"Sans, just talk to the human. Tell her the truth, let her make her own judgments. You trust her enough to give her your name, why is this such a leap?"

Again, Red mumbled his answer, and Papyrus didn't respond immediately. You made a big show of rustling the sheets and yawning loudly, standing and grabbing a pair of oversized basketball shorts and a black hoodie from his messy closet. Their conversation ended, and you heard the sounds of tarsal bones on hard wood carefully approaching.

You didn't know enough about soulmates to question anything about it, and a part of you was ashamed to have listened in for as long as you did, so when Sans opened the bedroom door, you gave him a sleepy smile and nothing else.

"Mornin', Red,” you smiled, not missing how his eyelights went wide and his cheekbones turned crimson as he observed you in his clothes. "Did Pap ever make it home or do I need to text Maggie for all the filthy, sinful details?"

He laughed and the unspoken tension in the room evaporated. What did this mean now? Were you friends with benefits? Something more, something less? Soulmates? Was this the last time you were gonna see him? You asked none of it, embracing the easy way he asked if you wanted breakfast, the teasing questions you asked his brother until he was red in the skull, how the three of you shared their small kitchen space like you'd been doing it your entire lives.

Papyrus kept shooting pointed glares at Sans when he thought you weren't looking.

When it was time for you to go home, you gave back his shorts but kept his hoodie, and neither of you objected to it. He walked you down to your car, and as your door was opened, there was a moment where you could've asked. Asked what happened now, asked about soulmates, asked if he regretted it, asked about anything.

Instead, you punched his shoulder and said, "Don't lose my number, stud," like a fucking idiot. You attempted to slink into your car to escape your embarrassment, but you were halted by a tug on the pocket of your pilfered hoodie. Sans pulled you into his chest, resting his forehead on yours, his smirk fiendish and teasing.

"It's been a pleasure, detective," he purred in your ear, the rumble sending a small shiver down your spine. "I'll be back to get that hoodie."

You grinned and traced his vertebrae with your knuckles. "Promises, promises."

When you pulled away, he was smiling - genuine, soft - and he playfully smacked your ass before you had fully entered your car. As you drove away, you turned the radio up loud, and despite all the uncertainty, you felt better than you had in a long time.

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The next day, you flopped to your office chair and hit play on the ancient answering machine - something Maggie had insisted made you more professional - and let the three awaiting messages play.

“Hey, uhm, this is Phoebe. I'm back with my mom, and she gave me your number, and I… I just wanted to say thank you. I really can't… you and your partner really did save my life. I'm sorry I can't pay you back. Please thank Mr. Red for me, too.” Click.

“This is an apology call from your insurance provider-” Click. Delete.

“Hi, my name is Rebecca Driscoll, and… wow, this is hard to say. I think my husband is cheating on me? I-I don't have any proof, but I hope you can get proof for me. Uhm… yeah. Please call me back. Thank you.”

Click.

No new messages.

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Chapter Text

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Two Months Later

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"Go, Pepper!"

You were standing on the bleachers, screaming as loud as you could at the sweaty teenager who just rounded second base. The sun was blistering hot overhead and you were definitely going to get sunburnt. It'd been too hot for your leather jacket, so you stuck with a tank top and sensible shorts, looking like a loser next to Maggie's adorable sundress and hat. Her left wing whacked you in the back as she rose to her feet.

"Watch your back!" Maggie screamed, her high, petite voice strained, her antennae at full attention. A hundred other parents and supporters made the stands ungodly sweaty. A young human in Pepper's grade threw the ball. "Go, go, go!"

Pepper rounded third.

July in New Ebbott was sweltering. The baseball park was packed with parents, both human and monster, each one as equally sunburnt and uncomfortable as you were. The trees that lined the perimeter shielded some of the bleachers: they'd immediately been claimed by several snowy monsters and packed tight with the palest of the humans.

"Six o'clock, kid!" you bellowed, and Pepper's big, mothy eyes shot over her shoulder just as her classmate reached for the ball.

The bleachers erupted into cheers when the umpire declared her safe. Maggie squealed and jumped beside you, clapping and waving to her niece, who looked equal-parts embarrassed and pumped.

With the excitement over, you quickly locked down your real target here. Mr. Driscoll, the team's co-captain, was a heavyset man with a big mustache and a loud, booming voice that carried across the entire park whenever he shouted, which he did often: at the kids on his team, at parents, at the other coach. You'd been observing him all afternoon. If he'd been an okay guy, you might've been a bit more delicate about what you were going to do after the game.

He was an asshole, though, so tact was no longer on your agenda.

"So, how's your first Bobcat game?" Maggie asked with a huge grin, gulping down a massive blue slushie.

"It's… certainly exciting when the one child I know is doing something," you smirked, plopping back down to the stands as Pepper disappeared into the brick dugout. "Could've done with, like, a condensed version of this."

"I thought humans loved baseball!" she giggled around her slushie straw.

"Maggie, are you resorting to stereotypes? My virgin ears are shocked and scandalized," you shook your head in mock disappointment. Your attention shot back to Mr. Driscoll as he berated a middle schooler, spittle flying through his mustache. Your eyes narrowed. Maggie followed your attention.

"Are you sure you want to do this here? We could wait for the crowds to clear out," she offered quietly. You shook your head.

"His wife is paying me a hundred extra if I make it a spectacle, and I need that for rent," you replied in a hushed tone. "Besides, look at this fuckhead. Don't you wanna ruin that asshole’s day?"

Maggie didn't seem to think it was a good idea, but she was quickly distracted by her slushie going dry. You'd been buying her one right after the other for as long as you'd been here: you felt bad about her heavy fuzz in all this hellish sun. You slipped her another bill, asked her for a red one, and watched her flitter daintily into the air and make for the concession stand.

You tugged your phone out of your pocket and checked his messages.

Read. No reply. Sent a month ago.

Whatever. It's not like you cared. It's not like your feelings were hurt. What were you, a teenager? It's not like you'd never been ghosted before, never laid in bed and angrily glared at your phone, never wondered if kissing someone was a mistake and you'd ruined a genuine chance at friendship by being too forward.

Whatever. His loss.

"Sorry, boss." Maggie's voice made you jump. You hadn't realized you'd been glaring at his open messages this entire time, too engrossed in your pissy attitude to even realize Maggie had settled beside you again. You shrugged and pocketed your phone.

"Things with you and Papyrus are going well," you smiled, trying to gently redirect the conversation away from your love life. If she suspected your tactic, she didn't call you on it, instead sighing wistfully and handing you a red slushie.

"We're going on our fourth date tomorrow. The planetarium," she smiled like a teenager in love. "I've always really loved the stars, ever since the barrier fell, y'know?"

Sometimes it caught you off guard just how long monsters lived for, how the majority grew up without the sun or stars; the most common, grounding human experience, the most universal source of wonder and inspiration aside from love and death.

"And that red magic, amiright?" Your filthy implication made her hide her face in her hands and hurriedly shush you, worried about an upstanding parent overhearing.

Two hours later, you were finally out of the fucking sun and approaching Mr. Driscoll, who was embarrassing a young kid for not playing well. You tapped his shoulder, and he turned, red-faced and spittle-covered, to pin you with a hard glare. Before he could open his mouth, you shoved his divorce papers into his chest. Maggie was firm at your back, her camera pointed at the scene.

“Mr. Adam Alexander Driscoll, you’ve been served,” you said, calm and firm, and his reaction was what you expected: surprise, at first, then embarrassed anger and shame, especially as a large, burly dad approached when he made to hit you. The cops were threatened, kids started crying, the other coach had to usher a gaggle of tired teenagers away from their screaming coach, it was a whole thing. Several parents approached you after to ask what had happened, and, per your client’s orders, you told them the truth, that Mr. Driscoll had been sexting a recently graduated girl.

Their gasps of shock were a cinematic end to the recording that you sent to your client.

With Maggie and Pepper (and all of Pepper’s baseball gear shoved into your trunk), you spent the car ride back listening to Pepper ramble about everything and anything. You and Maggie couldn’t get a word in until you were parking in front of Pepper’s squashed house in a cramped neighborhood.

“Come have dinner with us!” Pep beamed, and you didn’t even get out that you didn’t want to impose before Maggie was hauling you out of your car and into her sister’s house.

