It wouldn't be a good old country story without a hoedown!


There's the smell of more rain in the air and the static of a storm approaching, and you breathe in the humid air as you try to wrestle the huge barrel of cider off the back of your truck. There's laughter and music echoing from the barn you all gather in once a year to celebrate the harvest, and trucks line the field outside in crooked rows. Your cowboy boots sink into the mud and you're hit by a wave of dismay at the feeling, knowing you'll have to scrub them clean that night when the party is over.

The barrel topples the other way and you shriek as you scramble to keep a hold of it, your heart tipping in terror at disaster that is about to happen, but it stabilises just in time as two familiar hands grip the other side. "I've got you!" Papyrus says cheerfully, helping you lower the heavy item into the cart you placed underneath. His sunny smile contrasts with the grey, overcast sky of the afternoon, and you can't help but match it, eyes traveling up and down his lanky body.

He's dressed fabulously for the evening, bright red fringed shirt with equally bright blue cacti splashed across it, as well as smart red trousers and shiny cowboy boots. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, like Marty McFly as Clint Eastwood, but on Papyrus the garish colours are perfect. Maybe you're just biased.

"Thanks, Papyrus!" you shake his hand firmly in greeting, reluctant to let go once you have it. "You look amazing, by the way."

"I do, don't I?" He strikes a pose while still gripping your hand, and you giggle at his peacocking, cheeks warm. "You look very pretty too! Like a film star!"

"I'm actually channeling one, you know. Dale Evans, western actress from the 40s." You swish your pale pink skirt for him and toss your curled hair, grinning. Nothing you're wearing is time period accurate but it's pretty and looks the part. You spent way too long on the embroidered appliqué roses for it to go unappreciated. "I hope you brought your dancing shoes! I expect at least three dances from you!"

"Then I will give you five!" He taps his feet in his smart cowboy boots and gives you a charming grin.

"Save some for everyone else, dancing queen." Sans strolls up behind you, giving you a once over and whistling appreciatively- and inexplicably, as he doesn't have the lips to whistle with. "Well damn, girl! You trying to outshine the whole town? You look like those blown roses you sell out of every week."

You can't help how red your cheeks turn at his compliment. Pink roses are a town favourite and also one of yours. He's comparing you to a flower...

"Oh look what you've done, Sans, she's changing colour! Is that bad or good?"

Sans chuckles and rests his arm on your shoulder, although he has to reach a bit, since you're still taller than him. "I think it's good, hey, hun?" He waggles his browbones at you, grinning incorrigibly at you.

You're going to combust if you let him flirt any more, so you push him away and grab the handle of your cart to drag the barrel is cider inside. He follows, snickering while Papyrus tells him off for embarrassing you.

Inside the barn, music is pounding from the speakers and almost the whole town is milling about in delightful chaos. The band is setting up in the corner, and tables line the walls, laden with every kind of food you could possibly imagine. You tug along your cart of cider, and attempt to lift it up before a familiar blue glow surrounds it and it floats out of your hands, settling onto a space on the table. Grinning your thanks at Sans, who gives you a cheeky salute, you assemble the cups next to it and leave the cart under the table, before breaking away to mingle.

It's easy to see how diverse your little country town is when everyone is packed in like this. Most of your neighbours are human farmers, from your favourite tanned, muscled lesbians and their children to the many little Asian families whose greenhouses cover miles of land. Old men who raise cattle and their wives, dozens of children who proudly brag about their first crops to whoever will listen, teenagers who either look totally out of place, dreaming of bright lights and bustling cities, or the very picture of happy country kids in their boots and strong arms and freckled faces.

And then there are the monsters who craved a quiet country life after the busyness of the city and the orientation camps. Animal-types who grow every vegetable imaginable, some spliced with Underground plants, which creates the weirdest and wackiest produce. Whimsums whose work consist of floating around other people's farms and scaring off pests, despite their own timid nature, or some who are trying their own hands at growing things. There's a few odd ones who you haven't gotten to know yet- a talking snowflake, a tiny volcano, a jelly-like mass who wiggles to communicate. They all have their jobs, either working at the few shops in town or out on the sprawling farms.

