Its taken way too long to update this...
The next few hours pass in a haze. You're numb, unable to pull yourself away from the vision of your house, the place where you had made such a beautiful home, the place where you felt so safe, such a wreck of wood and tile in the pouring rain. You vaguely register Sans and Papyrus trying to comfort you, before they realise you've stopped crying and you're in shock. It doesn't take them long to decide to take you home with them.
You let Sans pull you out of your seat, moving you along the three-seater bench so that he can take over driving. Papyrus winds his arms around you as Sans pulls away from the destruction and drives back onto the muddy road. You rest against the taller skeleton's chest, letting him stroke your damp hair, tears falling silently down your cheeks as you grip his shirt tightly.
You zone out, somehow trudging through a muddy yard and finding yourself tucked into a bed that isn't yours. Nothing really sticks, your eyes drooping as you listen to the boys whispering, and then later on muffled music playing somewhere beyond the door of the room you're staying in. And soon enough, you're asleep, and Sans and Papyrus are watching you worriedly from the doorway, wondering what their next moves are going to be.
The room is bright when you wake up, feeling damp and gross and grumpy. Sitting up, you take a moment to look around, realising you're not at home. And that it's midday, going by the sunlight streaming in the windows, and you're still in your outfit from the night before. You're confused until you see your muddy boots at the side of the bed.
Oh.
That's right.
The memory of what your house looked like in that flash of lightening, sharp and twisted and most definitely crushed, floods your mind, and you gasp and start to cry unexpectedly. You can't help it. As you bury your face in your hands and sob like a child, the door creaks open and you feel a weight on the bed, a smooth hand on your shoulder as you're pulled into someone's arms.
"You're going to be alright," Sans' voice hums soothingly, and you cry into his chest, your face pressed against the rough flannel he's wearing, starting to soak it. He just strokes your head and holds you as long as you need him to, murmuring comforting things while you cry.
When you're exhausted, you groan and pull back, wiping your face, knowing you look puffy and disgusting, your makeup smudged and your eyes all red. Shame blossoms in your chest, anxiety squeezing your heart. You don't want Sans to see you like this, shattering the pretty, airy image you'd been carefully cultivating, flower fairy turned blubbering mess in front of your crush. "S-sorry..." you mutter, sniffing and trying to run your fingers through your hair, catching on tangles. "I should... go home, I guess, but-"
"Are you kidding? Your home got destroyed, you're allowed to be upset, babe..." his voice is so soft and sweet that you almost start crying again. As you start tearing up, your lips trembling, he turns your face to look at him, and his smile makes butterflies explode inside you, lighting up what your tears had been stamping down. You want to kiss him. Logically, you know it's because you're feeling vulnerable right now and he's being so kind, but the feeling is so strong that you almost start leaning in. Maybe he realises it too, because he tilts his head away and hugs you again, rubbing your back. You tuck your face against his neck- or vertebrae, really- and hold onto him tightly, trying to relax.
You stay like that for a while, until your stomach grumbles loudly, making Sans jump in surprise. He laughs, pulling away and getting up, holding out his hand for you. "Pap made breakfast before he left this mornin, it's warming on the stove. You probably should eat something. You want coffee?"
"Yeah... thanks." You let him pull you up, squeezing his hand with a deep breath. His answering grin makes your stomach churn with more than hunger, and you smooth your slept-in clothes down self-consciously. "Where's Papyrus?"
"Went into town to run some errands," Sans hummed casually, leading you into the kitchen, where you can see a pan on the stove with eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. It smells delicious and suddenly you're so hungry that you might cry if you don't eat right this second.
Sans makes you toast and coffee, and you devour the whole thing like a starving woman. Crying is hungry work, and when your plate and mug are empty, your mind is finally clear enough to register that a familiar bouquet of flowers is sitting in a vase in the middle of the table, looking a little droopy now, as is expected when it's been at least a week since you cut them. You're surprised they lasted so long, but the boys are farmers after all. They know how to keep plants alive. It makes you smile to see them keeping evidence of your affection for them around their home, even if they don't know how far that affection goes. Glancing around, you see a separate vase with your daffodil in it, the ingredients for its longevity scribbled on a piece of paper next to it. Your cheeks warm at the sight of it.
Sans allows you to follow him around while he does his chores, and you're glad he does. There's some endearing about watching him toss feed to the chickens, petting and scratching them like you would a cat. They're so friendly that they eat right out of your hand when you have a turn, and you laugh as their pecking tickles your hand.
He waters and weeds the produce, and takes the ripest of the lot to the shed to box up. You wonder how the vegetables and fruit stay so healthy and perfect while sitting in crates for a few days, but it's no more surprising than the knowledge that their produce is the ripest, juiciest and more loved at the markets, every single weekend. There must be something in the water, or the earth.