Luna had a quaint little home that she shared with her husband and child, full of soft throw pillows and family pictures and warm wax burners that smelled like flowers. Her husband worked nights, so when you entered, it was just Luna thanking you for hauling Pepper’s baseball gear into the house.

Luna, of course, urged you to take your shoes off and sit at the dinner table, and who were you to deny a home-cooked meal?

“Mr. Driscoll is getting divorced,” Pepper whispered conspiratorially to her mom as everyone gathered their plates. Luna looked at you, and you smiled devilishly and shrugged, heaping your plate full.

“That’s a shame,” Luna frowned. “Such nasty business.”

“Hey, divorce is always a good thing,” you said as you sat, earning a confused look from the moth sisters. “Look, if two people truly loved each other and were forced to get a divorce, then that’s a tragedy. But any other time, people are getting out of unhealthy situations, and that’s always good.”

“I suppose,” Luna frowned into a paper napkin, dabbing her mouth. Pepper settled to your left, watching you with huge, buggy eyes and a mischievous smile.

“Aunt Mags said you were having boy trouble,” she grinned, and Maggie squeaked and glared at her. You flashed your secretary a curious eyebrow. “And it’s with a moooonster.”

“Pepper!” Luna shushed, but you waved her off, letting her know it was fine for her to ask.

“I dunno if it’s ‘trouble’, per say. More like… he’s just ghosting me,” you frowned into your food. The legs of Pepper’s chair screeched against the tile as she scooched closer, her fuzzy chin on her hand, waiting for you to continue. You sighed, and explained, “So, I met him, and we hated each other, but then we worked together to find a runaway, and we flirted and things seemed cool, and then we kissed, and then we were shot at by gangsters, and then fucked and our souls glowed and then he-”

Maggie gasped. Luna fumbled her spoon into her food. The mischievous glint in Pepper’s eyes grew exponentially.

“You never told me about the souls!” Maggie squeaked.

“I didn’t think it was important!” you rushed to justify, six buggy eyes locked on you. “Is it important?”

“He’s your soulmate, dude,” Pepper grinned up at you. You looked at the assembled women for any clue as to what that meant.

“So, for monsters…” Luna began, clearly no stranger to explaining delicate situations to unknowing audiences, “souls play a huge part in, well… everything. And there are stories about soulmates: people who are destined to love each other, whose souls know each other in a profound way, so much so that they feel lessened without their love.”

Your ears burned at this. You didn’t even know if you liked Red after these silence few months, let alone if you loved him. You shook your head in disagreement. “No, that’s… look, I just slept with the guy, I don’t think I love him. And I’m human; doesn’t this soulmate thing only work for monsters?”

“I’ve never heard of it working with a human,” Maggie posited, “but maybe a human has just never opened up like that to a monster yet, or vice versa. Maybe you’re the first.”

“That’s romantic,” Pepper sighed, twirling her spoon in her fingers. “Star-crossed lovers.”

“We are not star-crossed,” you were quick to defend yourself. “Look, if we're this special thing, why the fuck hasn’t he texted me back then, huh?”

“Maybe he’s scared,” Maggie said quietly, her attention soft on your face.

That made you pause your anger. You weren’t one for destiny: star charts, zodiac signs, love at first sight… it meant nothing to you. You dealt with reality, with facts and evidence, and there was none for those things. The more you thought about it, the more you realized how pissed you were that your soul had made that decision on its own, that you were destined to love this guy no matter if he was an asshole or how you felt.

You wondered if Red had been feeling that, too. If he’d been avoiding it because it pissed him off and made him anxious like it was starting to make you.

That night, after dropping Maggie off at her apartment, you returned to yours, your mind whirring with rampant thoughts that were hard to pin down. After undoing your boots, you tugged your phone out and pulled up his messages.

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You set your phone to your kitchen counter and went to shower.

Half an hour later, you were free of sweat and in clean pajamas, and you grabbed your phone to check for a text.

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[red menace] ok

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You snarled and went to bed, pissed off and hurt.

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You were getting a coffee from a local cafe when you met Declan.

He was ahead of you in line, a tall, thin human man with dark hair and a kind smile. While you were both waiting for your orders, you noticed him in your peripheral, eyeing your pistol under your arm.

“I got a permit, if you’re worried,” you finally offered, making him jump. Looking at his face, you wondered if this guy had slept at all the night before.

“Oh! No, that wasn’t… I mean, I hoped you did, but… sorry,” he sighed, straightened, and composed himself. “Can we start over? My name is Declan.” You eyed him skeptically, but shook his offered hand and introduced yourself. That seemed to put him at ease, and an easy smile settled to his clean-shaven face.

“So, Declan, you got something on your mind?” you asked, moving aside so a young monster could grab his order. Declan studied you, a poker face, before replying.

“Are you an officer?” he asked, and you barked out a laugh.

“Nah, a private investigator. Why? You need something private investigated?” you asked with a lewd smirk, and his face immediately bloomed with red. He tried to stammer out a reply, but your coffee and breakfast sandwich were pushed onto the counter, and you tipped your head towards him and went to leave.

“Wait,” Declan rushed, and you looked over your shoulder to see him reaching for your arm and hesitating. “I might… need something looked into.”

You waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, you stepped back into his reach, waving him over to a corner table. Outside the tall windows, cars and bikes and people wove through the streets, sweltering in the July heat. You removed your sunglasses when you sat, waiting for Declan to grab his food and join you.

You booted out the opposite chair, and he sat. "Okay, so what's on your mind, Declan? What can I help you with?"

“Do you know what the Seal of Confession is?" he asked, wrapping his fingers snuggly around his coffee cup. You pulled your breakfast sandwich from its bag and took a bite, shaking your head. His gaze lowered to his drink. "It's a sacred duty to priests, that anything that is said during a confession never gets disclosed. Not even to authority."

“Okay…” you drawled, eyebrow raised, waiting for him to elaborate. He took a steadying breath and didn't meet your eyes.

“So, if someone were to… hypothetically confess to murder, a priest wouldn't be allowed to alert anyone. That sin is between the confessor, the priest, and God."

That got your attention. Your eyebrows shot up and you gave him a questioning look, one that took him a while to return. He looked haggard, exhausted. You realized quickly what he was saying.

"And in this hypothetical scenario, guilt is eating the priest up, because his god won't allow him to alert the cops but his morals want him to. So this priest stumbles on a P.I. for hire and thinks he might find a holy loophole so both of his moral guidelines are met."

The look he gave you - lost, surprised, concerned - proved you right. “Hypothetically.”

“Of course,” you agreed, intently watching his face. “And, hypothetically, that P.I. would need at least a crumb of a lead - evidence, a face, a motive, something - to even begin. A lead you would be unable to provide because of your seal shit.”

He sighed heavily, wafting the sweet coffee steam from his cup over your face. He ran a hand through his hair. “And you would understand why the priest would be torn between his duty to the law and his duty to God.”

You shrugged, taking another bite of your food. “‘Understand’ is a hard word. I’m not exactly a woman of faith, Father Declan, so… no, I don’t think I can understand. I can sympathize, but, as I said, I would need something to start with, so until I get that, there isn’t much of a case to be had.”

He nodded, clearly unhappy with your answer but accepting the reality of it all the same. He gave you a sad, patient smile and finally took a sip of his coffee. You felt bad for the guy, you really did. You tugged out your wallet and pulled out a business card, sliding it across the table.

“If something changes, Declan, you let me know,” you smiled, reassuring, and stood. The last thing you saw was a priest hunched over a coffee, thumbing your card like he could rub clean an answer. The tinkle of the door’s bell concluded your breakfast.

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That night, you saw the murder announced on the news.

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Chapter Text

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“Fruque, a well-known businessman and outspoken member of the monster community, has been found murdered on the piers of New Ebbott. Our sources say that a young beachgoer found the body late last night and immediately called the police, who quickly closed off the scene. Fruque, known most for his book ‘Where the Echo Blooms’, a collection of stories from monsters' imprisonment underground…”

You turned the car radio down as you pulled into a parking space, staring out at the long expanse of warm, sunny beach eerily devoid of swimmers. Cop cars circled the pier like sharks in the water, yellow tape criss-crossing the aged wooden planks and white sand like a spider’s web. As you stepped to the blacktop, you slid your sunglasses over your eyes and made your way towards the crime scene.

Lt. Kowalska’s face fell when he saw you approach. “Honestly, you’re as bad as the reporters.”

