A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys! I had to write for another scene in this book, thinking I would just write the rough plot outline and forget about it. Well, one thing led to another, and boom. The entire scene's written. I'll try not to diffuse my writing energy for so much next time. Without further ado, let's get into this chapter.

...

Xenophobia was the first word that popped into Lancer's mind. It was like the ace of spades that he was constantly. Ostentatious. Uncalled- for. Perhaps it stayed inside the confines of his mind, but he wasn't quite sure about that. Neither was he sure where it filtered from. Perhaps his father, or perhaps his subjects. Cumbustioni, as the Church and Rouxls had taught him once on one Sunday or another.

For the first time in his twelve years, the palace seemed to hold its breath. It was always moving, always changing, always bulging and imploding, imploding and bulging again. But now, it was as if it was any other part of the kingdom: completely still, completely silent. It was what Lancer came in quest of whenever he darted out on Steed.

The man- child- whatever creature smiled, stepping forward with his left foot and pretending to roar. A few, genuinely frightened, ran back to the castle.

Lancer guessed that Xenophobia had popped into the man-child's mind, too, as well as the people who were now gawking at him.

"Alright, alright!" Lancer shouted, clapping his hands together. People started to already dart away as if they had ESP. His father hated him for doing that, even if he turned out to be in the right in the end. "You heard him! Nothing to see! He needs space, c'mon, c'mon…" The cloud dissipated like a bubble once popped, each going back to the daily races to line up at the starting line again. Lancer could practically feel the sigh of relief that came from the child-man. A quick glance to the castle, as quick as a glance behind him whenever he was on Steed, and the questions barrelled out of his mouth, not stopping.

"Hey, you sure you're alright? Are you, erm, bruised anywhere? Does it hurt anywhere? That must have been a long fall, man…Deus, miserere mei.. Are you sure you don't have any broken… bones… or…"

His speech died, an engine sputtering down, as the man-child used his eye as a flashlight, their two hoodies twain, one and the same. Lancer couldn't help but stare at every move the man-child made, his skeleton the only part of his body, deftness at every movement necessary.

The man-child didn't waste any of his time. "Yeah, I'm fine. Name's Sans."

"Sahn what?"

"Sans Gaster. Like 'ants', not 'lawn'. That last name means stomach, but, heh, better than nothing, ain't it?"

"So you don't have a stomach, Sahn?" Lancer almost felt like covering his mouth. He didn't mean to pronounce it that way.

"Whaddya think?" He stretched out his body, a little rattling sound added for good measure.

Lancer laughed, a laugh he hated to hear but loved to use. "Sorry. I come from French blood and all. So I'll probably pronounce your name wrong, too. But I do know how to speak it! Wanna hear some? When you're stuck in a castle, you learn all sorts of things!"

"Things like what?" He didn't backtrack like most people did when they learned Lancer was of royalty.

He fiddled nervously with his jacket. "Things… like…." His face lit up like one of the stars hanging over the both of them. And then his hand moved in suit, pointed to the stars. Tenuous sentinels they were, tangles of light and shadow. "Like the Upper World! The place that people came from when they fell down here. It's supposed to be a whole lot brighter, brighter than the stars, too!"

"The Upper World? Nope. Never heard of it. Unless it was written somewhere earlier in this thing- shit."

Lancer covered his ears. Winced his eyes shut. Stuck out his tongue.

"Oop, I'm sorry. Tend to do that sometimes. What're you, ten? Eleven?"

"Twelve." He disarmed his ears, flopped his hands back at his sides.

There were stirrings coming from the windows behind him. Maybe it was just a decent handful of people with brooms, ready to clean out the mess.

Lancer turned to Sans, plastered a smile on his face, tried to be polite the way Rouxls had spent weeks and weeks teaching him in that same library when he was six. "Erm, Sahn, do you mind doing the… you know, the…" Lancer snapped once, twice, flapped towards his eye, made a pinging noise.

"Oh, sure. Not the first time I've been used as a flashlight."