You're a sweaty, dirty mess when you're finished helping him. He offers you the bathroom, and all the privacy you want. But you really want to go home, or to what's left of it, and try and salvage what you can. And find some clothes that aren't hoedown chic or very kindly offered sweaters. Sans seems hesitant to take you home, though, presumably because of your reaction last night. But you manage to convince him, and after a needed shower, you head off in your truck with Sans tagging along.
You're not expecting to see what you see when you get there.
The property is surrounded by cars and trucks and your yard has been swarmed by neighbours and townspeople. The wreckage of your house is just as horrifying in daylight as it was last night, but now there are also many of your belongings stacked in the front yard, and ropes are slung around the offending tree that had crashed through your roof, while multiple people try to work out how to pull it off. And right in the middle of it all is Papyrus, pointing and yelling and directing everyone around your home. One moment he's talking with two grizzled farmers, one with a huge chainsaw and the other holding the rope that's sling around the tree. The next, he's rushing to help carry out your partially crushed dresser and placing it carefully on the lawn, high-fiving the others who carried it with him.
"Yeah, when I said he was running errands, I meant he was rustling up a few hands to help you out," Sans shrugged, giving you a smile as you turned your tear-stained face to stare at him.
You're about to start crying again, but this time out of gratitude. Never have you known anyone as generous and sweet as Sans and Papyrus- look at everything they've done for you! Just because you're a friend! Almost falling out of you truck in your eagerness to get out, you stumble into the yard just as Papyrus turns and sees you. Before he can say a word, you've thrown your arms around him and your tears are soaking his overalls, and he's patting your back softly.
"Oh, human, I'm so dirty, you don't want splinters all over you!" he exclaims, but you can feel his chuckle vibrate through you as you only hug him tighter. The splinters don't matter, you're just so grateful to have an amazing friend like him. "Did you think we wouldn't help you out of a pickle like this?"
"I didn't expect you to bring the whole town here to help," you laugh, looking up at him and wishing you could jump up and kiss his cheekbone. "You're amazing!"
"Of course, my dear, I am the Great Papyrus after all!" he preens under your praise, but you can see how satisfied he really is by your gratitude.
While the strongest of those helping try to decide whether to pull the tree off in one piece or chainsaw it into smaller pieces, you decide to go and help with the procession of people retrieving your things from the house. Picking your way through the disaster zone with Papyrus following closely, you duck through the collapsed doorway into the living room and let out a dismayed sound at the plaster and wood that mars the beautiful antique furniture that came with the house. You'll have to wait until the tree is removed to get any of this out and it's going to cost a fortune to get clean... and those vases you brought from your mother's house are smashed beyond repair, no glue could save them now...
"Oh. My. Stars!"
You turn to see what has Papyrus so excited, and you realise he's staring at his own paintings. Paintings you've been secretly buying and hanging up all over your house for ages, most of which are in this room. They're all coated with a layer of dirt from the accident, but Papyrus' eyelights are shining, and his cheekbones are glowing.
"It was you! You bought my art! And you like it enough to put it in your house- why did you never tell me?"
"I didn't wanna make a big deal about it... I like to support local artists and especially my friends..." you smile at him, taking one of the paintings down from the wall and blowing the dirt off it. It's a beautiful sunrise over fields of sunflowers, not a scene you think is from around here, and it always cheers you up to look at it. "You're seriously talented, Papyrus. I love all of your art."
"Really?" He looks like you've just told him he's won tickets to see Mettaton in Paris. "Oh gosh... thank you... that means so much to me..." he draws you into his arms and pecks your cheek, nuzzling you sweetly, and you hold your breath as your face heats up and your heart starts to hammer in nervous delight. It's a grateful reaction, you remind yourself, just like your bear hug from before... but it feels so good. It feels like your feelings could be returned if you ever got up the courage to say them put loud... like he wouldn't pull away if you turned your face and pressed your lips to those pretty white teeth...
He lets you go before you have a chance to embarrass yourself, brushing himself down self-consciously, and you forbid him from apologising. The moment is over, and you grab all of his paintings from the walls and bring them back outside with you to save.
It takes hours to see any progress on the house. Papyrus insists you sit in the shade with Sans and rest, and so you do, sipping on homemade lemonade brought by another farmer who's come to help. You feel a bit delirious from the confusion of emotions from the last 24 hours, and it helps that Sans is there to lend his shoulder for you to rest on.
The tree is chopped down, pulled off, and discarded. It'll make great firewood for winter, and you let everyone know that they're welcome to take as much wood as they want. Then, as the sunlight starts to dim, a giant tarp is pulled over the roof to protect the insides from further weather damage. Most of your important things are set out for you to collect, and you're fully prepared to book a room at the one hotel in town until Sans asks if you're ready to come home with them. And it suddenly feels like the most natural thing in the world to say yes, you are.
They load your belongings into both trucks, and you bid farewell to the lovely people who put so much effort into helping you out. And when you follow the skeletons home along the darkening roads, you're smiling widely, feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
If you couldn't tell, this is where the slow burn I intended will burn much faster.