“Oh, wah, suck my ass,” you grumbled, stepping up beside him, trying not to get sand in your boots. “Monster author, huh?”

Kowalska hummed an affirmative, looking out at the sickening white goo pile left on the wooden pier that a forensics guy was trying to contain. You grimaced. “His private boat is at the end of the dock. You are, obviously, not allowed near it.”

“No shit,” you rolled your eyes. “What do we know? Mistresses, jilted business partners, jealous wife?”

“Not that we know of,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose. “Some young swimmer found him this morning with a stab wound in his chest, but we haven’t found any weapon yet. And monsters have a, uh… time limit.”

You nodded, folding your arms over your chest, feeling the warm press of your hostler against your wrist. Most monsters turned to dust immediately, but some just… dissolved, like wet baking powder. The cops were lucky: murders were notoriously hard to solve with monsters, since no body usually remained to be examined, but at least a pile of goop was something.

You heard Kowalska sigh, and when you looked back to him, he was staring dead-eyed at a cop car that had just parked. You smiled brightly as Undyne shut her door with more force than necessary, bright red hair a fire in the sun.

“Sergeant,” you greeted with the same cadence you had in the Cage. She observed you briefly, then her wide, fanged grin grew, and she thumped a taloned fist against yours.

“Sergeant,” Kowalska sighed. They did not get along: two wildly different personalities, both too headstrong. Undyne gave him a mean smirk as she came to stand before him, a full foot taller.

“Kowalska,” she said by way of greeting. “Thought you should know we’ve arrested someone for this case.”

That got your attention. Kowalska’s eyes shot up to hers, a moment of surprise quickly snuffed into his usual bored half-frown. He waved for her to continue, stepping aside as a cop ducked under the barrier tape.

“Human kid named Harper Hayes. Found him a few blocks down, trying to clean a knife with gutter runoff, a knife custom made for Fruque. Had his name on it and everything,” she explained, and you found yourself staring at her teeth: the same predator sharpness that Red had - he sat you back to the couch and kneeled before you, his golden fang glinting with his eager smile, and you were reminded briefly of the sharpness of his teeth - making you heat with the memory. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say, but Kowalska was clearly unhappy that someone else had made such a huge breakthrough in his case, if the deep furrow of his brow was anything to go by.

Kowalska stiffly ducked under the tape to go speak to another cop, and Undyne placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning into your chest, speaking low and close to your ear. “Do me a favor and swing by the precinct in a few hours. Talk to Harper for me. Something’s not adding up.”

You nodded once, and, satisfied, Undyne began a conversation with another cop, and that was your cue to leave. You took a few pictures of the scene and scrammed, preparing for your battle with morning traffic back to your office.

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You weren’t expecting to find Declan already inside, having a pleasant conversation with Maggie over a cup of coffee. He stood when you entered, and you saw through the polite mask immediately. Maggie cast a worried look over his shoulder as you shut the door behind you.

“Ah! Detective!” he smiled too widely - he still didn’t look like he’d slept at all - and approached to shake your hand. “I, uh… was informed by your lovely assistant that you’d been to the beach today.”

“Oh, well, the weather is just right for it,” you smiled. “Blue skies, white sands, gruesome murder. Really, a girl couldn’t ask for better.”

He laughed nervously, and when you didn’t return the gesture, swallowed.

“Now, here’s the thing, Father,” you began, thanking Maggie for your coffee made exactly how you liked, “You and I both know that you could solve this right now, but your god won’t allow you, I know, I know. So I’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly: did a human kid named Harper Hayes attend confessions with you?”

Declan thought it over, his face growing more and more pensive, before eventually shaking his head. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Undyne had been right: they’d gotten the wrong guy.

“Shit,” you frowned, pouring your coffee into a travel mug. “Okay, I gotta go. Declan, give Maggie your phone number. I have a feeling you’re gonna be hearing from me soon.”

With that, you palmed your coffee and headed back out the door. Never a moment’s rest.

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Paperwork shuffling, conversations, helicopters whirring overhead, traffic. The smell of coffee and cigarettes. Despite the years away, some of it was almost comforting to you, a phantom familiarity, this shitty precinct. You recognized some of the officers here: some recognized you, their faces souring immediately.

Undyne met you at the door, leading you through tight hallways and past hectic desks towards the holding cells. “Just be quiet with this one. He’s a little bit shy, if you know what I mean, not one to talk if he’s scared. Constitution of a titmouse.”

You nodded, bracing yourself as Undyne opened up the door and led you down a long row of heavy iron cell doors. When she stopped, it was before a young human - no older than nineteen - looking haggard and scared on a hard, wooden bench chained to the wall. He stood when you drew near.

“Uhm… hello,” he said, his voice soft. “Are you my lawyer?”

“No, kiddo, I’m not, and I'm not a cop, either, but I am looking to help you out,” you smiled, leaning casually against the bars. Undyne, her arms crossed, watched you introduce yourself. “You wanna tell me where you found that knife?”

He swallowed, his fingers picking nervously at his cuticles. “I found it. At the beach.”

“That’s a helluva find. Nice knife like that, washed up. You didn’t mean anything when you picked it up, did you, Harper?” you asked. He shook his head. “You probably didn’t even know about Fruque until you were being arrested, right?”

“That’s right, m’am,” he murmured. “And… and I just thought that there was sand in the handle, so I wanted to clean it up, and…”

“What were you doing on the beach so early?” you asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to finish that train of thought. He looked embarrassed.

“Uhm… I don’t really like… crowds. But I like collecting things, so I… I take my metal detector down before the people show up, and that’s how I found the knife, and…”

He looked like he was about to cry. Poor kid. “Hey, it’s okay, kiddo. I believe you.”

His big green eyes widened. “You do?”

“I do. And I can’t stay here long, but I’ll make sure you get a good lawyer,” you leaned conspiratorially against the bars, prompting him to lean closer, too, “and don’t say anything to pigs without a lawyer, you understand me? Anything they ask you, you say ‘lawyer’ until you get one.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded, looking younger than he was in his baggy t-shirt.

“I mean it, Harper,” you warned, drawing a line between your eyes and his with your fingers and backing away from the bars. As Undyne opened the main door for you, you muttered so that no one but her would hear, “You’ve got the wrong person, Sergeant.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she rolled her eye, “but it’s not my case. Kowalska doesn’t even know I brought you in today. You know how cops are: if it’s easy to pin it on that kid, make it seem like a robbery or a hate crime, then they will.”

“Not if I can help it,” you gave her a confident smile, one that she returned.

When you pushed into the hot air of the city, free from your old place of employment, you texted Maggie for Declan’s number. The two of you needed to make a house call.

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The Fruque estate was mobbed by reporters when the two of you arrived, and you had to shove several paparazzi forcibly out of the way to get to the main gate, leaving your car on the street behind you. The doorman recognized Declan - Clara, Fruque’s human wife, frequently attended his church (suspect number one) - and you were escorted past flashing cameras and a swarm of shouted questions.

The author’s estate was modern and expensive, with a large pool and hedges lining the driveway, and Declan led you up to the oddly shaped, artistic looking doors. He smiled sadly at you.

“Let me talk to Clara, please,” he sighed, trying to fix his polo shirt in the glass reflection. “She’s a sweet woman.”

You waved him in - I’ll follow you - and waited for your knock to be answered. A tired looking servant opened the door for the both of you, urging you inside and into the sweet relief of air conditioning. The interior was about what you expected from rich artists: weird statues in every corner, oddly-shaped tables and chairs, several cleaning staff bustling from room to room. Somewhere on the second floor, you heard the faint, far away sounds of muffled conversations.

Declan and you were encouraged to sit - Clara had a guest already - and so you kicked out a kitchen island stool and accepted the offer of water. Declan settled beside you, looking like a scared cat.

“Look, man, you gotta relax,” you whispered to him. “Just breathe. We’re here to help this woman.”

“You’re right,” he sighed, trying to compose himself. “I’m sorry, this is just… how do you do this for a living?”

You laughed. “After a while, you get desensitized to it. I like to remind myself of all the good I’m doing; and usually, I’ll have a decent paycheck to look forward to.”

“Ah, right. I’m… do you want me to pay you?” he whispered, like it was rude to ask.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no,” you smirked, thanking the staff member for your iced water, “but I wasn’t expecting you to. Didn’t know if God was too keen on hiring private dicks.”