It's fun, seeing so many different types of people. But no one fascinates you more than the skeletons. There's no way you can consider them 'bringers of death' or any such idiocy you've heard before, when they're so charming and sweet. And good-looking. You can't forget that.

Someone yells out to make room for dancing, and the floor begins to clear while hands are offered and taken. You're taking a swiftly held-out skeletal hand before you even know who it is, and Papyrus pulls you out onto the dancefloor with a wide smile. This is the Harvest Moon Ball, the best party of the year, and you're going to enjoy yourself immensely. A chord is struck up and the music is switched to the live band, and you fall into a lively dance to start the night off.


Your feet hurt after the first few dances, but there's no way you're stopping now. Papyrus is the most energetic dance partner you've ever known, and even if he's forgotten some of the steps, dancing with him is so much fun. He twirls and stomps with the best of them and a lot of the time, you end up being dipped even when there's no call for it in the dance.

After a bit of dinner and a drink of cider- where Sans is standing at the barrel and is very slowly getting himself drunk as he always does- you're approached by a few others for a dance, and you take a whirl with a farmers son who doesn't know any of the steps and spends the whole time staring at your chest. Then a Whimsum who you very happily whirl around gently in the air, and a girl with a grip of iron and wild curls, who talks to you about cacti the whole time. You like her best of the humans, but no one can grab your interest like Papyrus. He spends a few dances with some little kids, teaching them some steps, and then with a teenage girl who is very obviously trying to rebel against her parents, and when you end up in each other's arms again, you're both sighing with relief.

Eventually, after a few more dances Sans cuts in. Despite his lazy attitude, he can really cut a rug when he's had a bit to drink. He twirls you away from Papyrus and joins the lineup, a new tune starting up that has him hopping on the spot like a dashboard toy. You're already giggling, a little tipsy and hyped up and sweating like a pig, but you're having so much fun. The jaunty little song has a few racy lyrics that Sans songs along to, winking at you with the cheekiest look, and now you have both adrenaline and the flusters coursing through your veins. Step, step, twirl, step, step, clap... the music gets faster and faster and Sans keeps up, even faster than you, and pulling you along the floor as you just dissolve into merry laughter.

Thank goodness the next one is slow. The one quick song obviously took it out of your partner, and you're both very grateful to latch onto each other and do nothing more than sway. You have a chance to catch your breath and examine your crush's outfit, raising an eyebrow at the simple flannel buttoned up to his neck. There's a shiny sheriffs button pinned on and you touch it idly. "At least you kept with the western theme. Are you letting Pap take the spotlight cause you know you'll blow them all out of the water? I know you can scrub up good when you want to..."

"Ya caught me." He shrugged, leaning in as if he were telling you a secret. "Really I couldn't be bothered getting a fancy outfit tailored for my short ass. But thanks for the compliment, sweetheart."

"Heh, well. You called me a rose before. It's payback." You grin and tap the badge. "Sheriff Sans, though?"

"Hey, I'd be great law enforcement. Why, can't imagine me arresting you? I charge you with the crime of being too damn pretty." He's giving you a teasing smirk, hand firm in the small of your back and pulling you closer.

You can definitely imagine him arresting you. That's not something you need running through your head when you're pressed up against him. "No more cider for you, ya flirt," you joke, poking his chest. "Makes you way too playful for polite company."

"Then why don't we escape polite company for a minute?" Sans gestured towards the barn doors.

He's suggesting you... pair off? Go for a walk? A roll in the hay maybe? Ok, that last one was a bit too much. You take a deep breath and nod, smiling, though your cheeks are burning like anything. "Think we can see the stars?"

