Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Down along the sidewalks of the city, monsters and humans alike strolled through the summer afternoon, window shopping on the main street, chatting with friends, watching children run and play together under the watchful eyes of parents. The summer heat made the pavement radiate warmth, and plenty of people were lined up under the colorful umbrella of the local Nice Cream stand to buy frozen treats.

It was a beautiful, sunny day in Ebott City, made only slightly less beautiful for Sans the skeleton by the human woman sitting across from him in the small corner coffee shop, her face scrunched up in a mask of dejection and hopelessness. He awkwardly drank from his cup of coffee, as she wiped her face with oversized sweater sleeves, struggling to remain coherent through her grief.

“I just don't know what I'm going to do,” the girl muttered, fighting back tears as she stared into her own coffee cup. “Between my stalker ex suddenly reappearing, and losing my job, I...I'm just at the end of my rope. I'm gonna lose my apartment, I'll be out on the streets, I just...I can't go home to my family...”

“i know, kiddo, i’m sorry to hear it.” Sans patted her hand kindly across the table, before settling back in his chair. “you don’t deserve that kinda luck.”

“Well, I’ve never had any other kind of luck in my life,” the girl replied with a bitter grin. Her expression softened as she looked at him once more. “Except making friends with you, Sans. That was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

Sans’ face flushed a bit as he looked away quickly.

“heh, well, you know…i wouldn’t have asked you out for coffee this morning if i didn’t have a possible solution for you,” Sans said. “the guys and i talked things over and, well…” He reached into his jacket pocket to take something out, as the girl wiped her eyes and beamed a radiant smile at him.

“Oh my god, really? You’re serious? Oh, thank you so much, Sans! I can’t tell you how much this means…to…me…” she trailed off, staring at the pile of papers and envelopes Sans placed on the table in front of her, before slowly picking one off the pile and examining it.

“Budgeting pamphlets,” the girl deadpanned, shifting her stare up to him. Sans pushed the rest of the pile further across the table to her in a hopeful gesture.

“we did a lot of research for you, and there are some resources in the city made to help humans who're down on their luck,” he explained. “found a lot of useful info here. turns out being let go means you're entitled to more than a few months of unemployment from the state, which should at least cover the rent at your place for a quite a bit while you job hunt.” He flipped to another pamphlet in the stack. “plus, this one says someone in your situation can apply for a discount on your utilities, or an extended payment plan, and this other one says you can get some kinda government credit card that allows you to buy food...might be awhile til you can get cleared for these things, but I can help ya out with a small loan in the meantime-”

The girl gazed in apparent disbelief at the pile of print-outs, pamphlets and forms in front of her, before sighing and throwing up her hands in exasperation.

“But I have no JOB!” she cried. “I've put in applications everywhere and haven't heard back in three weeks!”

“well, sometimes it takes longer than three weeks. have you applied to a temp agency? they probably have a lot of leads. this is a big city, gettin' bigger every day what with the influx of tourists. i might actually know a guy who needs help at a local bar and grill.”

“I...what? Nobody will hire me, Sans!” The young woman gestured towards herself in frustration. “Who would want to hire a moderately-attractive, hard-working young woman with a clean work history, a pleasant demeanor and positive personality, who treats everyone with kindness regardless of how they look?”

Sans stared at her.

“literally everyone,” he replied.

She sighed and leaned forward onto the table, burying her face in her arms. Sans patted her head awkwardly before clearing his non-existent throat.

“what about your family?” he asked. “your parents, your two brothers, your sister...your grandparents, your aunt? none of them could help you out?”

“They all died in a tragic car crash two years ago,” the girl said quietly, looking up as tears once more filled her sparkling eyes.

“what...all of them? what were they driving, a municipal bus?”

“SANS!”

“right, right, sorry. i didn't mean it like that.”

“Anyway, they were all abusive,” she continued, wiping her face on the sleeve of her baggy sweater. “I couldn't live with them even if they were alive...I have...so many scars...” She shivered and hugged her arms around herself.

“wait, even from your aunt?”

“So many scars,” she repeated softly to herself. “My entire back is basically a waffle iron of bad memories.”

“that's rough, kid.”

“Here, take a look.”

“no, i believe you, please put your shirt back on.”

She sat back down with a huff. “I have nowhere to go,” she sobbed, once more covering her face with her sleeves. “I can't believe I'm going to lose my apartment...”

“i mean,” Sans replied, “i believe it. you have a two-bedroom apartment in a rapidly growing city, close to the park, downtown and all the stores, with a dedicated parking spot. and all you do is work retail and sell drawings on etsy. maybe that place was out of your budget. the rule is to never spend more than a third of your income on rent, or you won’t be able to start any savings. have you thought about a studio apartment instead, or clearing out your 'craft' room and advertising for a roommate?”

“Well...I was...hoping to find a place with some roommates where I could crash for awhile,” the girl hesitantly began, glancing up through her lashes. Sans sat silently, staring back.

“For just a few months...until I get back on my feet...”

He made a go-on gesture with his hand.

“Maybe...work as a maid...”

“that's a great idea!” Sans said, and the girl immediately perked up.

“cleaning services are always hiring. they have a lot of turnover in that industry, so there's no way they'd reject your application. you'd have a job before your last month's rent is even up! no training required, either.”

She slumped back down in her chair.

“plus you can look for a roommate or a smaller place in the meantime,” Sans continued, tapping the pile of information on the table between them with one skeletal finger. “maybe ask the landlord if they have a smaller unit, or another property that's got cheaper units. that way you don't have to worry about your security deposit being tied up for a month, they can just transfer it to the new place.” The girl slumped down even more, until she was just a set of eyes and the top of a head, glaring over the table's edge at the coffee cup in front of her.

“I was...hoping to work for you, maybe...” she muttered, through what Sans strongly suspected were clenched teeth under the table. He stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets and leaned away, suddenly very interested in something out the café window.

“me? i can't afford a live-in maid. don't really need one, either.”

“But y-you must have tons of chores to do! You have so many of your cousins living with you!”

“exactly. there's like ten of us. how many chores do you think we have? everything gets done by someone eventually. well, mostly by the same two or three people, but close enough.”

“B-but, I'd work just for room and board! Maybe a little pocket money, but that's it!”

“y/n,” he said, fixing her with a serious gaze and once more leaning over the table towards her, “what kind of friend would i be to basically put you in indentured servitude for zero wages? that kinda thing is illegal for a reason. working as a maid for room and board won't help you build up enough money to get your own place again, it won't help you find a stable job, much less a career that you can settle into, and it sure won't get you started on putting away money for retirement. have you thought about where you're going to be in 40 years? have you thought about getting a loan and going back to school, maybe learn a trade? skilled trades are pretty recession-proof, everyone always needs 'em.”

“I...don't know,” the girl countered. “I just always...I have this dream that I'll finally make a living from my art, and I'll be able to continue my side gig as an unpaid open-mic musician at the local bar, entrancing people with my wonderful singing voice that I think is average but everyone else thinks is incredible.”

Sans nodded. “i have this dream a lot where I'm on a bicycle going through the desert, but the bicycle wheels are made of sand, but like, it's a slightly heavier sand that sort of sticks together, so it somehow counters the regular sand and i don't sink, but eventually the sand wheels harden up and i have to get off the bike and push it anyway.”

She stared at him.

“not all dreams are going to come true. thank god for that. kiddo, you need a hand up, not a hand out,” he finished. “i don't even have an extra room for you, or the money to pay you the wages you deserve for that kind of work.”

“But I...thought you were all rich? Because of all the gold you brought up with you when you escaped the underground?”

“yeah, for about a week,” Sans replied with a slight frown. “til we all tried to take it to local banks and cash it in. funny thing, turns out gold's really expensive up here because there's not a lot of it. when an entire race suddenly pops out of the ground carrying bathtubs and suitcases full of gold, it rapidly devalues. played hell with the human economy...gold prices are also highly dependent on how the stock market is doing. in the end, no bank would allow us to exchange it for your currency because they had no idea how much it would be worth in the long run. spoiler alert: not much. economics are a hell of a thing.”

He paused to take a sip of his coffee, gazing at the ceiling in contemplation.

“course, the real issue was when our king decided to sell the underground gold mining rights to a local human mining company, 'as a show of friendly exchange and solidarity.' which, unfortunately, allowed the humans to go in first and assess the mine and realize we were sitting on the biggest deposit of raw gold ever known. so the price of gold plummeted even more. our king is about as good with finances as he is with naming stuff. But at least he split up the money earned from the mining sales and gave every monster citizen an equal share. not a ton, but it helped.”

He took another sip of his drink.

“in retrospect, we probably shoulda hid the gold and introduced it into your economy slowly, so as to keep up the illusion of scarcity,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. “mistakes were made. i own a food truck now.”

Stretch watched through the window of the coffee shop, as the young woman slowly gathered up all the pamphlets and papers in front of her and stuffed them in her anime-themed backpack, pausing only to reluctantly accept a hug from Sans and a small envelope of cash “to tide her over for a bit until things look up.” Gripping the straps of her bag at both shoulders, she sullenly marched out of the shop and down the street. Stretch slipped in through the door swinging closed behind her.

He sat down heavily at the small table where Sans was sitting with his face in both hands, elbows propping him up. For a few minutes, they both sat in silence.

“you think i did the right thing?” Sans finally asked. Stretch sighed.

“yeah...you did,” he replied. “we don't need any more high-maintenance drama at the house. we already have edge.”

Sans slumped forward and curled his arms up under his skull. Stretch tapped him lightly on the forehead.

“you ok, pal?”

“yeah.”

“you had the sand bicycle dream again, didn't you.”

“...yeah.”

A white gym sock, with plastic googly eyes, a pair of black paper sunglasses and a red handkerchief scarf tied around its neck, stood facing a black dress sock that lacked any discernible decoration or facial features.

“SO, LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN!” Gym Sock said brightly. “THIS TIME WITH OUR ‘YOU’ AND ‘I’ STATEMENTS!”

Black Sock observed Gym Sock in palpable silence. Gym Sock gave a nervous little cough, its googly eyes jangling their little black pupils around.

“THAT’S YOUR CUE. SAY SOMETHING IN THE ‘WHEN YOU ______, I FEEL _____’ FORMAT,” Gym Sock prodded, pronouncing the blanks of the phrase formula out loud.

Black Sock only continued to passively stare at him with its eyeless face.

“WHEN YOU…TRY IT NOW…” Gym Sock encouraged, “WHEN YOU…HERE, AS AN EXAMPLE…WHEN YOU DON’T MAKE AN ATTEMPT ON THIS SOCK-ASSISTED COMMUNICATION EXERCISE, I FEEL LIKE YOU’RE…NOT MAKING MUCH OF AN ATTEMPT! AND YOU SHOULD! SORRY, BUT THAT’S HOW I FEEL!”

Black Sock glared at him, shaking ever so slightly with sock-like rage.

“WHEN YOU MAKE ME WEAR A SOCK ON MY HAND," Black Sock spat in a rough, gravelly voice, "I FEEL LIKE BURYING YOU ALIVE IN A PLACE SO DEEP YOU’LL BE DEAD OF OLD AGE BEFORE YOU CAN DIG YOUR WAY OUT.”

“O-O-OKAY,” Gym Sock replied slowly. “THAT’S NOT…ENTIRELY WHAT I WAS EXPECTING. BUT STILL! IT’S A THOUGHT I APPRECIATE YOU SHARING! DO YOU WANT TO TRY A HUGGING EXERCISE NEXT?”

“FORGET IT,” Black Sock interrupted. “I’D RATHER BE THE ONE BURIED ALIVE AT THIS RATE.”

Gym Sock gasped in shock, or at least said the word “GASP!” quite loudly. “OH, DON’T SAY THAT! WE ALL APPRECIATE YOU, IN SPITE OF YOUR BEST EFFORTS TO MAKE US DO OTHERWISE! YOU’RE NO GOOD TO THE WORLD DEAD!”

“AND YOU’RE NO GOOD TO ME ALIVE!” Black Sock roared, rearing up to slap its body across Gym Sock’s face. Gym Sock was flung off the hand supporting it and into a corner of the room.

“EDGE! I’M BEGINNING TO THINK YOU MIGHT NOT BE TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY!” Papyrus huffed, retrieving his puppet from the floor, as Edge put his own black sock back on his foot and inserted it into his heeled red leather boot.

“WHAT IS THE POINT OF ANY OF THIS IDIOCY?” Edge yelled, standing up to stomp his boot down into place, before pacing back and forth across his bedroom in agitation. “NONE OF THIS COMPLETE DRIVEL HAS GOTTEN ME ANY CLOSER TO FINDING SUITABLE EMPLOYMENT FOR SOMEONE OF MY ILLUSTRIOUS STANDING! I SHOULD NOT HAVE TO CONVERSE WITH UNDERGARMENTS IN ORDER TO CONVINCE A BUNCH OF DISGUSTING, CRAWLING HUMANS THAT I AM WORTHY OF EMPLOY!”

“WELL, WE TRIED DOING IT THE NORMAL WAY,” Papyrus reminded him, fixing the paper sunglasses back over the eyes of his sock puppet as he spoke. “YOUR ATTITUDE IS…A-A BIT MORE FORCEFUL AND FRANK THAN MOST HUMANS WOULD LIKE TO SEE IN AN EMPLOYEE. THE NICE LADY AT THE AGENCY SAID AS SUCH.”

“THE NICE LADY AT THE AGENCY CAN BURN IN HELL!” Edge snapped. “HER AND EVERY LAST FRAMED PHOTOGRAPH ON HER DESK OF THE SAME STUPID CAT!” He angrily stood with his back to Papyrus, facing a bookcase with his arms crossed over his chest.

“THE CAT CAN BURN TOO!” he added as an afterthought. Papyrus sucked in a breath.

“NOT THE CAT, EDGE,” he chided.

“YES INDEED! EVERY CAT! WHY IS IT SO DIFFICULT TO FIND ONE DECENT PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT THAT VALUES BRUTE STRENGTH, AN OVERZEALOUS DRIVE FOR VIOLENCE AND BARELY SUPPRESSED RAGE?”

“WELL SO FAR, THE ONLY INDUSTRY I’VE FOUND LIKE THAT IS WOMEN’S ROLLER DERBY,” Papyrus answered.

He scrunched his face up in deep thought. “BUT…I THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE TO BE A WOMAN TO JOIN THAT.”

He jumped in shock as a loud smash echoed through the room and out into the hall, made possible by the giant Edge-sized hole in Edge’s bedroom door, through which the sound of stomping heels was already rapidly fading.

“ON THE OTHER HAND,” Papyrus mused to himself, picking up his sock from where it had fallen in his lap, “STRAP A PAIR OF SKATES UNDER HIM, AND THE DERBY MIGHT MAKE AN EXCEPTION.”

Loud, angry yelling and the sound of yet another door being ruined came from somewhere upstairs, hardly earning an annoyed flick of Wine’s eyelights up to the ceiling, before they refocused with laser clarity out the kitchen window, into the yard of the next-door neighbor. Wine leaned nonchalantly on the kitchen counter, dressed in a red Henley shirt, jeans and loafers, sipping from a deep-red glass of his own namesake and appearing for all the world to have nothing better to do than stare out the window all day.

“don’t you have something better to do than stare out the window all day?” Rus asked, walking into the kitchen to stick his head inside the fridge. “edge broke another door, so that’s gonna be fun when everyone else gets home.” His brother only shrugged, not turning his eyes away from the window.

“IT’S THURSDAY,” Wine said simply, narrowing his sockets at the end of the neighbor’s driveway, before scanning back up to their front door. Rus emerged from the fridge with a sandwich in a container marked “HANDS OFF! -Red”, before pulling the lid off the tupperware and digging in.

“trash day?” he replied with a mouth full of bacon, lettuce and tomato.

“TRASH DAY,” came the quiet answer. Rus joined his brother at the window while finishing his sandwich, just in time to see a sour-looking blonde woman exit the neighbor’s house, walk down her driveway, gather up her trash cans and pull them back towards her garage. Wine pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, before checking the expensive watch on his wrist.

“REALLY, LINDA? ONE FIFTEEN IN THE AFTERNOON?” he scoffed aloud. “ALL TRASH RECEPTACLES MUST BE BROUGHT IN AFTER COLLECTION, NO LATER THAN TEN IN THE MORNING. WAIT UNTIL THE HOA HEARS ABOUT THIS.” He waved his phone and smiled a shark-toothed smirk at his neighbor, who had suddenly noticed the small audience in the large picture window twenty feet away from her. She scowled and hurried back into her house, slamming the door behind her.

“so do you just want to retire early and make linda’s life miserable full-time?” Rus asked, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and sticking it under the sink faucet. “i know she hates monsters, but i don’t know that this is the best use of your day.”

“LINDA HAS TO ABIDE BY THE LOCAL HOMEOWNER’S ASSOCIATION RULES, AS DO THE REST OF US.” Wine turned and casually leaned his back against the counter, smiling as he rapidly typed up a message on his phone. “IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE THE RULES, SHE CAN MOVE. UNLIKE HER, I RESPECT THE HOA TO THE FULLEST.”

“uh huh. aren’t you the president of it?”

Wine grinned, showing a row of glinting, needle-sharp teeth. He finished typing and pocketed his phone, before striding over to the kitchen table, where a small tape measure and a note pad were waiting.

“I LIKE TO THINK I’M QUITE FAIR AND UNCOMPROMISED IN MY LEADERSHIP ROLE,” he said airily, picking up the measure and pad in his gloved claws, before turning to open the sliding glass door that connected the kitchen to the back patio. “NOW PARDON ME WHILE I GO DETERMINE THAT LINDA’S MAILBOX IS FOUR INCHES TOO CLOSE TO THE SIDEWALK.”

A long line snaked through the cheerful little donut shop, starting at the register and ending almost at the door. A few customers looked at their phones and grumbled at the time. At the head of the line, a stocky skeleton in basketball shorts and a red and black jacket leaned lazily over the front counter, staring at the donut rack and chewing on a toothpick, as another skeleton waited on him.

“…annnnnnn’, lessee…annnnn’…one chocolate one…”

Blue grabbed a paper and picked up a chocolate donut, adding it to the dozen box.

“…nah, forget that, no chocolate…”

Blue took the donut out of the box and put it back on the rack.

“…annnnnnn’, uh…hmmm…what kind is that one?” Red pointed to a donut over Blue’s head on one of the higher racks.

“BAVARIAN,” Blue answered with a glance over his shoulder.

“got it…okay, so…one chocolate one…”

Blue picked up a chocolate donut and put it in the box again.

“nah, nah wait, i didn’t want chocolate, that’s right…”

Blue took the chocolate donut out of the box and put it back on the shelf.

“what kind is that one there?” Red asked, pointing to the same donut on the high shelf.

“BAVARIAN,” Blue answered.

“welp…hmmm…i guess then i’ll have…i guesssssss…” Blue turned around and faced the donut rack, waiting. Red squinted at the choices, slowly rubbing his chin with one hand.

“yeah, i’ll actually take the…”

Blue’s hand hovered over the Bavarian Cream donuts.

“…since you mention them, i’ll have a…can i get a…let me see if you have a…”

Blue held up one gloved hand patiently over the rack. Red frowned in concentration.

“Chocolate,” he finished, grinning. He took the toothpick out of his mouth and dropped it in the tip jar.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Both Red and Blue jumped, Blue dropping the chocolate donut in his hand, as a short figure in a perfectly starched white apron slammed its way out of the back room and marched up to the counter of the donut shop, stopping to stare only briefly at the waiting customers.

“THERE’S A LINE OUT THE DOOR, YOU DITHERING IDIOT!” Black shrieked at Blue. “HURRY IT UP!”

“RED WAS STILL DECIDING!” Blue said defensively. “AND THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT!”

“WHO THE HELL TOLD YOU THAT?!”

“NOBODY, IT’S A-“

“BECAUSE THEY’RE A FAT LIAR!” Black finished screaming in his co-worker’s face, before grabbing a donut at random from the half-full box on the counter, leaning across and shoving it violently in Red’s mouth.

“THAT’S YOUR BRIBE FOR GETTING THE HELL OUT OF MY SHOP, YOU WALKING PILE OF REGRETS!” he yelled. “TAKE IT AND GO!”

“yeah, but I wanted chocolate,” Red managed to mutter around an entire mouthful of glaze and sprinkles.

“MUTT!” Black screamed so loud the glass display cases shook. A pile of fur-lined hood and long black coat sleeves shook itself awake from a tabletop in the far corner of the store, as a tall, lanky skeleton sat upright. It glared out from under its hood, fluorescent lighting gleaming off a sharp golden fang and the spikes of a well-worn dog collar. Amber eyelights landed on Red and constricted into murderous pinpricks.

Red grabbed two more donuts out of the box on the counter, stuffed them in his mouth and ran out the door, knocking several customers over on the way. The skeleton in the corner only snickered, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the little round table. He lit up the end of a dog treat and stuck it in his mouth.

“see you at home,” he muttered.

Chapter Text

A calm, reddened sky loomed up to meet the first purple streaks of evening, as the sun set over Ebbot City. Just outside the town limits, a black food truck slowly navigated the suburban twists and turns of various tree-lined neighborhoods, until finally turning into a long U-shaped road that held a rather more upscale community. Kids on bikes and skateboards shifted out of the way of occasional traffic, before reconvening in the middle of the streets to play.

The truck cruised along through the warm, evening air of summer, with its windows down and a forgettable pop song blaring on the radio. The side of the truck had a large colorful graphic of a pile of cupcakes printed on it and the words “CAKES BY JENNY” done underneath in a scripted font, but all that had been more or less obscured by black spraypaint and the words “BONE APPETIT” lazily painted over in white.

The truck halted at the end of a driveway, parking along the side of the curb as the radio music cut out. Sans hopped out of the cab, grabbed a few things from the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him, strolling around the front of the truck to the driveway. He stopped for a moment to admire the way the yellow and red sunlight lay over the front of his house.

It was a nice sunset, and he never took those for granted. A life spent in gloom and darkness underground gave him all the more appreciation for seeing the sky every day and the stars every night. The smell of the freely flowing air, so different from the close, stagnant cave winds below the mountain, carried the scent of various plants and trees, as well as a backyard barbeque someone in a nearby home was hosting. Sans had come to learn that the sun even made normal things smell differently. Warmed asphalt and baking brick house facades had their own special smell in the summer sunlight. It was a great feeling, being on the surface.

The house itself wasn't bad either...just barely big enough for his “extended family” and very close to town. It had a light blue exterior and a columned portico with a rustic hanging light for the porch. Very classy-looking, at least to someone like Sans, who felt that houses with more than two bathrooms were the very last word in luxury.

Wine had thrown a fit when they picked it out, at least as far as Wine could throw a fit about anything. A lot of snide remarks behind the realtor's back about “glue and stucco McMansion living” and similar comments were made. The portico was an embarrassment when built beneath what he called an “egregiously fake balcony.” The windows were insultingly decorated with stick-on keystones and false shutters. He was disgusted with the confusion of jumbled roof surfaces collected onto one building. He refused to even speak about the use of white textured faux stone around the base of the building. He simply glared at it as though it had personally spit in his mouth.

Sans thought the house was fine, even better than he'd hoped they could afford. He just wanted to find a place to live without suffering through a lot of complaining and bickering. “Can't have anything nice,” he thought miserably, as the realtor left in tears at Wine's suggestion that the house was built on top of a cursed burial ground containing the corpse of good taste.

Wine only conceded in the end, (and after an apologetic call to the realtor's office) that they should buy it because it wasn't covered in beige stucco, it did not possess an “obligatory god-awful turret” and the bay window actually got natural light. The fact that it was a foreclosure and ridiculously cheap was probably also factored in. They didn't have a ton of money, and paying off bills and a mortgage on a house big enough to hold ten people was going to require everyone's efforts.

The place had six bedrooms, hardly enough for them all without the embarrassment of bunk beds getting involved. Luckily, the large basement was fully finished and the attic space had a nice windowed area that, with a little work, became a small room separate from the usual attic storage. Wine got that spot, claiming a need for quiet and privacy. They let him have it because he was the lightest walker and still mad about the house design.

Blue and Papyrus wanted to split the large basement into “A PERMANENT SLEEPOVER EVERY NIGHT!” It was outfitted with a rocketship bed, a racecar bed, some shelves and desks, a corner for workout gear and a small couch and tv for video games. There was an ambitiously long track for slot cars looping around the middle of the room. The built-in basement bar setup was converted into a power smoothie-making station, complete with a small dorm fridge.

The basement also contained a very small separately-finished room that was put aside for Mutt's use. But he only kept some laundry, a guitar and amp in there, preferring to sleep at the foot of Black's bed on a giant dog cushion.

The property had a large backyard and, more importantly, a sizable work shed to house The Machine. When he wasn't downtown in his food truck, Sans and some of the others worked in the shed to try and fix the machine that had accidentally sucked them all into this dimension from their own respective worlds. Sans had originally been tinkering with the machine for years in an attempt to complete his mentor Dr. Gaster's life work. He wasn't entirely sure at the time what the machine did. If he'd known it was a device that did nothing but spit out idiots into his house, he would have left it in the underground.

He had to admit, four copies of himself and his brother weren't theoretically the worst things that could come through a portal to other dimensions. But he was stuck for a list of what could be worse, or at least a list longer than “horrible incurable diseases” and “a million Undynes that never sleep.” Red and his brother Edge came first, and the furniture and walls of Sans' modest downtown apartment that he shared with his brother Papyrus suffered as a result. After that, Blue and Stretch appeared, followed by Mutt and Black, then Wine and Rus. Sans had pulled the plug on the machine and bolted the door shut before anyone else turned up. Work was now proceeding very carefully on the machine, to try and reverse all the damage.

As it was, they needed a place to live and work in secrecy on it, and this quiet neighborhood was ideal.

Sans signed the real estate paperwork, they moved their stuff in and reluctantly met the members of the local Homeowner's Association, which ran their new neighborhood with all the usual iron-fisted ruthlessness of a bunch of stay-at-home people who had nothing better to do than day-drink and complain about lawns not being mowed weekly. They weren't uniformly thrilled about monsters moving in and initially made life harder for San's family. They were especially incensed about Sans parking a large food truck in the street every night, at least until Wine somehow connived his way into becoming president of the HOA after the former president died, under extremely non-suspicious circumstances. Sans never asked how Wine accomplished his suburban coup. He didn't suspect murder, but he absolutely suspected blackmail was involved, money was exchanged, possibly wives were seduced.

Speaking of which...

Sans turned to the left and spotted his neighbor furiously digging around her mailbox post with a small shovel. She shot him a look of pure poison and went back to gouging at the ground, wrecking the flower bed of daffodils carefully arranged at the base of the post. He shrugged, hoisted the metal money box full that day's truck profits under his arm up a little higher and continued up his driveway, shortcutting through the front door in lieu of bothering to open it.

“i'm home,” he announced lazily, both in and to the foyer in general. The large living room, fitted with a big screen television and several couches, was empty. There was a racket in the kitchen and adjoining dining room, indicating that dinner had already started. Sans tossed his money box on a small table in the living room and sauntered down the hall and into the dining area.

“did you do something to linda?” he asked, strolling around the table and taking a seat next to Wine. “she's out destroying her own daffodils.”

“I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING TO HER THAT SHE HASN'T BROUGHT ON HERSELF,” Wine responded, sipping some Cab Suav out of a wine glass and gazing at the ceiling. “THE WOMAN PAID ACTUAL MONEY TO HAVE A TUSCAN-INSPIRED PERGOLA INSTALLED OVER HER PATIO, WHERE I HAVE TO LOOK AT IT EVERY DAY.”

“SHE SHOULD BE GRATEFUL SHE STILL HAS A HOUSE,” he added, frowning into his glass.

“AND SO SHOULD WE!” Black snapped from across the table, where he was devouring baked chicken with one hand and leafing through a large pile of sales receipts with the other. “I CAN'T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR OUR SHARE OF THE UTILITIES IF THAT IDIOT WON'T STOP TRYING TO INSTATE POINTLESS PROMOTIONAL GIVEAWAYS IN MY STORE, BEHIND MY BACK!”

“IT'S MY DONUT SHOP TOO, BLACK!” Blue protested, coming through the doorway to the kitchen with a large pan of garlic bread held between two oven mitts. He placed it on the table, where it was immediately snatched up by half a dozen bony hands. “AND DOING FUN GIVEAWAYS DRIVES MORE BUSINESS TO THE STORE!”

“YOUR JOB IS TO MAKE THE DONUTS AND NOT DROP CHANGE UNDER THE COUNTER TOO OFTEN!” Black yelled across the table. “NOT TO TELL PEOPLE THAT THEY CAN HAVE A FREE DONUT IN EXCHANGE FOR ONE VERY SINCERE HUG!”

“IT WAS LIMITED TO ONE PER PERSON!” Blue countered defensively.

“HUGS ARE NOT CURRENCY, YOU OUTRAGEOUS JACKASS! SHOW ME A BANK THAT LETS US DEPOSIT A DAYS' INVENTORY OF HUGS AND I'LL LET YOU BE IN CHARGE OF PROMOTIONAL SALES! BUT UNTIL THEN, YOU MAKE DONUTS AND SMOOTHIES AND TRY NOT TO OVERTAX THE FLAMING WRECKAGE THAT IS YOUR REDUCED CAPACITY TO THINK!” Black tossed the pile of receipts into a box on the floor by his feet and started savagely shoveling vegetables into his mouth while maintaining a heated glare at Blue.

“you want trouble, keep insulting him,” Stretch warned, reaching over to comfortingly pat his brother's sagging shoulders.

“REALLY? WHY DON'T YOU GET YOUR OWN BUSINESS? AND THEN MIND IT!”

“can we not yell about this right now? i just got home from work,” Sans grumbled into his plate, rubbing a hand against his forehead.

“WHY IS THERE A CALENDAR OF WEASELS DRIVING TINY SPORTS CARS ON THE FRIDGE?!” Edge suddenly emerged from the kitchen as well, taking a seat at the head of the table.

“they're ferrets,” Stretch replied. Edge stared at him in disgust.

“SO THEY CAN GET A DRIVER'S LICENSE AND I CAN'T? SMALL, MUSK-FILLED ANIMALS CAN OPERATE MOTOR VEHICLES, WHEREAS I'M RESTRICTED TO RELYING ON THIS” -he pointed at Red, who was sitting to Edge's left and half asleep in his dinner- “EVERY TIME I WANT TO GO TO THE STORE?”

“not now, 'm eating, we'll go later,” Red groggily mumbled through half a bread roll that was still in his mouth, making no effort to chew it.

“I DON'T WANT TO GO RIGHT NOW!”

“good.” Red turned his face to the other side, using his mashed potatoes as a pillow.

Papyrus finally left the kitchen, carrying a pitcher of iced tea. He placed it on the table after pouring Sans a glass (“thanks bro”), as well as one for Blue (“THANK YOU!”) and seating himself.

“HAVE YOU TRIED TO GET ANOTHER DRIVER'S TEST SET UP, EDGE?” he asked politely.

“THEY BANNED ME FROM SEVERAL LOCATIONS IN TOWN,” Edge muttered in a barely-suppressed fury. “APPARENTLY RAMMING OTHER CARS WHO DON'T USE TURN SIGNALS DOES NOT COUNT AS A DEFENSIVE DRIVING SKILL.”

“AND THEY WEREN'T TOO THRILLED ABOUT MY PUNCHING THE HORN UNTIL IT BECAME INOPERABLE,” he added, tearing garlic bread apart and stuffing it in his mouth in irritation.

“they're jus' jealous, boss,” Red muttered, not opening his eyes.

“I KNOW THAT! BUT NOW I'M FORCED TO PREPARE DINNER IN A KITCHEN THAT HAS A CALENDAR FULL OF RODENTS LIVING MY DREAM!”

“WELL, UM,” Papyrus changed the subject in a desperate attempt to diffuse tension, “I'M DOING VERY WELL AT THE ACADEMY! I HAVE ALREADY BEEN LAUDED FOR BREAKING MOST OF THE PHYSICAL FITNESS RECORDS! IT'S GOING FAR BETTER THAN MY, ER...BRIEF BUT HIGHLY UNDERRATED FORAY INTO THE WORLD OF CELEBRITY CHEFS!”

“that's awesome, bro,” Sans said proudly. Blue scowled, pouting at his plate as he pushed food around with his fork.

“I COULD HAVE BEEN A GOOD POLICE OFFICER TOO, YOU KNOW!” he said. Stretch nodded and put another piece of garlic bread on his brother's plate.

“sure you could. not your fault they had the height requirement.” This comment only further soured Blue's mood.

“IT'S NOT FAIR! MY HEIGHT DOES NOT DIMINISH MY INCREDIBLE STRENGTH AND WILLPOWER IN ANY WAY!”

“NO, IT MERELY DIMINISHES YOUR ABILITY TO RIDE THE TEACUPS AT THE CARNIVAL,” Black cackled. Blue stood up and slammed his hands on the table.

“WE'RE THE SAME HEIGHT, BLACK! TAKE OFF YOUR BOOTS AND I'LL PROVE IT!”

Black merely responded by leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the table, showing off chunky high heels on the soles of his highly polished, dark purple leather boots.

“I'M AMAZED YOU DON'T TAKE BETTER ADVANTAGE OF SUPERIOR FOOTWEAR, BABY BLUE,” he said with an infuriating smile on his face.

“i'm more amazed you found them in men's sizes,” Stretch said. He pulled on the edge of the tablecloth, causing Black's feet to shift suddenly forward. Black caught himself just before falling off his chair, putting his feet back on the floor. He snorted in response and picked up a piece of chicken from the serving plate, tossing it under the table. Sans frowned at him.

“told your bro to sit at the table like a normal person,” he said. Black only rolled his eyelights.

“ALL THE NORMAL PEOPLE PRESENT ARE CURRENTLY SITTING AT THE TABLE RIGHT NOW,” he replied. “PLUS A FEW OTHERS.” He ducked his head under the table, where Mutt was laying on the rug with a book and eating the chicken with one hand. He gave Black a thumbs up.

“HE'S FINE,” Black announced, sitting back in his chair.

“THAT RUG WAS VERY EXPENSIVE, BLACK,” Wine said, his expression darkening. “IF YOUR BROTHER MAKES A MESS OF IT-”

Black grabbed the pitcher of iced tea and poured it under the table, grinning.

“FORGOT HIS DRINK,” he smirked.

“can't have anything nice,” Rus said from the other end of the room. A fight exploded at the table as Wine attempted to grab Black's plate from him and Black threw bread in retaliation. Soon dinner was flying in multiple directions at half a dozen targets, the room full of deafening yelling. Sans scarfed the rest of his plate and picked it up, shortcutting into the kitchen and quickly dumping it in the sink, before blipping again, this time straight to his room. He collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling in frustration. Sounds came from downstairs of indignant yelling, as the patio door slid open and someone was tossed out through it.