Declan laughed at that. “Normally, private dicks aren’t in my wheelhouse.”

You smiled, bumping his shoulder with yours. He was finally relaxing a bit - not so obviously on edge, anyway - and you offered your glass out to him for a little toast. He accepted with a questioning smile.

“To solving crime and helping people,” you offered. You took a long swig, thankful for the cold in your throat. You heard heavy footfalls descending the stairs, and when you turned around, you almost choked on your water.

Red’s eyelights condensed into crimson pinpricks when he saw you. He was wearing black basketball shorts and a red tanktop, his sneakers faltering on the stairs. He looked much the same as he did the last time you saw him - playfully smacking his boney ass as he left your apartment, your hips and thighs sore and covered in love bites - and that thought made you flush. You were almost immediately mad: you wanted to say something witty and biting, ask him why he’s always involved with your cases, ask why he’d been such an asshole lately. You wanted to talk to him, make him explain why he was cutting you out of his life, if you'd done something to hurt him. You didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you watched silently, anger surely clear on your face, as his attention shifted between you and Declan at your side, his eyelights narrowing the longer he studied the two of you. The entire interaction was less than thirty seconds: an older woman was ushering him along, you watched the door close behind him, and then he was gone in a blink.

“Miss Clara will see you now, Father,” the old woman said, and led the two of you up the stairs.

“Did you know him?” Declan whispered.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, taking several deep breaths as your guide knocked gently on a closed bedroom door. “It’s a long story.”

The master bedroom was well decorated and dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn. A middle aged human woman sat under a canopy bed, still in her silk pajamas, her eyes red and her hair a mess. You weren’t sure what your play was here - you’d assumed Declan could get you into the house, where you’d be free to look around, you weren’t expecting to comfort a grieving widow - so you hung back as Clara teared up and opened her arms to Declan.

“I am so sorry, Clara,” he cooed, sinking to the mattress to embrace her. She immediately began crying again. “Fruque was such a good man.”

“But he’s with the Lord now,” she smiled, straining through her tears. “I just wish He hadn’t taken him so soon.”

The religious talk made you uncomfortable, and you decided to focus on the caretaker, who was busy assembling a light breakfast on a tray. An older woman with silver hair done up in a bun, the spitting image of professionalism and poise. The badge clipped to her apron read "Nurse Lisa Shaw." Your attention refocused on Declan as he introduced you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’am, despite the circumstances,” you smiled. Clara nodded through her tears. “I’m sorry about your husband.”

“Me, too, dear,” she choked out. “But they found the person responsible, and I just… have to remind myself that God will sort out that young boy’s sins in due time.”

Declan nodded, but the thought made you squirm. “Clara, did you know Harper Hayes?”

Clara shook her head. “No, I didn’t recognize the picture I was shown. I don’t believe I’d ever met the boy.”

“So you don’t know why Harper would do something like this?”

Clara again shook her head. “I… assume for his money. That’s what the police said, anyway, but it… clearly didn’t work.” She began to sob again, and you felt for this woman, you really did, but in the back of your mind, something wasn’t adding up, and in most cases of dead spouses, the other partner was the prime suspect.

“Clara, let me be clear,” you said, approaching and kneeling beside her bed. “Harper Hayes is looking at thirty years to life in prison if he’s convicted. Do you know anyone else who might have had a motive, might’ve had a vendetta?”

You saw her tense under her comforter, staring down at you with something like audacity. But Declan squeezed her hand, gave her a soft, comforting smile, and she seemed to seriously think things over. You scanned her body - any bruises, scraps, did her nails look dirty, did she have any old scars - while she thought. After a minute, she shook her head with a sigh.

“No, I’m… I’m sorry. Fruque was such a kind man, very dedicated to his job, sure, but kind and honest. He donated so much money to charity, and did so much good for monsters. I just don’t…” she frowned.

“Did he ever stay late?” you asked. “Was it normal for him to have been in his boat at that hour?”

“Oh, yes, he’d spend many nights down there writing. The waves brought him great inspiration,” she smiled forlornly. “I only got worried when he didn’t come up for breakfast.”

You nodded, storing that information away for later. Before you could press her for more, she was yawning and stretching, and her nurse was approaching with two pills and a glass of water. “I’m so sorry, Father, but I’ve barely slept a wink, and I finally feel good enough to try. Lisa will show you both out. Thank you so much for stopping by.”

You tried to hide your disappointment as you pushed to your feet, Declan offering to pray with her. Nurse Lisa opened the bedroom door, her face a practiced neutrality, and you exited, waiting awkwardly for Declan to finish.

You waited until you reached your car to say, “Thanks for getting me in there.”

“Did you deduce anything?” Declan asked, and you laughed at his wording.

“I don’t think Clara is lying, or at least, if she is then she’s very good at it. But there’s a dozen staff in that house that might have motives. I’d need to actually talk to them, look around the house, try to find something concrete,” you frowned, looking up at the looming estate through your windshield. Declan nodded.

“I’ll talk to her. She’s a reasonable woman,” he offered as you yanked your car into reverse. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Hey, that’s my job,” you grinned at him. “A job that I’m maybe getting paid for?”

He stammered about filling out the paperwork as you drove away.

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That night, when you finally got around to checking your phone, you’d received a text from Red.

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[red menace] who’s the fucking polo shirt

[red menace] yeah, i would like to know
[red menace] the fuck are you doin at fruques

[red menace] fuck
[red menace] you

[red menace] fine by me

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You snarled and threw your phone against your mattress, flopping to your pillows and screaming as loud as you could.

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Chapter Text

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"Listen, I don't know what to tell you," Kowalska sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why are you bothering me with this?"

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in the ugly chair that sat opposite his desk, nursing a coffee. "Don't act stupid. Because it's your case, and you know what the autopsy report said. If you just tell me, I'll be outta your hair."

Piercing blue eyes glared at you over thin glasses. You smiled, sickeningly sweet, back at him. You needed the autopsy report to know if anything else had been at play - poisons, other wounds, anything - before you started the investigation in earnest. You didn't want to devote hours to a false lead.

Paperwork shuffling, conversations, helicopters whirring overhead, traffic. The smell of coffee and cigarettes. A new face, strikingly monster in a sea of human, caught your attention and waved you over. You rose, shot a little salute towards an unamused Kowalska, and started weaving and pushing towards Undyne.

She nodded down the hall, and you followed without question. Her office was sandwiched between two others, small but functional and clean, and your mouth had just opened to ask her what she wanted when the back of a chipped skull came into view. Before you could back up, Undyne shoved you into the room and closed the door.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Red snarled, eyelights narrowing as you began barking your objections. Undyne sat with a huff behind her desk. "The fuck is she doin' here?"

"My job, shithead, which is more than you can say," you snapped, immediately drawing his ire. "What, you let any stray dog in here, Sergeant?"

"Enough!" Undyne barked, kicking out the other chair, glaring at you to sit. After a moment of pointed snarling, you did, making a show of pushing the chair further away from Red as you did so. "Look, I know you're both looking into Fruque's murder, and I know Kowalska's your main contact here. But things just aren't right. And I want your help."

"You get the autopsy report?" you asked, leaning forward, interested. Red smelled like campfire smoke beside you, his wide frame making the office even smaller. His golden fang glittered in the harsh overhead light. Despite his shithouse attitude, his red eyelights were trained on Undyne as she spoke.

"I did," she grinned mischievously, tugging open a drawer and sliding you a paper. "The official cause of death was the stabbing."

"Fuck," Red grunted, and you shared the sentiment. That made Harper Hayes' involvement that much harder to disprove. "So, what, all we know for sure is that the knife was involved. That doesn't mean that little punk was the killer."

"We know that the knife was the murder weapon, and it was found further down the beach. It'd be real easy for the killer to just chuck it into the ocean and have it wash back up," you offered. "Not that that narrows it down any further."

"So you're gonna work together?" Undyne asked, and you snapped your eyes to Red, who looked equally off put. "Look, I dunno what's crawled up your asses lately, but figure it the fuck out. You work good together, and I'm tired of Sans moping around whenever I come over."

Red's cheekbones dusted with scarlet, and he went to say something before you pushed to your feet. "I need a smoke," you sighed heavily, turning and leaving for the private smokers alley, away from prying eyes.