"If that storm hasn't come yet, maybe..." he takes your hand and leads you across the dancefloor, and out of the doors into the humid air of the night. There's already a few couples off in the distance, making use of the gazebos scattered through the fields, or gathered by their trucks. Unfortunately there are no stars to be seen except a faint smattering between a gap in the heavy clouds. Still, Sans stops and stares, still holding your hand gently in his delicate, bony one. His eyelights are luminous in his sockets, and you watch him with a pattering heart, wishing you had the courage to kiss that cheek.

"Those were the first thing I wanted to see, when we got out," he remarks, sounding distant. The window of stars disappears, and there's a feeling of static in the air, a heaviness that settles over your skin. You barely notice when you're listening to Sans. "Stars. I'd read books on 'em, studied pictures... but nothin' prepared me for the real thing. It was... magical, you know?"

"Yeah..." you hum, squeezing his hand. He turns to face you with an easy grin, though he blushes when he sees that you're still holding hands. Neither of you want to let go.

"Listen, I-" he starts, looking sheepish, but you're interrupted by a loud, long, angry grumble of thunder, and it quickly starts to rain like it's been threatening to all week. You barely manage to escape being drenched, dragging the skeleton back to the barn with you, while the people outside either get into their cars or rush inside screaming.

The music and laughter is barely interrupted for a moment, before starting back up, and you turn to Sans, patting off any stray raindrops from your clothes. "Damn, it's about time! Anyway, what were you saying?"

He shrugs, hands in his pockets now as he surveys the crowd of dancing people. "Oh, don't worry about it. Was gonna suggest we go for a walk, but I guess I kinda got washed out."

You chuckle and nod, and wander to the tables, getting another bite to eat and trying to quash the disappointment. You really thought he was going to ask you out.


The storm is still going strong when most of the town have left, and you've volunteered to help clean up. It's nearly two in the morning before the hosts send you away, and you feel like your entire body is drooping. Wrestling your now-empty barrel onto the cart, you gaze in dismay out the doors at the field of mud you'll have to wade through.

Or maybe not. A moment later, two sets of arms encircle you, and Papyrus holds an umbrella over your head with a cheery smile despite the late hour. Sans teleports you directly to your truck, and they help load it up in the pouring rain, and then insist on riding with you to your place for your safety in this wild weather. You love your friends for their selfless spirits, those sweet boys.

The radio is pretty bad thanks to the weather, but one station comes through a little less fuzzy than the rest, and singing keeps you awake as you crawl along the muddy roads towards home.

"Not everybody's gonna find clarity
In a back porch sittin' kind of therapy
With a little bit of wine, John Prine, and Camel Blues, oh no
Not everybody leaves well enough alone
Stays out of business that ain't their own
But all my favorite people do," you sing, and nudge Sans next to you, who's trying to sing along while napping on your shoulder. Papyrus grins at you over his head as he tries to follow the words.

"Well, I don't know about them, but I know about us
It is what it is and we love who we love
Not everybody gets what we're going through
But all my favorite people do
Yeah, all my favorite people-"

You stop and turn down the radio, squinting as you pull up in your driveway. It's pretty impossible to see anything in the blackness of the storm, but something isn't right. Everything looks weirdly out of shape. But there's nothing to see, just your greenhouse gleaming in the yard and your shed where all your bees are safely hidden away, thanks to Sans, and-

A great flash of lightening lights up the world for a moment, and Papyrus gasps. Sans sits up, wide awake in an instant, and another flash confirms the truth of what you're seeing. You feel your body sag and your jaw drop, heart pounding as you take it in.

Take in the giant tree lying in the middle of your house, the roof smashed in and crumpled like foil underneath. Your family home, destroyed by a blown over tree. And your eyes fill with tears of horror, as Sans pulls you into his arms and tries to comfort you, Papyrus speaking soothingly over your head as you try to make sense of anything right now.


This took way too long lol but I guess I wanted to figure out that reveal. Course I rushed it but *shrugs*

"All My Favourite People" by Maren Morris is the only 'country' song I'll allow on my playlist and I pretty much listened to it exclusively for this chapter.

What do we think is the next step in this story? What tropes am I falling into this time ^^