“IF YOU WANT TO BITE PEOPLE, YOU CAN SLEEP IN THE YARD!” Edge's voice thundered from the kitchen. The patio door slammed closed again, before more bickering erupted in the house.

Sans sighed, rolling himself into an exhausted sheet burrito on his mattress and falling asleep.

Chapter Text

The day before yesterday...

Stretch stood outside the small brick bookstore that sat in an unregarded corner of the city, tucked away in the shadow of the large restaurant next door and partially hidden by the shade of a big oak tree that was growing in the empty, grassy lot next to it.

It was not his usual bookstore. After the unfortunate incident at his regular place, he'd looked up quite a few others before settling on this one. Stretch took a deep breath, tucked a honey lollipop between his teeth and stuck his hands in the big pockets of his well-worn orange hoodie, before sauntering in through the propped-open glass door of the little bookstore.

Inside, the smell of old books and paper surrounded him. It wasn't exactly an ancient shop, but it was hardly on the cutting edge. Perhaps just big enough that maybe the employees didn't know every customer by name. Hopefully.

He cringed inwardly, even as he maintained a relaxed, almost sleepy demeanor, wandering aimlessly around the shelves. His regular bookstore had recently hired a nice little old lady who had her reading glasses on a chain around her neck, a sweet little grandmotherly face, and two ears that both desperately needed hearing aids, though she talked like she had neither aid nor ears.

Stretch strolled slowly around the shop, pretending to read some of the book spines on the shelf, his head titled slightly sideways. Why were bookstores a magnet for sweet, deaf old ladies? Why did they somehow know exactly which customers to do a price check on, at the top of their lungs, across the crowded store?

He didn't even get his purchase. He'd fled the store in mortification.

Stretch stopped his circuit of this new bookshop, growing frustrated. He knew there was a section here, but he couldn't find it. This place was bigger than it looked from the outside, with all sorts of little nooks and recesses for shelving. Sighing, he dragged his plastic crocs up to the front counter, aiming for a bored, irritated human male who was standing by the register.

Perfect. No judgment. Too busy hating his job to care what a customer asked for.

“scuse me,” Stretch began, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth as he leaned (nonchalantly? He hoped?) against the counter next to the human. “where's the uh...you know, the-”

“I'm on break,” the human snapped, turning his back to Stretch deliberately and walking off towards the back of the store. Figured. What he'd mistaken for regular retail frustration was actually just ordinary racism against monsters. Great.

Stretch sighed and pushed himself back off the counter, before startling as a soft voice spoke from behind him.

“Um, sir? I could, um, I-I mean I'm glad to help you find something!”

Stretch turned slowly to take in the small young human woman, wearing a blue employee apron. A lock of hair partially hid her face, and she brushed it back shyly to adjust her delicate glasses, giving him a very timid little smile.

oh dear god no. NO NO NO NO

“heheh, well, uh, thanks honey, but i think i...got it,” Stretch replied, forcing down a stammer and backing away in what he sincerely hoped was a casual stroll and not a fear-induced power walk. The human worker only shook her head and took a step toward him.

“No, i-it's okay! I'm not one of...I mean I'm not like other humans,” she said, a deep blush starting up on her face. “I mean! I would love to help you find something! Um, sir!”

She looked so eager, coupled with an air of not usually speaking this much to customers, that Stretch relented against his better judgment.

“i was just uh, you know, looking for the...” he began, rubbing the back of his bony neck with one hand and trying to glance casually to the side, pretending that eye contact with another person wasn't the worst thing imaginable, “...the, you know, the...um...(mumble mumble)...”

“What was that?” the girl asked, taking another step forward and bending to catch his barely audible mutter. He groaned and reluctantly repeated himself only slightly louder, ducking his head and resisting the urge to pull his hood up.

The girl's face lit up in a brighter blush.

“Oh!” she said, a little too loudly. “Um, yes! Of course! Right this way.”

Stretch scraped his shoes slowly along on his grim death march behind the softly humming little human who was leading him to a secluded corner of the store.

“Ah, here, uh, there you are!” she said, gesturing uselessly at the already very obvious shelf of gaudy publications. Stretch shoved his fists in his pockets to resist slapping them over his face in humiliation.

“yeah, uh, thanks honey, that's fine, thank you,” he mumbled, staring in absolute fascination at the weave of the slightly dingy tan carpeting on the floor.

please lady, just go back to work, he prayed silently. head on back to the counter and go fold more pages or stuff more catalogs, or whatever book people do in bookstores. just leave me in my shame puddle.

“I, um...don't stock this area of the store, my boss usually does it, so...I'm not sure I could give you a recommendation, if you needed one...”

Stretch's eyes widened in fear.

oh GOD please no recommendations! why would anyone need recommendations on this stuff?! it's all the same...stuff! it's not like it's fine literature!

The girl was now leaning over towards the shelf, and Stretch watched in horror as she pulled one publication off the shelf and examined the cover.

“Oh, it's...goodness, they do show a lot of...skin on the cover of these things, don't they?” she stammered, looking slightly flushed. “Maybe that's why my boss has me work on the other shelves. Honestly, he's too overprotective, I'm an adult after all. I did just graduate college!”

“congratulations,” Stretch said weakly.

“And I'm sure if you don't know what you're looking for,” she continued, putting the book back on the shelf with some delicacy, “I-I'm sure I could...maybe recommend something...or ask one of my co-workers-”

“that's fine!” he almost yelled, his head snapping up to throw a very, very manic smile at the girl. “it's...yep! no! i'm fine! thank you! thanks!”

The girl looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded with a friendly smile and turned to head back to the register. Stretch nearly slumped to the floor in relief. After a few furtive glances around the mostly empty store, he turned his attentions to the shelf in front of him.

This was fine, this was normal, this was a normal person thing that normal people do all the time. Why would they even have a shelf of this kinda stuff if normal people didn't buy it? Lots of people bought it and it's not creepy and he wasn't creepy and he wasn't going to be a ball of anxiety over this.

He stared at the shelf for some time. Sure, you could easily find this kinda thing online. That's how most people did it nowadays. But he just preferred the feel of the actual physical page. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he'd always just really loved books over screens. Most of the stuff you found online was so badly done and amateur, not...

Okay, well not classy, per se, none of this was even the least bit classy. That's why it was shoved way into the back of the store. But at least the printed stuff had a certain legitimacy to it. And unlike your phone, no one could hack a bunch of pages and find out what you'd been looking at the night before. Again.

If only he could just order this stuff online and have it shipped to the house. But the last time he did that...

“THE MAIL IS HERE!” Blue yelled, toting in a pile of letters and a small Amazon box. Stretch immediately leaped at the box from his spot on the couch, where he had definitely been casually napping all day and not lying in wait for the mail like an anxious mess.

“the box is for me, bro.”

Blue smiled and held the package out while juggling some of the other mail. Stretch had his fingers almost on the cardboard box when an arm crossed in front of him and intercepted it. He made to snatch for it, only to turn around and spy Black already slicing into the box with one long, sharp claw.

“that's mine, runt!” he yelled, uncharacteristically annoyed. Black looked up in surprise, then malicious glee.

“PACKAGES ARE A SECURITY HAZARD,” he said slowly, pulling at the top flaps of the box to break the tape seal. “WHO KNOWS WHAT'S IN THEM? I HAVE TO INSPECT EVERYTHING THAT COMES INTO THIS HOUSE IN CASE ENEMIES HAVE TAMPERED WITH THE CONTENTS.”

He shook the box at Stretch tauntingly, his grin growing ever wider.

“UNLESS YOU SPECIFICALLY ORDERED SOMETHING QUITE...ILLICIT? DANGEROUS, EVEN? THAT WARRANTS AN INSPECTION AS WELL!”

“GIVE THAT BACK, THAT'S NOT YOURS!” Blue huffed from the doorway. Black only laughed, turning to face the stairs and tore into the box with both hands, as Stretch flailed and reached around him, long, nervous arms trying to get to the package.

“hands off it, pal!”

“OH, YOU'D LIKE THAT, WOULDN'T YO- HEY!”

Black scowled as yet another pair of hands intercepted the box from over his shoulders. Wine walked down the rest of the staircase and stood calmly between Stretch and Black, the box in his hands. He flipped the top of the box open slightly and peered inside, eyelights flicking up to Stretch for a brief moment as he ascertained the contents. Stretch stood with both arms stiffly by his sides, trying to force his face through sheer mental willpower to stay the same normal color it always was.

Closing the box neatly back up, Wine handed it to Stretch, over Black's whining.

“NOTHING BUT A BOOK. STILL, A MAN'S PROPERTY IS HIS OWN BUSINESS,” he said smoothly. “MIGHT BE BEST FOR YOU TO TAKE IT UPSTAIRS, IF YOU'RE PLANNING ON-” he hesitated for a nanosecond-“ENJOYING IT.”

Stretch narrowed his eyes. Nope, no ordering online. Never again.

He pulled a few out from the shelf to peek at the covers. No, no, not his thing, nope, close, but...eh. What was with the new trend of the “everyday girl next door?” Where were the over-the-top costumes? Was it supposed to make it all more relatable somehow? You're not supposed to relate to this trash! Just sell him the fantasy, it's what he wanted.

He leaned down as a lower shelf caught his eye. Jackpot. Vintage publications. He always preferred the vintage stuff.

With one more peek around, he quickly snatched a wide handful of selections off the lower shelf, holding them protectively in a stack to hide their covers. Looking down, he grimaced at the cover of the top one and flailed out at random to a nearby aisle cart, grabbing two or three unrelated books and piling them on top of his stack, before swiftly heading to the checkout. There. Perfect. Not embarrassing. Just a cool, relaxed guy looking to buy a bunch of books about...

...he narrowed his eyes at the top of the pile as he walked...

...how to grow miniature gardens in terracotta patio pots. That's a thing normal, non-creepy folk read about all the time.

There were two people ahead of him at the checkout, so he slunk to the back of the line and waited, absentmindedly twirling the lollipop stick in his mouth like it was an ordinary snack, not a pacifier for the world's biggest bony baby and his anxiety-ridden charade of pretending to be chill in the face of-

“Sir?”

oh hell. just...just HELL.

He turned around at an almost comically glacial pace, seeing the same mousy little human employee waving him to her at the now-opened second register. Stretch hunched his shoulders up and pretended not to hear. Maybe the lady in front of him would go over there instead.

“Sir? I'm open over here!”

“hey, that lady over there is open,” Stretch said to the woman in line on front of him.

lady please just go over there, i'm begging you, please just go over there...

“I'm with him,” the woman answered, gesturing to the customer in front of her at the first register.

Of...course you are.

“Sir?” the cheery little voice of what had to be the world's most persistent employee was now impossible to ignore. Stretch heaved another sigh and slunk away to the second register.

“Did you um, did you find everything okay?” the girl asked him, beeping his stack of books one at a time.

lady, you know I did, you actually offered to help me pick out-

“sure thing, honey,” he drawled. The girl blushed and kept slowly scanning his purchases.

“I...I just love books,” she said quietly, as if to make conversation.

“uh, yeah, well...” Stretch grasped for a joke to alleviate the tension. “skeletons naturally love books. guess cuz we both have visible spines.”

The girl giggled behind her hand and he relaxed. Okay, just one more to scan and put in a...totally see-through plastic bag?

“do you um, have a paper bag?” he asked, looking at the counter. “you know, better for the... environment and all.”

“Oh, of course!” the girl beamed, reaching down under the counter to retrieve a paper wrapper. Stretch bounced idly on the balls of his feet and tried not to think about just shortcutting home the very second he'd paid for his purchase. Was he sweating? He wasn't sweating. How could he tell if he was sweating? Would it be weird to rub his head surreptitiously? He wasn't sweating. He just felt like he was about to start sweating, which was so, so much worse.

“I'm, um, Y/N,” the girl said suddenly, in a soft voice. Stretch stopped bouncing and stared at her.

“you're who now?”

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“your name is stretch?” he gawked.

“What? No, it's Y/N.”

“it's...wait, what...okay, sure thing, hon,” he finished, thoroughly confused. The girl looked confused as well. They stared at each other awkwardly. Eventually, Stretch cleared his throat to break up the silence and made a halfhearted attempt at an introduction.

“uh, friends call me stretch.”

“So nice to meet you,” the girl answered with a tiny smile, before looking wistfully down at her shoes. “I...don't have many friends, myself.”

Stretch immediately wished he could buy back his introduction. He had reached the limits of his very, very short health bar for social interaction today.

“ah, well, um, that's gotta leave you feeling kinda bonely,” he winked and threw some goofy finger guns in for good measure, hoping to move the conversation along.

The girl's face lit up at the pun and she started laughing out loud.

“Oh wow, you're so funny!”

“uh, yeah,” Stretched agreed, scratching at his neck. She was still laughing.

“That's so hilarious!”

“it's...it's really not.”

The girl supported herself against the counter with one hand, wiping tears from her eyes as she laughed.

“seriously honey, it's like, the most basic of puns.”

The girl waved a hand in front of her reddened face, as if pleading for him to not make her laugh any more.

“lady, if you read that pun in a children's joke book, i guarantee you would not laugh at it. not out loud, not internally.”

The girl finally wound down her giggles and sighed, leaning against the register to smile at him, her eye sparkling from behind her glasses.

“Sorry, I just...no one's made me laugh like that in a long time,” she said.

“are you new to humor?” Stretch asked, perplexed. “did you undergo a surgical funectomy?”

She sighed again and, rather reluctantly, rang up his total. Stretch's credit card was in and out of the chip reader so fast it practically left burning ozone in its wake.

“welp, thanks for the, uh...thanks honey,” he said with forced brightness, clutching his paper bag to his chest as he turn to leave.

“Wait!” the girl called, grabbing his arm from over the counter. “Don't you, um...do you want my number?”

He stared back at her.

“number of what?” he asked. The girl gazed at him, still clutching his sleeve, before slowly pulling her hand back and slumping a little behind the counter, eyes cast down.

“Oh, um, never mind. I'm sure I'll see you around the store again, so don't be a-”

“nope.”

She looked up at his voice, only to suddenly see no one in front of her at all.

-stranger?”

Stretch shortcutted directly into his bedroom, half-tripping over a pile of laundry before stumbling against the edge of his mattress. Shoving the creased up ball of sheets to the floor, he sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.

Online shopping. Get a post office box, get it sent there. Online shopping from now on. First the nice old lady and now this.

He huffed out a long breath in exhaustion and relief. Interacting with other people on a daily basis made him want to be set on fire. Once he'd calmed down, he folded his long legs under himself and eagerly dumped the paper bag from the bookstore out onto his bed.

Book about tiny garden shrubs, book about sailboats, and a...calendar featuring various pictures of ferrets pretending to drive little luxury cars. Interesting. But not what he actually went there to buy.

He collected his actual purchases in an excited heap, staring at the covers.

A big, wonderful pile of vintage romance novels in all their terrible, gaudy glory. Tales of Longing, The Stolen Duchess, Taming the Baron, Destiny's Bride...

He snuggled backwards into a pile of pillows against his wall and picked up the book on the top of the stack with a huge grin, before flipping open the cover, upon which was illustrated a bare-chested pirate of some sort and a woman with piercing green eyes, a flimsy bodiced gown and enough flowing raven tresses to make a sizable throw rug.

It didn't get any better than this.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It was five-thirty in the morning on a Saturday and the first layer of weak sunlight had already been spread across the lawns of the neighborhood, slowly evaporating wet dew. Even for the early hour, it was becoming warmer and the chill of dawn had vanished. A bright, sunny day lay ahead, with flawless blue skies.

Two people in workout gear jogged together at a brisk pace along the sidewalk, past the still-darkened windows of suburban houses and picture-perfect flowerbeds of their community, screaming as they went.

“I'M AS GREAT AS GREAT CAN BE! HERE ARE FIVE THINGS I CAN SEE!” Papyrus yelled.

“MAILBOX!” he bellowed.

“PINK HOUSE!” Blue shouted.

“DAFFODILS!” Papyrus screeched.

“GREEN CAR!” Blue cheered.

“LADY WITH A BABY!” Papyrus finished triumphantly, as an irritated woman passed them in the other direction with a jogging stroller. She scowled and pretended not to notice the two monsters in their outrageous exercise gear, complete with headbands and day-glo crop tops, as they ran along yelling at the top of their purely-fictional lungs.

“I'M AS MAGNIFICENT AS I CAN BE!” Blue kept the daily jogging game going. “HERE ARE SIX THINGS I CAN SEE!”

“MAILBOX!”

“PINK HOUSE!”

“DAFFODILS!”

“GREEN CAR!”

“LADY WITH A BABY!”

“UMMMM...CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK THAT LOOKS LIKE A PIECE OF TOAST!”

“GOOD ONE!” Papyrus shouted. “I HOPE I CAN REMEMBER THAT!”

“HEY, DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THAT CAFE I MENTIONED YESTERDAY?” Blue looked at the pedometer clipped to his wristband. “WE CAN STOP THERE FOR BREAKFAST AND THEN RUN BACK!”

“IS IT NEAR HERE?”

“YES, ONLY SIX MILES AWAY!”

“OKAY THEN!” Papyrus roared, picking up the pace as they reached the front entrance for their community and turned onto the main road. “I'M AS GREAT AS GREAT CAN BE! HERE ARE SEVEN THINGS I CAN SEE!”

“MAILBOX!”

“PINK HOUSE!”

“DAFFODILS!”

“GREEN CAR!”

“LADY WITH A BABY!”

“CRACK IN THE SIDEWALK THAT LOOKS LIKE A PIECE OF TOAST!”

“MAN RETRIEVING THE NEWSPAPER IN HIS UNDERWEAR!”

The two skeletons smiled cheerfully and waved at the man who stomped back up his driveway with a newspaper under his arm and slammed the front door to his house after him.

“GARISHLY-PAINTED FIRE HYDRANT!”

“HALF A PRETZEL!”

“BLUE STICKER ON A STOP SIGN!”

“IT WAS 'BLUE-GREEN STICKER ON A STOP SIGN,'” Papyrus chided, as he and Blue jogged through the downtown area, along a tree-lined sidewalk, “BUT WE CAN LET THAT ONE PASS. I'M AS GREAT AS GREAT CAN BE! HERE ARE ONE THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED AND TWENTY THINGS I CAN-”

“WAIT, WE'RE HERE!” Blue stopped and rested against the side of a building, staring through the glass front window into a cute cafe with a few early-rising customers already inside. Papyrus joined him in looking inside.

“PERFECT! A BITE TO EAT AND THEN WE CAN JOG BACK AND BEGIN THE DAY PROPERLY!” He opened the door to the cafe and politely held it for Blue to enter first, before following. Inside, the smell of coffee and baked goods filled the little shop, causing the two skeletons to gravitate towards the front display case full of muffins, croissants, cakes and other delicious-looking breakfast options. They quickly took their place in line for the register.

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO GET?” Blue asked, as Papyrus scrutinized the chalkboard menu above the front counter. “I'VE HAD THEIR CROISSANTS AND THEY'RE VERY GOOD!”

“I DON'T KNOW,” Papyrus said, ducking his impressive height down to inspect the lower tray of foods in the display case, “BUT IF THE BAKED GOODS MEET YOUR APPROVAL, THEN WHATEVER I CHOOSE WILL LIKELY BE EQUALLY GOOD!”

A middle-aged man in a beige apron working the register shot them a confused, rather annoyed look, as the two women at the front of the line visibly cringed from the skeletons' lack of indoor voices. They picked up their purchases and quickly left the cafe. Blue and Papyrus scooted along to the front of the line.

“HELLO, SIR!” Blue yelled in a chipper, if deafening voice. “GOOD MORNING TO YOU! WE'VE JUST BEEN JOGGING AND THOUGHT WE WOULD COME HERE FOR BREAKFAST! DO YOU HAVE ANY RECOMMENDATIONS?”

“I, uh,” the man began, before casting a glance at Papyrus, who was leaning on the glass display case to look at the bags of coffee on the back counter.

“Coffee's always a good idea,” he finished, uncertainly. Blue gave him a thumbs up.

“THEN PLEASE MAKE US TWO MEDIUM COFFEES! BLACK! ALSO-”

He joined Papyrus at the front display, squinting at the different rolls, breads and cakes.

“HMMMM,” he hummed critically, baby blue eyelights darting back and forth across the choices.

“Y/N, two black coffees,” the man at the register called. A young woman in a matching apron, who had just emerged from the kitchen, immediately went over to one of the machines behind the counter.

“I CAN'T DECIDE!” Blue moaned aloud. This time the man at the counter cringed himself, as the tip jar by his elbow gently vibrated with sonic assault. “PAPYRUS, WHAT ARE YOU GETTING?”

“I AM CURRENTLY DEBATING BETWEEN A PISTACHIO MUFFIN AND A REGULAR CROISSANT,” Papyrus replied, his height allowing his voice to carry even further over the rest of the shop. A young man drinking his coffee at a table by the window darted a glare towards them, grumbled, picked up his cup and walked out the door.

“Sirs, can you maybe lower your voices?” the man behind the register asked the two skeletons critically inspecting the baked goods. “A bit?”

“IS THIS A SECRET BREAKFAST TRANSACTION?” Blue asked, suddenly intrigued. He put his hand to the side of his mouth in a whispering gesture, though his volume did not decrease at all. “IS THIS BETTER?”

“WHAT ARE WE WHISPERING ABOUT??” Papyrus bent down and asked, not whispering in the slightest. The man frowned at him as well.

“Sirs, please keep your voices down,” he asked more firmly. “You're scaring the pastries.”

“OH NO!” Papyrus looked horrified.

“I'M SO SORRY, BREAD!” Blue cried, his face and hands slammed up against the glass of the display case as he yelled at the baked goods in consternation.

“Sirs, please, if the two of you can't control your volume, I'm going to have to ask you to leave-”

“Hey!”

A female voice startled the two skeletons, as the young woman making their coffee came around to the front register, holding two cups. She scowled at the man next to her.

“You can't talk to them like that!” she huffed at him. The man looked taken aback.

“I'm just asking them to lower their-”

“How DARE you!” the woman continued on. “Just because they're monsters, they're not welcome in the store?!”

“That's...Y/N, that's not at all what I was implying-”

Blue and Papyrus stared at the young woman who was holding their coffees, as she squared up against her boss and began yelling herself.

“Maybe certain monsters just have louder voices, you racist creep! You ever think about that? Of course not!”

“Y/N, there's no need to take that tone wi-”

“I QUIT!” the woman hollered, slamming both coffees down on the counter and untying her apron, before throwing it angrily across the room. “I refuse to work for someone who doesn't treat monsters as equals!” She stomped out of the front area of the store and into the back, where a loud banging and rummaging was heard. Her boss simply stared at the door to the kitchen, as did Blue and Papyrus.

“I THINK PERHAPS WE SHALL JUST HAVE THE COFFEES,” Papyrus said slowly, taking out some bills and handing them to the owner, who nodded in silence and made change. Papyrus dumped the change into the tip jar before he and Blue picked up their coffees, waving to the man and quickly exiting the store. Once outside, they looked around for a convenient public bench before sitting down.

“THAT WAS RATHER STRANGE,” Papyrus said. Blue took a sip of his very hot coffee and nodded.

“DO YOU STILL WANT TO GET SOMETHING TO EA-” Blue was cut off suddenly by the door to the cafe opening, then slamming violently closed behind the now former female employee. She had a grungy backpack and a light jacket in one arm and was looking around the street. Spotting Blue and Papyrus on the bench, she strode over to them quickly.

“I'm so sorry about that, guys,” she apologized, glowering at the front window of the cafe, her hands gripped in combative fists. “Humans can be so awful to monsters. I just want you to know that we're not all like that.”

“THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR CONCERN, HUMAN WORKER!” Blue beamed at her, moving over to let her sit on the bench with them. She sat down with a proud smile and opened her mouth to speak again.

“BUT THERE WAS REALLY NO REASON TO INTERVENE!” Blue continued, and the woman's mouth snapped shut. “WE WERE ALMOST DONE ORDERING ANYWAY!”

“AND WE DID SCARE THE BREAD,” Papyrus reluctantly admitted, looking at his coffee cup. “PERHAPS MERE BAKED GOODS JUST WEREN'T READY FOR OUR COMBINED INCREDIBLENESS AT SUCH AN EARLY HOUR OF THE MORNING. WE REALLY SHOULD HAVE SHOWN UP FOR LUNCH INSTEAD.”

“I...” the woman trailed off, before regaining her composure. “Well, I'm glad you at least got your coffees. I can't even imagine how many stores must refuse you service just for being monsters.” She threw an angry look up and down the line of shops running the length of the street, as if to prove her point.

“NOT MANY THAT I'VE VISITED,” Papyrus said smoothly, drinking his coffee and draping one long, lanky arm across the back of the bench. “I'M SURE I'D REMEMBER BEING TREATED LIKE THAT. MOST HUMANS ARE VERY NICE!”

“Yeah, they can be pretty awf- wait, what?” the woman swung her head back to face him, looking confused. Papyrus shrugged.

“EBBOT CITY IS FILLED WITH MONSTERS. PEOPLE WOULD LOSE A LOT OF BUSINESS BY TURNING US AWAY, I SUPPOSE.”

“But...but surely you've been discriminated against before?” The woman was now looking between Blue and Papyrus questioningly.

“WELL,” Papyrus conceded, “I HAVE MET A FEW HUMANS WHO UNFORTUNATELY WERE TOO IMPRESSED WITH MY GREATNESS TO REMEMBER PROPER MANNERS AT THE TIME. BUT THAT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN REALLY HOLD AGAINST A PERSON!”

“But what do you do if someone is awful to you?” the woman asked imploringly. “Who would stick up for you?”

“I DO!” Papyrus said proudly. “I AM AN ADULT, AFTER ALL.”

“I'M THIRTY-TWO,” Blue added, drinking out of his coffee cup with both hands. “AND I CAN BE ABSOLUTELY SAVAGE ON YELP!”

The woman stared at both of them as though they were speaking a different language, before looking down and shaking her head.

“WHY DO YOU THINK PEOPLE WOULD WANT TO BE RUDE TO US?” Papyrus asked her. The woman's head snapped up immediately.

“Be-because you're monsters!” she yelled, gesturing towards the two of them with both arms. “You're big, loud, weird, abrasive walking skeletons with creepy eyes and no skin!”

“No offense,” she added.

“...SOME TAKEN,” Blue replied slowly, looking her up and down. Papyrus only leaned over his friend's head to address the woman.

“I'M SORRY, MISS...ER...MISS...”

“Y/N,” the woman offered, reaching out to shake Papyrus' hand. His shook hers enthusiastically.

“YOUR NAME IS PAPYRUS TOO?? THAT'S AMAZING! MY FAME MUST BE SPREADING!”

The woman slowed her handshake to a stop and stared up at him in confusion, but Papyrus only continued to talk.

“I'M SORRY YOU THINK WE'RE SPOOKY SCARY SKELETONS-”

“No no, I don't!” the woman interrupted desperately. “I meant other people!”

“-BUT ACTUALLY I AM AN ADORED MASCOT FOR THE MONSTER RACE AT LARGE,” Papyrus finished proudly, one hand on his chest and the other holding his coffee cup aloft. “AND MY FRIEND BLUE HERE CAN DO THAT THING WITH HIS EYES THAT PEOPLE LOVE.”

He gestured to Blue, who turned his gaze towards Y/N and briefly squinted, before his eyelights snapped into the shape of glowing stars.

“Awwww!” Y/N cooed. Papyrus, however, frowned at the display.

“BLUE! WE'RE TRYING TO MAKE A POSITIVE FIRST IMPRESSION HERE! GIVE HER THE GOOD STUFF!”

Blue sighed and balled his fists up, a look of fierce concentration crossing his face. Sweat appeared on his forehead, before the stars in his eyes shifted into the shape of little kitty faces.

“AWWWW!!” the woman sitting next to him exploded in glee. “That is too adorable!”

“THANK YOU!” Blue replied, tearing up slightly at the corners of his eyes. “THIS HURTS A LOT!”

He rubbed his hands into his eye sockets before blinking several times. His eyelights returned to normal. Papyrus, satisfied at the display, drained the last of his coffee cup and lobbed it neatly into a nearby trash can, before folding his arms over his chest and turning back to the other two people.

“THE POINT IS, LOTS OF PEOPLE LIKE US,” he finished. “AND IF THEY DON'T, THAT'S THEIR EXTREMELY UNFORTUNATE, LIFELONG LOSS!”

“Yeah, but...I mean-” the woman halted her rebuttal as Papyrus leaned over Blue's head again and placed his hands earnestly on her shoulders, his eyelights looking searchingly into her eyes.

“PAPYRUS,” he said firmly, “YOU MUST LEARN TO THINK BETTER OF OTHERS AND GIVE THEM A CHANCE. IF YOU YOURSELF LIKE US FOR WHO WE ARE, THEN ISN'T THAT A GOOD INDICATOR THAT OTHER PEOPLE WILL TOO?”

“Yeah, but,” the woman tried again, unable to maintain eye contact and instead looking out towards the street, where early morning traffic was picking up. “But I'm different from other people.”

“BECAUSE YOU'RE UNEMPLOYED?” Blue asked. The woman stared, before slapping her forehead.

“Oh man, that's right! I just sassed my way out of yet another job!” she griped, shooting a look back to the cafe door. “How am I possibly going to pay the rent on my apartment? I'll be out on the streets in no time!” She peeked a glance out of the corner of her eye towards the two skeletons.

Papyrus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then bounced up from the bench, landing with a leap on his feet and managing a pose all in one movement. “FEAR NOT, NEW HUMAN FRIEND!” he yelled. “IT IS OUR DUTY TO STAND BY YOU IN THESE TRYING TIMES! LUCKILY, I HAVE MY PHONE AND CAN MAKE A QUICK CALL TO MY BROTHER TO FIX YOUR PROBLEM!”

He took his phone out of a hip pack that was tightly wound around his pelvic crests and started walking towards an alley a few yards away, dialing as he went.

“PARDON ME WHILE I MAKE A CALL! BLUE, PLEASE ENTERTAIN OUR NEW FRIEND IN THE MEANTIME!”

He ducked around the corner of the alley, the phone held to the side of his head. Blue finished his own coffee and tossed it into the nearby trash, cheering as it went in without touching the sides of the can.

“DID YOU WORK AT THE CAFE BECAUSE YOU LIKE COFFEE?” he asked the woman next to him, who had her focus set on Papyrus' foot sticking out from the alley, looking as though she was trying to hear the phone conversation.

“What? Oh no, I just, you know, needed the money. It's not a bad job, but I'm not much of a people person. I'm just a little too headstrong and sassy for other people to handle. I can dish it out as well as I can take it, and people don't like that.”

“OH, I SEE!”

“I like monsters, though,” she added, looking back to Blue briefly with a big smile. “I've always wanted to be friends with some monsters!”

Blue's sunny smile faltered slightly.

“THAT'S...NICE,” he said. “CAN YOU SAY THAT AGAIN? BUT INSTEAD OF MONSTERS, SAY 'ETHNIC PEOPLE'.”

“Why?”

“I JUST...WANT TO HEAR IF IT SOUNDS AS OFFENSIVE BOTH WAYS.”

“GOOD NEWS!” Papyrus crowed, running back over to the bench as he put his phone away. “I SPOKE WITH MY OLDER BROTHER AND WE HAVE A GREAT SOLUTION FOR YOUR JOB AND HOUSING DILEMMA!”

“Papyrus, you're amazing!” the woman cried, jumping up to dart over and hug him. Papyrus hugged her back with a bone-crushing strength.

“ANYTHING FOR MY COOL NEW HUMAN FRIEND! YOU START ON MONDAY!”

“Wow, that soon?” the woman beamed at him. “Gosh, that barely gives me time to empty my apartment!”

“NOT TO WORRY, YOU CAN KEEP EVERYTHING IN YOUR APARTMENT AS IT IS!”

“That's...wait, huh?” the woman pulled out of the hug to scrutinize Papyrus' delighted expression. He threw his arms out in an ecstatic gesture.

“YES! MY BROTHER SAYS HE CAN GET YOU A WELL-PAYING SERVER JOB AT HIS FRIEND GRILLBY'S PLACE! YOU DON'T HAVE TO MOVE AT ALL!”

“I...you...” the woman trailed off as Blue wandered up behind her.

“YES, YOU'D BE SURPRISED HOW MANY UNEMPLOYED YOUNG WOMEN MY BROTHER ENDS UP RUNNING INTO,” Papyrus continued. “HE SAVES A LIST OF JOB OPPORTUNITIES ON HIS PHONE NOW FOR EMERGENCIES!”

“WOW, THIS IS PERFECT! YOU'LL MAKE LOADS OF NEW MONSTER FRIENDS THERE, MISS PAPYRUS!” Blue said brightly. “AND THEN YOU CAN LEARN ALL ABOUT THEM AS INDIVIDUALS! HOPEFULLY!”

“But I-”

The woman frowned as she was enveloped in another crushing hug from Papyrus, with Blue excitedly adding himself into the hug from the side.

“NYEH HEH HEH!”

“MWEH HEH HEH!”

“Yee haw,” the woman muttered to herself through a face full of Papyrus' scarf.

Ten minutes later, Y/N stood on the sidewalk outside her former cafe job, holding a paper with Grillby's number on it and watching two skeletons jog away down the street excitedly, shouting out a long list of everything they could spot.

“GARISHLY-PAINTED FIRE HYDRANT!”

“HALF A PRETZEL!”

“BLUE STICKER ON A STOP SIGN!”

“NEW HUMAN FRIEND WHO JUST GOT A GREAT JOB!”

“NYEH HEH HEH!”

“MWEH HEH HEH!”

The clock on the wall ticked softly in the windowed conference room. A low-pile carpeting covered the floor, decorated in various interlocking shapes of gray, geometric patterns, designed to either calm the senses or slightly irritate them. A tall potted plant stood in the corner of the room, not particularly busy. Edge glared at it, then back at the nervous human male across the table from him.

The man examined the printed resume in the manila folder that he held in his hands, before glancing up at Edge, who was wearing a sharp black suit, red tie, his trademark gloves and scarf and a very dire expression. The man gave the tall, fearsome monster an encouraging Human Resources-approved smile.

“So, Mister Edge, let me ask you: where do you see yourself in five years?”

“BREAKING EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY IF YOU SOMEHOW DEEM ME UNWORTHY OF EMPLOYMENT,” Edge answered matter-of-factly. “ALTERNATIVELY, IN MANAGEMENT.”

The man across the table frowned and put the manila folder down.

“it ain't you, boss,” Red said encouragingly, as his imposing brother kicked a public trash can on the street outside of the cable company's drab, boxy HQ building. At this point, the steel can was more of a large circular sheet of metal with boot-sized holes in it, and strong efforts to contain any actual trash were reduced to a mere polite request for it to not scatter any further along the sidewalk.