You didn't smoke. You just… were so mad at him. You felt like he was being a child, like you were fifteen again and your acne covered, greasy haired, shit stain prom date refused to tell you why he broke up with you. And the worst part was that you understood. Having a soulmate made you scared and pissed off too, but that's all the more reason to talk about it. You were both adults, for fuck's sake.

You ran a hand over your face. It was hot today. You were already starting to sweat, but you just needed a minute. You could be professional about this. This was a job, Red could provide valuable insight, and if he wanted to pretend that you'd never fucked, never flirted with genuine friendship, that was fine with you.

The door pushed open, and you looked up into crimson eyelights. Red faltered on the stairs, his hands shoved into his black shorts pockets, a cigarette already lit between his teeth. Despite your pep talk, you still straightened and crossed your arms over your chest. He descended the concrete stairs and propped up on the opposite wall.

For a moment, you stood in silence.

"Look, I'm…" Red began, sighed, swallowed the rest of what he was saying. "You know about the, uh… soulmate thing, huh?"

"Yeah. Maggie and her sister told me," you said, cautious. A warm wind blew through the alley, carrying the smells of hot blacktop and the neighboring park. "Look, I dunno what the… the protocol is for this sort of shit. But it's pretty shitty of you to ghost me."

"I know," he frowned at his sneakers. "I'm… sorry, alright? I don't… I didn't… fuck," he cursed, running a hand over his skull. You didn't save him from his floundering. "Look, I've never… done this before," he scowled, motioning between the two of you.

"What, had more than a one night stand? Or the soulmate thing?" you asked, schooling your features into a carefully neutral mask.

"Both," he admitted.

"Well, for starters, fucking answer my texts. Or at least let me know that you don't want to talk anymore," you offered, a bit mean. He nodded and dropped his eyelights to his shoes once again. "Red, I'm an adult. If you just wanted a quick fuck, I would've understood."

"But I don't want that," he snarled around his cigarette. When he inhaled, the smoke roiled from his nasal cavity, his eye sockets, the gaps between his vertebrae. "I don't… want that. I don't know about this predestined, love at first sight horseshit, but I…"

"Aw, Red, you do care," you sang, teasing, and that finally eased some of the tension. He met your gaze, anyway. "You hurt my feelings, and I think you know that, and I think you feel bad about that. The thing is… I get it. The idea that a soulmate can just happen, especially after a lifetime of having to always be on guard… that shit's scary. So you just ignored it because that's always been easier, but it wasn't easy. It fucking sucked. There wasn’t a way to win." When you looked up again, his eyelights were softer at the edges, his usual snarl pulled into something resembling surprise. "Am I close?"

"Yeah," he said, then took another long drag. "I am sorry, sweetheart. I know that might not mean much, but…"

"It does," you finally offered him a small smile. You weren't lying; him apologizing meant a lot, especially the way he squirmed like the words felt foreign on his tongue. "Look, I know friends with benefits is probably off the table, but I'd still like to be your friend."

He barked out a disbelieving laugh. "What, you miss the Bone Zone that much?"

"Oh, my God," you rolled your eyes and refused to laugh. "Never mind."

He was grinning and reaching for your arm as you left the scene, and you let him tug you back, your own laughter beginning to mix with his. "What? You're sayin' you wouldn't jump my bones?"

"Shut the fuck up," you laughed, trying to twist away from him. His arm bones were bare under a dark red tank top, and as he pulled you back into his chest, you felt the familiar press of his ribs into your skin.

"Okay, okay, you won't fuck me today, but maybe to-marrow?" His smile was wide and jagged but it was nice to see it again.

"Have you been saving these up?" you asked around your laughter. "Have you been a massive fucking dork this entire time?"

He was grinning down at you and you were resting against the wide expanse of his chest when your souls began to glow. It was dim in the harsh sunlight, but it was there, and you quickly stepped back and he released your arm like it had burned him.

"Sorry," you offered, your smile turning sheepish. His phalanges rubbed the back of his skull.

"Don't worry 'bout it, sweetheart," he said, his voice low, his cheekbones dusting with crimson. "C'mon. Let's go let fish face know we'll satisfy her curiosity."

He held the door open for you and you curtsied and called him a gentlemen until he was pushing you further into the building, grumbling about how he should've kept ghosting you, your mean cackles echoing through the hall.

When you and Red were finally escorted out by Undyne, you noticed the familiar face of Nurse Lisa Shaw sitting across from Kowalska. Your eyes narrowed. Pretending to have left your phone on his desk, you pushed through the maze of desks and officers until you sleight-of-handed your phone under an innocuous paper.

"Sorry, LT, left this here," you smiled, turning to act surprised to see Lisa. She was dressed three decades too late and a season too cold, with a peacock patterned sweater drawn around her tightly. "Nurse Shaw! What're you doing here?"

"She is giving an eyewitness testimony," Kowalska said, the warning clear in his voice and eyes. Lisa nodded sadly.

"I saw Mr. Hayes the night of the murder," she explained, despite Kowalska's sharp glare urging her to shut up. "I wanted to come forward."

"And she'll be taken care of by the officers here," Kowalska said, clearly not going to continue his questioning with you here. You glanced back at Nurse Shaw, and she didn’t meet your eyes. You turned to leave, something not sitting right in your head, and nodded for Red to follow.

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That evening, after texting Declan and asking him to get another meeting with Clara, you and Red met at your apartment, and despite the inappropriate thoughts worming into your brain - him bending you over your kitchen island, phalanges in your hair, snarling and grunting encouragement - it was more comfortable than you thought it would be to have him here.

"So, you and the Polo shirt?" Red asked, trying too hard to appear casual as he teleported the both of you to Clara's estate. You gave him a mean smile that he returned with a frown of his own as the rush of his magic faded from you, your boots landing on the paved driveway before the manor gates.

"Are you jealous?" you asked, and he rolled his eyelights and shoved at your shoulder.

"Not a chance," he grumbled, but you knew how to read body language, and you knew he was lying.

"And here I thought you'd been neck deep in pussy these last few months," you shrugged. The city stretched out below you, shadowed as the setting sun dipped behind Mt. Ebbott. When he didn't answer, you glanced his way and found him staring down at you, his expression unreadable. "What?"

"Nah, I… nah," was all he said. That surprised you. Not enough to admit that you hadn't slept with anyone, either, because that felt too much like a confession. Before you could say anything, you recognized Declan's clean, sensible car as it turned into the driveway, and you went to meet him, Red a snarling shadow at your back.

Once inside the manor, Declan (who hadn't asked about Red, just offered to shake his hand with a polite smile) disappeared upstairs into Clara's room while Nurse Lisa Shaw instructed you and Red to sit at the kitchen island. When Declan next emerged, he told you that you both had free reign of the house.

"So what are we lookin' for here?" Red muttered to you as you ascended the stairs.

"Anything that might prove some kind of motive. Letters, a laptop, checkbooks, anything like that," you replied, picking a random guest room to start. "They have a few staff members here, so I'm gonna try to find their rooms."

Red followed you in, watching you begin to pick everything apart: bookshelves, dressers, desks, the bed sheets, anything. "How did you know Fruque, anyway?"

"We used to be neighbors in the Underground. Plus, his books were good," Red shrugged, pinching the pillowcase and lifting despite not actually looking for anything. You shot him a disbelieving look over your shoulder.

"I didn't know you could read," you said. You dodged the pillow aimed at your head. "You're destroying potential evidence!"

"Suck my dick," he flipped you off. You returned the favor.

The first guest room didn't have anything interesting, so you meandered past the master bedroom - where you heard Declan muttering prayers with Clara - towards the open door at the opposite end of the hall. You toed it open further.

"Oh, Nurse Shaw," you apologized, finding the old woman in the middle of stuffing clothes into a luggage bag. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were here."

"That's quite alright, detective," she smiled, though it was short. You stepped further into the room, Red propping up in the doorway, an imposing figure as always.

"You leavin'?" Red asked behind you, his voice a deep, rough baritone on the back of your neck.

"I am. With Mrs. Clara's son coming to care for her, my services are no longer needed," Nurse Lisa said, continuing to pack.

"If you'd seen Harper Hayes stab Fruque, why didn't you come forward sooner?" you asked. You knew that was rude, but you had to know, and judging by how her spine straightened and her eyes left yours to focus on her packing, you knew you'd struck some kind of nerve.