If the two boys were trying to be subtle, they completely failed. As soon as the others saw the blue light, they were immediately blinded by the skeleton- man- child- thing's eye, screaming, yelping, covering their eyes, doing whatever they could to pass by.

Gosh, this dude is so weird…

"Ah, shhhh-"

Lancer smiled, the edges crinkling like a devil's henchmen would.

"-ooooooot. You see anything weird while it was glowin' there?"

"Yeah, I saw someone. I think it was-"

There was no color to drain from Lancer's face, so all the light drained instead. He rushed towards Steed, greeted by Sans' own weirded- out face. "Um….." Sweat poured down his face, the air tasted sour. It couldn't be him. Not with that crown, that black cape, looking just like him, a whole tail sticking out of him, the one who had created him, the one who a small, small part of Lancer admitted should be doing something… more… Besides, Lancer didn't know whether or not Sans was a Lightner, and as he learned from what was now a permanent scar on his lower back, if they're not a Darkner, without a doubt, they're most definitely a Lightner.

The words came, erratic and damaged as they were. "You need a place to stay, don'tcha? So let's just… ride into town! Now. Please."

The tail swished towards the ground, stopped, the air stopping in Lancer's lungs. All of the words Lancer was trying to promulgate stopped in his head, banged around the edges, screamed to be let free. But he couldn't. Not now. Not while he was still-

The bike creaked, the lightest of hands resting on Lancer's shoulders, and without another thought, he sped off at forty-five miles an hour, only slowing down to forty when the hands started to slip every now and then. As he rode out of the town, the tail whipped, perplexed, confused… and then the King of Chaos himself, Le Roi du Chaos, tromped back to the castle.

This was the only time that Lancer felt normal, but it was a certain type of normal he loved the taste, smell, aura of. The inner areas of the duchy were alit with the fires of independence, rock music blaring out of Lancer's speakers as a message proclaimed to the entire town. The street lights helped him to turn off his headlights, but the people, free and wanton as they were, convinced him to keep them on. The streets were paved, scuffed up with tire paint of skids and reverses. If Lancer could sneak up on the people in the town, could manage to see them without them noticing he was the Prince and putting a mask on their normal habits, he could see them. See them with his mind's eye, see them with his body's eye. He could see the way they laughed, see the way they weren't afraid to vape when their jobs were on their break. He could see the way they made cards of their own, made a sport out of it, traded money and a little dignity for it. He could see the way they looked at beauty, lusted for beauty in the music and art they created each day. He saw light, independent and free light.

His only nitpick was they thought they were oppressed.

Before the two of them knew it, the hotel to the right said hello. There was a parking lot in the back, but who needed that? The cars could speed right on by if he pulled to the right hard enough.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll be fine here."

"This is the only hotel I know, Sahn. Sorry! If I see anything better, I'll tell ya if I have the time!"

"Hey, thanks."

Lancer moved back to his bike, a particularly devilish pickup truck speeding through at sixty miles an hour, hydroplaning, the water stinging the concealer off of Lancer's face. Any moment now, the bruises would stop masking themselves, announce themselves as they were. The water dripped off of his face. As if he were weeping, which he was perniciously close to doing, he hung his head low, made his way back to his bike.

"Oh, by the way-"

Lancer stopped trying to pull the dirt bike to start.

"I never got your name."

Lancer did the best he could, tilting his face towards his bike a little. "Lancer. But don't pronounce it like 'lawn sair', like I just did. I just did it because mon cul Français can't pronounce it any other way. Americanize it like this: 'Lan' like in 'ant', the second part like 'sir'."

"Cool. And believe it or not, I don't think I properly introduced myself."

"Oh, yeah?" Lancer was heaving every effort to start up his dirt bike now, resorting to pouring some extra fuel on it, closing his eyes in defeat when a handful spilled on his trousers. He wouldn't be able to outlive that now.

"I guess you could say that I'm the son of God. At least on this world."

Lancer stopped pouring, took the effort to look at him, to watch him look back, as if they were both playing chicken with each other's gazes. Underneath Lancer, the bike started, and without another word, Lancer darted back to his castle, almost eager to go back.

Man. This guy just keeps on getting weirder and weirder.