“they always got some internal guy already picked out fer the job,” Red continued, keeping a safe distance as Edge vented his frustrations on public property. “they gotta pretend to have outside interviews just to make it look legit. happens all th' time.”

Edge sighed, uncharacteristically silent, as he dislodged a long boot heel from the trash can metal and kicked the twisted wreckage into the street. A passing car swerved to avoid it, horn screaming as the vehicle veered onto a grassy divide, scattering a flock of resting geese everywhere. Edge folded his arms over his chest, watching as the car tried to back off the divider, only to narrowly avoid being rear-ended by another car that came to a screeching halt behind it. Much blaring of horns and yelling commenced in the street.

“LET'S JUST GO,” Edge muttered, striding over and grabbing his brother by the arm. In a moment, they had shortcutted back home.

“hey, let's go hit the clubhouse n' go swimming, yeah?” Red tried to intercept his brother's gaze, as Edge marched grimly from the foyer of their house and up the stairs to his bedroom. “lay out in the sun, take it easy-”

“PASS,” Edge growled, trying to get around Red as he stood in the way. “MOVE.”

“boss,” Red said seriously, drawing himself up to his full height and almost managing to come up to his little brother's chest, “ya gotta take a break and just relax for a bit. no buts. getcher towel n' shorts and let's go fer a swim. 's nice day out.”

“please,” he added as an afterthought. Edge's eyesockets widened a bit. He opened his mouth to protest, before simply sighing in dramatic frustration.

“FINE.” He stomped the rest of the way down the hall to his room, slamming the door behind him. Dresser drawers could be heard sharply opening and closing. Red leaned against the wall of the hallway and closed his sockets, dragging a hand over his face.

This whole employment thing was getting his brother seriously down. Apparently there really weren't any jobs on the surface where you could just kill the previous guy holding it and take his spot. Didn't seem very efficient. There had to be something Edge could do, if only to pass the time instead of feeling more and more frustrated and useless. His explosions of temper around the house were getting worse. Red shook his head and opened the door to his own room, pulling a striped beach towel out of the laundry pile in the corner.

A few minutes later, they both blipped over to the clubhouse, where the sparkling community pool was glittering in the summer sun, surrounded by a nice terrace full of tables with umbrellas, deck chairs and a small gazebo, for general use by neighbors. The pool was already half full of parents with small children, as well as a few elderly folk sitting by the edges and chatting.

“hey, this ain't bad, is it?” Red asked with a grin, walking across the terrace and spreading his towel on a vacant chair. His brother marched silently behind him, wearing plain swim shorts and black sandals. Without bothering to take off his charcoal button-down shirt or sunglasses, he sat down and put his feet up on the chair, folding his arms stubbornly over his chest and making no effort to go near the water.

“you think we should use th' nice grill they got here an' have a cookout for the house sometime?” Red tried to make conversation, but his brother grimly stared into the distance, a fierce and prolonged pouting the only option for the foreseeable future. Red sighed and shrugged.

“'k, i'm gonna go for a swim. c'mon in when you want.” He reluctantly stood up and walked away, heading to the pool. Edge closed his sockets and leaned his head back, annoyance radiating from every part of him.

The irritating little humans of this saccharine little community ran around the terrace, making obnoxious noises, causing an unnecessary amount of splashing in the pool, allowing their offspring to run amok and cause scenes...

These soft, fleshy little simpletons were the pathetic creatures who deemed him unworthy of employment? Of honest, productive work? Of doing something with his time other than being utterly, overwhelmingly, infuriatingly-

“Bored,” Edge finished out loud without thinking.

“That's why we brought our own fun, honey,” a voice from behind his head called.

Edge sat up slowly, turning to observe a group of women in casual dress, sitting under the shade of a table umbrella with several cups in front of them and a bag at their feet. They smiled and waved him over. He made no move to, well...move.

Seeing this, one woman slyly glanced at the lifeguard on duty on the other side of the pool, before leaning down in her chair. Some suspicious noises of glass clinking together and the woman pulled out a large bottle from her bag under the table, waggling it at Edge with a knowing look. He frowned.

“ALCOHOL IS FORBIDDEN ON THE TERRACE,” he said simply. The women scoffed, practically in unison.

“Right, because we really care what that guy thinks,” said another lady, pointing towards the teenaged, pimply lifeguard who was currently tangled in his own t-shirt, after trying to remove it while still wearing his whistle on a string around his neck. “The day I let some snot-nosed kid tell me what to do is the day I finally murder my mother-in-law with a shovel.”

Edge's eyesockets widened. After another moment, he stood up and hesitantly walked over to their table.

“Everyone in this community is a bastard,” a woman in a lime-green dress announced. “Including us. Have some sangria and at least you won't be bored.” She offered a plastic red cup to Edge, who took it gently in his claws. After a glance around at the women, he sat down and drained the cup.

“IT'S NOT WORKING,” he said, looking into the now-empty cup, before it suddenly become full again. A lady in a cornflower blue blouse and white skirt finished tipping the bottle into his cup, topped up her own and placed it back into the bag on the ground, in which several other bottles were half-hidden.

“That's because you're not caught up to us yet,” she said. “Better step on the gas a little.” She took out a flask from her purse and tipped a shot of clear alcohol into his cup as well, before knocking her own cup against the rim of his in a casual toast. She threw back half the cup in one go and smiled. “Now who's your least favorite person here? Personally, I can't stand Rachel.”

She gave a slightly tipsy squint across the terrace to a redheaded woman, who was putting arm floaties on her two children at the side of the pool.

“Her kids too,” the woman added. “God, all they do is run back and forth across my damn yard all day. You can hear them shrieking halfway down the street, even with the windows closed. Might as well live next to a reform school.”

“The worst,” one of her friends agreed. “Is it wrong to want to just put kids in jail until they're eighteen?”

“It really shouldn't be.”

“Isn't your husband a cop?”

“Please, you think we could afford to live in this neighborhood on a cop's salary? Brian's an architect.”

“YOU KNOW WHO I HATE?” Edge said suddenly, having finished his second cup of sangria and feeling strangely talkative. “LINDA.”

“Linda in that beige stucco nightmare with the ugly pergola?” one woman asked. Edge nodded and held his cup out, watching as it was filled up again and topped with another shot of something from the flask, before taking another drink. It was strangely sweet and went down very easily.

“YES. THAT...WOODEN ABOMINATION IN HER YARD. SHE WALKS HER WRETCHED LITTLE YAPPY DOG AROUND HER PROPERTY EVERY MORNING AND JUST LETS HIM MAKE A MESS ON THE VERY EDGES OF OUR PROPERTY.”

“Oh my god, do I hate Linda,” a short, brunette woman in a pink dress groaned, spilling her drink slightly as she waved her cup at Edge in agreement. “You know she tried to make the HOA ticket people for having Christmas lights up on their house past December 27th?”

“THE UTTER TRAMP,” Edge agreed, already slurring a little. He paused, took another sip of his drink and stared at the underside of the umbrella that covered the table.

“WOULD ANYONE MISS HER IF SHE DIED? DOES SHE HAVE ANY LOVED ONES?”

“I like this guy,” the woman in lime green said, nodding her head towards Edge. He flushed slightly and turned in his plastic chair, pointing at a man standing by the pool, eating a hamburger.

“IF THAT GUY IS STILL EATING OVER THE POOL IN FIVE SECONDS, I'M PUSHING HIM IN,” Edge announced. “AS WELL AS HIS UGLY WIFE. AT LEAST SHE'LL CLEAR THE PLACE OUT SO WE CAN ALL HAVE ROOM TO SWIM.”

The women around him cackled loudly in hysterics and Edge smiled smugly, leaning over the table towards them, holding his cup out for a refill.

“AND ANOTHER THING...”

Chapter Text

The first time Rus and Mutt left the house together, it was to run an errand for food and drinks while the big move to the new house was underway. Both were ordered by their brothers to find the nearest convenience store and bring back something for everyone, while the skeletons actually invested in doing physical labor that day hauled boxes off the moving truck and into the house.

One shortcut to the town's main street later, they both walked along in search of a cheap store and eventually ran into the King Mart. It had snacks and bottled beverages and more importantly, human cigarettes and obscenely large soda fountain cups with free refills. These last two things had been expressly forbidden by both Black and Wine, who saw them as unhealthy wastes of money. Mutt and Rus' eyesockets widened at the sight.

Blipping back an hour later with armloads of plastic bags, Mutt and Rus dropped off refreshments in the foyer of the new house, while the others were taking a break, sitting on cardboard boxes in the August heat. Drinks were gratefully accepted and Stretch was just tearing open a large bag of chips, when Black entered the room, hauling a box of dishes.

“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!” He put down his box, grabbed an energy drink from a bag and cracked the can open. The can was almost to his mouth when he paused and glanced about, sniffing the air.

“DO I SMELL CIGARETTES?” Black asked suspiciously. Mutt shot Rus a cautious look, waiting to see what he would say.

“whole store smelled like 'em, black,” Rus said casually, chewing on a straw. “i think the owner smokes.”

“DISGUSTING,” Black said, resuming his drink.

“AREN'T YOU HAVING ANYTHING?” Wine asked his brother, who hadn't taken a drink from the food bags. Rus fiddled with the strings on his hoodie.

“had something already at the store,” he mumbled. He seemed to suddenly notice the straw he was chewing on and spat it out, stuffing it into one of the plastic bags. Wine narrowed his sockets at him.

“we got juice n' some of those little mini tacos from the grill,” Mutt piped up. Wine switched his glare over to Mutt.

“IS THAT SO?”

“yep,” Mutt answered, unperturbed. After another moment of scrutiny, Wine returned to his own share of snacks. Mutt and Rus both breathed silent sighs of relief.

From then on, their friendship with each other was more or less based on having mutual alibis. They often went for “walks,” which invariably led to the King Mart, where Mutt could smoke in peace and Rus could drink half a gallon of carbonated sugar water through a straw. If anyone asked, they went for a stroll to discuss some guitar song Mutt was working on, or commission Rus had lately taken. Their pocket money was gladly handed over in exchange for this “productive bonding.” In keeping with everyone having to contribute to the household, Mutt worked at his brother's donut shop and Rus was an illustrator. But since Black never paid Mutt for his work and Rus only took art commissions on Etsy, they both made the same amount of money, hence the need for allowances from their brothers.

Beyond that, their personalities meshed enough for them to get along with each other. Mutt suffered from anxiety, which he hid under a mask of indifference, whereas Rus had a natural indifference, which he hid under a layer of anxiety. So it worked out pretty well.

Today the stroll to the King Mart was being made in a slow and meandering fashion through the back alleys and empty lots of town. Shortcuts were useful, but being out of the house to avoid chores was more easily accomplished with the pretense of going for a long walk. It was a cloudy day with a light wind, humid and promising rain later that night. They wandered along the sidewalk, talking about nothing in particular.

“i mean i want to maybe get a bike, but i don't want to get into bikes, you know?” Rus was saying.

“no.”

“because my bro wants me to do some kind of exercise. says i mope indoors too much. and bikes are the easiest thing.”

Mutt frowned at the horizon of rooftops for a moment. “seems like a lotta work,” he finally said.

“no, bikes are like...like if you go for a walk while carrying a chair, except the chair is carrying you, and sometimes you just stop walking and the chair keeps going.” Rus made a vague cycling gesture with his hands. “it's basically sitting down, but sometimes you move your legs. it's the easiest exercise ever.”

“i thought swimming was the best exercise,” Mutt replied.

“do skeletons float?”

“i don't.”

“well, there you go.”

Mutt reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack, crumpling it up and tossing it on the ground when he realized that it was empty. “m'lord says he doesn't care what i do, so long as i do it quietly.”

“lucky. anyway, i want to get a bike, but i just don't want to become one of those guys who are into bikes. i don't wanna wear special spandex shorts-”

“i don't want that either,” Mutt agreed quickly.

“-or watch the tour de france live.”

“the what?”

“the tour de france...it's like the olympics, but just the part with bikes. they hold it in france every year.”

“oh.”

Both were silent for some time, walking along the cracked sidewalk. Mutt kept both hands in his jacket pockets, while Rus had one arm out to absentmindedly drag his fingers along the brick facade of a nearby building, bones making an odd scraping sound against the stone.

“do you think it will ever come here?” Rus suddenly spoke.

“what?”

“the tour de france. they should take it on tour. more people might watch it then. i mean the word 'tour' is right in the name. they could call it the world tour de france.”

“i don't know,” Mutt squinted at a little round stone on the ground that he'd been steadily kicking along in front of himself for about half a block. “wouldn't it be the tour de...whatever country then? the tour de thailand? tour de australia?”

“oh no, you have to keep the france part in the title, or else you lose the whole branding thing,” Rus shook his head seriously. “or at least you have to say the whole thing in french, including the country. like, 'france' is french for 'france.'”

“how do the french say 'australia?'” Mutt asked.

“probably with an accent.”

A sudden BANG! erupted from a nearby alley, causing them both to jump. Rus stuck his head around the corner, into the little dimly-lit alley between two brick buildings. There was an overflowing dumpster and a few discarded cardboard boxes lying next to it, as well as half a truck tire.

Behind the dumpster, a shuffling movement caught his eyelight. A young woman emerged from the shadows, dressed in a short, moss green cloak, the hood pulled up. Underneath, she wore jeans and a t-shirt. She had a leather satchel at her hip, decorated with a silver clasp covered in odd runes.

“uh...you okay there, miss?” Rus called, as Mutt peered down the alley over his shoulder. The woman turned to them in apparent surprise. Her right eye was an ordinary color, but her left eye was glowing with an ethereal light, hazy white and electric blue, leaving a trail of magic in the air as her head turned. A strange symbol burned brightly in the center of her eye.

The young woman gasped and threw her hands over her eyes to hide them. Mutt raised a brow at this behavior. Rus took a step forward, gesturing toward her.

“do you need help?” he tried again. The woman shook her head violently, turning her body away from them.

“Please...please, just forget you ever saw me,” she pleaded in a whisper, hiding her face behind the woolen hood of her cloak.

“okay.”

“done.”

Both skeletons turned and continued walking.

The woman blinked. Creeping over to the end of the alley, she peered around the corner. Mutt and Rus were headed across an empty lot towards the back of the King Mart.

“but if 'france' is french for 'france,'” Mutt continued, “then isn't 'australia' french for 'australia?'”

“no i think every country makes up their own name, and then they make up a name for every other country.”

“except france?”

“yeah, except france. we just call that 'france.'”

“Um,” came a voice behind the two. Rus and Mutt turned to find the young woman from the alley standing behind them.

“Do you...aren't you...” she began, in hesitation.

“Don't you care about what you just saw?” she finally blurted out, pointing backwards in the direction of the alley. Rus and Mutt exchanged looks.

“not really.”

“i just wanna get my cigarettes, lady.”

“plus we already forgot about it,” Rus finished, tapping his head conspiratorially. “like you asked.”

The young woman gaped at them, gripping the strap of her leather satchel with both hands. After waiting politely for further conversation and getting none, Rus gave an awkward wave to her.

“well, see ya,” he said, shooting Mutt a meaningful glance and turning once more to head towards the store. The woman stood silently at the far edge of the lot, watching them go.

The door to the King Mart gave an electronic chime, as Mutt and Rus entered. Country music played over the intercom, the fluorescent lighting buzzing intermittently along the ceiling in rows. Rus made a beeline for the far wall of the convenience store. He grabbed a 70 oz. Mega King plastic cup and matching lid from the soda fountain section and headed for the soda machine. Placing the empty cup under the dispensers, Rus leaned his forearm across all six soda buttons, moving the cup slowly back and forth beneath the six streams of soda that poured out simultaneously.

“so what was that all about?” he asked, as Mutt idly watched him mix a horrific melange of soda flavors together.

“dunno,” Mutt shrugged. “not that important.” He inspected a few selections of beef jerky on a nearby shelf, before grabbing a bag of BBQ-flavored jerky and meandering over to the register. He put down a few crumpled bills on the counter.

“two packs of devil strikes,” he said. The woman behind the counter grabbed some cigarette packs from the high shelf above the register, tossing them in a plastic bag with his jerky. Rus walked up behind him, already drinking from his enormous plastic cup through an equally oversized yellow straw.

The door to the store opened with another beep and the woman in the short cloak walked in. She looked around for a moment, before spotting Rus and Mutt.

“You!” she said, marching over.

“us,” Mutt agreed, knocking a pack of cigarettes against his hand. The woman halted in front of him.

“I want you to explain yourself!” she demanded, putting both hands on her hips. Mutt shrugged.

“i just like the way tobacco tastes. and i don't have lungs.”

“Not that! I mean-”

The young woman stopped and shot a significant look toward the bored lady behind the register, who was opening a carton of cigarettes and refilling some empty slots on the shelves behind her.

“I need to talk to you outside!” she said in a staged whisper. Rus continued drinking his soda uninterrupted, but looked at Mutt and nodded to the door. They followed the woman in the cloak outside, walking behind the King Mart to where the trash cans were.

“How are you not...upset at what you just saw me do?” the woman said finally, after checking the vicinity for anyone loitering within earshot. “That was magic!”

“so's this,” Mutt said, snapping his fingers to produce a small orange light between them. He held it to the end of the cigarette in his mouth and took a drag.

“useful stuff,” he added, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

“Yes, but-but I'm a human! Doing magic! That doesn't confuse you? You're not the least bit curious or intrigued about that?”

“You a mage or something?” Rus asked, finally taking the straw out of his mouth for a moment. The woman's jaw dropped.

“How-”

“don't forget to take your jacket off, or the smoke smell will get in your hood,” Rus continued, turning to Mutt, who swore and shrugged his jacket off quickly, tying it around his waist by the sleeves.

“thanks.”

“I-I...” the cloaked woman stammered, looking from one skeleton to the other. Mutt leaned back and blew a cloud of smoke over his head. Rus made a loud sucking noise with his straw, watching her with vague interest.

“...yes,” she admitted at last, looking down at her shoes. “Yes, I'm a mage. Most people have forgotten we exist, but I guess it makes sense that monsters would remember us.”

“not personally, but we read about 'em,” Mutt said, flicking some ash off the end of his cigarette. He sat down on a crate that was lying on its side by the back wall of the building, stretching his long, skinny legs out.

The woman fidgeted in place, not meeting their eyes. She fiddled with her bag and after a minute's silence, finally turned her face upward to them again, still studiously avoiding eye contact.

“You must...hate me, for what my people have done to you,” she said, her expression contorted in shame and regret.

“not really.”

“eh.” Rus made a waggly gesture with his hand. The woman looked beyond confused, and more than a little annoyed.

“But...mages are the ones who trapped you under that mountain!”

“well, humans were. they just hired some mages to create the barrier, or something. so it's like, whatever. humans aren't that bad anymore.” Rus shrugged.

“i got a human girl's number at the store yesterday,” Mutt chimed in, taking another drag off his cigarette.

“that girl we talked to in line? when did you get her number?”

“when she wasn't looking.” Mutt pulled out a smartphone in a purple glitter case from his coat pocket. He lazily tapped some digits into it and hit Call. Rus jumped as his own phone suddenly started vibrating in his pocket.

“there, now you have her number too.”

“mutt, go give that phone back.”

“no.”

“And you're not surprised that mages are still around?” the woman asked, flinging her arms wide, as if this was the obvious reaction to be expected of everyone. Rus blinked at her.

“should they not be?”

“Of course not! Humans haven't believed in mages in forever!” The woman drew herself up to her full height proudly. “They didn't even know mages exist!”

“i mean, same,” Mutt said, looking her up and down. “were you all stuck under a mountain too?”

“No! We just, well...” the young woman trailed off, a pained expression crossing her face again as she looked away. Rus took out his phone and started checking his texts. Mutt continued smoking.

“Can you...can you keep a secret?” the woman finally said softly, looking at the both of them in apprehension. “A secret that could upend all the beliefs of the human and monster races if it were to get-”

“nope,” Rus said automatically.

“cannot,” Mutt agreed.

The woman frowned at them in exasperation, before huffing loudly and crossing her arms over her chest. “I'm the last living mage!” she declared in a defiant tone.

“welp, i'm telling everyone,” Mutt said, starting on a second cigarette.

“i'm texting everyone right now,” Rus countered, opening up the game apps on his phone to play a quick castle builder.

“You can't!” the woman cried, throwing her hands out to halt the two skeletons, who hadn't yet made a move to stop smoking or chugging soda. “It's vitally important that you keep my secret! As...as fellow users of magic! We have to look out for each other!”

“i know a lot of people who use magic that I don't look out for, except to avoid them,” Rus said. “jerry, for one.”

“god, jerry.”

“ugh. jerry.”

“But I need to stay hidden! I'm the only one left of my kind!”

“wait...the last one alive?” Rus looked at her in abrupt puzzlement. “how? can mages only produce offspring with other mages?”

“Well, it's...we've been slowly dying out over the centuries.” The young woman heaved a weary sigh and looked off into the distance, her eyes reflecting the sunlight in strange patterns across the irises. “You have no idea how much of a burden it's been to me, spending my whole life carrying this terrible secret, never being able to show my true self to any-”

“okay but hang on, wait. you're dying out? how big was the reproductive pool of mages up until now? i mean, animals go extinct because people hunt them to extinction. but nobody was hunting you. if anything, you're the apex predator because you have abilities far beyond ordinary humans.”

“That's not-it's...complicated-”

“okay, look,” Rus pulled out a small sketchbook from his back pocket and dug around in his other pocket for a pen, “let's say you have, oh, two hundred mages. if half the population produces three children each, which is a pretty good assumption considering how many kids people used to have back in the day, that's about three hundred kids in the second generation.”

“just about, yeah.” Mutt looked over his elbow at the little notebook.

The young woman stared at Rus, as he sketched a crude family tree across the paper, scribbling some numbers next to it.

“now applying the same basic formula to the second generation, you get four hundred and fifty kids by the third generation. you’ve more than doubled the initial population in just two generations. even factoring in accidental deaths, predators, diseases, and so on, that's still more than enough to maintain the population pretty steadily. the idea that a highly magical race at the apex of the food chain died out for no reason is kinda unbelievable.”

“Well, they're-we're human mages, so we're of the human race, but-”

“well no problem then, humans are everywhere. if you don't need both parents to be mages, what's the issue? should be loads of you running around.”

“I...look, mages are sort of born at random, we intermingle with humans, but a potential mage can be born at any time, to any kind of parent, so long as they have some kind of mage blood in their family lineage...”

“then how do you know you're dying out? do you people take a census or something? what if there are tons of kids doing magic across the globe that you don't know about, because they don't come to the annual banquet meeting for mages, or however you do it?” Rus frowned at her in confusion, taking another long sip from his giant soda cup.

“Well there's...it's not so much that they all...mage magic is sort of taught, passed down through the centuries-”

“yeah, but the race would still exist, is my point,” Rus said.

“...but mage magic itself has been steadily dying out-”

“why? can't they just teach more people?” Mutt spoke up.

“No, the skill to teach it was passed in secret to my grandmother, from her grandmother-”

“your grannies didn't have any other kids to teach? it was just only children all the way down the family tree? again, unlikely.”

“Look, the raw ability to harness true powerful mage magic is gifted at birth to a few mage descendants, only a few times in each generation-”

“well then how do you know it's disappearing? maybe in future generations, more will appear. if you're so worried about being the last, why don't you just go teach some more people yourself?”

“Look I'm just SPECIAL, okay?” the woman finally shouted. “I'm special and I'm magic and I'm misunderstood!”

Both skeletons stared at her.

“i can see why, your math is terrible,” Rus said finally.

“not following it at all,” Mutt shook his head. He stood up and stubbed out his second cigarette, brushing off his pants with both hands and unknotting the jacket at his waist. Throwing it on, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and nodded to Rus, who put his sketchbook and pen away.

“well, i gotta get to work soon, so...good luck with all...that,” Mutt finished, waving a hand in an up-and-down gesture at the irate young woman. Rus took another noisy sip from his straw and followed Mutt towards the empty car lot, back the way they had come, giving the woman one last wave over his shoulder.

The young woman watched them go, her face a mix of unhappy emotions, before she stomped a foot in irritation and stormed off in the opposite direction, setting fire to a nearby tree branch with a wave of her hand out of pure spite.

The door to Superior Donut opened with a tinkling of the little bell hung over it. Blue perked up from where he'd been standing at the register.

“WELCOME TO SUPERIOR DONUT, THE SUPERIOR CHOICE FOR- UH...OH!” he stopped suddenly as he recognized the woman walking in, who also recognized him with a shout.

“Blue! You work at a donut shop? That is so adorable!” The woman Blue had met at the small cafe during his jog with Papyrus was now standing in front of the counter, beaming at him. He did his best to return the smile in equal measure.

“AH, YES! I OWN HALF THE STORE, ACTUALLY! IT'S A LOT OF WORK, BEING A SMALL BUSINESS CO-OWNER! BUT I ENJOY MY CAREER!”

“Awwwww,” the woman cooed at him. “And you look too cute in your little uniform!”

Blue's smile slipped a fraction and he darted his eyes to the back room door.

“YES, WELL...HOW IS YOUR JOB AT GRILLBY'S GOING? I HOPE IT'S AS GOOD A JOB AS YOUR LAST ONE AT THE CAFE!”

The woman frowned slightly and looked to the side, running a finger along the countertop edge. “It's...all right,” she admitted. “I like meeting all the interesting monsters I run into there.”

“But I bet a job at a donut shop is much more fun,” she added, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “I don't suppose-”

“AH, AND HERE'S ANOTHER INTERESTING MONSTER YOU MIGHT WANT TO MEET!” Blue interrupted, as Black came out of the back room with a pile of napkin refills in his hand. “MY GOOD FRIEND AND CO-OWNER, BLACK!”

He grabbed Black by the elbow and dragged him in front of the register, before making a quick exit.

“I'M TAKING MY BREAK NOW!” Blue shouted, practically sprinting into the kitchen.

“SINCE WHEN DO YOU GET BREAKS?” Black snapped back, turning to face the woman at the counter.

“CAN I HELP YOU?” Black asked her, in a voice that indicated he would very much like to do anything else. The woman grinned at him and leaned on the counter.

“Aw, you're Blue's friend? You look so much alike! I love your little paper hat!”

“DO YOU...WANT TO...ORDER SOMETHING,” Black said louder, between gritted teeth, as if she might be hard of hearing. She continued as if she was, gesturing out the door of the shop.

“I was just stopping in to check this place out, and I ran right into Blue! What are the odds? I met him the other day at my...old job.” She looked serious for a moment. “I...was fired for standing up to my monsterphobic boss.”

“YOU WERE FIRED FOR THAT?” Black asked, and the woman scrunched up her face.

“Welllll...not fired, per se. I just couldn't work in a place that treated monsters badly.” She batted her eyes at Black. “I believe that all monsters should be treated the same as all humans.”

“SO DO I,” Black answered. “THAT'S WHY I TREAT EVERYONE LIKE GARBAGE.”

“Oh really?” the woman stood up, hands placed assertively on her hips. “Better not try that on me, mister. I don't take any trash talk from people!”

“I'M SURE. CAN I HELP YOU BUY SOMETHING, PREFERABLY TODAY?” Black said, shooting dirty looks at the back room, where he was beginning to suspect Blue had hidden to avoid this exact conversation.

“Get it? Trash talk.”

“MM-HMM. YOUR ORDER?”

“Actually...well, sure,” the woman said after some thought. “Can I get a glazed donut?”

Black turned and silently selected a donut off the display rack, putting it in a paper bag and turning back to hand it to her. The woman shook it out of the bag and took a big bite, her eyes lighting up.

“Wow!” she exclaimed through a mouthful of donut. “This is the best donut I've ever had!”

“INCREDIBLE.”

“No, really!” she continued, taking a second bite. “Monster donuts are so much better than human ones! It's amazing!”

“THESE ARE HUMAN DONUTS,” Black replied with an icy glare. “WE MAKE THEM THE SAME AS HUMAN BAKERIES DO. THAT'S HOW WE GOT THE LICENSE TO SELL FOOD TO HUMANS.”

The woman paused, her eyes darting from Black to the donuts on the display rack behind him.

“Well, I'm...sure they taste different because as a monster you...have more love inside you?” she ventured.

“OH, I'M JUST FULL OF IT,” Black smiled, showing off a row of sharpened teeth. The woman ignored this, finishing off her donut.

“You know,” she continued, “there ought to be more of an effort to get humans to shop here. It's just not fair that monster businesses don't get as many human customers!”

“YOU DON'T SAY.”

“Yes! I was thinking, maybe I can go around and convince people to come to your store, maybe talk to other store owners on this street-”

“WE ALREADY DO THE STICKERS,” Black interrupted, pointing at the front window. When the woman made no move to go and inspect it, he sighed in irritation, reached under the counter and brought up a small, oval sticker that depicted a simple line drawing of a human and monster embracing.

“STORE OWNERS PUT THESE ON THEIR WINDOWS TO SHOW THAT BOTH MONSTER AND HUMAN CUSTOMERS ARE WELCOME,” he explained. “MOST OF THE STORES AROUND HERE HAVE THEM ALREADY.”

“Oh,” the woman said, taking the sticker and examining it. “Cute.”

“EXTREMELY. WE ALSO GET PLENTY OF HUMAN TRAFFIC IN THIS STORE. DID YOU WANT TO ORDER SOMETHING ELSE, OR PAY NOW?”

“I just thought that you might like some humans to help with your store,” the woman rambled on, “especially someone like me who cares a lot about monster rights. I'm a very assertive person, so if anyone's giving you trouble, you just tell me and I'll take care of-”

“I HAVE A BROTHER FOR THAT,” Black interrupted again, leaning on the register with one arm while wading through this exhausting conversation. “ARE YOU DONE ORDERING?”

“Well, you don't have to be so rude. I'm just trying to show you that not all humans are against monsters.”

“CERTAINLY NOT ANY OF OUR CUSTOMERS, THAT I CAN RECALL. AND WE DO GET A LOT OF THEM. MANY OF THEM ACTUALLY PAY MONEY FOR OUR FOOD.” He looked at her pointedly. The woman sighed and dug in her pocket.

“Hmph...you're not very good at showing gratitude, are you?” she grumbled, taking out her wallet.

“I DON'T HAVE TO BE GRATEFUL ABOUT BEING TREATED LIKE A PERSON, MUCH IN THE SAME WAY THE BANK SHOULDN'T BE GRATEFUL EVERY TIME YOU WALK BY WITHOUT ROBBING IT. WE JUST ASSUME YOU WON'T. WELL, THE BANK ASSUMES YOU WON'T. I JUST ASSUME YOU DON'T KNOW HOW.”

“Oh, I get it now. You're a tsundere.”

“I'M GLAD I'M NOT THE KIND OF PERSON WHO KNOWS WHAT THAT WORD MEANS.”

“IT'S FOUR DOLLARS, BY THE WAY,” Black added, eyeing the two bills she held out to him.

“Hey, but...that's twice as much as it says on the menu board!” the girl pointed at the wall over the donut display.

“AH, BUT AS A DEDICATED ALLY TO MONSTERKIND, NO DOUBT YOU'D RELISH THE OPPORTUNITY TO PAY A LITTLE EXTRA AND GIVE FINANCIAL SUPPORT TO SMALL MONSTER BUSINESSES?” Black smiled widely, in a way that still left his eyes cold and glaring.

The young woman looked up as a tall shadow fell across her. Mutt was now standing directly behind her, his head tilted to completely overhang hers, hands in his pockets and a lit dog treat between his teeth, wafting purple smoke into her face. He stared down at her.

“WOULD YOU LIKE A RECEIPT?” Black asked.

“AND SHE JUST KEPT TALKING AND TALKING, ABOUT GOD KNOWS WHAT, WHILE BLUE SAT IN THE BACK AND LEFT ME TO DEAL WITH HER!” Black said, throwing a card down on the table in irritation.

It was later in the evening, when everyone was back at home and the dinner dishes had been cleared away. In the living room, Blue, Red and Papyrus played video games, with Wine seated in a chair a little ways apart reading a book, glass of red wine in hand. Edge was banging something around in the kitchen while talking on his phone.

In the dining room, Sans, Stretch, Black and Rus were playing rummy, eating popcorn out of a bowl between turns.

“AND THIS WAS AFTER MUTT GOT HELD UP BY SOME HUMAN GIRL WHILE ON ERRANDS! HE WAS HALF AN HOUR LATE TO WORK!” Black continued. Rus coughed.

“yeah, that mage woman really talked our ears off,” he agreed quickly. “couldn't get away.”

“two in one day, that's odd,” Sans said, mostly to himself. He placed a card into a meld in front of him and discarded the queen of diamonds to the center of the table. Stretch raised a brow at him.

“nothing weird about two humans being annoying in one day,” he said in a bored tone, though he looked curiously at Sans. “lotta humans around town, you're bound to bump into a few bad ones.”

“AND YOU SAY YOU MET AN ACTUAL MAGE?” Black asked for the tenth time, and Rus rolled his eyelights.

“she said she was a mage. but she kinda said a lot of crazy stuff. still, she did seem to have some kinda magic.”

“HMM,” Black frowned at the cards in his hand and shot a dirty glance at Stretch, who took his turn to add a card of his own to Black's meld. “I THOUGHT THEY WERE ALL DEAD, OR ALL IN HIDING, OR SOMETHING.”

“they're definitely all bad at math.”

Stretch finished his turn by discarding the queen of clubs and taking another fistful of popcorn. Black scowled at his hand again, before looking over the table.

“THE NEXT TIME YOUR BROTHER WANTS TO STICK ME WITH THE SOLE SAVIOR OF THE MONSTER RACE,” he said testily to Stretch, inserting a two of diamonds into a meld Rus had going, “I'M DOCKING HIS PAY.”

“stop bein' dramatic,” Stretch countered, finishing his popcorn and unwrapping a lollipop from his hoodie pocket. “i've met my share of annoying humans and you don't hear me complaining.”

“and where did you meet them?” Sans asked suddenly, fixing Stretch with a look. Stretch glanced away, face flushing slightly at the embarrassing memory.

“at the bookstore,” he muttered around his lollipop. “just some human girl who worked there.”

Sans seemed to scrutinize Stretch's expression for a moment, before his regular relaxed smile reappeared. He leaned back in his chair and dug his hand into the popcorn bowl.

“well, it's no big deal,” he said lightly. “humans are humans. magic or not, just ignore 'em.” He watched as Rus had his turn, adding a card to one of his own melds and discarding the queen of spades.

Sans sat forward suddenly and poked at the discard pile, fanning out the last four cards, all queens. He looked at the four of them with an unreadable expression. Stretch took the lollipop out of his mouth.

“there a problem?”