"I couldn't be sure it was the boy, and I didn't want to come forward unless I was positive," she offered, her tone curt. "Now, if you'll excuse me, detective, I must continue. My plane leaves tonight."

Unsatisfied but knowing your limits, you tapped Red's sternum, and you both exited. The rest of the house turned up very little, and after an hour, Red was itching for a smoke and you needed some fresh air.

"Shaw knows something," you posited as you stepped into the well-maintained gardens. "And whatever she knows, she didn't tell the cops."

"It was probably her that stabbed the old man," Red chuckled. "Ain't that how it goes? If it ain't the wife, it's the maid?"

You rolled your eyes, even though he technically wasn't far off. A telescope sat in the corner of the yard, tucked under a tall tree nestled between immaculate flowerbeds. Curious, you walked over and bent down to the eyepiece. The telescope was trained on Fruque's boat.

You frowned, glancing up at the master bedroom window.

A curtain in another room fluttered closed.

Chapter Text

The night air was cool next to the water, and for a moment, you simply stared out over the horizon, into the darkness of the depths and sky. You took a deep breath, allowing the sea salt and sand to settle into your lungs. Maggie had been begging you to come with her and her family all summer. Maybe you should.

Red's bitching about sand in his shoes brought you back into reality.

You hadn't told Declan you were going to break into Fruque's private boat when you'd seen him off: you didn't want to weigh on his morals any more, especially not with him looking the most rested you'd ever seen him. He even pulled you into a quick hug before he settled behind the wheel, thankfully not noticing the crimson smoke pouring from Red's left socket when you turned around.

The wet wood of the dock met your boots as you ascended behind Red. The boat still sat docked on the far end of the beach, bobbing ominously in the black waves below, and you winced as you stepped over a suspicious lack of moss where Fruque's remains had been. Red climbed onto the boat first, pausing only to hold out his hand, helping you on board with no comment.

You were reliant on Red for his night vision here: if someone in the house was watching the boat, then you couldn't risk having a light on. You fisted the back of his black, fur-lined hoodie as he led you inside the main deck.

"Careful," he muttered. You felt his hand tighten around your elbow. "It's a fuckin' mess in here."

Your eyes hadn't quite adjusted yet, and you immediately drove your shin into something hard. Red's grip on your elbow tightened. Something rattled against the toe of your boots.

"What're we seeing, big man?" you asked through gritted teeth, rubbing your bare shin.

"Ah, well, all the shit to run the boat at the front. A bed in the back, sheets all fucked up. Looks like there was a bar, but a bunch of the shit is on the floor. Fishin' shit, too," he explained. You watched his eyelights scan the room, dim in the pitch blackness of the cabin.

You moved to his side in a shuffle, trying not to knock into anything else. His eyelights settled on your face in the darkness - you kept repeating his name and his eyelights never left yours, tender and vulnerable as your name spilled from his teeth and your fingers curled around his ribs and everything felt good - and you had to look away before he knew your filthy memories. Fuck, you wished you could have a light in here.

As you took another tentative step forward, your boot crunched something fragile, something that sounded like glass. Red approached you, and his eyelights went wide as he kneeled next to your legs, brushing away the broken vase shards and askew books.

"I'll be damned," he whispered, cradling a pathetic, ripped up plant in his phalanges. "It's an echo flower."

"A what?" you asked, but Red was shushing you and pulling several other large, blue flowers from underneath the debris. His eyelights shone brighter, and the edge of your thigh that rested against his shoulder tingled at the magic he released.

The sounds of graphic sex filled the cabin. Your eyebrows shot up and you went to speak, but he shot you with another pointed glare, and you shut up. He placed the flower in his hands to the ground and picked up another.

"...can't… something like this…" whispered from the petals. You leaned over his shoulder. You'd never seen something like this before. "If you… the media will tear… divorce…"

Whose voice was that? The flower, as damaged as it was, was struggling to speak, and Red was having to pump more magic into it to get it to function. Another voice sounded from the plant, a deep one, one that Red recognized if his raised browbones were anything to go by.

"Can you do anything to fix this one?" you whispered beside his skull.

"I can try," he whispered back. Dark red smoke began wafting from his eyesockets. Your inhale was sharp and surprised: with him so close to your waist, that jolt of magic shot straight through your core.

"You can't do it. Do you know what something like this would do to your career? She'd get half of your fortune!" The sounds of shuffling sheets. "If you do this, the media will tear you apart. Do you know how bad a divorce like that would be?"

"I don't care, Lisa. I thought you'd be happy about this! I'm doing this so we can be together!" That deep voice again, one you realized must belong to Fruque, sounded hurt and angry. You stared, slack jawed. Fruque and Nurse Lisa Shaw were having an affair?

The next flower screamed, deep and horrified.

You grabbed Red's jacket and yanked him up, sprinting as fast as you could for the dock.

"Jesus, wait!" Red barked, and you looked up from the boat to see him already standing on the dock, waiting to help you down.

"Have you ever been to the airport?" you asked as you thudded to the wooden planks. Red grunted in the negative and you swore, grabbing the front of his jacket.

"My apartment. I need my car, and we need to get to the airport. Lisa said her flight left tonight. Fuck, let me call Declan," you rushed, yanking out your phone and calling the priest. "Call Undyne, tell her to get Kowalska. Lisa is getting on a plane tonight."

"Got it. Hold on," Red grunted and tugged you into his chest, his phone already to his head. A jolt of magic and you were standing in your apartment. C'mon, Declan, pick up. You grabbed your car keys from your kitchen counter, double checked your pistol, and finally, the line clicked.

"Hello?" Declan grumbled, clearly just waking up.

"Declan! Okay, listen to me. It was Lisa that confessed, wasn't it? Fruque and Lisa were having an affair and when Fruque wanted to divorce his wife, Lisa panicked and killed him. Right?"

A pause. Then Declan's unsure voice said, "You know I can't -"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the seal, I get it. If it was Lisa, then I need you to call Clara and make sure she's okay, and ask if she knew where Lisa was going, what time, anything about the flight," you rushed, moving away from Red so his hurried conversation with Undyne wouldn't overlap with yours. You heard Declan pause again.

"Lisa left?" he asked, and you knew you were right.

"She's in the process of leaving. If we're fast and you help us out, she won't get outta the city." You heard Declan moving, likely getting out of bed, and then the sounds of drawers being opened.

"I'll do what I can, detective," he promised, and you hung up. Red was watching you pace, waiting for you to hang up, his expression unreadable. You nodded, and the two of you took off for your car.

New Ebbott was huge, and the drive to the airport would last a while, meaning that Red was once again trapped in your passenger seat, looking cramped and moody under the stoplight's glow.

"So… it's been a few months," you began, and Red huffed, pining you with an unamused look.

"Don't tell me we're reduced to small talk, sweetheart," he groaned.

"Well, fuck, Red, it's been a minute," you said, defensive, realizing too late that you'd let too much emotion into your voice, dangerously close to showing how hurt you'd actually been. "Would you rather we pretend you didn't actively avoid me for two months?"

He opened his jaw to say something, then closed it with a snap. He took a breath, turning his attention back out to the city racing past his window. "I wasn't… I wasn't avoidin' ya. I mean, I was, but…" Another heavy sigh that bordered on a grumble, then, "I was tryin' to sever the soul bond."

You stared at him. Your next breath was shallow.

"Am I that bad of an option?" you asked and hated how small, how hurt you sounded. Tears threatened to well in your eyes: you refocused on the road to hide it. You saw the glow of his eyelights on your face, reflecting on the back of your hands.

"I am. I didn't want you stuck with a bastard like me."

You shot him a surprised, heartbroken look, and he didn't look away: sincerity was written clearly in his marrow, his eyelights, the down turned edges of his mouth. You didn't know what to say, how to word your apologies, your disagreements, and minutes passed in sad silence.

"But it didn't work. Nothin' worked. I don't… look, sweetheart, I gave up on soulmates a long time ago. Where I'm from, having love meant having a weakness that others could exploit, could take or kill or…" he was snarling out the window: you could see his golden fang glittering under passing streetlights, his eyelights shining against the window. "So I tried to sever it. Thought if I was a big enough asshole, that it'd break."

"But it didn't, though, did it?" You kept your eyes on the road, passing and speeding up where you could. Red's heavy sigh steamed the windshield.