“nope, just wanna make sure these stay put in the discard pile,” Sans answered, neatly squaring up the pile to precision. “wouldn't want them getting into somewhere they don't belong.” Stretch flicked him a brief glance, before returning to his fan of cards.

“wouldn't want that,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

Downtown Ebbot City was not the ideal place for a food truck on a hot day. The ideal place, Red decided, was right next to the beach. Lots of surf, sun, seagulls, other things that started with S, and loads of cute girls in swimsuits.

Swimsuits also started with an S! Bikinis didn't, though. But they should.

They could go on his S List, full of Stuff that didn't exist on this particular corner in the city. Cement walkways, cars, bits of litter on the ground, a couple thin little trees planted along the road, a guy next to a construction fence, handing out fliers for a new gym...those things all existed here, and they didn't start with S and they weren't as fun as being parked at the beach would be.

Permits also didn't start with S, but apparently they made a big impact on where the truck could be parked during the day. Which really, really Sucked.

“This doesn't have magic in it, does it?” a middle-aged woman in a blue pantsuit stood in front of the Bone Appetit food truck, pursing her lips disapprovingly at the menu attached to the side of the truck as she gripped her handbag strap. “That sort of thing sounds dangerous.”

“lady, there's nothing magical about hot dogs, besides how awesome hot dogs are in general,” Red explained for the hundredth time that day. The woman scowled at him.

“I know that. I'm asking are these hot dogs in particular made with magic? I know your kind uses magic in stuff and I don't think it's fit for humans to eat.”

“neither does the government, lady,” Red replied, trying hard not to roll his eyelights. “no one at the fda is gonna to clear monsters to sell magic food to humans fer like, a million years. god, just gettin' artificial sweet'ners through yer lab tests takes like a decade. these're regular dogs made on a grill.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to determine whether he was lying. Then she rummaged in her purse and pulled out a couple bills, placing them on the plastic-lined counter of the food truck order window.

why d'we even bother with sellin' to humans? Red thought in irritation, as he turned and began making up the order on the grill. friggin' classic, makin' me park this thing outside the work offices every day. nothin' but a buncha whiny humans in suits, worrying the dogs're gonna turn em purple or somethin'.

He spent the better part of the hour making up similar orders for folks wandering out of the offices early or taking a late lunch. It was so boring out here. The precious, beautiful days of fleeting summer were just begging to be wasted indoors, taking a long nap on the couch. He'd only agreed to work Classic's food truck and split shifts with him so as to avoid getting a real job, dealing with co-workers or bosses. Speaking of which...

Red wiped his hands carefully on the towel hanging just under the order window and sorted through a few paper applications that were tucked to the side, away from grease or potential condiment spills. Taking advantage of the lull in customers, he grabbed a pen and continued filling out one job application, this time for the local electric company.

It was getting harder and harder to find work with which his brother might be able to occupy his time, at least without tearing someone's head off in a rage. Nothing seemed to appeal to him, and the few things that did either required a degree from some recognized human school, or seriously frowned on employees who settled disputes outside of mediation and inside some sort of death arena.

Red didn't see why. Sounded a hell of a lot easier and more merciful than dealing with the human resources department. Sorry, employee resources now. Monsters surfacing had created a lot of change in business jargon.

They also gave rise to a few temporary ID numbers that were assigned to the newly-arrived citizens, none of whom had social security or identification cards. There was a sticky note with a list of Boss' collection of important assigned numbers needed for job applications and dammit if he didn't forget them at home. Again.

Red sighed and pulled out his phone, punching dial on the last number he'd called. The phone rang and rang, then went to voicemail.

Huh. His brother always picked up within three rings.

Red dialed again. This time, the phone picked up after four rings.

“WHAT IS IT, SANS?” his little brother's voice boomed through the speaker. “I'M RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!”

“hey boss, sorry t' bug ya,” Red replied, flipping through the applications in front of him. “y'seen that little note wit' all yer id info on it? think i mighta left it at home.”

“NO I HAVEN'T!”

“well, could ya take a look around? i need it fer the new applications i got ya. unless y'know yer id digits off the top o' yer head?”

“I DON'T KNOW AND I DON'T CARE!” came the unexpected reply. Red frowned.

“c'mon boss, i wanna get these done today. you wanna get a job, right?”

“IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO ME,” his brother yelled through the phone. “NOW GET OFF THE PHONE AND STOP INTERRUPTING!”

The sudden sound of high-pitched laughter in the background made Red immediately narrow his eyes.

“what's that? who are you with?” he asked suspiciously, nudging his phone between his head and shoulder, while he grabbed the papers in front of him to shuffle into a stack.

“WHAT? NOBODY! NOBODY IS HERE BUT MYSELF!”

“Anyone want more mimosas?” came the distinctly female voice again in the background, followed by a chorus of cheers. Edge coughed.

“NOBODY BUT MYSELF AND MY BOOK CLUB!” he amended.

“yer...the wha...since when're you in a book club?” Red sputtered into the phone.

“I-I'VE BEEN IN ONE FOR A LONG TIME! WITH SOME...FRIENDS OF MINE!”

“what friends?”

“VERY OLD FRIENDS! WE GO ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE BEGINNING OF THIS SENTENCE. NOW DROP IT!” The faint sound of glasses clinking and half-drunken giggling accompanied this statement, before the line went dead.

Red pulled the phone away from his head and stared at it. He quickly hit redial, only to be met with the voicemail prompt. Two more calls only gave the same results.

Red furiously scrolled through his contacts and dialed a new number. A bored, sleepy voice answered.

“s'up buddy?”

“getcher bony ass outta bed and go find my brother, classic,” Red practically growled. “somethin' weird's up with him.”

“can't, working on the machine.”

“yer lyin'. yer sleepin' in, i can hear yer bedsheets, ya lazy-”

“why aren't you selling dogs?” Sans interrupted. “not a very model employee, bud. ain't got the stomach to cook today?”

“shortcut over here n' watch the truck!” Red snarled. “i gotta go find out where my bro is n' what he's up to and i can't do that if i'm workin'!”

“i know what he's up to,” Sans said with an audible smile. Red's sockets narrowed.

“classic, you piece of-”

“up to about five hundred job rejections. you try pitching him to the box factory yet? they can always use a few more squares.”

“get over here and watch the damn truck!”

A group of humans sat along the side of a long, polished wooden table, inside one of the meeting rooms of the Walnut Grove Valley community clubhouse. On the opposite side of the long table sat resident Linda Harcourt, her face a mix of anger and worry, her fists balled up in her lap, making unattractive creases in the dull pink silk dress she was wearing.

At the head of the table, wearing an immaculate jacket of tailored black leather, red scarf and matching crimson leather gloves, sat the Homeowner's Association president, his red eyelights fixed on Linda. A neat little yellow notepad, crisp stack of paperwork and a luxury fountain pen were lined up in front of him on the table, squared up with each other with slightly worrying precision.

Wine cleared his throat and picked up his pen.

“SO EDITH, HOW ARE THE GRANDCHILDREN?” he asked genially. His voice, though fairly deep and reverberating, never seemed to rise above a soft, conversational tone, despite easily filling the room. He spoke like a man with an invisible microphone at all times, his voice not loud, but effortlessly everywhere.

One of the people seated in the row at the table perked up.

“Oh, just wonderful! You know Mason, he's my eldest's youngest, he does the Tick-Tocking now and he made this clever video where he appears to be dancing, but he's in a tiny goldfish bowl, I don't know how he did it, but I showed that to Mary and some of the girls at bridge and we just laughed and laughed-”

“Can we get on with this?” Linda snapped. Edith stuttered at the rude interruption, but Wine only turned a patient smile to her.

“CERTAINLY. I WOULDN'T WANT TO WASTE YOUR TIME, MS. HARCOURT. EDITH, PLEASE BE SURE TO FORWARD ME MASON'S VIDEO, IT SOUNDS DELIGHTFUL.” He cleared his non-existent throat again and picked up the stack of papers in front of him with one hand, using the other to gesture down the table.

“OF COURSE YOU ALREADY KNOW THE REST OF THE BOARD...EDITH, GARY, JOY, ROBERT. THANK YOU FOR COMING. MS. HARCOURT, THE REASON THE HOA SENT YOU A SUMMONS IS TO DISCUSS A FEW ISSUES WE HAVE WITH YOUR PROPERTY.”

Linda groaned and leaned both elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands.

“Now Linda, I'm sure it's not that bad,” one of the male board members spoke up. “We'll get through this in no time. We're just trying to get your full side of the story, so we can come to a mutual agreement.”

“No you're not!” Linda slapped her hand on the table, causing some of the elderly board members to jump. “It's just because he”-she pointed an accusing finger at Wine, who stared down it coolly-“hates me! You have it out for me and you're gonna hit me with idiot fines because that's what he wants!”

“MS. HARCOURT,” Wine frowned, “PLEASE DON'T THINK THE BOARD 'HAS IT OUT FOR YOU'”-he spoke these words with the distaste of an elderly woman picking up a dead mouse- “JUST BECAUSE WE MUST ENFORCE THE RULES. I ASSURE YOU, THEY APPLY TO EVERYONE, MYSELF INCLUDED.”

“So why do I keep getting a million fines?” Linda pushed angrily. Wine tapped his pen against his lined notepad in seeming thought.

“I CAN ONLY SUPPOSE YOU ACCIDENTALLY VIOLATE MORE RULES THAN OTHERS. BUT EVERYONE TRIPS UP NOW AND AGAIN, SO PLEASE DON'T FEEL SINGLED OUT. WE HAVE OUR COVENANT RULES IN PLACE SO THAT OUR COMMUNITY'S PROPERTY VALUES REMAIN HIGH AND OUR STANDARDS OF LIVING DO NOT LOWER. GOODNESS KNOWS WE HAVE TO MAKE THE BEST OF THE HOMES WE HAVE. WE CAN'T ALL LIVE IN GOLDFISH BOWLS.”

“NOR DANCE IN THEM,” he added with a winning smile to the rest of the board. Edith laughed and blushed, while the rest of the board chuckled. Linda grimaced at the sickening smooth-talk on display.

“Can see why you're the damn president,” she muttered to herself, before raising her voice to continue. “Okay fine, so what did I do this time?”

Wine sat up straighter and flipped through the papers in front of him.

“THAT'S MORE LIKE IT. LET'S START WITH THIS PREVIOUS AUTUMN. WE HAVE AN ITEM HERE THAT THE BOARD UNFORTUNATELY DID NOT HAVE TIME TO DISCUSS UNTIL RECENTLY, SO IF YOU'LL BEAR WITH ME-”

He regarded a few printed out photos on a sheet, then flipped the paper around for Linda to see. She pulled the paper towards her and squinted at it.

“My Halloween decorations?” she asked in disbelief. Wine nodded.

“YES, I'M AFRAID SO. ALTHOUGH I'M THE LAST PERSON TO WANT TO RUIN A CELEBRATION-”

“Doubt it,” Linda muttered.

“-I HAVE TO PROTEST THE QUITE FRANKLY HURTFUL ITEMS YOU DISPLAYED ON YOUR HOME. SPECIFICALLY, THE SKULLS.”

“What?” Linda said, examining the pictures. “What the hell's wrong with them? They're just cute paper skulls from the party store! With little bats for hair bows! They're cute!”

“PERHAPS TO SOMEONE LIKE YOU, MS. HARCOURT. BUT THIS IS, UNFORTUNATELY, A VERY UPSETTING BIT OF CULTURAL APPROPRIATION.”

“What!” Linda shouted. The rest of the board looked uncomfortable.

“Linda, dear,” Edith began in an uneasy voice, “I know those things used to be acceptable, but now that, well, the world's changed a bit, it might be seen as offensive to our neighbors who are, uh...skelet-, er, skeleto-american?”

She looked to Wine, as if for confirmation, and smiled when he nodded at her.

“QUITE SO,” he continued. “MY FAMILY WAS MORE THAN A LITTLE UPSET WHEN-”

“I have a skull!” Linda yelled, pointing to her head. “Everyone here has a skull! Skulls aren't the exclusive domain of skeletons, which by the way, I also have!”

“Yes-s-s,” another board member said slowly, “but you, well, you don't exactly wear it on the outside, do you? It's a little different in Wine's case-”

“Gary, this is stupid!” Linda yelled at him, slapping her hand on the table again. Wine wrote something down on his notepad in a beautifully-executed script.

“BE THAT AS IT MAY,” he said, a little sternness entering his voice for the first time, “I'M SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR OWN OPINION ON WHETHER IT'S OFFENSIVE OR NOT SIMPLY DOESN'T FACTOR IN. RACIST DISPLAYS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED ON ANY PROPERTY IN THIS COMMUNITY.”

“How in God's name is that rac-”

“MOVING ON TO THE NEXT ITEM,” Wine continued smoothly, “IS THE SMALL MATTER OF THOSE STONE CREATURES BY YOUR FRONT DOOR. I ASSUME THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE REPRESENTATIVE OF HUMANS, THOUGH THE SIZE AND PROTUBERANCES ON THEIR BACKS HAS ME A BIT CONFUSED.”

“Th-you mean my fairy statues?” Linda spat. “Those are fairies, you know what fairies are!”

“I SUPPOSE I DO NOW,” Wine agreed. He made a show of writing down the word “Fairies” on his note pad in his perfect handwriting. “AT ANY RATE, WE DO HAVE A RULE ABOUT IMPROPER OUTDOOR STORAGE. YOUR DOORSTEP IS NOT TO BE USED FOR STORING ANY HOUSEHOLD ITEMS.”

“Wha-you...” Linda looked too baffled to speak for a moment, before visibly collecting herself. “They're statues, they're for decorative purposes! I'm not storing them on my porch, I'm displaying them!”

“WHAT, FOR EVERYONE ELSE TO SEE?”

“Yes! Why the hell not?”

Wine looked down at his paperwork as if mystified, before looking back up at her.

“I HAD ASSUMED YOU WERE STORING THEM OUTSIDE BECAUSE THEY WERE TOO UGLY TO KEEP IN YOUR HOME,” he said.

Several of the board members tried not to laugh out loud. Linda glared at them. This was always the way with them, they'd hold some idiot hearing and no matter what she said, Wine would somehow have them all eating out of his gross monster hand by the end of it and if they thought she was going to let them levy another damn fine against her house, they seriously had-

“MS. HARCOURT?” Wine interrupted Linda's thoughts as she fumed. “DID YOU HEAR ME?”

“What?” Linda asked, darting a glance to the new piece of paper that was suddenly laid before her. Wine sighed and pointed to the paper.

“PERHAPS WE SHOULD...JUST LIST OFF THE REST OF THE FINES AND YOU CAN READ THROUGH THE PAPERS IN YOUR OWN TIME. THE NEXT ITEM IS ABOUT YOUR DOG. I'M AFRAID HE IS NOT ON THE LIST OF APPROVED BREEDS FOR OUR COMMUNITY. I ACTUALLY HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO DETERMINE WHAT BREED HE IS FROM THE FEW TIMES I'VE OBSERVED HIM RELIEVING HIMSELF ON MY PROPERTY, BUT I'D GUESS HE'S SOME MANNER OF SMALL SPITEBRED YAPHOUND.”

“She is a Miniature Pinscher-Pomeranian mix called a Pineranian, and her name is Snickerdoodle,” Linda huffed. Wine stared at her with an unreadable expression.

“EVERY LAST WORD IN THAT SENTENCE SHOULD BE GROUNDS FOR EVICTION,” he said finally. “BUT WE'LL LET IT GO AT A FINE. MOVING ON-”

“Hey!”

“YOUR MAILBOX WAS RECENTLY MOVED TO AN ADEQUATE DISTANCE FROM THE SIDEWALK. WELL DONE! HOWEVER, THE ACTUAL MAILBOX IS THE WRONG COLOR AND STYLE. WE DO HAVE A RULE THAT ALL MAILBOXES MUST BE EGGSHELL WHITE AND USE A CAPPED POST DESIGN, SO AS TO MATCH THE REST OF THE BOXES ON THE STREET-”

“Oh, come on!” Linda nearly wailed, throwing her arms wide.

“-SO BE SURE TO HAVE THAT REPLACED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE,” Wine appeared not to notice her outburst. “IT'S IN YOUR BEST INTEREST, REALLY. A MORE ATTRACTIVE MAILBOX MEANS YOU MAY START GETTING LETTERS FROM PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY LIKE YOU.”

Robert openly snickered and Linda's face lit up red.

“NEXT ITEM, THAT HOLE IN THE GROUND YOU RECENTLY HAD EXCAVATED IN YOUR BACKYARD.”

“My koi pond. That's a koi pond,” Linda hissed. “And it's covered by the HOA covenant. Reflecting pools are completely allowed, so long as they don't exceed ten feet in dimension.”

“YES, BUT SUBLETTING YOUR PROPERTY IS ABSOLUTELY AGAINST OUR RULES, AND VERY STRICTLY PENALIZED.”

“Wha-I'm not subletting to anyone!”

“THERE ARE FISH IN THE POND, ARE THERE NOT?”

Linda stared in amazement at Wine, lost for words. He delicately folded his gloved claws in front of him and watched her.

“You-you're implying that I'm subletting-”

“TO THE FISH, YES. PLEASE HAVE THEM EVICTED AND THE HOLE DRAINED AND FILLED IN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.”

“This is insane,” Linda turned on the rest of the board. “You know this man is insane, right?”

The others shuffled a bit in their seats, glancing at Wine, who remained still and calm as ever.

“Linda, the pool is likely to, um...attract mosquitoes, you know,” Gary said, not meeting Linda's eyes. “So maybe it would be best if-”

“What does he have on you, Gary?” Linda demanded. “He's got dirt on you, doesn't he? Because fish aren't tenants and you know it!”

“Linda, calm down,” said Joy. “Everybody gets fines sometime. This isn't just about you. And honestly, Wine is the best president we've ever had. He does a very good job at keeping the board proceedings more efficient.”

“Oh my god,” Linda groaned, rubbing the heel of one hand into her eye.

“PERHAPS WE SHOULD JUST MOVE ALONG TO THE LAST ITEM NOW. THE MATTER OF THAT PERGOLA IN YOUR BACK YARD.”

Linda's head snapped up.

“Oh no you don't,” she spat at Wine. “My pergola stays!”

“I'M AFRAID FREESTANDING YARD STRUCTURES ARE AGAINST THE RULES, MS. HARCOURT,” Wine said, showing the palms of his hands, as if to indicate it was not his choice to make.

“No,” Linda said firmly. “It's anchored to the patio, so it is not freestanding in any way.”

She glared in challenge at Wine, who narrowed his sockets at her.

“IT'S ALSO A FIRE HAZARD,” he said. “IT'S MADE OF WOOD.”

“Treated wood,” Linda corrected. “Not a fire hazard.”

“CAN YOU PROVE THAT?”

“Well now Wine,” Robert chimed in, “other people have pergolas over their patios in this community. I think if it's anchored and it's treated, then that's all right, isn't it?”

Wine shot the man a look that briefly communicated a world of burning, searing pain, before quickly snapping back to his pleasant, smooth persona.

“WELL, FAR BE IT FROM ME TO SINGLE ANYONE OUT. SO LONG AS IT'S ANCHORED AND NOT AT ALL FLAMMABLE...”

“It is and it isn't,” Linda finished. Edith perked up and patted Linda's hand across the table.

“Well then that's all right! You don't need to worry.”

“WONDERFUL NEWS,” Wine agreed, grinning at Linda with all the sharp-toothed rictus of a steel bear trap, one eye socket slightly twitching. Underneath the table, he clutched his fountain pen in both hands until it snapped in half, spilling ink everywhere.

“So I said any club that would have her as a member wasn't worth joining,” Margaret finished, downing the rest of her glass.

“Oh, totally. Hey, fill this back up for me.”

Early afternoon light streamed through the windows of the suburban home, pouring into the well-decorated sunroom at Margaret's house, as she, Candice, Dana and Amanda had their weekly book club meeting. Book club usually meant getting together and killing a box of wine between themselves while trashing the neighbors and complaining, but sometimes when gossip ran dry and boredom set in, books also got mentioned. Book days usually meant there was nothing interesting going on.

“MORE FOR ME AS WELL, MARGARET.” A leather-gloved hand reached out a glass, indicating towards the wine box on the side of the table.

Today was definitely not a book day.

“So-o-o-o, Edge,” Dana said, leaning on the table heavily while pointing with the one finger not currently wrapped around her wine glass stem, “do you work out? You look like you work out.”

“God, what I wouldn't give for Brian to actually work out,” Margaret said, refilling glasses under the wine box spigot. “I jog every morning, so I don't see why he can't do the same. He works from home half the time.”

“Walter never uses the treadmill I bought him for Christmas,” Candice replied, rolling her eyes. “Two years ago I gave him that thing and I think he's used it like, five times. Now he just hangs towels on it. And he was the one who insisted that if we had gym equipment in the house, he'd be more likely to exercise!”

She snorted in derision and sipped her wine. Edge, sitting opposite her at the cloth-covered table in the warm, bright sunroom filled with climbing plants in decorative pots, gave her a critical look.

“WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO EXERCISE INSIDE THE HOUSE?” he wondered. “WOULDN'T THAT CAUSE DAMAGE TO THE FURNITURE?”

“Wow, how do you exercise?” Margaret asked. “Do you do parkour or something?”

Edge shrugged and drank from his glass while picking up a sugar cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. “NO. WITH WEAPONS, OF COURSE.”

The ladies gawked at him, causing Edge momentary confusion.

“WITH SWORDS?” he elaborated, gesturing vaguely with his wine glass. “I LIKE TO WIELD AT LEAST ONE BLADE DURING PRACTICE, BUT TWO IS MORE OF A CHALLENGE.”

“What if it rains?” Dana asked, mouth open in amazement. “Where do you work out then?”

“OUTSIDE. I JUST TAKE MY SHIRT OFF IF THE WEATHER SEEMS LIKE IT MIGHT RUIN IT.”

The women stared at Edge, who casually drank from his glass as he examined one of the plants hanging in a basket over the table.

“That's so hot,” Amanda said finally.

“My husband only goes to Planet Fitness for the free pizza on Fridays,” Dana added, eyeing Edge up and down slowly.

“BEING IN PEAK PHYSICAL CONDITION WAS REQUIRED FOR MY POSITION IN THE ROYAL GUARD,” Edge continued with pride, puffing his broad chest out as his cheeks slightly tinged with red at the adoring attention.

The wine may have been going a bit to his head, but just then Edge felt much better than he ever had since first arriving in this idiot dimension. Not only did he have the audience of a group of like-minded humans, but they were also not unattractive females, who even compared him favorably against their own husbands! Certainly Edge knew he was better than any weak and deficient human male, but it was gratifying to have other people finally realize it too. Especially pretty women. As Great and as Terrible as he was in the underground, for some unfathomable reason Edge never seemed to hit it off very well with girls.

He should have joined a book club ages ago.

“What kinda stuff did you do in the royal guard?” Candice had her glass to her mouth, but had apparently forgotten about its existence. “Like, military stuff?”

“WELL, IF YOU MUST KNOW...”

“hey, you seen my bro?”

Red was in the hallway of the house, his head stuck in the kitchen. He had left work the moment that idiot Classic finally decided to blip over to the food truck (“had to comb my hair and brush my teeth first, buddy”) and Red had instantly appeared in their house, making a beeline for his brother's room, then searching the rest of the house when the bedroom proved to be empty. But Edge wasn't home.

Red scowled at the back of Wine's head.

“you listenin' to me, princess? i said have ya seen boss anywhere.”

“HE WENT OUT,” Wine answered shortly, standing at the kitchen sink and staring out the window above it.

“where?”

“I'M SURE I DON'T KNOW. I'M ONLY MY BROTHER'S KEEPER, NOT YOURS.”

Red snorted and ducked out of the doorway, muttering a string of curses as he stomped off. The front door opened, then slammed shut.

Wine continued to stand stock still at the window, his gaze fixed on the backyard next door. In it, a garish wooden structure loomed tauntingly, a mockery of all decent architectural taste. A mockery of Wine's authority.

Wine held up the glass in his hand, gently sloshing around the deep red Cab Suav in it, before taking a sip, his gaze never leaving the pergola next door.

He was going to burn that thing to the ground.

“AT THAT POINT, I KNEW I WOULD HAVE TO ACT FAST, BEFORE INSURRECTION SET IN.”

Candice and Amanda nodded silently, their eyes wide. Margaret had half a cookie in her mouth that had been sitting there for at least ten minutes.

“GRABBING ONE OF MY SUBORDINATES, I BROKE HIS ARM IN TWO PLACES.” Edge gestured in a snapping motion with both hands, as he stood in the doorway of the sunroom, re-enacting yet another story from his time in the royal guard.

“THIS IS WHAT YOU WILL ALL SUFFER IF I HEAR YOU BREATHE ANOTHER WORD OF COMPLAINT!” he screamed at an imaginary soldier, then mimicked an especially vicious backhand across the face of his invisible foe, before turning away and wiping his gloved hand in feigned distaste across his chest.

“Wow,” Dana breathed.

“MORALE IMPROVED CONSIDERABLY AFTER THAT. BUT AT THAT POINT, THE CULPRIT WAS TOO FAR AWAY FOR US TO FOLLOW,” Edge continued, straightening the bottom of his jacket.

“OR HE WOULD HAVE BEEN,” he stepped forward triumphantly, posing in a heroic manner against the backdrop of Margaret's terracotta pots of philodendrons, “IF NOT FOR MY SUPERIOR TRACKING SKILLS!”

“Oh my god, this is better than Game of Thrones,” Margaret said, finally remembering and swallowing the cookie in her mouth. She straightened up in her seat as a clatter from the hall resolved into the sound of footsteps.

“Hey hey, thought you ladies might like some of this freshly-made nutbread for book club!” Margaret's husband Brian said, coming into the sunroom entrance with a wooden cutting board that held thickly-sliced bread and cheese wedges on it. He stopped at the monster who was next to him in the doorway.

“Ladies and Edge,” he corrected, somewhat unsure of himself. Edge scowled down at the smaller, rounded man. He was a great deal taller than Brian, whose nose only came up to the middle of Edge's powerful chest.

“THANK YOU,” Edge said stiffly, picking up a slice of bread from the wooden board in Brian's hands. Margaret rushed over to his side.

“Hun, did you know Edge was in the royal guard?” she gushed. Brian smiled and tried to look enthusiastic, as his wife took the cutting board away and placed it on the table.

“No kidding! I've seen them on TV sometimes with the king and queen. Very impressive. You still in it, or...?”

“NO,” Edge answered shortly, sitting back down at the table. “THERE WERE EXTENUATING ISSUES.”

“Ah,” Brian said. “Er...legal ones?”

“NO. VIOLENT ONES.”

“Um, okay. Margie?” Brian darted a very concerned look over to his wife. Margaret laughed and patted one of Edge's gloved hands.

“Oh come on, don't listen to him. Anyway it's just fascinating the kind of stories Edge has!”

“Oh god, yes, it's awesome,” Amanda chipped in, with Dana nodding furiously next to her. Edge sat up a little more proudly in his chair.

“Well, he should come to the neighborhood cookout this week and tell some of those stories!” Brian smiled, putting his hands in his pockets awkwardly as his wife gave him a scorching look. “And, you know...finally get to meet the neighbors...”

“Sure, okay, that's great hun!” Margaret waved at him impatiently. “Definitely! Now shoo, don't interrupt book club!”

Brian started to say something else, but snapped his mouth closed when his wife shot him another look. He backed out of the room with a weak wave towards the group and shuffled off to the study.

“Ughhhhh, Rachel's party,” Amanda groaned. “I forgot about that. Oh my god I hate Rachel.”

“She throws this neighborhood cookout party every year,” Candice explained to Edge, who was eating nutbread with a vaguely curious expression. “Invites like, everyone from the community and just goes on and on about how much work it is and acts like everyone's supposed to treat her like a saint, just for feeding people hamburgers for an afternoon. She spends a ton on food but like, everyone else still brings stuff, so it's not like she's footing the bill for everything! Where the hell does she get off?”

“If we go, we should show up with way better food than she has,” Margaret said, chasing some cheese down with a huge gulp of wine. “She buys cheap stuff in bulk for the party and her husband can't grill burgers to save his life. They're always too dry. Let's bring super quality cuts and make her feel like garbage. I know a friend who buys from some old-fashioned butcher shop that does large party orders.”

“You actually want to go?”

“No, but we'd be the only ones not going. It'd look bad.”

“Like anyone even likes Rachel! Everyone just goes because it'd be rude to be the only person who doesn't show up.”

“WHAT WE SHOULD DO,” Edge announced, critically examining a slice of cheese in his claws, “IS HOLD A SUPERIOR COOKOUT.”

All four women stopped and stared at him.

“No way,” Amanda said in disbelief. Edge waved a hand at her dismissively.

“IF THIS RACHEL IS SUCH A CONTEMPTIBLE PERSON, WHY FUEL HER EVENT WITH BETTER FOOD, WHEN WE COULD INSTEAD POACH ALL OF HER GUESTS AND CREATE A RIVAL EVENT? THEN SHE WOULD BE STUCK WITH AN UNMANAGEABLE AMOUNT OF FOOD THAT HER FAMILY CAN'T POSSIBLY EAT BEFORE IT SPOILS. NOT TO MENTION THE HUMILIATION OF HER EVENT BEING BARELY ATTENDED.”

He paused and stared off into the distance, seemingly deciding, though the empty wine glass in front of him indicated that a moderate inebriation was doing a lot of the decision-making for him.

“I WILL HOST IT AT MY HOUSE,” he declared finally. “WE HAVE ADEQUATE SPACE, AND MY COOKING SKILLS ARE SECOND TO NONE, AFTER ALL.”

“Oh my god Edge, you are just the greatest!” Margaret jumped from her seat and hugged Edge around the neck, while the others cheered. Edge turned a deep shade of red, a smug grin on his face.

These were definitely his kind of people.

Out on the patio back home, Red was sitting in a cushioned plastic chair across from Wine, still furiously texting his brother. Phone calls weren't working, as Edge seemed to have turned his ringer off at some point. Every call just went to voicemail.

“I'M SURE HE'S PERFECTLY FINE,” Wine said, methodically peeling an orange as Red scowled and hammered on the screen of his phone with his thumbs.

“shut up! this isn't like him! somethin's wrong, and you're just sittin' out here havin' lunch, while boss could be in trouble!”

“YOU'RE HAVING LUNCH TOO.”

“i think better on a full stomach!” Red grabbed the sandwich half on a plate in front of him, jamming it in his mouth.

“af' a re'gurf' if 'ormbuh oo!” he said, mouth completely full.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?”

Red swallowed hard.

“i said-”

“THERE YOU ARE!” Edge appeared at the sliding door next to the patio. Red jumped at the sudden sound, then leaped to his feet.

“boss! I been lookin' everywhere for-”

“NEVERMIND WHATEVER NONSENSE YOU'RE SPOUTING!” Edge stormed out onto the patio, grabbing Red by the collar. “GO EIGHT HOUSES DOWN THE STREET TO THE BLUE DWELLING ON THE CORNER OF DELMAR AVENUE AND SEE WHAT KIND OF GRILL THEY HAVE IN THEIR BACKYARD!”

“uh...what?” Red stared at him, while even Wine turned in his seat to observe the strange conversation, an orange slice still held in his claws.

“YOU HEARD ME! NOW! I WANT THE EXACT MODEL, SO THAT I MAY PURCHASE A FAR BIGGER AND MORE IMPRESSIVE ONE!” Edge dropped his brother roughly onto the ground and began furiously pacing around the backyard, observing every detail of it with a sharp eye.

“uh, okay boss, but...why?” Red ran after him, coming to a quick halt as Edge suddenly wheeled around.

“WE ARE HAVING A COOKOUT FOR THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD THIS WEEKEND!” he announced. “AND EVERYTHING MUST BE PERFECT! BETTER THAN PERFECT, IN FACT!”

“NOW GO FIND OUT WHAT SAD AND PATHETIC WRECK OF A GRILL RACHEL'S FAMILY OWNS AND THEN REPORT BACK TO ME!” he continued, screaming in Red's face. Too stunned to argue, Red disappeared, blipping off down the street.

Edge nodded to himself and resumed pacing the yard, mentally planning out table arrangements and seating.

“MIGHT I ASK WHY WE'RE SUDDENLY OBLIGATED TO FEED THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD?” Wine inquired mildly, putting down his orange and strolling across the lawn towards Edge. “NOT THAT I DON'T ENJOY THE CHANCE TO WASTE OUR INCOME ON SUCH CHARITY, OF COURSE.”

“NEVER YOU MIND!” Edge said testily. “I'M HAVING A FEW FRIENDS OVER, AND ALSO EVERYONE WITHIN A TWO MILE RADIUS! THERE WILL BE GRILLING AND ENTERTAINMENT ON A LEVEL SUCH AS THIS SHODDY HUMAN COMMUNITY HAS NEVER EXPERIENCED!”

“YOU DON'T SAY,” Wine answered softly. His eyelights turned slowly towards Linda's pergola next door, sitting close to their property line.

“LET ME HELP YOU ARRANGE THIS IMPROMPTU PARTY,” Wine volunteered, still staring away from Edge. “I THINK I KNOW THE PERFECT PLACE TO SET UP THE GRILL.”

Chapter Text

The rolling seas tossed the proud galleon ship to and fro, as a bloodthirsty vessel approached its back, cannons baying in the night. The timbers of the Royal Castanoa shook and pounded with the impact of chain and grapeshot, the ship flagging in its desperate run from its pursuers.

Standing upon the forecastle, Captain Bayne Bones surveyed the rival captain following at his heels.

“Give orders to fly for our lives!” he called to his first mate. “I want every square inch of canvas piled on! I'll not let John Derrick take my prize from me!”

Men scurried about the deck, hastening to outrun the black ship that pursued them even through the darkest and foulest of night seas.

“It is no use,” the beautiful Cassandra wept, falling limp in Captain Bayne's Bones' powerful embrace. “Derrick shall have me at last. We cannot hope to outrun him!”

Captain Bayne Bones clutched his lovely Cassandra to his chest, the bare, muscled biceps strong, ivory bones of his arms lending her fragile form some strength and comfort. Her long, fiery tresses fluttered in the frantic winds of the storm that even now approached to steal her away from her beloved. She looked at him with shining amethyst eyes, wet with tears.

“Never shall I abandon you, my love,” Bayne Bones said. “Should fire or flood or foe accost us, we will remain as one for all eternity. Our love can never be conquered.”

Cassandra sighed and swooned into his arms-

“PAPY!”

Stretch jumped a foot off his bed and hastily snatched up the book he'd been reading, leaning over to stuff it under his mattress with all the others shoved under there. He rolled back over and sprawled out on the bed, pretending to nap.

Blue banged the door to Stretch's bedroom open and huffed at the messy disaster area inside. The only neat and orderly thing in the room was the bed frame Blue had bought for his brother...still in the large box packaging it arrived in, leaning against the far wall, waiting for that far-off fabled day when it might actually be unpacked and assembled.

“PAPY, IT'S TIME FOR DINNER!” he called. “COME CLEAN UP AND HAVE SOMETHING TO EAT!”

“mmm, sure thing, bro,” Stretch muttered, pretending to shake himself awake. Blue stood in the doorway with his hands on both hips.

“MWEH! DON'T DAWDLE, OR YOU WON'T GET ANY!” he sighed, closing the door behind himself as he left. Stretch waited until he heard Blue's footsteps receding down the stairs, before sitting up again. A shaking sensation somewhere nearby had him twisting around to find the source.

He'd been so busy reading that he hadn't noticed the vibrating by his side, where a small square of light was glowing under the edge of the bed sheet. Stretch flicked the sheet back to reveal his phone.

His phone notifications were buzzing like mad. The romance novel online forum he modded was blowing up. Something about...something convention...rrgh, people were posting too fast! He clicked a thread with one thumb and scrolled quickly to the bottom.

>JamiesMum: VANESSA HIGHCASTLE ANNOUNCED AS A GUEST!!

>>Winterwander29: omg omg omg omg

>> SugarSweetMama: whaaaaaaaat

>>LHardcore: dude, DUDE!!

Stretch scanned the thread rapidly, catching up on the sudden news. A local romance novel convention...no, the romance novel convention of the year, BodiceCon...how had he never heard of it? There were conventions for this kind of thing? He eagerly scrolled faster, eyelights rolling over the posted info.

It was nearby...it was three towns away, it was next month...

It had Vanessa Highcastle signing as the Guest of Honor.

Author of the Tales of Longing series, his series, his favorite romance series of all time, a legend in the genre, spanning back decades and endless volumes, most of which were currently supporting the underside of his mattress.

He loved Tales of Longing, he lived for Tales of Longing, he slept on eighteen square feet of Tales of Longing.

Stretch searched and landed on the convention's website, clicking through the options, his sockets growing wider at all the events planned. Discussion panels! Out-of-print books for sale! A costume contest! He was going to this convention. He was going to this convention. He was...

Stretch slumped back against his wadded-up pillow.

Who was he kidding? He didn't have the guts to go. Just going to the bookstore made him a nervous wreck. Sure, everyone else at the con would be into the same books he liked, but there would be so many people. And he just knew he'd be the only guy there, or at least the only one not being forcibly dragged in by a girlfriend. The entire idea screamed awkward at best. Stretch wasn't ever sure if he was awkward because of the situation, or if the situation was awkward because of him, but either way this particular situation would only end in disaster.

But he wanted to go, he wanted to go so badly...who could he talk into going with him for moral support? God, no one in the house, not unless he wanted to absolutely die of shame. Much as he loved his brother, Stretch couldn't even ask Blue. He'd be sure to accidentally tell everyone. Blue was terrible with secrets.

Stretch fell over onto his side on the mattress, staring forlornly at the messages still popping up on his phone. He didn't even know anyone outside the house either.

Well...he did know one person.

Early one morning, Stretch had walked quickly into the small bookstore with his head down and his hood up, hoping against hope that the employee girl he'd met on his first visit was not at work. Y/N looked around the right age for college, so she should be at class this time of day, right?

“H-Hi, Stretch!”

Oh right. It was summer.

Stretch gritted his teeth before fixing his face in a lazy smile, giving a small, curt wave of his hand to the mousy girl behind the register who had called to him, then hurriedly walking to the back of the store without a second glance. Minutes later, he stood looking over the new romance novels on the back shelves, mulling over which titles to buy after he'd made quick work of the last pile. They wouldn't be shelving the new Baron's Bride sequel until next month, and Severed Star-Crossed Lovers was getting a movie, so who knows when that would ever see a new installment, but there were a few here he hadn't heard of that seemed promising...

A slow, hesitant squeaking of wheels sounded down the aisle, then came to a sudden halt a few feet away.

Stretch glanced out of the corner of his eye to see the mousy employee girl with a cart full of new books to shelve. She was doing a very bad job of pretending not to notice him, as she stacked books alphabetically on the shelf in front of her and shot him cautious glances.

Stretch ignored this, bending down to grab a handful of titles from the bottom shelf at his feet. A soft rain of thumps and clatters rang out from near the book cart, as some books fell over onto the floor.

“Oh noooooo,” came a small voice from behind the returns cart. “Oh dearrrrr, what a mess...”

Stretch concentrated on the bookcase in front of him and pulled another title, adding it to the pile at his feet.

“Why am I so clumsy?” bemoaned the mousy voice behind the cart, a little more loudly over the sound of books being very slowly picked up from the floor. “Shoot, I can't do anything right...”

Stretch narrowed his sockets and stared at the books in front of him as if they held the secrets of the universe.

A pitiful sigh was heaved from behind the book cart and a few books dropped into stacks on the floor with just a little too much force. “I'm such a screw-up,” Y/N proclaimed, extra loudly for everyone in the cheap seats.

Stretch picked up the pile of books at his feet and shortcutted straight to the register, nearly hurling a dozen romance novels and his debit card straight into the face of a bewildered cashier.

Nope. Nope nope nope. No. He'd rather fall off a cliff.

With a disappointed sigh, Stretch turned off his phone and pocketed it, blipping downstairs to the dining room.

“BECAUSE I WON'T STAND FOR IT!” Black was yelling when Stretch arrived. Despite this declaration, he was in fact standing, angrily facing the others over the dinner table, palms flat down after having slammed them onto the tablecloth.

“IT'S HARDLY YOUR DECISION.”

“NOR IS IT YOURS, YOU SHIFTLESS IDIOT! WE ARE NOT HOLDING A DAMN BARBECUE IN THE BACKYARD! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL EVERYONE WHAT WE'RE SPENDING HOUSEHOLD MONEY ON! AT LEAST SOME OF US HAVE JOBS!”

Red sat up straight and sucked in a breath. Normally J-O-B talk would have set off a massive tantrum in his brother. But strangely enough, Edge only continued to sit at the head of the table, scrolling through texts on his phone.

“WE WILL NEED TO PURCHASE A GRILL TOMORROW,” he said, unnaturally calm. He was tapping his way through outdoor store websites now.

The entire skeleton family sat around the dinner table, most of them putting away bowtie pasta and swedish meatballs like it was the end of the world. Tonight's regular yelling-over-dinner was oddly one-sided and subdued, giving everyone a chance to eat more or less in peace. It was a rare day that nothing got thrown and food didn't end up on the rug.

Accidentally, at any rate. Black had carefully placed a plate of pasta on the floor for his brother before turning to chew out Edge.

“WHY AM I BEING FORCED TO GIVE UP PART OF MY OWN HARD-EARNED INCOME SO WE CAN FEED THE UNGRATEFUL MASSES OF THIS HELLISH HUMAN COMMUNITY?” he demanded, finally sitting down to eat his own dinner. “WHY ARE WE FEEDING THEM AT ALL? CAN THEY NOT DO THAT THEMSELVES? BETTER YET, THEY COULD COME TO MY SHOP AND PAY ME TO FEED THEM!”

“yours and blues' shop,” Stretch emphasized. Black rolled his eyelights.

“NOT THE POINT. I'M SUSPICIOUS AS TO WHY EDGE SUDDENLY HAS A GREAT ABUNDANCE OF GOOD WILL TOWARDS OUR WITLESS, SQUISHY HUMAN NEIGHBORS.”

“I THINK IT'S A WONDERFUL IDEA,” Wine suddenly interjected, before being fixed by Black's stare.

“YOU ABSOLUTELY ONE HUNDRED PERCENT DO NOT. STOP TALKING AND GO BACK TO SUPPORTING THE ENTIRE WINE INDUSTRY SINGLE-HANDEDLY. EVERY TIME YOU STOP DRINKING, A VINEYARD GOES OUT OF BUSINESS.”

Wine, unperturbed, set his glass down and leaned forward to aim a look at Edge. “WOULD YOU LIKE HELP WITH PURCHASING SOME OF THE BIGGER ITEMS FOR THE PARTY?” he asked mildly.

Black flung his napkin down. “HE IS NOT USING HOUSEHOLD FUNDS FOR A DAMN MEGA-GRILL!” he shrieked.

“calm down, black,” Sans put in. “no one's saying he gets to use the house fund for his grill.”

“CERTAINLY NOT. HE CAN PUT IT ON MY CARD,” Wine answered, pulling his wallet from his pocket. He removed a thick black credit card from one padded sleeve and held it up.

“woah,” Rus breathed, stopping in the middle of shoveling pasta into his mouth. “the black card.”

“dang,” Stretch said.

“THE LEGENDS ARE TRUE,” Blue added, his starry eyes fixed on the super-elite card, its titanium surface matte and shimmering with understated elegance.

Black snorted. “PLEASE,” he sneered, tucking into his dinner. “IT'S ONLY AN OVERPRICED CREDIT CARD. HARDLY EXCLUSIVE.”

“i heard you can buy airplanes with that thing,” Rus said, still eyeing the invitation-only card his brother held up. “and then pay to have them crashed into each other, demolition derby style.”

“I HEARD YOU CAN BUY A JET PACK!” Papyrus said, forkful of pasta momentarily halted on the way to his mouth.

“OR A TIME MACHINE!” Blue pitched in.

“OOH, OR A TIME MACHINE THAT TURNS INTO A JET PACK!”

“YES! AND WHEN YOU FLY WITH IT ON, IT SENDS YOU BACK IN-”

“SHUT UP!” Black screamed. “SHUT UP AND THEN EXPLAIN TO ME WHY MISTER HIGH FINANCE MAKES FAR MORE MONEY THAN THE REST OF US COMBINED, YET ONLY PAYS THE SAME SHARE OF THE LIVING EXPENSES?!”

“jealous much?” Rus snickered, then gave a yell. He lashed out blindly with one foot, causing a nearly identical yell to emanate from under the table.

“ow,” came Mutt's voice.

“you earned that.”

“both of you stop,” Sans warned, rubbing his forehead in aggravation.

“WE ALL PAY EQUAL SHARES REGARDLESS OF INCOME, BLACK,” Wine said smoothly. “AND YOU'RE NOT THE ONE LIVING IN THE ATTIC.”

“WHY DO YOU EVEN WANT TO SUPPORT THIS IDIOTIC BARBECUE IDEA?” Black refused to let the question go. Wine raised his glass of Cab Suav in a toast and smiled.

“WHO KNOWS? I'M JUST A HOPELESS DRUNK.”

“is the machine going to be okay?” Sans asked. “we can lock the shed up, but i want to make sure random humans aren't going to get anywhere near it.”

“s'fine,” Stretch replied, drinking half his water glass in one go. “we got enough locks on that thing to keep a counterfeiting racket safe.”

“don't give black any more business ideas.”

“you okay, boss?” Red was asking over his brother's arm, as Edge scrolled through items on his phone, filling up a shopping cart. Edge gave only a curt nod, a look of single-minded determination on his face as he tallied up party items and supplies.

“WELL I THINK THIS IS A TERRIFIC IDEA!” Papyrus declared. “EDGE, I'M SO GLAD YOU WANT TO MEET THE NEIGHBORS AND GET INVOLVED WITH OUR COMMUNITY! AND YOU HAVEN'T BROKEN DOWN ANY DOORS IN THE LAST WEEK!”

He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “MY SOCK PUPPET THERAPY HAS PAID OFF,” he sighed. “I COULDN'T BE PROUDER!”

“good job, bro,” Sans said, patting his brother on the elbow. “why don't you go with edge tomorrow to pick out a grill?”

Red tilted his head around Papyrus' chest to look at Sans. “you actually want him goin' with my brother?” he asked in surprise. “what for?”

“paps has been asking to throw a party here since we moved in, so why not let him help?” Sans shrugged. “plus it won't hurt to have someone edge's size around in case he...gets into some problems.”

Red narrowed his eyes at Sans, but leaned back as Papyrus clapped his gloved hands together. “YES! A GREAT IDEA!” he yelled. “EDGE WILL NEED SOMEONE STRONG TO HELP HIM CARRY ALL THE INCREDIBLY FUN PARTY SUPPLIES AND OVERLY-PRICED GRILL!”

“something like that bro, yeah,” Sans finished, going back to eating.

A sudden bang made everyone jump, as the back of Black's chair hit the floor. Black himself was disappearing around the corner of the door, out to the main hall, snarling the entire way.

Long after everyone else had gone to bed, Black was still stomping up and down his bedroom, hands clasped behind him, face full of anger.

No one ever listened to him. Not that pathetic Classic, not that giant blowhard Edge...not even the two fluffballs. He could warn of flood and fire and they'd all sit around laughing until they were up to their necks in burning water.

On yet another circuit of the room, Black finally noticed his brother had popped in and fallen asleep some time ago, sprawled out on his oversized doggy bed. Black scowled.

And did that worthless Mutt show any support for him at all during dinner? Of course not! Just laid under the table like an ungrateful dog, letting him do all the arguing!

Worn out with fuming, Black hopped up onto his luxuriously-appointed four poster bed. He removed his boots and placed them neatly next to the bed, facing his closet. He sat on the edge of the pillow-top mattress, absentmindedly staring down at his shoes.

He needed taller boots. Black was of the firm belief that his personal confidence somehow directly correlated with the height of his boots. But chunky heels could only go so high, before they strayed dangerously into platform shoe territory. How he longed to leave the training wheels of dominating footwear behind!

If only he wasn't so wobbly on stilettos. How did Edge do it?

A sudden whimper grabbed his attention at once, and Black was on his feet and walking quickly over to the end of the bed before the noise had even stopped. Mutt was having another nightmare.

Black knelt down and carefully, very gently, scratched the back of his brother's head, as Mutt shivered and twisted around on his pillow, muttering incoherently. After a while, the scratching seemed to console him and he went still, the pained expression on his face gradually easing to one of calm.

Black sighed and pulled a discarded blanket from the floor back over his brother's sleeping form, smoothing it out around his shoulders.

No one ever listened to him. His brother was never any good at sleeping alone. He'd asked for Mutt to be put in the room next to his own, but no. The rest of the house thought he'd be fine two floors away in the basement. So selfish. And Mutt just went along with it, like he did with everything.

Black patted his brother's skull gently, then climbed up onto his own mattress and lay down, not even bothering to change. He knew he'd just be getting up again in a few hours when his brother had another nightmare. They always came in groups.

He scowled at the wall next to his bed, adjoining Edge's room, where the indistinct sound of snoring was bleeding through.

So selfish.

“IT SAYS IT HAS DUAL ROTISSERIE RACKS, SEPARATING COVERS, SEVEN BURNERS AND MARBLE COUNTERTOP EXTENSIONS FOR HOLDING SIDES OR MARINADES.”

“HMMMM,” Edge squinted at the grill in front of him, as Papyrus read off the features tag hanging at its side. He lifted up the two covers, letting them down again to test the weight.

It was the day after the party had been more or less decided upon, and Papyrus had made good on his word to help Edge find a grill, as well as collect other party supplies like chairs, tables and so forth. Most everything had been purchased, other than a few odds and ends...and of course, the centerpiece for the entire affair.

“Can I help you...gentlemen?” A salesman had wandered up as Edge and Papyrus were testing out grills at the Outdoor Huntsman, a sizable department store featuring sporting goods and backyard items.

The salesman had clearly spoken before he got a good look at his potential commissions. When Edge lowered the grill cover to stare at him, the smaller human visibly swallowed.

“Erm...finding everything all right?” he asked. Papyrus gave a friendly wave, but was cut off by Edge before he could speak.

“DON'T YOU HAVE ANYTHING MORE HIGH-END THAN THIS?” Edge gestured with irritation to the grill in front of him. The salesman looked bewildered for a moment.

“Sir, that's...haha, that's already a seven-thousand dollar luxury deck grill with built-in-”

“YES, WE'RE NOT ILLITERATE. WE DID, IN FACT, READ THE CARD. I'M ASKING IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING BETTER.” Edge folded his arms across his chest and stared the salesman down.

The man glanced from one monster to another, as if trying to see the joke.

“It's...top of the line, sir,” he managed at last. Edge snorted in derision.

“YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT THIS-” he waggled the steel cover of the grill up and down in a pointless motion- “IS MEANT TO INSPIRE ENVY AND SOUL-DEVOURING JEALOUSY IN ALL OF MY FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS? THIS WILL ESTABLISH MY REIGN AS TRUE KING AND RULER OF ALL SUMMER BARBECUES, FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF DAYS?”

“I THINK NOT,” he finished. The salesman was sweating slightly now.

“I...I don't know that we have anything that carries such a guarantee...”

“WHAT MY FRIEND HERE MEANS,” Papyrus cut in hopefully, “IS THAT WE HAVE A LOT OF MONEY TO SPEND AND WE WANT TO BUY THE NICEST GRILL YOU HAVE!”

He fumbled around in his pocket, holding up Wine's black credit card for the salesman to see.

The human's eyes went exceptionally wide at the sight of the ultra-rare card. Then they narrowed at the two monsters in a thoughtful gaze.

“Come with me,” the salesman said finally, turning on his heel. Shrugging, Papyrus fell in line behind him, followed by Edge. They were led through the store, into a backroom doorway, down a hallway, across a storage area, down a stairwell, through a door marked Private and into a small, darkened room.

The salesman flipped on a light switch. Sudden, overpowering lights bathed the gleaming barbecue grill that sat before them in this empty room.

“The Palisades Mark IV Firefly,” the salesman stated simply, then fell silent.

Papyrus' jaw dropped. Edge stared in absolute awe.

It had rotisseries. It had bun warmers. It had marble. It had chrome fins. It had a fridge and a freezer and an automatic pineapple cozy. It had flame designs etched into steel. It had a deep fryer. It had a satellite dish. It had a detachable sidecar. It had afterburners. It had a giant metal shark mounted on top that shot fire from its mouth for instant s'mores.

It was too beautiful for words.

Papyrus handed the salesman Wine's credit card.

---

72 hours remain until the barbecue...

Chapter Text

It was another sunny, summery day, with a few puffy white clouds cutting across the open blue sky over the suburbs.

Out in the backyard shed behind the house, Stretch sat with a beat-up manual in one hand and a tube of pringles in the other, occasionally upending the tube into his mouth as he reviewed the information in the booklet folded over his lap. A little red portable radio was playing some forgettable pop song from its perch on a wooden shelf nailed below the shed window.

The Machine, in all its nebulously metal-and-cables glory, sat in the middle of the shed, wires running over the floor in every direction to various power sources, jumbled-together computer displays and, inexplicably, a stationary bicycle with a motion battery connected to its back wheel. Brought piece by piece up from the underground and originally assembled in Sans and Papyrus' former city apartment, it took up a fair amount of space and seemed cobbled together with lots of additional welded-on plates and reinforcements.

Since he didn't work an outside job like the others, Stretch spent most of his days working on the machine, which was unfortunate, because he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing to, with or even because of it. It had been a long time since his days working as a scientist with Undyne in the underground. Unlike some of the others, he'd never gotten the idea to cart this monstrosity of an invention home and tinker with it. Instead, Gaster's machine in his own timeline had sat and quietly rotted away in the lower levels of the lab at Hotland.

Now it was more or less his day job to figure out a way to get it working again...in a manner that didn't blow them up, suck them all into another dimension, or bring anyone new into this dimension. Luckily, none of these things were likely to happen, since he couldn't even figure out how to fully turn the thing on. And Classic Sans had been no help at all, only saying that whatever he did the first time to make it work, it had been a complete accident.

Stretch paused in his reading to make a sour cream and onion-flavored duck beak with two pringles chips in his mouth, as he pondered the wisdom of trying to follow in the footsteps of a guy who accidentally fell into a black hole he had made himself.

Didn't seem like the smartest move.

At any rate, this self-made manual of Sans' was no help with repairs. Half of it was just lazy scribbles and the other half was instructions crossed out and written over with corrections, that were themselves crossed out and written over with educated guesses. He'd have a better chance of being struck by a meteor, or winning the lottery, or abducted by-

“ALIENS!!”

Stretch practically jumped out of his crocs as his head whipped around to the shed door, where his older brother was standing triumphantly, holding a large paper.

“I TOLD YOU THEY'D LAND SOMEDAY!” Blue screamed in excitement, visibly vibrating as his eyelights gleamed in the shape of stars. “I TOLD YOU! YOU THOUGHT I WAS NUTS!”

“um...yeah, come again?” was all Stretch could manage, putting down his chips and manual. Blue stamped his feet and flailed his arms wildly to the world outside the shed.

“ALIENS, PAPY! THEY'VE FINALLY LANDED! I MADE A SIGN!!”

He held up a posterboard sign that read “WELCOME FRIENDS!” in a copious amount of glitter. The “i” in “friends” was dotted with a meticulously drawn smiley face sporting two little alien antennae.

“huh, that's...real neat, bro,” was all Stretch could reply. He turned his head to the small radio playing on the shelf near him. “weird, you'd think they would have announced it on the news or something. emergency broadcast, or whatever. where'd they, uh, land?”

“IN OUR BACKYARD! THAT'S THE BEST PART!” Blue jumped forward, grabbing Stretch by the arm and pulling at his brother to join him at the doorway. They both peeked out of the shed.

There was a large, vaguely circular metal craft in the middle of the yard. It wasn't very big, possibly just large enough to seat several humans inside. Or a few dozen extremely small extra-terrestrials.

Stretch immediately stepped in front of his brother protectively, while Blue held up his sign in gleeful anticipation. They ambled carefully toward the craft that crouched ominously like a crashed satellite in front of them, already sinking into the turf of the ground with its sheer weight. It was covered in gleaming metal alloys, various strange protuberances and a...rotisserie stand?

“GET AWAY FROM MY GRILL! SO HELP ME, IF YOU SCUFF IT...”

Edge stomped over in a thundering mood, while Stretch boggled at the massive beast in front of him.

“this is a grill?” he sputtered. “it's bigger than my room!”

“INFINITELY CLEANER TOO, AND I EXPECT IT TO STAY THAT WAY!”

Edge breathed on a random corner of the grill and gently polished it with one sleeve, nodding with satisfaction at the unholy gleam of the metal surface. Blue stamped his foot and pouted, throwing down his sign onto the ground.

“THAT IS SUCH A LETDOWN! I THOUGHT ALIENS HAD LANDED! I'M GOING BACK TO MAKING LUNCH!”

He moped off towards the house, dragging his sign in a trail of glitter and only moderately-dried craft glue across the lawn. Edge narrowed his sockets at the display.

“IF ANY OF THAT GETS ON MY GRILL-”

“our grill, edge,” sans interrupted, coming around the back of the house with his brother. “it's everyone's grill. glad to see you got it delivered in time. not sure why all the delivery men spoke only russian and they arrived in those black vans, but at least it's here.”

“IT'S INCREDIBLE!” Papyrus yelled, admiring the bewildering collection of burners, toasters, warming trays, cabinets and roasting spits.

“i'm just wondering exactly where this thing came from,” sans mused, standing a good six or seven feet back from the grill. “and if buying it somehow counts as financially supporting the mob, or committing a human rights violation.”

“IT'S THE PALISADES MARK IV FIREFLY, BROTHER!” Papyrus explained. “THE BEST OF THE BEST, WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT OUR FAMILY DESERVES, BECAUSE WE ARE THE BEST!”

“why is it....so....” Stretch began, but trailed off and finally just gestured at the entirety of what was now a very big, very heavy and unsupported structure sinking slowly into the lawn.

“WELL, IT'S AN EXPERIMENTAL ULTRA-LUXURY PROTOTYPE, INTENDED FOR EXTREMELY LEGAL AND LAW-ABIDING PURPOSES!” Papyrus continued, opening the side grill cover to gesture at the interior in a showmanlike manner. “ACCORDING TO THE NICE MAN AT THE STORE, ANYWAY.”

“and you believe that?” Stretch couldn't help himself.

“OF COURSE! HE REPEATED IT SEVERAL TIMES INTO THE FRONT OF MY SHIRT, JUST IN CASE I WAS WEARING A WIRE!”

While they were talking, Wine had wandered out of the house to observe the commotion, glass in hand.

“WHO WERE THOSE GENTLEMEN IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE WITH THE SUSPICIOUS KNIFE SCARS ON THEIR FACES?” Wine politely inquired.

“deliverymen for the grill,” sans answered, pointing as if the grill wasn't taking up so much space that Wine would have to be blind and in another country to miss it. Wine had the courtesy to look like he had, in fact, just noticed its presence.

“AH. THIS IS WHY I GOT THAT CALL FROM MY BANK ABOUT AN UNUSUAL CHARGE. AMONG OTHER THINGS.”

He looked up at the top of the grill.

“WHAT DOES THE LARGE METAL SHARK DO?”

“THIS.” Edge smiled and pushed a button on the grill. Six feet of burning flames shot out horizontally from the shark's mouth in an explosive rush, narrowly missing the top of Edge's skull. Everyone but Edge jumped and backed away slightly.

“GOOD LORD.” Wine downed the rest of the wine glass he was holding in one gulp and stared at the shark.

Edge looked exceptionally pleased at this reaction, grinning proudly at the grill as if it was his child and had just performed an incredibly clever feat. He ran a gloved hand carefully over the brushed steel of the center grill cover, before swinging it open dramatically.

“IT HAS QUITE THE LIST OF FEATURES,” he bragged, admiring the insides as the others hesitantly gathered around again, Wine still keeping one eyelight on the shark sculpture. “STEREO SYSTEM, MINI PING PONG TABLE, A WINE-CHILLING CABINET, SUNROOF, CHROME FINS, ANTI-THEFT SYSTEM-”

“this thing weighs more than my food truck and you're worried someone is going to walk off with it?”

“-PLUS A DRAWER AT THE BOTTOM FOR STORING YOUR FLIP FLOPS,” Edge continued, touching the toe of his boot to a hidden drawer at the base. It popped out, flip-flop sized and ready to contain discarded shoes of a bendable nature. “ALLOW ME TO DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO THE CENTER PIVOT OF THE ROTISSERIE RACK, WHICH IS CRAFTED FROM A FULL-SIZE BROADSWORD.”

“AND...THIS IS WHAT YOU USED MY CREDIT CARD FOR?” Wine smiled and attempted to drink from his glass again, despite the fact that it was empty. He lowered it and continued smiling at Edge, unblinking, while the glass clutched in his gloved claws made a distinct cracking sound.

“IF YOU WANT THE BEST, YOU HAVE TO BE WILLING TO PAY FOR THE BEST,” Edge sniffed. “WOULD YOU RATHER I HAD USED YOUR MONEY TO PURCHASE SOMETHING OF INFERIOR QUALITY?”

“IT'S THE GREATEST GRILL IN THE UNIVERSE, WINE!” Papyrus gushed in excitement. “JUST THINK HOW POPULAR WE'LL BE WITH ALL THE NEIGHBORS WHEN THEY SEE THIS INCREDIBLE DISPLAY OF COOKING MAJESTY!”

“they will definitely talk about us,” Stretch said warily, poking at a random piece of metal on the grill. It popped open to reveal an oddly football-shaped inner metal canister with holes poked in it.

“huh. automatic pineapple cozy. swank.”

“HAVE YOU CHOSEN A THEME FOR THE PARTY DECOR?” Wine asked, as Papyrus and Edge buzzed around their new grill in awe, opening drawers and inspecting assorted add-on devices.

“WHAT? OH, NO. NOT AS SUCH. I WILL DECIDE ON SOMETHING LATER TODAY.” Edge's voice was muffled a bit, due to his head being mostly inside a little built-in breadmaker oven, set into one of the side cabinets.

“WELL, SINCE YOU'LL BE SO BUSY SETTING UP THE GRILL...WHICH YOU SHOULD PROBABLY DO ON TOP OF A STURDY LAYER OF CEMENT BLOCKS, BEFORE IT SINKS INTO MY CAREFULLY MANICURED LAWN ANY FURTHER...I THOUGHT PERHAPS I'D HANDLE DECORATIONS,” Wine continued. Edge pulled his head out of the breadmaker and looked up at him sharply.

“NO! I'M IN CHARGE OF THE PARTY!”

“THAT'S AS MAY BE, BUT I'M THE ONE WHO PAID FOR THE GRILL. AND THE BIG SCARY FIRESHARK ON TOP OF IT.”

Edge looked conflicted and Sans turned a curious look on Wine, who was staring into his empty glass as if willing it to become full again without him having to walk back to the kitchen.

“you wanna decorate?”

“YES, WELL...I HAD A THEME OR TWO IN MIND AND I'D BE REMISS IF I DIDN'T DO MY PART TO HELP.”

“you already fronted enough money to buy a grill worth more than our house,” Stretch said, walking around the long perimeter of the grill to face him. “why do you care so much about decorating?”

“YES, WHY INDEED?” Edge was now standing with hands on both hips, the grill momentarily forgotten.

Wine looked around at the group and then dramatically shrugged his shoulders, staring up at the sky.

“YOU GOT ME!” he declared. “I DON'T MUCH CARE TO HELP. BUT AN IMPRESSIVE THEME WILL UP MY STANDING IN THE COMMUNITY AND WITH THE BOARD. I HAVE TO THINK ABOUT MY REPUTATION.” This seemed to make more sense, as one or two of the others nodded in understanding.

“what're you planning?” Sans asked.

“A TIKI THEME.”

Edge stared at Wine. “THAT IS...THE MOST BASIC THING I'VE HEARD ALL DAY,” he said finally. Wine scowled and bared his teeth, a rare sight.

“I AM NOT BASIC. I JUST THINK THE NEIGHBORS, BEING WHO AND WHAT THEY ARE, WOULD APPRECIATE A TIKI THEME.”

“because they're basic,” Stretch translated. Wine nodded and toasted him with the empty glass in his hand.

“PRECISELY.”

“FINE!” Edge snapped, stomping back over to inspect the grill. “THEN IT'S EVEN! YOU PURCHASED THE GRILL, AND IN RETURN YOU GET TO BE IN CHARGE OF DECOR!”

“AGREED,” Wine said pleasantly. “FINAL SAY ON PARTY FAVORS IN EXCHANGE FOR FUNDING A GRILL SO EXPENSIVE IT COULD BE CLASSIFIED AS RENTAL PROPERTY AND CONVERTED INTO AN AIRBNB. THAT SEEMS VERY FAIR.”

“FINE,” Edge repeated, either not understanding the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it.

“AND I WILL BE IN CHARGE OF CLEANING UP AND FUELING SPARKY!” Papyrus declared with a big smile. Edge glared daggers at him.

“SPARKY?”

“YES! WE SHOULD NAME THE GRILL! IT'S PART OF THE FAMILY NOW! AND EASILY BIGGER THAN ALL OF US COMBINED! SO NATURALLY IT SHOULD GET A NAME!”

“YOU ARE NOT NAMING MY GRILL SPARKY, OR ANYTHING ELSE,” Edge hissed. “THIS IS NOT A TOY, OR A PET DOG. IT IS A FINELY CRAFTED, INFINITELY LUXURIOUS PIECE OF SINGULARLY DEADLY COOKING ART, IN THE FORM OF STEEL AND FIRE.”

“AND HER NAME IS BRUNGRILLDE,” he finished. Edge walked off towards the house, leaving everyone else behind in a stunned silence.

“soooooo. tiki, huh.”

Wine looked up with a mildly annoyed glance from the random assortment of decorations on the shelf in front of him. Rus was leaning against a display of pineapple-shaped patio string lights and eyeing his brother critically.

“you want to do tiki stuff,” he continued. “you.”

“IS THERE A PROBLEM?”

“yes. but maybe a second blow to the head will be the solution. you know, like in cartoons.”

“I'M FINE, RUS,” Wine said, pointedly staring at faux-distressed wooden patio lanterns, before picking one up to turn it over and examine the price.

“people always say that, after a vase falls on their head and they start acting totally different. the trick is a second blow to the head and then you're back to normal. let's take a walk down the floral aisle. i'll even let you pick out the vase.”

“RUS, I AM PERFECTLY WELL AND NOT IN NEED OF HEAD TRAUMA, VASE-INDUCED OR OTHERWISE.”

“we're in a craft store,” Rus hissed. “aren't your feet on fire from standing on unholy ground or something?” He gestured around at the rest of the store, taking in the rows of cheap wooden signs with cute kitchen slogans and distressed white paint finishes; the desktop picture frames covered in resin-cast angels and bits of disco mirror ball texturing; the table display of stone frogs in comical raincoats, intended to be placed at the bottom of one's garden for who knows what reason. Probably to anger actual local frogs.

“you won't even agree to be in the same room with furniture from ikea. everyone else's clothes have a tag that says small, medium or large, while yours have your initials embroidered into them by the tailor who makes all your crap custom. you will burst into flames if you touch a pre-framed poster print of a public domain photo. and yet you're now shopping in a store full of people who drive kia sorentos on purpose.”

Wine sighed, placing the lantern back on the metal peg shelf.

“BROTHER, IF YOU WANT TO MAKE PEOPLE FEEL AT HOME AND COMFORTABLE, YOU MUST SURROUND THEM WITH FAMILIAR THINGS. THE KEY TO ENTERTAINING IS NOT TO OVERWHELM YOUR GUESTS WITH UNAPPRECIATED LUXURY, BUT TO GIVE THEM AN EXPERIENCE THAT IS JUST A LITTLE ABOVE AND BEYOND WHAT THEY WOULD NORMALLY PICTURE AS THEIR IDEAL EVENT.”

“uh huh.” Rus glanced at the shopping cart Wine had by his side. It held a few cute little polynesian-style tiki idol centerpieces. “it's just that I've never seen you voluntarily touch any mass-produced table ornament that you weren't going to slam-dunk right into a garbage can immediately after.”

“TRUST ME, WE'LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO TOSS EVERYTHING OUT WHEN THE PARTY IS OVER. FOR NOW, THIS ABOUT MAKING OUR GUESTS FEEL HAPPY AND AT EASE.”

“and basic as hell.”

“QUITE. NOW HELP ME FIND WHERE THEY KEEP THOSE HORRIBLE SELF-LIGHTING TIKI TORCHES AND THE COMICAL STRAWS FOR DRINKS.”

Rus smiled. “can we get the ones shaped like flamingos?”

“DO YOU WANT TO BE DISOWNED?”

Ebbot Mall was busy today, with shoppers rushing in from the summer heat, pausing just inside the doors to feel the instant chill of heavy air conditioning inside the two-level shopping center. Gaming stores, electronics outlets, clothing and baby boutiques jostled for real estate in the crowded avenues of storefronts, casting fluorescent light through their doorways across polished tiled floors. Monsters and humans alike wandered up and down the walkways, browsing window displays, cutting through the food court, slowing down to observe little jewelry and gift kiosks set up in the middle of some pedestrian areas.