"No. It didn't. When I saw you with Polo Shirt, I was so fuckin' mad. Instinctually, instantly, and I couldn't fuckin'... It drove me fuckin' crazy," he snarled, his fist tightening on his thigh. Magic began to fill your car, you could feel it raise the hair on your arms and sweeten your breaths. "That's when I knew that it hadn't worked, but by then… I'd already been a dickhead, y'know? Figured it was too late, either way."

"So you should've told me," you interjected softly. "It wasn't fair to keep me in the dark."

"I know. An' I'm sorry," Red turned to look at you. The glow of his eyelights covered your bare shoulder.

"I'm sorry. Not for being mad, but that your life has been so unforgiving," you frowned, brows knitted, as you pulled onto the exit for the airport. You saw him shrug out of the corner of your eye. It wasn't until you were parking that he forced an easy smile back onto his face.

"Polo Shirt better treat ya right, or I'll break his spine," he said, pretending to be nonchalant about it. You couldn't help yourself: you burst out laughing.

"Red, Declan is a priest," you grinned at him. Several emotions washed over his skull - realization, hope, embarrassment - and then you were stepping out of the car and he was rushing to follow you into the airport.

You needed to wait for the cops, but you had to keep Lisa from boarding. You began to jog through the lobbies, earning weird looks from tired strangers, and you only stopped when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Flight 163 to Detroit is all Declan's text read. You hurried to a screen, scanning for the flight, shoving the text into Red's face before he could ask, and began sprinting through the airport. Red was tight to your back, his jacket heavy beside you as he ran, and behind you, you heard the sounds of commotion that could only be the NEPD.

The terminal quickly approached. You saw Lisa Shaw's tight bun in line to board.

"Lisa Shaw!" you yelled, and she whipped around to face you. Predictably, she began shoving ahead in line, scrambling to get her pass scanned. Red stopped running long enough to throw his hand out: Shaw's body went rigid, her veins glowing crimson, and as Red turned his fingers, you saw her soul brought to the surface, trapped with his magic.

The commotion behind you had been Undyne and Kowalska.

And things were over quickly.

Chapter Text

The air was cool next to the water, and for a moment, you simply stared out over the horizon, into the warm blue of the depths and sky. You took a deep breath, allowing the sea salt and sand to settle into your lungs. Maggie had been begging you to come with her and her family all summer. And you finally had.

You weren't aware that Maggie's family now included Papyrus and everyone that had ever associated with him.

You were sat underneath a large umbrella, watching Undyne tear across the sands after a beachball, her small, yellow girlfriend flung over her shoulder holding on for dear life. Papyrus was holding Maggie's hand as he tried to overcome his fear of the ocean; he'd paused momentarily only to assure himself that he was great and strong. Several white dogs, their teeth wicked and sharp, chased after a frisbee thrown by Maggie's niece.

This was nice. You felt calm, at peace, for the first time in a long time. When was the last time you'd relaxed? You buried your hands into the warm sands and grounded yourself.

A heavy sigh and thump, and you opened one eye to see Red flopped to his back beside you, one knee hiked up, his black swim trunks trailing down his femur. He gave you a mischievous smile as he handed over a red snow cone.

"Don't say I never get ya nothin'," he grunted, and you were merciful, not teasing him about the blush spreading across his cheekbones.

"Careful, big man, I might start thinking you really do care," you smiled, taking his offering. He grumbled and rolled his eyelights, flopping back to the pale sands. You watched it pool under his bare ribcage. For a moment, you both simply sat and felt the breeze wash over you, let the shaved ice stain your tongue red, took in the squeals of laughter and gulls and far away boats.

"So… you an' Polo Shirt really aren't, uh…" Red began, then stopped, swallowed his words.

"No, Sans, Declan's only getting his dick wet with the Holy Spirit," you replied, lulling your head on your shoulder to peer down at him. Sunlight highlighted just how many scars he had. Red nodded, not looking at you, eyelights shut.

"So… does that mean that you're… y'know. Available?" God, he was struggling. Still refusing to look at you, hands folded under his skull to keep his anxious finger bones still. You couldn't help but smirk meanly.

"Are you asking me out? On a date? The Red Menace?" you gushed, folding your hands over your chest in mock reverence. "Golly, I would be honored! We could go to a drive-in and get a milkshake and share the straw, if we’re really feeling singul!"

Crimson wildfire embarrassment spread over his skull and he made to stand, and you cackled and grabbed his forearm, keeping him planted in the sand. He flung his arm over your neck and messed up your hair - such an older brother thing to do - and you retaliated by tickling the rib that was squishing into your nose.

A squabble broke out between the two of you, flinging sand and snapping swimsuit bands and teasing pokes and pinches until a clear victor was determined: Red smirking smugly down at you, his wide marrow hips sat on your thighs, your hands pinned under his phalanges.

"Fuck you! That's not fair, you have like a hundred pounds over me!" you laughed, trying and failing to squirm free. Red winked down at you.

"Don't pick fights you can't win, then, sweetheart," he grinned meanly, golden fang glinting in the summer sun. Your spine grew cool pressed into the sand, cushioning your head (filling your hair with fucking sand, shit) and as you shifted beneath him, you could pinpoint the moment your playful wrestling match turned not so playful.

You attempted to shift your weight - grab his wrist, bring a knee up, break the hold - and instead succeeded only in grinding his pelvis against your thighs. Covered only in a bikini, the pressure made you gasp, and you saw his eyelights flare in his sockets: momentary surprise replaced immediately by a familiar blurry crimson. A heartbeat of unsure stillness. Your next exhale was shaky.

“Sans,” you whispered, and his name made him press his weight in more, bringing his face closer to yours. He smelled like campfire.

A beach ball slammed into the back of his skull, and you jerked your head to the side to avoid getting headbutted. He snarled and spat out sand, shooting to his feet, smoke roiling from his socket.

“Get a room, you fucking dorks!” Undyne hollered from further down the beach, scales glistening in salt water.

You laughed, hot and embarrassed, as Red blinked to her side, tackling her into the ocean. A massive throwdown splashed water far onto the beach, and you were pretty sure you saw a few crimson bones and spears flash into the midday sky. Eventually, Papyrus and Alphys had to yank them apart, the two fighters hurling wild, grinning insults at each other the entire time.

That night, Red offered to take you home, and since you’d ridden with Maggie’s family, you were thankful for the shortcut. Without you needing to say anything, Red dropped to your couch and waited for you to shower, smacking your ass as you made for your bathroom.

Clean, teeth brushed, and dry, you didn’t even bother with finding pajamas. You tugged his oversized black hoodie from your closet and donned nothing else.

“So, are you… y'know. Available?” you teased, propped against your hallway threshold, relishing the searing look he gave you from the couch. You blinked and he was before you, crowding you into your wall, wrapping long, strong phalanges around your wrists, pinning you.

“For all your little stabs at me, you never told me I was wrong,” he said against your shoulder, his femur parting your thighs, pressing into you, drawing out an involuntary gasp. “Never said you didn’t want this, either.” His wide, thick thigh hit your core (embarrassingly already wet) and you choked on your reply. “I think you missed me just as much as I missed you.”

“Nuh-uh,” you whimpered. He laughed and you felt the press of shark’s teeth against your neck. His fist wound into your hair, pulling you from his collar, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

“You look me in my fuckin’ eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

You could do nothing but try to breathe, your body betraying you: you writhed against him, your hips trying to find traction against his femur, your nipples hard beneath the soft cotton of his hoodie. And he wasn’t stupid.

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart,” he chuckled, closing in around you and hoisting you up. You protested weakly but wrapped your legs around his spine, allowing him to kick open the bedroom door and deposit you ungracefully to your bed. “Bend over.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mewled, compelled to follow the command in his tone, staring with open rapture as he pulled his jacket over his head. He kneeled to the floor and, with a harsher grip than you were used to, tugged your knees to the edge of the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” he grunted, and you did. His chuckle was deep, thunderous, smug and fiery as he ran a phalange up your center, drawing wetness with him. “Fuck, I missed this pussy.” His tongue ran hot against your clit, and you jumped, his ambient magic shooting straight through you, a languid burn in your veins. His fingers dug into your thighs, keeping them spread wide, allowing him deep within you.

No matter your bluster and your toothless snark, you really fucking missed this. You had no idea if sex was so good because of the magic or the soulmate thing or simply because he was good in bed, but Red knew how to eat pussy like a champion, and he was not holding back tonight. His harsh passes over your clit were punctuated with deep, growling groans and hissed curses. His plunges into you shot magic through your stomach like whiskey.

“Hey, you hear me?” he snarled into you (not your fault he was talking into your pussy, the stupid fucker), and when he pinched hard at your clit, you yelped and lowered you head to the mattress, glaring at him from underneath your splayed body. He was shining in the light that streamed through your windows, face wet from you. You gave him a questioning almost-glare until he repeated, “You’re gonna come for me at least twice before I fuck you, yeah?”

You laughed, breathy and blooming, until his tongue split you again and stole your laughter. “Don’t you laugh at me. ‘m fuckin’ serious. Gimme your hand.” You did as he asked, dropping to one shoulder and threading your arm down your body. You couldn’t stop your moan as he placed his hard and smooth as marble cock in your palm. “You feel how fuckin’ crazy I am for you? I’m not fuckin’ around. Gonna make sure you never forget; no one fucks you as good as I do.”

With no more ceremony, he situated your fingers over your clit and licked, a heady feeling as his magic teased at the bones in your hand. What the fuck was with him tonight?

Red was salacious: with you now in command of your clit, you knew just how to touch yourself for fast release, and Red’s thick, probing tongue filled you so good, and his fingerbones petted the backs of your thighs and your ass and he reached up to pinch hard at your nipples and fuck, there was no way you were going to last.

“Good girl, there you go, sweetheart,” he purred after your first orgasm, not relenting, not giving you time to breathe or stop squirming, constant in his ministrations until you were unraveling again. “God, I fucking love it when you shake like that, fuck. God damn, you’re so beautiful.”

You couldn’t hold up your own weight anymore. You collapsed limply to the bed, your thighs trembling and wet, and Red granted you only a moment of reprieve before he was flipping you over by your hips. His eyelights were so wide, his smile feral and glinting gold, as he stepped out of his shorts.

“Jesus fucking Christ, look at you. Easy,” his soft laugh was a balm on your sweat slick face, his thumb gentle as he brushed away the hair plastered to your forehead, “I got you.”

You captured his thumb in your mouth and sucked and twirled the bone around your tongue. He cursed and rocked his hips forward, free hand digging hard into your thighs.

He coated his cock with the wetness of you, dragging it languidly through your folds once, twice, then slowly pushing in, stretching, filling, until his pelvis sat flush with the backs of your thighs. His skull rolled back, his eyelights shutting, his snarl almost primal. “God, soulmate pussy is unbeatable.”

“I think… it’s supposed to be,” you offered, the only coherent thought you could manage, and he returned your blissful smile, crimson washing over your body as he watched you. He rolled his hips back, then forward, back a bit faster, forward hard, and any banter you might’ve had was lost.

His right arm gathered your legs and brought them to his chest. His speed increased, and the brief moment of ease you’d had was gone: he fucked like he had something to prove, like he’d never see you again, like he was starving.

You reached for his hand and he gave it to you. You threaded his phalanges with yours, an anchor, tethering you to the idea that this wasn’t temporary anymore, that this was more than just good sex. You came again on that thought.

“There you go, fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, yes, holy fuck, you’re so good at taking my cock,” all through gritted teeth, pulled back in a snarl. “Pretty girl, my girl. My girl. My good girl, god, I fucking love you, fuck-”

His rhythm stuttered. Your eyes flew open, gawking, his crimson eyelights shrinking into pinpricks.

“Did you…?” you asked, voice trembling and hoarse. That was… unexpected. You felt him go incorporeal inside you. His eyelights flitted over your face like a cornered mouse, breaking its own ribs trying to escape. You propped up to your elbows, squeezing at his hand in yours. “Hey, we’re good, Red.”

“I’m - fuck, I’m sorry, I… dunno why I…” he fumbled over thick words. You tugged on his hand until he relented and dropped to his hands above you. The closeness made him frown, and you cupped his face with your hands.

“Red, we’re good,” you repeated with a smile. “Were you, uh… planning on saying that there?”

“Nah, not, uh, not really,” he scowled.

“Okay, so, I’ll just pretend that sentance was ‘I fucking love your tits’ and you can have a redo of that confession,” you grinned, stroking your thumbs across his cheekbones. He seemed to think it over, weigh his options, drop his forehead to yours and close his eyelights. His exhale released a lot of tension.

“We’re good?”

“We’re good, Sans,” you promised.

“Good. Cuz I really do love your tits,” he grinned, a little less wildly, as he cupped your breasts. You laughed, allowed him the easy escape, gasped as his still hard cock grazed up your thigh once again. You didn’t bring up the slip, the mistake, but you held it tight to your chest, next to your heart and your soul: the same soul that was bonded to him, that glowed golden in the dark.

Maybe… love was a little early for you. In retrospect, you hadn’t known each other that long: in total, less than four months, if you trusted your math skills while he was getting comfortable inside you again. Love had never been something you’d allowed yourself, not really, not like this. Not a love that could keep up with your job, keep up with your commitments, keep up with, just, you, in general.

And maybe Red had been kind of a shit head. But he’d apologized, and he’d worked to repair what had been chipped and tarnished, and he stayed. And there was no denying how well you worked together, how well you bounced off each other, how much you liked him, missed him when he was gone.

“Sa-ah! Fuck! Please,” you couldn’t think about it anymore, not now, not when you were so fucking close and he was getting frantic with his pace, the backs of your thighs starting to hurt from his hard pelvis slamming into you so roughly. You reached for him again, pulling him down closer, letting him bury his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms around his chest and gripped into his ribs: he shivered at the penetration, and you kept keening into his collarbone how good he made you feel, how close you were, and as he lost his ability to form words, you snapped, a too-taught coil.

You forced your eyes open this time, determined to see the moment of ignition as both of your souls burned together. Gold and crimson cascading. You wondered if you could physically touch that white heart in his ribs.

Slowly, he pulled from you. You huffed at the emptiness, quickly pulled into his sternum as he dropped to the bed beside you.

“If you pull out another cigarette, I’m gonna leave,” you warned, any threat diminished greatly by how hard you were breathing. His barked laugh echoed against your neck and shoulder.

“This is your fuckin’ apartment,” he pointed out, his voice shredded and thick with pleasure.

“Yeah, I said what I said, I dunno what you can keep in that little dick pocket dimension,” you smiled at your ceiling.

A comfortable quiet settled over the room. New Ebbott glowed like fireflies outside, full of far away traffic and noise that turned your bedroom dull orange.

"Am I sleepin' here?" Red mumbled into your shoulder.

"Sure. You monsters are notoriously scrappy at night, can't have you getting into a brawl without me." You shrugged like it was obvious, like there was no universe where he could've just called a cab or teleported, and he let you have it.

"Can't have that," he yawned and yanked your blankets up, and neither of you commented on how easily you fell asleep together.

The next day, you flopped to your office chair and hit play on the ancient answering machine - something Maggie had insisted made you more professional - and let the three awaiting messages play.

“Good morning, detective, this is Declan. I just wanted to thank you for all your help. I know the situation was unorthodox, but your professionalism and knowledge was invaluable. I just wanted to thank you. God bless.” Click.

"The fuck did Polo Shirt want?" Red grumbled as he pushed into your office behind you, a box of donuts in his phalanges. You couldn't help but laugh at his sour tone.

"Thanking us for a job well done, shit head," you answered and plucked a donut from the box.

"This is an apology call from your insurance provider-” Click. Delete.

Red dropped his boney ass to the edge of your desk, tearing apart a donut with his predator's teeth. He smelled like a campfire. With his free hand, he reached and ran a finger bone across your shoulder, seemingly lost in thought. You didn't comment on the softness of his expression.

Things were being taken slow. Red hadn't redone his spur of the moment love confession, and you weren't pushing him to. But so far, being his Soulmate meant that he was already awake this morning, a phalange curled in your hair, his expression thoughtful. You'd kissed the corner of his teeth, which had quickly devolved into a morning quickie that ended up not so quick.

He'd asked to buy you breakfast. You'd asked if he'd want to tag along with you today.

Love hadn't been spoken. Maybe it didn't need to be, not yet.

“Hello? Uh, my name is Onew, and I was looking to hire you. I've heard that you work with monsters, and, uhm, if that's true, then I'd… like to hire you, shit, I already said that. Just call me back if… if you work with monsters. Thanks. Uh. Bye.”

Click.

No new messages.