Just next to the atrium and indoor water fountain, the entrance to a large luxury anchor store gleamed with refined black walls and an understated logo in gold across the doors. Set apart from the more mainstream shops, this end of the mall housed pricier boutiques, fine watch stores, designer purse retailers and other favorite haunts of the suburban upper middle class.

“And I saw her coming home just as we left,” Margaret was saying as she threw a tan dress over the door of her changing stall, before turning to try another outfit on. “She must have had half a pallet of budget pre-made burgers and patties for the cookout.”

“Ugh, Rachel,” Dana complained, coming out of her own stall to check an outfit over in the large mirrors just outside the ladies' changing rooms. She frowned at the outfit she had on, turning this way and that.

“Is yellow floral going to be weird for this party?” she asked loudly to the other women changing.

“Definitely weird,” Candice's voice came from inside the changing room. Dana huffed and stomped back to change out of her current dress. She paused as a tall figure emerged from the men's changing room next door and stood in front of the large outer bank of mirrors.

“That looks great on you!” she gushed, as Edge critically examined himself in the mirror.

“I'M...NOT SURE I WANT TO WEAR THIS WHILE GRILLING,” he muttered, mostly to himself, turning his shoulders to see the back silhouette of the shirt. Dana shrugged and went back to change.

“Edge!” Amanda called from the fitting stalls, “Did you hear Margaret? Rachel bought the same garbage food she buys every year! It's disgusting how she thinks she can get away with that! None of it is even organic!”

“SHE OUGHT TO BE HANGED WITH HER OWN UNCONVINCING HAIR EXTENSIONS,” Edge mused while looking over his casual red button-up summer shirt. From inside the ladies' changing room, Margaret giggled.

“JUST LEAVE EVERYTHING ELSE TO ME,” Edge continued, still eyeing up his reflection, “SO LONG AS YOU GIRLS HAVE THE FOOD COVERED.”

He was glad his friends were in still in the fitting stalls and preoccupied with picking outfits for the party. No one was around to see him blush up at the words “you girls,” the use of which gave him an inexplicable kind of thrill. He liked having a...what did Margaret call it? A posse. He liked having a posse of people, whom he was almost definitely sure liked him and would not try to kill him in his sleep. The girls thought he was funny, and interesting, and Margaret gave him cute little looks sometimes. It was very...

It felt nice.

“Trust me, we've got the best butcher on call. How's this?” Margaret flounced out of the changing room with a flourish, holding her arms out to show off a deep crimson summer dress and do a little twirl in front of the mirror.

“VERY...” Edge struggled to come up with a compliment, not because the dress looked bad, but because he was deeply unused to coming up with compliments in general. Ones that weren't about him, at any rate.

“IT'S VERY PRESENTABLE,” he finished. Margaret looked the slightest bit let down by this assessment and Edge scrambled to recover.

“AND...PRETTY?” he tacked on hastily. This got a much warmer response, as Margaret positively glowed with a smile. Her eyes dropped to the shirt Edge was wearing.

“You should get that,” she said. “We can match!” She pointed back and forth between her red dress and Edge's red shirt.

“Ooooooh, you can match,” Amanda's voice came from inside the changing room, followed by other voices giggling. Margaret turned almost as red as her outfit and spun on one heel towards the laughing.

“Shut up!” she hissed.

“Are we sure everyone's even gonna show up for our party?” Dana complained, walking out of the changing rooms in a new dress to examine herself in the mirrors. “Suppose they all just go to Rachel's out of habit.”

“And turn down going to the monster house for a party? No offense, Edge,” Amanda called.

“NONE TAKEN.”

“No one's going to eat Rachel's husband's horrible food if there's a better party down the street,” Margaret said firmly. “He grills burgers the way factories produce hockey pucks. On a conveyor belt, in bulk quantities, every last one of them black and thoroughly inedible. Trust me, I spread word that there's finally a better event that's actually worth attending.”

“I'm getting this,” she added, looking down at her dress. “Everyone change and go pay for your stuff so we can get some more planning done. We still need to snipe everyone off Rachel's guest list, preferably without her knowing until the last minute.”

The group split up to change back into street clothes and headed for the cashier, arms full of new clothing.

“YOU DID MENTION THE WINE FOUNTAIN TO PEOPLE?” Edge confirmed, as Margaret swiped her credit card at the register.

“Yep! Everyone's gonna know this is a way classier party than Rachel's garbage backyard cookout.”

“EXCELLENT.”

As he said this, Edge turned around and shuffled his shopping bags over to one arm, pulling out his phone and sending off a quick text.

---

Edge: HOW MUCH ARE WINE FOUNTAINS?

Wine: THAT DEPENDS ENTIRELY ON THE STYLE AND MAKE.

Wine: DID YOU WANT ONE FOR THE PARTY?

Edge: YES

Wine: I SUPPOSE I COULD ORDER ONE TO ARRIVE IN TIME, SO LONG AS I GET TO KEEP IT AFTERWARD. I'VE BEEN WANTING ONE ANYWAY. WE CAN USE IT AT THE HOA HOLIDAY PARTY.

Edge: FINE, ORDER IT

---

Pausing to frown at the screen, Edge read through his texts and thought for a bit.

---

Edge: PLEASE

Wine: GOODNESS, WHAT COURTESY. THOSE LADIES ARE HAVING A FINE INFLUENCE ON YOU.

Edge's face lit up in a blush and he glanced around at the others, before continuing to text.

Edge: THERE ARE NO LADIES HERE! I'M BY MYSELF! IN A MEN'S STORE! FOR MEN!!

Wine: AH, THE MEN'S STORE FOR MEN. HOW WELL I REMEMBER IT. TELL THE STAFF I SAID HELLO.

Edge: I WILL DO NO SUCH THING! NOW GOODBYE!

---

Edge jammed his phone in his pocket just as the women finished hauling their bags from the register.

“Aren't you done yet?” Candice called over her shoulder, as Dana still stood waffling over the blue dress she was wearing in front of the mirror. “Everyone else is ready to go!”

“I can't decide!” Dana practically wailed. “I thought this was the one, but...” She turned and faced the group.

“Does this make me look chubby?” she asked desperately. “I feel like it just makes me look chubby. And I'm too short for a summer dress so my legs look stubby. And blue just washes me out because I'm so pale. And I just don't have the upper arms for a sleeveless outfit.” She gripped the hem of the dress in one hand in a gesture of defeat, looking away.

“DANA,” Edge said, shifting his bags to his other arm as he approached to place a hand on the woman's shoulder, “IF YOU CAN'T IMAGINE YOURSELF STANDING OVER THE SLAIN BODIES OF YOUR WORST ENEMIES WHILE WEARING THAT DRESS, BLOODIED AND TRIUMPHANT, THEN IT DOESN'T EVEN DESERVE TO BE ON YOU.”

Dana stared at Edge for a moment, then turned to stare into the mirror. Gazing silently into some private inner universe of her own, she lit up with an oddly excited smile. She picked up her purse and rushed over to the register.

“I'm buying this dress!” she waved her debit card in the cashier's face. “I don't need a bag, I'll wear it out!”

“That was really cool of you Edge,” Amanda said, punching him lightly in the arm. “How'd you come up with that?”

“THAT'S HOW I BUY ALL MY CLOTHES.”

Dana returned to the group, street clothes stuffed inside a shopping bag, her face pink-tinged and triumphant.

“Who wants to go get froyo?” Candice asked.

48 hours remain until the barbecue...

Chapter Text

It was Saturday night, and dinner was already underway at the skeleton house. A giant stack of half-emptied pizza boxes sat piled to one side on the table, along with extra paper plates and napkins. Saturday nights were always Takeout Night and had the added benefit of being No Dishes Night, hence paper dishware and drinks being enjoyed straight out of the bottles or cans by most. Papyrus resided over the proceedings with an air of eager authority, standing near the head of the table with one arm dramatically raised for effect.

“AHEM!” he coughed, more or less snagging most of everyone's attention, though a few pizza boxes were still being investigated to see if particular favorites were gone yet, “FRIENDS, I THINK I SPEAK FOR EVERYONE WHEN I SAY THAT WE ARE ALL EXTREMELY EXCITED FOR THE BARBECUE TOMORROW!”

“I THINK I SPEAK FOR EVERYONE WHEN I SAY THAT YOU DON'T,” Black said, daintily cutting his pizza slice with a fork and knife.

“SINCE THIS IS OUR LAST DINNER TOGETHER BEFORE TOMORROW,” Papyrus barreled ahead without acknowledging Black, “I THINK IT IMPORTANT THAT WE-”

“course it's our last dinner before tomorrow,” Red interrupted. “dinner's always th' last dinner before tomorrow, 'less you wanna have a second dinner later.”

“let him finish,” Sans warned. Red shrugged, finished spreading mustard on a slice of pepperoni pizza, stacked another slice on top and ate them together like a sandwich.

“con'finue,” he managed around a full mouth. Papyrus rallied and tried again.

“YES, WELL! AS I WAS SAYING, SINCE THIS IS OUR LAST DINNER-”

“you make it sound like an execution, not a cookout,” Rus put in.

“A GOOD PARTY SHOULD HAVE BOTH,” Black said.

“-I FEEL WE SHOULD GO OVER SOME PROPER PARTY ETIQUETTE TO IMPRESS OUR HUMAN NEIGHBORS!” Papyrus stopped for a breath after rushing the rest of his speech out.

Black gave an undignified cross between a laugh and a snort, and from under the table the noise seemed to be echoed.

“BECAUSE HUMANS HAVE SUCH HIGH STANDARDS FOR MANNERS,” he rolled his eyelights.

“I THINK IT'S AN EXCELLENT IDEA,” Wine said.

“YOU THINK EVERY TERRIBLE IDEA LATELY IS AN EXCELLENT IDEA!”

“GENTLEMEN!” Papyrus pleaded, “THERE'S NO NEED FOR ARGUMENT! I MANAGED TO FIND AN EDUCATIONAL GUIDE THAT WILL HELP US NAVIGATE THE TREACHEROUS PITFALLS OF HUMAN HIGH SOCIETY!”

He picked up a small worn book from where it had been sitting on the table and held it out to show the others.

“BEHOLD! AN ETIQUETTE BOOK, WRITTEN BY HUMANS!”

Rus finished folding his napkin into an accordion shape out of boredom and fanned himself with it.

“we'll be the belles of the ball,” he snickered, before tossing his napkin on the floor under the table.

“nice job, bro,” Sans said, starting in on a new box of extra cheese pizza.

“INDEED! I WAS LUCKY TO GET SUCH A COMPREHENSIVE MANUAL. IT EVEN HAS SEVERAL SECTIONS ON PARTIES!”

He cleared his non-existent throat and struck a pose, opening the book to a previously marked spot and holding it out in from of himself to read aloud.

“WHEN YOU ENTER THE PARLOUR, GO IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR HOSTESS AND SPEAK TO HER! IF THE GENTLEMAN ATTENDING YOU IS A STRANGER TO THE LADY OF THE HOUSE, INTRODUCE HIM, THEN JOIN THE OTHER GUESTS! ABOVE ALL, DO NOT CROSS THE ROOM BY YOURSELF, BUT INSTEAD WAIT TO BE ESCORTED BY THE GENTLEMAN WITH WHOM YOU ARRIVED, OR THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE!”

Wine stopped drinking from his glass for a moment and gave a look to his brother, who snorted into his sleeve.

“uh, paps,” Sans began with uncertainty.

“IT IS IN DREADFULLY POOR TASTE TO SEAT ONESELF AT THE PIANO OF THE PARLOUR AND PLAY, WITHOUT HAVING FIRST BEEN INVITED TO DO SO BY THE HOSTESS!” Papyrus continued, flipping to the next page.

“when was this book published, bro?”

“AND REMEMBER THAT ANY ITEMS YOU CARRY, SUCH AS A FAN OR GLOVES, MUST REMAIN ON YOUR PERSON OR IN THE CLOAK ROOM! NEVER ALLOW A STRANGE GENTLEMAN TO CARRY YOUR FAN FOR YOU, AS IT MAY IMPUGN YOUR HONOR IN THE EYES OF OTHER GUESTS!”

Rus stuck his head under the table.

“you heard the man. stop impugning me.”

A bony arm came out from under the table, handing back Rus' fan-folded napkin from where he had tossed it on the floor. Mutt's face soon followed it.

“ya little tease,” Mutt said.

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT IT!” Black hollered.

“black, it's not my fault your brother's an incorrigible cad.”

“I WILL INCORRIGE YOUR LEGS TO FOLD THE WRONG WAY UP IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR TRAP!”

“was that a pun? does the book frown on those, papyrus?”

“I'M LOOKING!” Papyrus was leafing quickly through the book, searching for any pun-related advice.

“bro, i'm not sure that's the most, uh...up-to-date edition of...”-Sans tilted his head to read the title of the book while his brother continued to scan through it- “Mrs. Holly Mason's Etiquette Lessons For The Refinement of Young Ladies.”

Papyrus stopped flipping pages for a moment. “YOU THINK THEY MAY HAVE RELEASED A LATER VERSION?” he asked.

“sometime in the last century, possibly.”

“WELL, THIS HAS ALL BEEN TOTALLY IDIOTIC, THANK YOU,” Black said, abruptly standing up from the table. “IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, I HAVE TO GO ATTEND TO MY NIGHTLY ROUTINE OF HOPING YOU ALL DIE IN A MYSTERIOUS FIRE.”

“DON'T LET THEM MAKE A PROPER YOUNG LADY OUT OF YOU, MUTT!” he added, leaning down to shout under the table.

“I'm totally unfit fer marriage m'lord, never fear.” A bony hand stuck out from under the table and gave Black a thumbs up. He nodded and stomped off into the main hall.

Papyrus sat back down, looking more than a little disappointed, only to be patted kindly on the shoulder by Blue.

“I THOUGHT YOUR BOOK WAS VERY INSTRUCTIVE!” Blue assured him. “AND IT WAS HIGHLY RESOURCEFUL OF YOU TO LOOK FOR A GOOD MANNERS GUIDE! I'M SURE WE'LL ALL FIND A WAY TO BENEFIT FROM IT!”

“it's a book that makes black leave the table faster,” Stretch said, finally looking up from his phone on which he'd been scrolling for most of dinner. “we've already benefited from it. we should read it at every meal.”

He lifted his legs automatically, just in time to avoid a swift kick that lashed out at his feet from under the table.

“too slow,” he said. Skeletal hands grabbed the front legs of his chair and flipped it, causing Stretch to land flat on his back with a bang.

“well now i'm definitely not letting you escort me across a room,” Rus said, his head under the table.

“everybody stop,” Sans warned, before turning to Red, who had also been very occupied with his phone. “still no messages?”

“i keep callin' an' textin' him, but nothin',” Red growled. “out with his stupid new friends, getting' who knows what for the party.”

“relax, i'm sure he's fine.”

“WE SHOULD ALL BE FOCUSED ON PREPARATION AS WELL!” Papyrus had put his book down and was standing up to address the table once more. “IF WE DIVIDE UP TASKS, WE CAN COVER EVERYTHING WITH NO MISTAKES! I VOLUNTEER MYSELF AS HEAD COORDINATOR, OF COURSE!”

“seconded,” Sans said with a good-natured smile. “that'll make the party ten times cooler.”

“OF COURSE IT WILL!” Papyrus preened and stood with his scarf inexplicably waving in a non-existent breeze. “WITH MY INCREDIBLE ORGANIZATIONAL SKILLS, THIS PARTY WILL BE A COMPLETE SOCIAL TRIUMPH, AND GARNER US MANY NEW NEIGHBORHOOD FRIENDS AND ADMIRERS!”

“question,” Stretch said, setting his chair back up to sit in it, “do we have to talk to these friends and admirers?”

“NATURALLY!”

“pass.” Stretch took another slice of pizza.

“DON'T BE SO ALOOF, BROTHER!” Blue admonished. “IT WILL BE NICE TO GET TO KNOW THE COMMUNITY AND MEET LOTS OF INTERESTING PEOPLE!”

“AND PLEASE REMEMBER THAT I HAVE TO SEE SAID PEOPLE REGULARLY,” Wine added. “I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MY REPUTATION WITH THE COMMUNITY RUINED.”

“NOT TO MENTION IT WILL BE A TERRIFIC CHANCE FOR ALL OF US TO-” Papyrus stopped and opened his etiquette book to another bookmark- “'INVOKE AN ATMOSPHERE OF CONVIVIALITY, WHILST ENCOURAGING AN IDEAL SETTING FOR THE KIND OF ATTENTIONS UPON WHICH THE YOUNGER SET SO THRIVE, NAMELY THE OPPORTUNITY TO RECEIVE THE ADMIRATION AND PROPOSALS OF ELIGIBLE SUITORS.'”

At this quote, Wine stared at Papyrus. He carefully put his glass down, reached for the wine bottle at his elbow and began drinking directly from it.

“i think maybe we can lose mrs. mason's book for now, pal,” Stretch tried, watching out of the corner of his eye as Wine chugged Cab Suav like it was oxygen. “this...seems like a more informal party than what she has in mind.”

“WELL, IF YOU SAY SO. BUT I'LL CONSULT IT IF WE RUN INTO ANY PROBLEMS!” Papyrus clapped his hands together. “SO, LET'S DIVIDE UP THE TASKS! I THINK BLUE AND MYSELF CAN HANDLE SETTING UP THE GRILL AND PATIO AREA, SINCE EDGE WILL BE HANDLING THE FOOD! UNLESS OF COURSE YOU'LL BE TOO BUSY AT WORK?”

“BLACK IS TAKING CARE OF THE STORE ALL DAY TOMORROW WITH HIS BROTHER,” Blue informed him. “SO I'M FREE!”

“me and my bro got the decorating down,” Rus said. “everything's out in the garage, just needs to be set up.”

“PERFECT! SANS?”

“securing the shed,” Sans said firmly. “we don't want any humans poking around near the machine. I'm gonna block up the shed windows from the inside, get a cover on some of the external power stuff 'round the back...that kinda thing.”

“NAPPING IN THE SHED ALL DAY, GOT IT,” Papyrus nodded, and Sans looked sheepish.

“c'mon, it's gonna be a little work,” he defended himself.

“'m gonna be on th' truck sellin' downtown most'a the day,” Red muttered, still looking at his phone. “i'll be back before the party, though.”

“STRETCH, THAT LEAVES YOU TO SET UP THE MUSIC SYSTEM!” Papyrus continued, “THEN YOU'LL BE FREE TO HIDE IN YOUR ROOM DURING THE PARTY!”

The entire table erupted in laughter and Stretch sank down in his chair, tucking his chin into his hoodie.

“i don't like social stuff, okay?” he complained, his face turning red.

“I KNOW! AND THAT'S FINE! JUST REMEMBER TO SET UP THE SPEAKERS BY 3 PM!”

The sound of the front door opening came from the hall, followed by it being closed with a bang. Heeled boots echoed on the hardwood floors, skipping over the dining room and going straight up the stairs.

“uh, be right back,” Red said hastily and disappeared. He blipped upstairs and in front of his brother's room, just as Edge approached.

“hey boss, how'd everything go?” he asked. “couldn't seem ta get ahold of ya today.”

His brother stiffened and looked down at him, pocketing the phone he was looking at.

“EVERYTHING IS FINE. THE FOOD WILL BE READY FOR PICKUP EARLY TOMORROW MORNING.”

“that's, uh, that's great,” Red replied, slightly unsure of what else to say. They both stood in silence for a moment, before Edge waved him impatiently out of the way of his bedroom door.

“hey! um...” Red began to trail off as his little brother turned the handle to his door, “uh...look boss, ya haven't been aroun' much and I was just...you know...”

Edge stared at him, one hand still on the door handle. Red took a breath and rallied his nerves.

“jus' wonderin' where you been...what you and yer friends been up to,” he said. “not like you ta just skip outta the house n' not answer yer phone for hours. makes me kinda worried, ya know?”

“I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF, SANS,” Edge replied coolly. “AS FOR NOT BEING HOME, DIDN'T YOU WANT ME OUT OF THE HOUSE AND AT WORK?”

“well yeah, but, this ain't a job, it's just-”

“IT'S JUST WHAT?”

Red's shoulder slumped and he stared at the floor. “ju's nothin', jus'...worryin'...” he mumbled. Edge narrowed his sockets at Red.

“I'M FINE, SANS,” he repeated. “YOU DON'T NEED TO WORRY. IN FACT I'D PREFER IT IF YOU DIDN'T.”

He opened the door to his room and walked in, closing it heavily behind him.

Red leaned against the hallway wall and stared at his shoes, scratching the back of his head with one hand.

The next morning, a bleary-eyed Red dragged himself down early to the kitchen, only to find that breakfast was, as Mrs. Holly Mason would put it, "sparsely-attended." Papyrus and Blue were excitedly buzzing around the patio, doing who knows what. Black and Mutt were already at the donut shop. Stretch was still in bed. Sans was...wherever Sans was. Wine was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. Rus, dragged out of bed by his brother, was sleeping at the other end of the table, a bowl of marshmallow cereal slowly becoming more and more soggy in front of him.

Edge was gone.

“anyone seen my bro?” Red asked, and Wine stopped reading for a moment.

“I BELIEVE HE LEFT TO RETRIEVE SOME OF THE PARTY FOOD AT THE BUTCHER'S AND RUN SOME ERRANDS,” he replied, before going back to his paper. “BUT HE LEFT YOU A MESSAGE NOT TO TAKE TOO LONG AT WORK AND TO BE BACK BY FIVE O'CLOCK, PRECISELY.”

Red's shoulders sagged. He grabbed a few items out of the fridge and tossed them into a bag, before heading out the door towards the waiting food truck.

“Because if you don't come, the party will be just ruined!” Candice complained to the woman in front of her. Candice, Margaret, Dana, Amanda and Edge were all standing on the front porch of a sunny yellow house at the corner of Burke and Willow, while the owner leveled a look at them from inside the glass storm door.

“Yeah, you really care if I come to your party,” Jennifer said, not even bothering to open the storm door. “Or maybe you just want to piss off Rachel?”

“Whaaaaaat? That's nuts,” Candice replied, trying to look a moderate amount of both shocked and offended. “It's not our fault we planned our party before hers!”

“Rachel's a friend of mine. She plans her party every year,” Jennifer countered. Her eyes flicked over to Edge, who was standing on the porch steps in a leather jacket and jeans, his arms folded. “And I'm not going to a party at some...at their house. ”

Edge narrowed his eyes at this comment, before Margaret nudged Candice aside and stood in front of the door.

“You gotta come, we can't have a party without the head of the PTA!” she whined. “How would that look to everyone else?”

“Like I care.” Jen began to close her front door.

“It would look terrible, Jen. Worse than that thing that went down at the terrace get-together on Memorial Day.”

The door stopped before it fully shut. It opened back up by a few inches.

“What thing?” Jen's face appeared around the door, eyeing Margaret with renewed suspicion. Margaret gave an award-winning smile and shrugged.

“Just...stuff,” she said nonchalantly. “I know how close you are with Rachel, and I don't want anything to ruin that.”

“Why would anything ruin it?” The door was now fully open again and Jennifer was leaning forward until her nose nearly touched the glass outer door, staring down Margaret.

“Hey, like I said, you guys are super close! You and Rachel...and her husband...” Margaret trailed off, grinning like a snake eyeing up a cornered mouse.

“Super close,” she added.

Jen looked momentarily horrified, then glared at Margaret hard enough to melt the glass between them.

“Fine,” she finally hissed through clenched teeth. “I'll go to your stupid party. And you don't bug me about this again, okay?”

“Sure thing!” Margaret nearly bounced off the porch steps, waving cheerfully as she went. “Bye hun! Also, bring chips or something, okay?”

The door to the yellow house slammed so hard it almost shattered the windows.

“Nice,” Amanda said, as they all walked back to a convertible parked on the street. “So what went down on Memorial Day?”

“Caught Jen making out with Rachel's husband,” Margaret replied matter-of-factly. “Right behind the pool maintenance shed.”

“UTTERLY REPREHENSIBLE,” Edge commented. “INFIDELITY IS DISGUSTING. WHERE I COME FROM, A BETRAYAL OF SUCH INTIMATE TRUST WOULD BE UNTHINKABLE. IT WAS DIFFICULT ENOUGH TO FIND SOMEONE WORTHY OF TAKING AN EMOTIONAL RISK IN THE FIRST PLACE.”

“BUT I AM IMPRESSED WITH YOUR ABILITY TO BLACKMAIL,” he continued, making Margaret blush.

“Yes, well...” Margaret cleared her throat and indicated the car. “Gotta make sure we snipe everyone off Rachel's invite list. We just have one more holdout to convince. Let's get going, then we can get the last of the supplies. I think we still need plastic cutlery.”

“You wanna take your car to the store, Edge?” Amanda said. “Might have more leg room than a convertible.”

“NOT AT ALL. I'VE ACTUALLY ALWAYS WISHED TO OWN A CONVERTIBLE.”

“Really? Why don't you get one?”

“I, ER...” Edge shift slightly from foot to foot, looked around at the women watching him. “I DO NOT HAVE A DRIVER'S LICENSE.”

“What! You should go take your test!”

“I HAVE,” Edge said, looking unusually embarrassed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and directed his gaze to the side of the car and away from the others. “SEVERAL TIMES, IN FACT. I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO DRIVE A CAR ON THE SURFACE. BUT THE PROCTORS OF THE TEST SOMEHOW FIND SOMETHING TO FAULT ME ON, EVERY TIME.”

“Oh my goddddd, I hate monster racism!” Dana complained. “That is so unfair they won't let you have a license just for that!”

Edge did not correct her. Instead he nodded and made to swiftly enter the convertible's front seat to avoid further conversation, but Amanda stopped him. She put the keys to the car in his hand.

“Why don't you drive us to our last stop?” she asked. Edge stared at Amanda, then the keys in his hand, then at Amanda again.

All the air left Amanda's lungs when she was suddenly swept up in a bone-crushing hug.

The doorbell rang at 106 Cypress Lane. Loud, high-pitched barking ensued, as a small tan dog scrabbled across the hardwood floors, slipping and racing to get to the door in record time.

“I'm coming! Hang on!” Linda walked from where she had been making bread in the kitchen, through the living room and to the front door. She nudged her dog Snickerdoodle, still yapping, out of the way with her foot. She swung the door open to reveal Wine standing on her porch.

She closed it again.

“LINDA-”

“Go away!” Linda yelled through the door, locking it loudly for good measure. “Just...whatever it is, go away! It's the weekend, you can't bug me on the weekend about HOA stuff!”

“LINDA, I HAVEN'T COME TO DISCUSS THAT. CAN YOU OPEN THE DOOR FOR JUST A MOMENT?”

Linda glared at the back of the highly-polished door, fuming. Against her better judgment, she opened it.

“Look, this is my weekend time and I'm busy, so if you-”

She was cut off by a very large and extremely expensive-looking bouquet of flowers being held up practically under her nose.

“I'M AFRAID I HAVE MUCH TO APOLOGIZE FOR,” Wine said, as Linda's face appeared around the bouquet to stare at him in shock. “I KNOW A MERE COLLECTION OF FLOWERS ISN'T QUITE ENOUGH, SO I WANTED TO COME IN PERSON AND SPEAK TO YOU.”

“You...it's...” Linda stammered, eyes darting from the flowers to Wine and back again. He was without his pristine uniform today, instead wearing a light button-down shirt and dress pants. His ubiquitous red gloves were absent. Linda gawked.

“What is this?” she finally demanded.

“AN APOLOGY,” Wine repeated.

“For what?”

“FOR THESE.” Wine held up copies of some of the latest fines being levied against Linda. She burned a hole through the offending papers with her glare, before going right back to a look of surprise, as Wine tore the papers up in front of her.

“AFTER MULLING IT OVER FOR A BIT,” he continued, pocketing the ripped papers, “I REALIZED THAT THESE FINES WERE UNFAIR TO YOU, AS I HAVE BEEN. I KNOW WE'VE HAD OUR DIFFERENCES” -he shot her a look of chagrin- “AND I AM SURE I AM AS MUCH AT FAULT FOR THAT AS ANYONE.”

“I WOULD...LIKE IT IF WE COULD POSSIBLY BEGIN AGAIN,” he finished, with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression on his face. He held out his hand to shake. Linda stared at it, as if it might turn into a badger and bite her.

“You seriously think-” she began, before Wine cut her off again.

“YES, I KNOW I'VE BEEN A BIT OF A...WELL, A BASTARD,” he admitted. “I SUPPOSE I HAD A VERY BAD, AND MIGHT I SAY ENTIRELY UNTRUTHFUL, FIRST IMPRESSION OF YOU. BUT AFTER GETTING TO KNOW YOU, I REALIZE I WAS MISTAKEN. AND SINCE WE'RE NEIGHBORS, IT WOULD BE IN THE WORST POSSIBLE TASTE FOR ME TO CONTINUE TO HOLD SOME CHILDISH GRUDGE OVER NOTHING.”

Linda gawked at him. Wine held up a colorful paper bag.

“I HAVE ALSO BROUGHT AN OFFERING FOR SNICKERDOODLE,” he said.

The bag in his hands was from an expensive local gourmet bakery that specialized in pet treats. Linda eyed it carefully.

“Are those...is that from LilliPet's?” she asked slowly. Wine held the bag higher and smiled a sharp-toothed grin.

“THE SAME. I DIDN'T KNOW IF SNICKERDOODLE HAD ANY DIETARY RESTRICTIONS, BUT THE OWNER ASSURED ME THAT THESE TREATS WOULD BE SAFE FOR ALMOST ANY DOG.”

At the use of the word treats, Snickerdoodle (whom Linda had been holding back from the open door with one foot out of habit) squirmed forward and began jumping up and down towards the bag, yapping ceaselessly. Wine gave an indulgent smile and knelt down to address the dog, who tried to bite his hand as he petted its head.

“AH, THE OTHER LADY OF THE HOUSE. HOW ARE YOU, MISS DOODLE?”

Linda's mouth twitched in the vaguest hint of a smile, before she caught herself and set it in a stern frown again.

“How do I know those things aren't poisoned?” she accused, pointing at the treat bag. Wine stood up again, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“LINDA, I MAY BE A STICKLER FOR OVERZEALOUS HOA RULES, BUT I WOULD NEVER KILL AN INNOCENT PET,” he said very seriously. “NOT FOR ANY REASON. GOOD LORD, IS THAT WHAT YOU REALLY THINK OF ME?”

Linda had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. “Well, no, I just...” she trailed off and gestured weakly with one hand, before realizing that said hand was holding the giant bouquet of hothouse flowers. When had she accepted them?

Wine sighed, opening the bag of treats with a careful nick of one claw under the sticker holding the paper shut. He gave the bag a shake and selected a dog treat at random.

Without hesitation, he put it in his mouth and ate it.

“Ew!” Linda couldn't help herself. Wine chewed the dog treat with the look of a man set to some incredibly arduous task, suffering yet determined to see it through to the end. He swallowed with an expression of absolute disgust.

“WELL, NOW I KNOW WHAT DOGS LIKE TO EAT,” he said, doing his best to keep from scrunching his face up at the aftertaste. “SO THAT'S SOMETHING.”

“Why on Earth...” Linda didn't even finish the sentence. Wine made another face, trying his hardest to swallow any remaining taste of the dry treat without the aid of water.

“AS YOU CAN SEE, IT'S NOT POISON. MAY I?” He fished a second treat out of the bag and held it above the dog's head, looking to Linda for approval. Mystified at the bizarre proceedings, she nodded.

Wine handed the treat down to Snickerdoodle, who snatched it out of the air and crunched happily, then barked for more.

“I just...I don't understand,” Linda said, as Wine stood back up and brushed his hand clean on the leg of his pants. “Is this all you wanted to do?”

“WELL, THAT AND INVITE YOU TO A LITTLE BARBECUE TONIGHT,” Wine said. “WE'RE HAVING SOME NEIGHBORS OVER AND I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE YOU TO COME. AND BRING SNICKERDOODLE OF COURSE, THOUGH SHE'LL HAVE TO STAY ON A LEASH.”

“HOA RULES,” he said with a smile and a shrug. “AND AMAZINGLY ENOUGH, NOT EVEN ONE I MADE UP.”

“Why should I believe you?” Linda suddenly snapped, finally overcoming her shock. “You've had it out for me since day one! You think I'm just going to forgive you for flowers and treats?”

“I UNDERSTAND YOUR FEELINGS,” Wine said. “COMPLETELY. I'VE ALWAYS ABIDED BY THE SAYING THAT TRUST IS BUILT DROP BY DROP, BUT DRAINS IN A FLOOD. I DON'T EXPECT TO EARN YOUR TRUST ALL AT ONCE, BUT CONSIDER THIS-” he gestured to the flowers and the now manically-barking Snickerdoodle- “THE FIRST OF MANY DROPS.”

“The first, huh.” Linda shoved Snickerdoodle back into the house with one foot again. “I hope you don't mean you're gonna come over and embarrass yourself even more later.”

“LINDA, I JUST ATE A DOG BISCUIT. I'M NOT SURE I COULD HUMILIATE MYSELF ANY FURTHER TODAY. NOT WITH MY PANTS STILL ON.”

Despite herself, Linda laughed at this and Wine gave a deep, warm chuckle along with her. She looked at the flowers in her hand and thought for a bit.

“Okay,” she said finally. “One party. And I'll bring Doodle on a leash.”

“WE WOULD BE HONORED TO HAVE YOU BOTH ATTEND,” Wine smiled, giving her a little bow and a wink.

“DON'T FORGET TO BRING CHIPS,” he added.

Business was slow in downtown Ebbot City, despite the weekend. Red sighed and stared off into space while standing at the counter of the food truck, listening to the conversations of foot traffic that passed by in an endless stream on the sidewalk.

He needed a chair. A chair would be nice. Standing all the time was annoying.

“Hey, buddy!”

Red snapped out of his trance to find an angry human in an apron standing in front of his truck.

“You're parked in my spot!” the man snapped, pointing at the street curb directly in front of himself. “This is my food truck's spot!” Red glared at him.

“i park here ev'ry damn day, pal,” he said through sharp teeth. “got a permit 'n everything. so beat it.”

“yeah? I ain't seen you around.”

“well look again! maybe get glasses, old man.”

The irate man got right up to the window of Red's truck, face-to-face, his dark eyes squinting at the skeleton.

“You callin' me old, monster?”

“i ain't callin' you for dinner, ya hairless ape!”

The man looked beside himself with rage. “Listen buddy,” he said in a low, threatening tone. “You move yer piece of trash truck and let me park my food truck here, or you're gonna get it!”

“yeah?” Red hollered. “what am I gonna get?”

“This!” The man put a large serving of nachos and cheese in a paper tray on the counter of the truck.

“oh yeah?” Red spat. “well I got somethin' fer you too, pal!”

He pulled out two wrapped hot dogs from under the counter and slammed them down beside the nachos.

The two glared at each other, then burst out laughing, Red slumped on the counter and the man leaning against the side of the truck.

“Ahhh, come on,” the man said. “Lock up and let's have some lunch.”

On a nearby street bench, Red and Tony sat eating lunch together, their food trucks parked very close by on the same street. What had begun long ago as an argument over permit spots quickly developed into a friendship, as both men tired of eating their own truck fare for lunch and found it better to trade meals once in a while.

“Got that new TV for the wife,” Tony said, biting into his second hot dog. “She's so happy to be rid of the small one. Think I'll keep it and put it in my garage for when I work on dad's old car.”

“nice.” Red tried to scoop escaping cheese onto a nacho before it went over the side of the paper tray.

“What's up with you? You look more pissed than usual.”

“ahhh, I ain't like that most times.”

“You are today.”

Red put his food down in his lap and stared off across the street, towards a little cafe on the other side of the road.

“dunno,” he said finally. “little brother's drivin' me nuts. he's got these new friends and he's out all hours wit' em now. i can't get him on the phone half the time. i don't like it.”

“What kinda friends?” Tony paused in his eating. “Bad people? Gangs?”

“nah, buncha girls.”

“Huh. Good for him, then.”

“no it ain't! i don't know these people! i don't know what they're tellin' him! he doesn't even want a job anymore, and before he met them all he could talk about was gettin' a job!”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony shrugged. “Look, my kid sister went through the same thing. You worry, right? Think maybe they're up to no good, or they're gonna get on drugs, or knock over a mini-mart or somethin'. But sometimes you just gotta trust 'em to do the right thing and pick their own friends.”

“As for not getting a job,” he continued, standing up to stretch his back out, before sitting back down, “he'll get around to that when he's ready.”

“but he was ready for months!” Red gestured up at the sky in a hopeless manner. “why doesn't he care now?”

“Well, maybe he didn't really want a job at all. Maybe he just wanted somethin' to do, you know? Somewhere to belong. Jobs give people a place to belong, make 'em feel like they're part of a group. Even if you hate your co-workers, you're still part of a team. If you sit around all day at home by yourself, yer gonna feel like crap. Maybe these girls make him feel like he belongs somewhere.”

Red studied the cracked pavement under his shoes, brow furrowed at this new and sudden train of thought.

“i guess...” he said slowly. Tony clapped him on the back.

“Come on, it's just a buncha girls, how much trouble's he really gonna get into?”

---

A silver convertible BMW came screeching around the corner of Nantucket Drive, blasting down the street on entirely the wrong side of the road and leaving a trail of burned rubber in its wake.

“AAAAAHHH!” Candice screamed in delight. She waved her arms in the air, Margaret hanging onto her for dear life, as Edge gunned the accelerator and flew down the street, grinning so widely his face hurt.

“HEY! TAKE A LEFT HERE!” Dana yelled. The car screeched into a dangerously sharp turn, before just barely angling onto Plantation Road, front bumper missing the fire hydrant on the corner by millimeters.

Dana picked up a golf club from a set that was laying on the floor of the back seat. “THAT HOUSE ON THE RIGHT!” she yelled, leaning one hand on Edge's shoulder and pointing past his head with the club. “THE ONE WITH THE GREAT BIG PLASTER GOOSE BY THE MAILBOX!”

Edge steered the car towards the right curb, not bothering to slow down in the least. Dana leaned out of the side of the car and took a swing as they zoomed by. The head of the plaster goose was knocked clean off, flying across the well-manicured lawn behind it.

“I HATE THAT GOOSE!” Dana screamed, and the other girls cheered. Amanda high-fived Edge.

---

“yeah, yer right,” Red said. “probably not that big a deal.”

He stuffed the last of the nachos in his mouth and stood up, brushing crumbs off his jacket. “nice talkin' wit ya, tony. say hey to the wife for me.”

Unlocking and climbing back into the food truck, Red sighed and took up position by the counter again. He pulled out his phone and looked at it, scrolling through messages. One finger hovered over his brother's latest text, but he stopped.

Was it really that big a deal? Maybe having these new friends would be good for him. At least he was out of the house, and Red had to admit he'd rarely seen Edge in such an extended good mood. Being separated from their world and his friend Undyne (who was definitely his mortal enemy and not someone he would get together and watch movies with, ever, at all, especially every Friday after training) had taken more of a toll on his brother than Red previously imagined. Maybe new friends would really help him out?

Maybe he should get some new friends too?

“Oh, Sans!”

Red once more snapped out of a trance to find a human standing in front of him, though it wasn't Tony. This one was a young woman, not too bad-looking, wearing a baggy, long-sleeved sweatshirt despite the heat, her hands curled up in the sleeves like mittens. She stared at him through watery eyes.

“Oh you-wait, you're not Sans,” she said in sudden confusion. Red shrugged.

“nope, but it's his truck. name's red, what can i getcha, sweetheart?”

The woman blinked, pieces mentally falling into place. “You're one of Sans' cousins!” she said.

Red grinned, gold tooth gleaming in the sunlight. “yep, cousin, that's my story and i'm stickin' to it.” He winked and the woman hid her face in her sleeves, smiling.

“I'm so sorry, I thought...you look a little like him...I saw his truck and wanted to thank him...” she spoke hesitantly, as if testing out every phrase before saying it.

“ah right, you're the girl sans helped out, the one who was havin' trouble wit' the rent. that get fixed up?”

“Er, yeah,” she said. “Sans pointed me to a couple places...found a smaller apartment and another job, so...”

She finished with a shrug, as if this development was somehow not ideal. Red cocked his head at her.

“hey, sounds good, better'n getting' the boot, right? i'm glad fer ya, kid.”

The woman shuffled in place. “I wanted to come and say hello to Sans in person,” she continued, face hanging slightly down while she looked up at Red through a tangle of bangs. “You know, because he helped me. It's just been...it's been so hard lately and I really, really appreciate him caring about me so much.”

“yeah sorry, he won't be working the truck again til tuesday, 's just me,” Red said. He stopped abruptly and thought.

“y'know,” he said slowly, “we're havin' a party tonight, and sans'll be there.”

He missed the woman's head snapping up to observe him with an almost predatory gaze. Red thought for a moment longer, looking at the plastic-lined counter before him, then glanced up and grinned at the woman.

“how'd ya like to be my date?”

5 hours remain until the barbecue...

Chapter Text

Hey all! Just an update that there is now a side story fic for this called Shuffling the Deck in my Ao3 Works, and you can read chapter one right now! It's mainly short chapters of day-to-day stuff all the skellies do...insights and things that did not go in the main fic. Thanks!, I hope you like it! Please leave a comment! :3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525223/chapters/59212837

Chapter Text

“IS IT ON?”

“no, it's not on yet.”

“IS IT ON NOW?”

“no, i said, it's not...i haven't-”

“I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING, ARE YOU SURE IT'S ON?”

Stretch rolled his eyes, connecting cords together by the side of the house. All he wanted to do was set up the music system for the party and then stay in his room for the rest of the night. Maybe steal some party food to hoard while he read a book.

“IS IT ON NOW?”

He didn't sign up for this. Parties were not his thing. Sure, people seemed to think he'd be fun at parties, but only because he'd long ago perfected the “relaxed and chill” outer shell that protected the big anxious baby within. He'd mastered the art of lounging on a chair in the back of an event, looking slightly amused and slightly bored, earning him an undeserved reputation for being very laid-back. He was pretty sure people saw him as the kind of guy who brings his guitar to parties to play.

“IS IT ON NOW?”

God, he hoped he wasn't seen as a guitar guy. Guitar guy was just awful.

“STRETCH!”

“ahh!” Stretch jumped, as Papyrus suddenly appeared at his shoulder. “no, it's not on. i'm still connecting it.”

“I SEE,” Papyrus frowned. “I'VE BEEN STANDING WITH MY HEAD NEXT TO THE SPEAKER FOR TWENTY MINUTES, BUT I DON'T HEAR ANY MUSIC.”

“yes, because it isn't connected.”

“HERE'S YOUR PROBLEM,” Papyrus continued, picking up a power cord and scrutinizing it, “IT'S NOT PLUGGED IN.”

“yes, i...i know that, dude,” Stretch snatched the cord away. “just, uh...position the speakers while i go find a good outlet.”

“ALL RIGHT! I'LL LOCATE THE BEST, MOST TRIANGULATED ARRAY FOR OUR SPEAKERS TO PROJECT MAXIMUM FUN AND THEMATICALLY-APPROPRIATE TUNES AT OUR GUESTS! THIS WILL BE A PARTY THEY'LL NEVER FORGET, NO MATTER HOW HARD THEY TRY!”

“awesome,” Stretch replied. “bro, LEAVE THAT ALONE!” he raised his voice in an unaccustomed shout, as Blue held up a s'more stick to the giant metal shark sculpture perched on top of the grill.

“I'M JUST TESTING THE S'MORES MAKER!”

“that's not a s'mores maker!” Stretch blipped over and grabbed the stick away from his brother, who frowned up at the stainless steel shark looming overhead.

“THEN WHAT IS IT FOR?” he asked.

“i don't...you'd have to ask edge. just maybe leave it alone for now.” Stretch tossed the marshmallow stick away and ambled back to the patio, passing by Rus and giving the young skeleton an encouraging clap on the shoulder as he anchored tiki torches into the lawn around the perimeter of the yard. Stepping around Papyrus, who was shuffling speakers about on different tables amid a tangle of wires, Stretch gathered up a mess of extension cord loops in both arms, slowly running them around the edge of the house, paying out the cord until he reached the back door of the garage.

OK, cords arranged, check. Tape them down to the side of the house for safety, probably. Find an outlet in the garage and he'd be free to get out of here before any guests showed up.

Stepping through the open back door, Stretch looked around in the gloom of the garage. They didn't keep much of anything in here...Sans' food truck certainly didn't fit. But they had a regular car for when Papyrus went to school or someone needed to run errands, a small economy thing that probably wasn't the best choice for some of the taller brothers, but was definitely the most cost-effective. The rest of the garage was a mess of boxes, patio furniture storage and other odds and ends.

Stretch inspected the walls by the door and noted a stray power cord running behind a case of large metal utility shelves that held gardening supplies. After fruitlessly trying to see behind the shelves by moving things around on them, he gave up and pulled on the entire thing until it swung out from the wall. An electrical outlet was revealed near the floor and Stretch popped the end of the extension cord into it.

He was just about to push the shelves in again when he noticed a plastic black bag wedged very far back behind them. After a moment's hesitation, curiosity got the best of him. Stretch stuck a leg in between the wall and shelf and dug around, carefully pulling the bag out with his foot. He untied its strings and looked inside.

There were a number of items in the bag: a plastic spray bottle, a metal canister of some kind of liquid chemical, and a set of black work gloves that smelled strongly of solvent. Stretch recognized Wine's favorite gardening gloves, but not the other items.

Cleaning stuff, most likely. Must have fallen off the shelves and gotten stuck back there.

He shoved everything back in the bag, put it on one of the shelves and went to go find some tape for the extension cords. Twenty minutes later, the cord was taped, Papyrus and Blue were arguing over what songs to put on the evening's playlist, and Stretch was safely cocooned back in his room, a stolen platter of pretzels and deli cheeses next to his bed, as he shook his crocs off and settled in with a favorite volume of Tales of Longing.

The sun was in its earliest stages of setting as the residents of the Walnut Valley Grove community arrived at the “monster house.” The first guests to actually knock on the door had done so with much hesitation, their arms full of bags of chips and homemade dessert. A large number of curtains were twitched aside to be peeked out of all along the street, as everyone had waited for everyone else to go to the barbecue first. Eventually, some brave souls finally left their houses and crossed the street. Like a trickle that suddenly became a flood, all the neighbors took it as their cue to arrive and the porch was soon mobbed.

“HELLO! WELCOME! SO NICE OF YOU TO ATTEND!”

Papyrus was in the cloak room, taking everyone's hats and canes as they entered the house. At least, that's what Mrs. Holly Mason's etiquette book said the host should be doing. He'd examined the house thoroughly and decided the hallway was the most analogous to a cloak room, and although there was a disappointing dearth of hats or canes, he was still determined to be the perfect host.

“WHAT A LOVELY GOWN, MADAM!” he addressed to a woman who had come into the house carrying a large casserole.

“You...you mean my sundress?” she asked uncertainly, sparing a look down at the four year old wraparound dress she'd picked up on sale at Sears. Papyrus nodded, taking the casserole from her.

“ABSOLUTELY! IT JUST SCREAMS PARISIAN FASHION!”

“It does?” the woman sounded both mystified and pleased.

“BUT OF COURSE!”

“Huh.” The woman took a moment to turn sideways and examine herself in the hallway mirror, then walked back through the house to the patio, smiling. Papyrus stacked the casserole on top of a number of other homemade contributions that were piling up on the living room side table, before arranging the hem of his formal dinner jacket with a self-satisfied tug.

“NAILED IT.”

Outside in the backyard, tiki torches and lanterns glowed around the edges of the lawn, providing a warm and festive firelight to the summer evening. Small lawn tables decorated with tealight candles were strewn about for relaxed seating and a number of longer tables spanned one edge of the patio, trimmed with luau grass skirt-style bunting and weighed down with loads of party food and drinks. Separate coolers filled with ice and stuffed full of sodas, sparkling waters and beers were arranged on the ground nearby.

“SO THIS IS THE WINE FOUNTAIN.” It wasn't a question, but rather a statement. Wine turned from where he had been pouring red wine into the silver fountain on one of the refreshment tables. The wine cycled around through little cups and saucers in an interesting display, before landing in a large bowl at the bottom of the contraption, from which cups could be filled.

“IS THERE A PROBLEM?” he asked. Edge frowned at the fountain.

“THIS IS THE BEST FOUNTAIN? THE BEST ONE YOU COULD FIND?”

“CERTAINLY THE MOST ORNATE,” Wine replied calmly. “AND VERY EXPENSIVE. THAT IS WHAT YOU WANTED, WASN'T IT?”

“Y-Y-YES,” Edge said slowly, watching the little splashes and spins of Cab Suav dance around on the fountain's surface. Wine filled a cup from it and took a drink experimentally, before shooting Edge a glance.

“YOU THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE AN ACTUAL GARDEN FOUNTAIN, DIDN'T YOU.”

“IT'S NO BUSINESS OF YOURS WHAT I THOUGHT!” Edge huffed, stepping forward to the table and angrily arranging hot dog buns in a pyramid.

“I'M SORRY YOU WERE DISAPPOINTED, EDGE.”

“SHUT UP!”

Edge snorted and stomped off to his domain, the area behind the grill, which was prominently on display at the center side of the lawn, surrounded by hanging red lanterns and flanked by torches. The shark on top was wearing a little party hat.

With the entire house working together they had managed, beyond all forces of gravity, to actually lift the gargantuan grill a little at a time and set a more or less secure bed of cement blocks topped with paving stones underneath. Edge stamped his way onto the little island of decorative stone and stood behind the grill, fussing with the precise arrangement of tongs, forks and other paraphernalia on the counter for the fiftieth time.

He carefully stroked a hand across the gleaming surface of the machine, admiring how the tiki torch light looked against the chrome. Now this was where he belonged! Master of the fiery grill, the center of the event. Not playing about with some silly little punch bowl toy that wasn't even a real fountain-

“Well now that sure is something!”

“Hell, I'd kill for one of these.”

“How much did this set you back?”

Edge looked up to see a number of men in summer shorts and t-shirts had gravitated towards the grill, a veritable pack of dads, eyeing the Palisades Firefly like it was the world's biggest chocolate cake. One whistled lowly at the sight.

“Where'd you get this incredible grill...uh...Mister...”

“EDGE,” Edge finished for him. The man had a sudden, if brief, change of expression as he recognized the name.

“Oh, right,” he said. “You're Edge. I uh...I see. My wife mentioned you, I think.”

“Jake Whitfield,” another man said, offering his hand. Edge shook it, trying to project an air of welcome instead of deep suspicion.

“WELCOME TO OUR HOME,” he said with as much warmth as he could muster, which was about as much warmth as a color photo of a fireplace might give off.

“You're the one in the girls' book club?” another man asked incredulously. Edge shrugged.

“WHEN I FIND THE TIME,” he answered with some affected aloofness, running a towel casually over the already immaculate surface of the grill.

This motion seemed to bring the focus back to the siren call of the grill, erasing any further uneasiness in the hearts of the suburban husbands, whose wives had been regaling them all week with tales of Edge's exploits. Apparently Edge's reputation had spread far past his four initial friends and the rumor mill had been working overtime.

But this was hardly a concern right now. The call of the Palisades Mark IV Firefly had driven out all other worries. For now, Edge reveled in pointing out to the men all the various features and capabilities, and they were satisfied to be as mere dad acolytes at the sacred alter of Suburban Grilling.

Meanwhile, Sans woke up in the shed.

“what's...oh great, it started already,” he muttered, shaking himself out of a nap on a pile of tarps. He could hear the chatter of many voices just outside, mixing with a music playlist that seemed to stagger between bubblegum pop music and some kind of formal ballroom arrangement. He wasn't going to ask about that.

Most of his shed-fortifying had been completed before he decided to close his eyes for five minutes, three hours ago. The windows had been locked and covered up from the inside with black paper. The door to the shed already had enough locks and bolts to keep a battering ram out, much less a curious human or two. The machine sat, silent and unpowered, in the middle of the room.

Sans finished sticking up one corner of paper over a window and shortcutted out to behind the shed, where no one would notice him. He gave a cursory look over their “composting bins.” A sizable wooden frame about five feet tall had been built behind the shed, seemingly containing a number of large, green plastic bins with composting labels on them. Closer examination would reveal that the bins were just false tops, set down over a number of power generators to disguise them and keep out any rain. Cables to the generators ran covertly along the ground and into the back of the shed.

Sans pushed the door to the wood frame closed with one foot and, satisfied in his efforts, ambled off to join the party. He stepped out from the shadows and made a beeline for the food tables, passing a remarkably casually-dressed Wine on the way.

“AND HOW ARE THE CHILDREN, DELIA?” Wine was saying, hands clasped behind the back of his dark red polo shirt, while addressing a short woman in a bright lime-green top. The moment guests had first started arriving, Wine had been greeting every single person by name, with a comment or two designed to show how much of an active interest he took in their lives.

Delia swelled up with pride.

“Oh you know, just great! We were lucky to get a babysitter for tonight, since everyone's here, but you know...Brett's been getting into his lacrosse, we're thinking of trying for a scholarship...and we just started Madeline in that Montessori school...”

Wine nodded politely with a look of rapt attention on his face as the woman rambled, his mind taking in only the most essential details and storing them away for later. The rest of his focus was on the people milling about.

Harold had come without his wife, interesting. Were they still going through with that separation? She'd arrived a few minutes later than him, for no discernible reason. Gladys was telling everyone who would hold still about her grandson, no change there. Trevor was trying not to let anyone see him spiking his punch cup with a flask. Guess that 30-day chip from AA was out the window. Kelly was in the corner with Lea's husband, deep in conversation. Very deeply, if Wine were not mistaken. He knew of their emotional affair, but information like that was best held close and revealed only at the most useful moment.

Information was so important. It was the lever with which you could move an entire community, provided you applied it in just the right spot. An event like this was the perfect chance to sharpen observational skills, figure out the ever-changing alliances of the neighborhood and get up to date on every little thing going on in everyone's lives.

Wine never had to ask for information, or depend on the rumor mill. People did all his work for him, showing their hands with every little gesture and word. People were so obvious about everything, rarely skilled enough to hide their true intentions.

He shot a glance to a new group of party-goers entering the backyard, evaluating the threat level out of habit, before relaxing as he recognized them. Ah yes, the book club that never reads. Edge's friends.

“Wait, did everyone bring chips?” Amanda asked, staring at a growing pile of chip bags that was sitting next to the punch table. She and the girls had entered the party fashionably late (and fashionably fashionable), and were standing on the patio surveying the scene. The giant mountain of chips, easily four or five feet tall, momentarily commanded most of their attention.

“We told everyone to bring chips or something, remember?” Dana replied. Amanda rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, or something. Everyone just brought a bag of chips. So lazy.”

“What did you bring?”

“Chips, duh.” Amanda dropped her bag of chips on the mountain unceremoniously.

“Where's Edge?” Margaret butted in, head swiveling around as she searched. She spotted him at the grill and headed off, dragging the rest of the book club in her wake. They squeezed through small knots of conversing people and past a small folding table set up at the other end of the patio.

Blue was standing happily behind it, wearing a bright blue hawaiian shirt. The table itself was festooned with gold star paper trim and confetti over a light blue and purple paper table cloth. On the table were opened boxes of donuts from Superior Donut, which he handed out to party-goers, along with a smile and a business card.

This was perfect! Black was going to be so impressed with Blue's business acumen. It was the perfect setting for making new friends and getting new customers! When Black saw this set-up, he was going to be so proud of his business partner!

Just as soon as he actually showed up to the party.

“BECAUSE FOR ALL I KNOW, YOU'RE ARMED AND DANGEROUS,” Black said with a scowl. “AND I TAKE HOME SECURITY VERY SERIOUSLY.” He put his hands out once again to police-frisk a male party guest at the front door, but was slapped away.

“I don't have a gun, pal!” the man said in irritation. “For like, the ninth time!”

“that's great to hear. what are we talking about?” Sans appeared from nowhere at the man's elbow and shot a hard glare at Black, who simply shrugged.

“SOMEONE HAS TO WORK SECURITY DETAIL FOR THIS EVENT, AND NO ONE ELSE WAS STEPPING UP,” he replied. Sans rubbed two fingers between his eye sockets in irritation, before turning to the line of guests that Black had kept waiting at the door.

“sorry bout this, everyone, please just...welcome to the party, go on in. sorry.”

A few people gave Sans some resentful stares, but otherwise the line of guests awkwardly shuffled past both him and Black, heading out the sliding door at the back of the house and into the yard. Black huffed and folded his arms tightly over his chest.

“IT'S ON YOU IF THEY CAUSE TROUBLE,” he spat. “AND IF THEY TRACK MUD INTO THE HOUSE. WHICH THEY WILL.”

“they're fine,” Sans said, closing the front door behind him.

“TRACKING IT ALL OVER RIGHT NOW. I CAN SEE IT.”

“no you can't.”

“TOUCHING EVERYTHING IN THE HOUSE WITH THEIR FILTHY HUMAN HANDS, LEAVING THEIR CREEPY OILY HUMAN FINGERPRINTS ALL OVER EVERYTHING-”

“black, stop.”

“PROBABLY GOING TO STEAL SOMETHING. IS OUR TELEVISION INSURED?”

“go outside now.” Sans' voice had a warning edge to it. “stop being you for five seconds.”

He pointed at the back door of the house, not lowering his arm until Black reluctantly began walking in that direction.

“I WAS ABOUT TO JOIN THE PARTY ANYWAY,” Black sniffed, before turning to address the couch, where his brother was laying limp as a dishrag and twice as asleep.

“MUTT! GO PATROL THE PERIMETER OF THE HOUSE! I DON'T WANT ANY PARTY-CRASHERS!”

“everyone was invited,” Sans said. “like, everyone.”

“AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT! I WANT REPORTS EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES!”

“on it, m'lord.” Mutt stood up, adjusted his jacket and shortcutted away.

He reappeared a moment later inside the giant mountain of chip bags by the punch table, opened a bag at random and started eating.

“And she was just livid, it was hilarious,” Margaret was saying, as Edge listened with one ear and pointed out grill features on the Firefly to the pack of dads with the rest of his attention. They were all standing by the grill, along with the rest of the book club and a few stray guests who were curiously examining what they had at first assumed was some sort of large vehicle parked on the lawn, but which upon closer inspection turned out to be the thing their dinner was about to be cooked on, in, with and/or against. Hard to tell, given all the attachments.

“GOOD, I HOPE HER SUBPAR EVENT GOES TOTALLY AND SHAMEFULLY UNATTENDED.”

“Who's that, Margie?” Margaret's husband Brian stepped in, carrying a plate of small cheeses and fruit. Margaret waved a hand dismissively.

“No one, hun, nobody important. Did you see Edge's new grill?”

“Can't really miss the dang thing,” Brian replied, eyeing the grill with the covetous gaze of a thousand suburban dads. “That sure is a hell of a grill. You doing the cooking, Edge?”

Edge swelled up with pride. “NATURALLY,” he said with a touch of smugness. He adjusted the strings on the grilling apron he was wearing, which read “Kiss the Cook” on it, though “Kiss” was crossed out and “Fight” written over it in marker.

“I'm out, be right back,” Candice announced, shaking her empty punch cup. She wandered off across the crowded lawn, before standing at the side of the punch bowl, waiting for Rus to finish filling his own cup from it.

“You're one of Edge's...cousins? Nephews? Right?” she asked. Rus started, then relaxed at the sight of Candice, putting a hand in one pocket of his track jacket.

“yeah, cousin, sure. name's rus. you're his friend from book club? amanda?”

“Candice,” she corrected, leaning over to take the punch ladle from Rus and refill her cup. “Book club's been a hell of a lot more interesting since Edge showed up.”

“that's true of any location where he shows up, really.”

Candice laughed good-naturedly and pulled out a flask from her purse.

“You good with just punch, kid?” she asked, shaking the flask. “Or you want an upgrade?”

“i'm good,” Rus said, putting a hand protectively over his plastic cup, which only made Candice laugh harder.

“Okay, but just let me know. It's not a party until someone spikes the punch.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” Rus replied, giving her a wave while sauntering off towards the rest of the crowd. Candice shook her head with a smile as she watched him go, then turned to the punch table again.

“Speaking of which...” she said to herself, unscrewing the cap from her flask.

Over at the grill, a monumental amount of food was being laid out. The best butcher shop in town had provided an incredible spread of meats, rolls and cheeses, all of which were now sitting prepped on plates, ready for the grilling to start.

“Hun, can you get us some more punch?” Margaret waved a cup at her husband, as she stacked up burgers at Edge's elbow, while he opened the center cover on the grill. The inside racks had been meticulously cleaned by both him and Papyrus, until they shone with a silver glow.

“THERE,” Edge said with pride, “NOW WE CAN BEGIN.”

“Good, can you get the burgers started? I'll go get the rest of the food from the kitchen,” Margaret replied, handing him a plate of beef patties. “Everyone is just going to die when they taste these. Rachel could never.”

“COULD NEVER WHAT?” Edge asked curiously, but Margaret only laughed and slapped his arm playfully.

“You're hilarious!” She picked up an empty plate and made her way back to the house. Edge mentally shrugged, grabbed a stack of burgers and laid them out carefully on the grill racks.

He stared at them.

How...

How did he turn the grill on?

Edge bent over carefully, looking for an ON button or something on the side of the grill. Didn't the grill come with a manual? He vaguely remembered that it did, though at the time it seemed totally inconsequential. He faintly recalled throwing it at someone's head, though whose head it was escaped him. No matter.

Straightening up, he examined the inside of the grill itself, then knelt down to look inside one of the cabinets at the front.

With a sudden chill, he remembered something terribly important. He had never operated a grill in his life.

“How the burgers coming along, Edge?”

“FINE!” Edge jumped to his feet again, his voice carrying a hint of a squeak. One of the men who had been discussing finer grilling details with him earlier, Barry something or other, was standing expectantly next to him. Edge stood up straighter.

“I'M JUST...” he floundered, looking around himself, “I CAN'T FIND THE, ER...TONGS I WANTED! TONGS! ARE WHAT I CANNOT SEEM TO LOCATE!”

“What do they look like?” Barry cast around the built-in counters of the grill, and Edge saw an opening.

“I THINK THEY'RE IN THIS OTHER CABINET,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, moving away from the center grill. “YOU MIND, ER, FIRING UP THE GRILL WHILE I LOOK?”

“Oh sure, no prob.” Barry put the beer in his hand down and reached under the front ledge on the grill, turned on the gas and hit the ignition button. The grill roared into life immediately.

“Should give it about a ten minute warm-up, I think,” Barry said, observing the flames. Edge jumped back up and stepped over.

“OF COURSE, NATURALLY! I WILL LOCATE THE TONGS LATER, BETTER WATCH THE GRILL FORNOWTHANKYOUBARRYFORYOURHELP!” The last bit was rushed out as he shoved Barry away from the grill, resuming his post in front of the burning flames. After a ten-minute wait, precisely counted down on his watch, he replaced the burger patties on the racks, watching them sizzle.

Now this was what he should be doing! Commanding this machine of fire and steel, the success of this entire party resting on his expert culinary abilities, as he...

Edge bent down to inspect a burger.

Were you supposed to turn them over? He felt like you were. One burger seemed to be on the verge of burning. There was a spatula-looking thing on the counter, along with a number of other fine wood-handled implements he had bought simply to complete the look of the grill itself, and because he still had Wine's credit card at the time, so why not.

Edge hesitantly picked up the flipper and tried to turn over one of the burgers. It slipped and fell through the rack, down into the bottom of the grill, where it started smoking.

“AHH!” Edge tried getting at it through the rack with the long spatula, but couldn't reach, only managing to scratch up the inside under the rack with the metal implement. “DAMMIT!”

“How's it coming, Edge?” Margaret reappeared at his side with a very large platter of hot dogs and sausages.

“PERFECT! BETTER THAN PERFECT!” Edge's voice was definitely now carrying a squeakish note of panic. He stood between her and the grill, trying to hide the evidence. He was going to mess this up. He was going to mess this up and burn everything and everyone at the party would know he knew nothing about grilling or entertaining and the whole thing would be ruined and Margaret and the girls wouldn't want to be friends anymore and-

A small chime came from the grill. The cooking racks, in an unnaturally smooth unfolding motion, flipped and turned the burgers over themselves, landing neatly on the other side, where they continued cooking.

Edge gaped.

“Well, looks like you've got everything covered!” Margaret trilled, putting the platter down next to him. “Do you want me to get you a drink? I'm headed over that way.”

“Y-YES. THANK YOU.” Edge stared in awe at the self-grilling food as Margaret flounced off to the refreshment tables.

Minutes later, he had a heaping plate of amazing-smelling burgers ready to go, and guests were lining up at the side of the grill, plates and hamburger buns at the ready.

“Edge, this is crazy good,” Dana said around a mouthful of burger. “Like, oh my god.” A murmur of agreement went up among the nearby guests.

“Where'd you learn to grill like this?” Dana's husband asked. “You gotta come over some time and give me and the boys some pointers.”

Edge, spatula in hand, stared down at the gleaming metal machine in front of him, as more people than had ever previously even agreed to eat his cooking were now standing around him and actually complimenting it.

He loved this grill so much.

Rus took a sip of his punch, then spat it out. “is this spiked?” he asked.

He was standing at the punch table next to Black, who was looking around the party for his brother, unaware that Mutt was five feet away buried under Chip Mountain, eating his way to freedom. Rus scrutinized the refreshed cup of punch in his hand.

“tastes like someone dumped a ton of something really strong in here.”

Black shrugged.

“I WOULDN'T KNOW, I HAVEN'T HAD ANY.”

“candice,” Rus muttered. He grabbed Black by the shoulder and stared him in the eyes.

“has my brother had any punch yet?”

Black brushed his hands off indignantly, rubbing at his bony shoulders.

“I DON'T KNOW! WHAT DO YOU CARE? WINE DRINKS SO MUCH HE'S BASICALLY EMBALMED AT THIS POINT.”

“yeah, wine! he drinks wine!” Rus flung his arms wide. “he doesn't drink hard liquor of any kind! he can't handle it!”

“OH REALLY?” Black flashed a wicked, sharp-toothed grin. “DOES HE GET VERY EMBARRASSING WHILE DRUNK?”

Rus fidgeted with his hands and looked around desperately for any sign of his brother in the crowd of people taking up the backyard.

“no, he just...he...”

Rus leaned closer to Black, who cocked a non-existent ear with a smile.

“he gets really basic,” Rus whispered.

*      *      *

“OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOUR PURSE.” Wine knocked back another plastic cup full of punch and pointed at the bag hanging from their neighbor Kelly's arm, a leatherette design shaped like a whimsical little black cat. They were both standing by the patio door under the porch light, cups and plates of food in hand.

“IT LOOKS LIKE A CAT!” Wine added helpfully. “THAT IS SO SUPER CUTE.”

“I know, right?” Kelly held it out proudly. “Got it on sale after I saw it just like, all over my Instagram feed.”

“OH MY GOD THAT IS JUST INSTAGRAM GOLD, I SWEAR,” Wine gushed, staring at the bag. He was swaying a little from side to side.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kelly asked. “You been into the wine fountain already?”

“YEAHHHH BUT IT'S WHATEVER,” Wine gestured flippantly with one hand. “IT'S FIVE O'CLOCK SOMEWHERE, AM I RIGHT?”

“It's...seven o' clock here,” Kelly answered. Wine took another gulp from his cup.

“EVEN BETTER. WINE O'CLOCK. HAH! OH MY GOD, WINE O'CLOCK. THAT SHOULD BE ON A SHIRT.”

“there you are!” Rus appeared at Wine's elbow, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away from Kelly. “bro, I think edge's friends spiked the punch with something!”

“OH MY GOD I'M SO GLAD I CAUGHT YOU,” Wine said, turning to hold onto his brother with unsteady hands. “I HAD THIS...OKAY IT'S THIS GREAT IDEA. SO WE, WHAT IF WE-” he waved an arm towards the house- “WHAT IF WE PAINT LIKE AN ENTIRE WALL OF THE KITCHEN WITH THAT CHALKBOARD PAINT, YOU KNOW THE KIND, THE KIND THAT MAKES THE WALL WORK LIKE A CHALKBOARD, AND THEN GET THIS: WE WRITE OUR GROCERY LISTS ON IT. WITH COLORED CHALKS!”

Rus cringed and put his face in his hands.

“SOOOO CUTE. JUST...JUST INSTAGRAM GOLD, AM I RIGHT?”

Rus reached out and grabbed his brother by the shirt collar. In a moment, Rus and Wine were in the kitchen. Wine shook off the effects of the sudden shortcut on his fuzzy mind, while Rus dragged him over to the kitchen table and sat him roughly down.

“you stay here for awhile, okay bro?” he insisted. “just...just stay put. stay here and stop drinking punch. get some water or something.”

“papyrus, get him some water or something,” Rus repeated to the back of the skeleton standing by the kitchen counters. He blipped away.

Papyrus, having not heard a word of that, stared at plates of food spread out over the table and counters in front of him, with the expression of a man in the grips of a horrible decision. In one hand, he held the open etiquette book, and in the other, a plate of little melon balls, watermelon chunks and other small fruit pieces, artfully stuck together in rows on little skewers. He squinted at the book pages.

“'Always serve light dishes first,'” he read aloud, “and save sweet dishes for the last course.'”

Papyrus weighed the plate of fruit in his hand, testing how heavy it was. He observed the sugary fruits on top with a careful eye.

“WHY IS ENTERTAINING SO HARD!” he lamented, dropping both the book and the plate back onto the counter to sob into his gloves. Wine wandered up behind him and patted him on the back.

“AWWWW, TOO CUTE,” Wine said, picking up a melon ball off the plate and eating it. “OH MY GOD, ARE WE TAKING PICTURES OF THESE? WHO'S TAKING PICTURES OF THE PARTY? WE SERIOUSLY NEED TO BE THINKING ABOUT SOCIAL MEDIA RIGHT NOW.”

“HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT DIY CHALKBOARD WALLS, PAPYRUS?” he continued, while Papyrus kept his head sunk into his hands. “WITH THE RIGHT COLOR CHALKS THEY COULD BE JUST...LIKE, JUST INSTAGRAM GOLD.”

*      *      *

“an' this here is the backyard. got a patio, umbrella table...the usual backyard stuff.”

“Oh, neat!”

Red had walked around the side of the house after shortcutting in with a young woman on his arm. Y/N looked around at the barbecue that was in full swing by now. Despite the summer warmth, she was still wearing a long-sleeved, baggy sweater and jeans.

“You...know all these people?” she asked, gesturing around at the crowd of neighbors. Red shrugged.

“not most a' them, but some. they're all locals n' stuff. my bro thought we should throw a party n' get to know everybody.”

“Oh.” Y/N sounded oddly unimpressed. She scrunched herself up into her sweater, folding the sleeves over her hands. “I didn't know you had other human friends. I thought...you'd live in a more isolated location.”

“whaddya mean?”

“You know, like...” Y/N waved one hand around to elaborate, “like a big lodge in the woods, or a really big house in the woods, or like a small mansion...in the woods...”

“you really like the outdoors?” Red cocked a curious look at her. Y/N shrugged.

“not really.”

“what...the hell.”

Red and Y/N looked up to see Sans, who had stopped dead in front of them, hands still holding a plate full of hot dogs. He was staring at Y/N like he'd seen a ghost. A ghost he owed money. The bottle of ketchup in his right hand was being gripped so hard it had burst and emptied itself all over the ground.

“Sans!” Y/N cried, rushing forward to envelope him in a hug. “I missed you!”

“good to see you, kid,” Sans said, his grin cemented in place with gritted teeth, as he stared at Red over Y/N's shoulder. His jaw popped audibly at the force of his smile.

Red started to sweat.

“hey, why don't i introduce ya to the other guys, since uh...you...already know me n' clas-uh, sans,” he said, grabbing Y/N by the arm and steering her away from the tangible aura of fury that was slowly emanating from the other skeleton. They headed over to a group of tables in the corner of the yard, under a trio of hanging paper lanterns, where some of the other skeletons were sitting.

“make yerself at home, kid,” Red said, offering Y/N a plastic lawn chair before glancing over his shoulder.

Yep, Classic was still standing there.

And he was still staring at Red.

Red frowned. The hell did he do wrong? He just brought a date. Wasn't she already friends with Classic? If he'd known it was gonna be such a problem, he woulda brought Tony instead.

Red sat down next to Y/N, who was already leaning over the table to talk with a few of the others. Blue and Papyrus were enjoying a plate of fruit between them, while Black sulked at the table over a can of root beer and a burger.

“GOOD TO MEET YOU AT LAST, Y/N!” Papyrus said, stacking some discarded fruit skewers neatly in a row on the plate. “SANS HAS MENTIONED YOU! I DIDN'T KNOW YOU LIVED AROUND HERE!”

“she don't,” Red filled in, “but i asked her over as my date fer the party.”

Y/N giggled and slapped his shoulder, while Black's head snapped up.

“WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BRING DATES?” he asked harshly.

“OH NO! I DIDN'T ASK ANYONE!” Blue gasped. “I SHOULD HAVE!”

“Do you know any other nice human girls?” Y/N asked coyly. Blue and Black suddenly stiffened up.

“NO,” Black said.

“WE DON'T KNOW ANY ASSERTIVE HUMAN LADIES!” Blue added, eyelights darting around nervously.

“THAT NEED TO FALL DOWN A WELL WHICH HAS NO END,” Black finished, taking a huge gulp of his soda and looking away.

“Oh-hh,” Y/N said uncertainly. “Okay.” She exchanged a confused glance with Red, who shrugged.

Papyrus thought for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“WE DO KNOW ONE OTHER NICE HUMAN GIRL, WITH THE SAME NAME AS-”

“OH! Y/N!” Blue butted in, uncharacteristically sweating. “SO, UM! HOW DO YOU LIKE THE PARTY! PAPYRUS AND I DID THE SETUP AND PICKED OUT THE MUSIC! EXCEPT...” he trailed off, then looked quizzically at Papyrus, who stopped to listen.

The music coming from the house speakers had shifted unnoticed in the last few minutes, from Blue and Papyrus' designated playlist, to an entirely new playlist. Papyrus stood up to see over the crowd and spotted Wine standing by the speakers, their original setup disconnected and his phone plugged into it instead. He saw them looking, waved and gave a thumbs up over “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)” belting out of the sound system. Several women in the crowd of party-goers cheered.

“WHAT-” Blue began, but stopped when he saw Black standing up on his chair to hold his phone over the crowd, gleefully recording Wine dancing drunkenly with one of the members of the PTA.

“AHH, AND TO THINK I ALMOST SKIPPED THIS AWFUL EVENT,” Black grinned.

“Oh, do you guys like music? So do I!” Y/N chimed in.

“LITERALLY EVERYONE LIKES MUSIC,” Black snapped, still recording. Red gave the table a shove, bumping into Black and throwing him slightly off balance.

“shut it, pint-size, she's just tryin' ta be nice.”

“I could...sing for you guys, if you like,” Y/N said shyly, tilting her head down to give her folded hands in her lap a demure gaze.

“THAT WOULD BE LOVELY!” Papyrus agreed.

“THAT SOUNDS IDIOTIC,” Black countered, finally putting his phone away. “WE ALREADY HAVE MUSIC PLAYING.”

“SHE'S JUST TRYING TO BE FRIENDLY, BLACK!”

“WHAT THE HELL KIND OF PARTIES HAVE PEOPLE JUST SITTING AND SINGING AT THEM?”

“CAMPFIRE PARTIES!”

“WHICH THIS, I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH, IS NOT!”

“shut up,” Red growled, banging a fist on the table and making everyone jump.

Blue said nothing, fixing Y/N with a curious look. He was beginning to get a strange sense of deja vu.

Y/N sat up straighter and clasped her hands at her chest, closing her eyes solemnly as she began.

“Spring was never waiting for us, dear
It ran one step ahead
As we followed in the dance
MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain

All four skeletons stared at Y/N.

“um,” Red began. “sweetheart?”

I don't think that I can take it
'Cause it took so long to bake it

“WHY IS SHE JUST RECITING LYRICS?” Black demanded. “WHAT IS THIS?”

And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no

“AM I SUPPOSED TO ALREADY KNOW THE TUNE?” Papyrus asked. “I DON'T KNOW THIS SONG!”

I recall the yellow cotton dress
Foaming like a wave
On the ground beneath your knees

“MAYBE WE'RE SUPPOSED TO LOOK IT UP ONLINE AND THEN WE'LL KNOW A GREAT NEW SONG?” Blue asked.

Black huffed. “THAT'S IDIOTIC! YOU DON'T INTERRUPT ONE FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT TO DELIBERATELY GO RESEARCH PART OF IT! AND WITHOUT THE TUNE, IT'S JUST A BUNCH OF WORDS!”

The birds, like tender babies in your hands
And the old men playing Chinese checkers by the trees
MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark

Red gave a very forced grin. “gotta admit...every really good song is a really bad poem. i can't even tell if this is a good song. would help if there was a tune.”

“EXACTLY!” Black shouted, throwing his arms wide. “THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN RECITING LYRICS IS READING THEM! WHY WOULD YOU TAKE MUSIC, THE ONE FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT THAT YOU CAN ONLY ENJOY BY HEARING IT, AND PUT IT IN A MEDIUM WHERE YOU ONLY READ IT?”

All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no

“IT...IS A LITTLE HARD TO SEE THE POINT OF IT,” Papyrus admitted, totally lost at the proceedings.

“THIS IS A WAR CRIME,” Black fumed. “AT LEAST IF IT WERE WRITTEN DOWN, WE COULD JUST SCROLL PAST THE ITALICIZED PARTS.”

MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left my cake out in the rain

“I...THINK IT'S JUST ABOUT OVER?” Blue said with a hopeful note in his voice.

Black scowled and leaned back in his chair. “IT HAD BETTER BE. THIS IS LIKE TELLING CO-WORKERS ABOUT A DREAM YOU HAD. YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO FINDS IT INTERESTING.”

And I don't think that I can take it
'Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no, oh~”

Y/N finished and sat back in her chair, beaming at the others, who returned her gaze with a range of emotions, from slight discomfort to not-so-slight disgust.

“THAT WAS...SOMETHING!” Papyrus rallied, trying to shine his usual thousand-watt smile at her.

“SO IS EVERYTHING ELSE!” Black yelled. “THAT WAS LESS THAN NOTHING! WHAT WAS THAT NONSENSE, OTHER THAN A MINUTE AND A HALF OF MY LIFE I WILL NEVER GET BACK?”

Y/N looked honestly shocked. “Didn't you find my voice captivating?” she asked after a moment's pause.

“IF I FOUND YOUR VOICE IN MY BASEMENT, I'D BRICK UP THE ENTRANCE AND TELL EVERYONE I HAVE NO CELLAR.” Black stood up and slapped his chair over onto its side in a petty gesture, stomping off across the lawn.

“I, UM, HAVE TO GO AS WELL!” Blue said hastily, standing up to clear the plate in front of him. “MUST GET BACK TO THE DONUT TABLE! VERY NICE MEETING YOU, Y/N!”

He hurried off after Black, nearly running over Linda, who had just entered the party.

Standing at her window next door, she'd been observing the barbecue for some time, debating whether or not to actually attend. It wasn't that she suddenly trusted Wine...far from it...but everyone in the neighborhood was there, and it would look bad if she didn't at least show up for a few minutes. And he said she could bring Snickerdoodle.

Biting her lip, Linda finally changed into a plain pink top and capri pants, hooked Snickerdoodle's leash to her collar, grabbed a bag of chips and walked over to the skeletons' house.

“LINDA!” Wine walked up smiling as she stepped across the property line between their homes. “YOU MADE IT!”

“Yeah, I uh...I brought chips,” Linda said lamely, feeling awkward. Wine hooked an arm around her shoulders and led her into the party, waving to everyone.

“GUYS, LINDA'S HERE! AND SHE BROUGHT HER CUTE DOG! AND CHIPS!”

“Have you been drinking?” Linda asked suspiciously, and Wine rolled his eyelights.

“LINDA, WHEN AM I NOT DRINKING? IT'S RIGHT THERE IN MY NAME.”

“That's...yeah, that's true,” Linda said thoughtfully. Wine stooped down and petted Snickerdoodle, who tried to bite him.

“AWWW, WHAT A PUPPER,” he said, slurring his words a bit. He snapped the leash off Snickerdoodle's collar.

“Uh, wait, I thought you said-” Linda began, but Wine held up a hand.

“LET HER HAVE SOME FUN, IT'S A PARTY! WE DON'T NEED TO ABIDE BY EVERY RULE TONIGHT. WOULD YOU CARE FOR A DRINK?”

He led Linda off towards the refreshments, while Snickerdoodle ran about the party, yapping at people's ankles and trying to bite well-meaning hands that attempted to pet her. Eventually, the little dog scooted behind the shed. This was all-new territory, and Snickerdoodle was determined to explore, chew or urinate on everything she could.

Wiggling between two bushes, she sniffed around at a giant bundled mess of cables, running from the shed to the compost bin enclosure. She followed it right up to the wooden gate, which was still slightly ajar from where Sans had lazily kicked it closed, the latch not fully engaging. The tiny dog scratched at the bin enclosure until the door swung open enough for her to get inside. She squeezed her way into the rows of compost bins, sniffing about.

A few moments later, there was the faint sound of claws scrabbling at metal and a sharp BANG. The dog came streaking out of the wooden gate at lightning speed, barking frantically with part of her fur singed at the edges. One of the generators concealed under the bins clanked, clunked and churned its way into life, guttering up to a steady stream of power.

Inside the shed, the hulking Machine sat in the middle of the room, dark and lifeless, surrounded by a sea of cables and wires across the floor.

With a snap of electricity from somewhere within, lights suddenly blazed on the front control panel.

The machine quietly hummed to life.

Chapter Text

“So how's the food, Bill?”

John smiled from his station behind the grill. Bill and his wife, seated a few feet away on plastic chairs, made a valiant effort to smile back.

“Yeah, it's really...it's just as good as every year!” Bill took another bite of his hamburger to punctuate this statement, ignoring the powdery charcoal taste coating the surface of the beef.

“Plenty more where that came from!” John replied, flipping another few burgers over as he spoke. “Eat up while everyone...uh, everyone else gets here!”

John and Rachel's backyard was currently occupied by a handful of other couples, all of whom had eaten more than their fill already of John's infamous grilling. A large table of refreshments, fruits, potato salad and fixings flanked the backyard fence, totally untouched. The ice in the coolers of drinks had passed the slightly melted point and was now well into the “pool of water that several cans of Shasta were swimming in” point. There were plastic lawn chairs and folding tables strewn about the grass, enough to accommodate a crowd size approximately thirty times bigger than the four couples in attendance.

Rachel sat by, fiddling with her phone over a paper plate of food balanced on her knees, fuming in silence.

“Yeah, when, um, when is everyone-” Bill started, but clammed up at the sight of the death glare Rachel shot him across the patio. Bill's wife pushed a single olive around on her plate with her fork and darted a look to another guest, who was toying with their food in a similar fashion.

Everyone tried their best not to hear the booming bass of the music playing down the street, reverberating through the purple evening sky. “Party Rock” was blaring at an embarrassing volume and a lot of shouting and cheers could be heard.

Bill coughed. “Well!” he said brightly, standing up, “fantastic cookout as always, guys, really. But we have to get home before...the...”

“-babysitter needs to leave!” his wife supplied promptly, also standing and untangling her purse from the back of her chair.

“Oh, already?” John made a move towards the food table. “Shoot, well...lemme wrap something up for you to take with.”

“No, that's okay, honestly we wouldn't want to-” Bill's wife stopped and eyed the monstrous piles of burgers, hot dogs, fruit salad and other snack foods weighing down the folding tables, all of it easily able to feed a theoretical army.

“Deprive you,” she finished.

“Yeah, we should be, uh, hitting the trail too, been a long day...” Another couple had stood up, the husband looking torn between embarrassment and relief. “School night, you know."

One by one, the guests of Rachel's annual cookout made an apologetic, yet speedy exit out of the party. Rachel reluctantly escorted them to the front porch and waved to them as they got in their cars, driving off down the street into the night. She stepped back inside and closed the front door.

Rachel pulled the curtain to the front window aside just in time to see the cars make a stealthy U-turn and head towards the monster house.

“I'm gonna kill that book club,” she hissed through her teeth, her fist gripping the curtains tight.

*     *     *

Stretch's hand untangled from where he had bundled himself up in his sheets and made a blind grab for more snacks off the party platter he'd snuck up to his room. A pretzel brushed his fingers and he grabbed it from the plate on the floor next to his bed, too engrossed in his romance novel to turn away.

He was just getting to the part where Cassandra, dressed in her diamond-studded mink winter gown from chapter 4, threw back her cloak at the masked ball to confront the Duke of Evergny, when Stretch's hand made a second grab for food, patted around the plate for a bit and found nothing.

Looking up, Stretch leaned over to assess the empty plate. Shoot.

He'd have to go downstairs for more snacks. But there was still a party going on.

Stretch sighed and slowly unrolled himself from his comforting sheet burrito, stumbling to his feet. He spared a glance out his window and could just see a bit of the backyard from this angle. It looked like it was going well. He could see Edge at the grill, talking with a bunch of men, and his brother doing...something...at a small table.

Good for them.

Stretch slipped out of his room and down the stairs, checking for guests. He didn't dare shortcut straight into the kitchen, just in case people were there. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be outside.

In the kitchen, he stuck his hands in his hoodie pocket and perused the food sitting out on the counters. Some plates were half empty, others still covered in cling wrap and yet to be taken outside.

Should he get a plate and make up a custom snack platter for himself? Or just quickly grab something at random and blip back upstairs? The ballroom scene did always make him hungry whenever he read it. They had this whole half-page where they described the food.

Stretch snagged a plate from the cupboard and went around picking items out from various dishes. He liked this kind of thing. Everyone else partying and doing whatever they were doing outside, while he stole in like a ninja, grabbed a selection of the best foods, then retreated to the safety of his room for some relaxing reading. He really didn't hate parties. On the contrary, he quite liked them. As long as they were happening in a nearby room that he didn't have to be in.

Adding a few cans of chilled soda to the big pocket in his hoodie, Stretch turned away from the counters. Maybe he'd make another trip back down when dessert was served.

“Oh, hey there!”

The plate in his hands jiggled and clattered in his failing grasp, but Stretch was able to get ahold of it seconds before food and plate shards ended up all over the floor. The woman who had startled him gasped and darted forward.

“Oh I'm sorry hun, I didn't mean to scare you like that!”

“that's, ha ha, that's okay,” Stretch mumbled, hugging the plate to himself. The older woman in front of him smiled.

“Oh, you're one of Wine's cousins, right? I'm Beth, Wine and I organize the little community events we do over at the resident center.”

Stretch darted his eyes around and, faced with no other choice, activated his cloaking device.

“sure honey, my cuz mentioned you,” he lied through his teeth, leaning back nonchalantly against the fridge, smiling casually and twirling the food plate in his hand on one finger for a moment. “nothing but good things, don't worry.”

Beth laughed and made a shooing gesture.

“Oh go on. This is a lovely party, I can't tell you the last time we had this many members of the community out for an event!”

“glad to hear it,” Stretch smiled lazily. He looked at the kitchen entrance out of the corner of his socket, ready to make a play for the exit. But unfortunately, the woman seemed to be a Talker.

“You know, we had another party,” she continued, stepping forward and leaning an arm on the kitchen island in a manner that indicated she was getting comfortable for a long conversation, “I think it was around March? It was end of March, or no, possibly mid-March, we had this little thing at the clubhouse...Gladys was the one who suggested it and I thought it would be better for one of the warmer months, but then Wine said we could have one of those terrace party heater things, you know they make outdoor parties warmer so you can have a terrace event even when it's cold out? Anyway, they were portable and he got some we could rent for really, not very much at all, and it was just lovely having that kind of an event even in March, which isn't really a good month for events usually because it's just so cold...”

Stretch nodded along, looking relaxed to the point of almost falling asleep. Inside, he was panicking and looking for a way out of this, any way out, he'd even take-

“papyrus!”

Beth turned around mid-ramble to see Papyrus walk through the back door of the kitchen, etiquette book under his arm and two hands full of empty deli platter trays.

“hey buddy, how's it...how's it goin?” Stretch cast about for some topic that would turn Beth's attention onto his “cousin.” A fast getaway was needed, as he was dangerously close to the end of his already limited patience for social interaction with strangers.

“OH STRETCH! YOU DECIDED TO COME OUT OF YOUR ROOM! THAT'S GREAT!” Papyrus beamed. “I KNEW EVEN YOU COULDN'T RESIST MY UNMATCHED PARTY-THROWING CAPABILITIES, NYEH HEH!”

Stretch sank down slightly in a slump against the fridge, trying not to be embarrassed.

“yeah, uh, had some work to finish up, you know...” he trailed off.

“WELL I'M GLAD YOU'RE HERE REGARDLESS!”

“Mom, are you in here?” A younger woman in her mid-20's stuck her head into the kitchen. Beth waved her over.

“In here, dear! Just having a little kitchen pow-wow!”

Stretch sunk into his hoodie as yet another person entered the kitchen. The situation was becoming intolerable. He just wanted his snacks, was that so much to ask?

Papyrus dropped the empty platters he'd been carrying into the sink and turned around with a flourish.

“MRS. GALFIELD,” he addressed Beth, “MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF INTRODUCING YOU TO MY COUSIN STRETCH!”

“Absolutely, sweetie,” Beth laughed. Stretch rolled his eyelights. Of course little old ladies liked Papyrus, uniformly and without question. He was like a giant skeleton himbo.

“AND MAY I PRESENT HER LOVELY DAUGHTER JESSICA!”

Stretch, still staring at the ceiling, snapped back after a moment when he realized Papyrus was talking to him.

“uh, yeah, go for it, dude,” he replied uncertainly.

Papyrus positively beamed as he picked up the hand of the young woman at the back door and led her over to the fridge. This was exactly how the book detailed it! Mrs. Holly Mason would be so proud if she were here! And if she were alive!

“Uh, hi,” Jessica said, her hand being held out rather firmly towards Stretch, who was totally bewildered by now.

“yeah, uh, good to meet you?” he asked, shooting a look to Papyrus, who threw back a conspiratorial wink. Jessica looked a bit baffled by the proceedings. She tried gently tugging her hand back to her side, without success.

Stretch noticed the book still tucked under Papyrus' arm and suddenly got a very, very bad feeling. He straightened up from his leaning pose, tensing like a sprinter at the starting line.

“MAY I SAY, JESSICA,” Papyrus continued, still holding Jessica's arm out and giving her another clever wink, “THAT MY COUSIN STRETCH IS ONE OF THE MOST ELIGIBLE BACH-”

“OH MY GOD, THE GRILL IS ON FIRE!” Stretch screamed, pointing out the back door of the kitchen. Everyone turned and looked.

“I...THINK IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE ON FIRE, STRETCH,” Papyrus said at length, squinting out into the lantern light of the dark backyard. “THAT'S HOW IT COOKS THINGS.” He turned back to an empty spot by the fridge.

“STRETCH?”

Upstairs, Stretch reappeared on his bed, dropping the plate of snacks down onto the floor next to him, before rolling himself up in his bedsheets and hiding his face in a pillow.

*     *     *

“THANK YOU, PLEASE CONSIDER VISITING SUPERIOR DONUT!” Blue said cheerily, his face hazed over in a slight blush, as he unsteadily handed a business card and a bavarian cream donut to a party goer. His hawaiian shirt had become unbuttoned at some point during the night, revealing the black band shirt underneath that read MR. PRESIDENT in large block letters. His eyelights were a bit fuzzy, swimming around in their sockets.

“WHAT IS THIS? ”

Blue looked up and saw Black fuming in front of the donut table.

“OH HEYYYY BLACK, LOOK!” Blue grinned. “I'M GIVING AWAY DONUTS! FOR BUSINESS! THE DONUTS WILL GET US MORE BUSINESS!”

He smiled wider and took a drink from a cup that was on the table in front of him. Black's eyelights darted to it.

“IS THAT PUNCH?”

“YES,” Blue said, putting the cup back down. “HAVE SOME, IT'S GOOD.”

“I'LL DO NO SUCH THING!” Black yelled, grabbing the cup from the table and pouring it out on the lawn at his feet. “THAT STUFF WAS SPIKED HALF AN HOUR AGO! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY INEBRIATED WHILE REPRESENTING MY BUSINESS?”

“OUR BUSINESS,” Blue corrected him cheerfully. He turned and looked at a young man who had approached the table.

“Is this where the donuts are?” the man asked, looking like he'd rather not interrupt an argument. Blue dug into the box in front of him and offered the man one.

“THIS IS WHERE THE DONUTS LIVE,” he said, with all the deliberate gestures of a drunk man trying to look sober. “WELCOME TO DONUT ISLAND.”

“Nice,” the man said amicably, taking a bite of his donut. Black slapped a hand over his face, dragging his claws slowly downward as he looked to the heavens for support, before being roughly pulled in by the arm Blue had thrown around his neck.

“THIS IS MY BEST FRIEND, BLACK!” he announced to the man in front of the table. Black scowled.

“DON'T LIE TO THE GUESTS.”

“HE'S THE SMARTEST GUY I KNOW,” Blue continued in an awed voice. Black straightened up and removed Blue's arm from around his neck.

“WILL YOU EXCUSE US?” he said to the man who was helping himself to a second donut. The man nodded and strolled off. Black grabbed Blue's collar and shook him.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO RUIN US?” he hollered in Blue's face. “THIS IS NO WAY TO REPRESENT THE BUSINESS!”

“AWWWW, YOU SAID US,” Blue cooed. “I'M A VALUED CO-OWNER.”

Black, in a stunningly monumental effort to control himself, released Blue's collar and took a few deep breaths, eyes closed. He opened them again.

“LET ME MAKE SOMETHING PERFECTLY CLEAR,” he said in a lower voice than usual, “WE CANNOT AFFORD TO MAKE JACKASSES OF OURSELVES AT THIS IDIOTIC PARTY, JUST BECAUSE EDGE'S EQUALLY IDIOTIC FRIENDS THOUGHT THAT EVERYONE'S NIGHT WOULD SOMEHOW BE IMPROVED WITH THE LOWERING OF IMPORTANT AND VITAL INHIBITIONS. SO YOU ARE GOING TO GO INSIDE, UPSTAIRS, AND SLEEP OFF WHATEVER CANDICE PUT IN THE PUNCH. I'M ASSUMING VODKA OR THE LIKE.”

“WHISKEY,” Blue corrected, leaning one arm on the table to stay upright.

“I DON'T CARE IF-” Black paused. He squinted at Blue in suspicion.

“HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?”

Blue smiled and kicked a foot under the paper tablecloth that covered the folding donut table all the way to the ground. A mostly-empty brown bottle rolled out from underneath it. Black stared down at the bottle, then up at Blue, as things clicked into place.

“YOU TWO-FACED LITTLE-” Blue picked up a donut, stuffing it in Black's mouth and effectively silencing him. He leaned forward to grin at Black up close.

“WELCOME TO DONUT ISLAND,” he whispered, his eyelights turning into drunken little stars.

*     *     *

“And it's then that we decided, you know, gender-reveal parties are so out,” Eva was saying to a group of friends standing in a circle on the lawn.

“SO OUT,” Wine nodded along, sipping from his punch cup.

“So I was like, you know, why not have a name reveal party? We can spell out the baby's name in letter balloons and then release them at just the right time, have them fly overhead for the photo shoot...”

“Oh wow, that would look amazing!” one woman gushed, as the others nodded.

“That is the cutest idea.”

“SO CUTE,” Wine said emphatically. “THAT'S JUST, I MEAN THAT'S JUST INSTAGRA-”

Wine stopped abruptly, as Snickerdoodle walked by, half a burger in her mouth. Wine watched the dog meander over to where Linda was seated at a table, settling down under her master's chair to eat her stolen prize.

Wheels struggled to turn in his head as he stared at the dog. Something...about the dog...something important . Wine shook his head, attempting to unclutter his muddied train of thought through the influence of the spiked punch.

Something dog-related...was supposed to happen...

He jumped when people nearby cheered as the fireshark on the top of the grill spewed an impressive amount of horizontal flames out over their heads. Several guests held up marshmallow sticks to toast in it. Wine looked at the fire, thinking hard.

That...also seemed important...

He glanced around and spotted a line of tiki torches at the edge of the lawn. It clicked.

His plan!

Wine dropped his cup onto a nearby table and sped over to the lawn edge, where one tiki torch was standing just a bit further out onto the property line between his house and Linda's. He narrowed his eyes at the torch, which had a small, barely-noticeable notch and prong attachment glued to the base, with a strand of fishing line tied on. He looked up at Linda's pergola, standing yards away in the gloom of her darkened patio.

Something about...this trick torch...dog treats...a planned distraction...the dog escaping and getting its leash snagged on the torch...the torch being dragged over to...

The pergola. Treated with turpentine the night before.

Wine stared at the torch drunkenly. He wasn't totally, one hundred percent sure about the details of his plan, except that it had been very elaborate and designed to blame the pergola burning on the dog, not him. He was... pretty sure it was also designed not to hurt the dog. Somehow. Sober Wine was a lot smarter than not-sober Wine. And yet...sober Wine wanted to wreck Linda's fantastic pergola?

“What are you looking at, Wine?” Kelly had wandered over to the edge of the yard, sipping on a sparkling water. Wine gazed into the night.

“LINDA'S PERGOLA,” he said simply. Kelly looked over as well, squinting in the dark.

“Oh right, she does have one of those, doesn't she? I love that, I'm thinking about getting one for my own yard.”

“OH MY GOD, YOU SHOULD, ” Wine suddenly enthused. “YOU ABSOLUTELY SHOULD, THEY LOOK SO CUTE. THEY'RE JUST...HANG ON...”

He pulled the trick tiki torch out of the ground, spun it over and extinguished it in the grass, before smiling back up at Kelly.

“...INSTAGRAM GOLD , AM I RIGHT?”

*     *     *

Edge pushed the button on the grill to activate the fireshark and everyone cheered, as a dozen marshmallow sticks waved in the air, toasting marshmallows in the sudden burst of flames.

“Do it again, Edge!” an eager woman waved a stick full of freshly-skewered marshmallows at him. Edge grinned and hit the button. Another burst of fire spewed out of the fireshark's metal teeth-filled mouth. There was more cheering.

This was the best grill. This was the best anything he had ever owned, or could own. Everybody loved it, everybody loved him, the food cooked itself and tasted incredible...

Why didn't more people own one of these? Besides the obscenely high price tag, of course. Perhaps that was why. But a lifetime of credit card debt seemed worth it to own such a magnificent creation. He stroked one hand lovingly across the hood of the grill. Across Brungrillde's hood.

“Edge!” Margaret meandered up, husband in tow. “That s'mores trick is amazing!”

“ISN'T IT?” Edge preened. “I QUITE LIKE THE SHARK.” He looked up at the steel sculpture. “EVEN IF SOMEONE DID PUT A PARTY HAT ON IT.”

“Oh, that wasn't you?” Margaret giggled behind her hand. “I thought it was...you have the best sense of humor.”

Her compliment fell flat however, as all of Edge's attention seemed to be focused on cleaning a spot off the grill's countertop. Margaret frowned and tried again.

“So, the girls and I are thinking of going out this week and doing book club at a restaurant for brunch, you in?”

“MMM,” Edge replied absentmindedly, brushing crumbs off the center cover of the grill. “OF COURSE, WHATEVER YOU LIKE.” He stepped back as Margaret's husband joined him behind the grill.

“You'll have a heck of a time cleaning this thing tomorrow, after how much you cooked,” Brian said with a smile, but Edge only waved him off.

“AS IF THE FIREFLY DOESN'T CLEAN ITSELF. IT EVEN HAS BUILT-IN SCRUBBERS UNDER THE COVER.”

Brian whistled in appreciation, while they both looked inside the grill, discussing the interior features. Margaret, meanwhile, had been glancing back and forth between the both of them, a scowl beginning to set in on her face.

“Hun,” she finally said with a forced cheeriness, “I think you should meet the others in the house, don't you think? Get away from the hot grill and socialize?”

“Sure thing, Margie,” Brian said distractedly, his eyes still fixed on the grill. Margaret huffed a sigh of impatience, darted forward to grab his elbow and pushed him out towards the crowd of guests.

“Go on, then! Introduce Edge around to more of your friends! He doesn't want to be trapped behind the grill for the entire party!”

“I WOULDN'T MIND IT ONE BIT,” Edge countered, though he dutifully stepped out around the machine and took up a position beside Brian. Before leaving, he leaned back over to tuck the counter towel in his hands neatly into a cabinet drawer on the grill.

Margaret watched them amble off into the crowd, before turning her attention to the stupid, stupid grill that Edge seemed to like so much, for whatever reason.

“Don't even think about getting in the way,” she leaned over and hissed at it.

The grill squatted smugly on its cement block throne and said nothing.

*     *     *

“And that was when I lost my family,” Y/N sighed, hugging her sweatered arms to herself. “It was just so...so devastating.”

“uh huh,” Red said, one hand propping up his chin as he leaned on a table, poking the melting wax of a decorative candle in the centerpiece. He and his date had been sitting at this same table for almost an hour, while the party happened around them.

“Eleven family members, all gone in the blink of an eye! And of course, I had to drop out of school, and what with my stalker ex calling me all the time, and my boss at my old job, and-”

Red, patiently listening to his date expound upon her woes, was regretting a lot of things at the moment. He regretted casually asking what had been going on in her life. He regretted asking, after she looked near tears at the question, if she wanted to talk about it.

He regretted not asking Tony to be his date. At least Tony would have brought nachos.

Y/N paused in her story to take a breath and Red saw his chance.

“SO,” he cut in loudly, “other than all that, how you been doin'? with the new job an' apartment n' all?”

Y/N halted her chatter and looked pensive, fussing with her long hair.

“It's...fine,” she admitted. “I guess. I just feel...so isolated a lot of the time. All alone, in my little apartment, with no one to talk to...”

“you think about gettin' a cat?” Red suggested. Y/N continued on as if she hadn't heard him.

“Nobody around to comfort me when I'm sad, especially when my trauma acts up...”

“acts up? trauma ain't a seasonal allergy, kid.”

“Oh, you know,” Y/N gestured in a roundabout way. “Acts up, shows up, whatever. It's just been so much to bear...”

Red had enough, sitting upright at the table to look directly at his date.

“kid, i get you've been through a lot. hell, most of the people in my house have been through a lot. but you gotta put yourself out there if you want to make new connections, get a new outlook. join a club 'r somethin'. maybe see a therapist if yer havin' these problems.”

“Therapy can't help me!” Y/N shook her head. “My...my scars are just too deep. Everyone I ever loved, tragically gone the blink of-”

“yeah, i heard,” Red butted in. “bout a hundred times. that's what therapy's for . to work through that stuff. just gettin' a roommate ain't gonna solve yer issues.”

“Not a roommate, per se,” Y/N replied, looking down at the table through teary eyes. “Just, you know...someone who will care about me.” She peeked up searchingly through the locks of hair fallen across her face at Red.

“pssh, i gotta house fulla people who care 'bout me, n' i still go to therapy.” Red leaned back again, with an arm swung over his chair. “systems are in place to help people like us. but it's up t' you to take th' first step and go use 'em.”

“You see a therapist?” Y/N stared at him. “Why?”

“because me n' my bro come from a...rougher part of the underground than others, an' i spent my entire life havin' to protect us! we didn' have nothin to call our own when we were kids! we were poor as dirt, combin' through the trash heaps of human junk to find clothes n' stuff to sell for food! an' there was always someone 'round the corner ready to off us for free EXP if we didn't watch our every damn step.”

“Well, yes...but...” Y/N twisted her hands inside her sweater sleeves, “I mean, still. You had your brother! That's, you know, something. My whole family is dead!”

Red shifted forward, both arms on the table now, his knuckles cracking as he tightened his fists.

“lady, it ain't the pain olympics and no one's expectin you to bring home gold.” Red was getting visibly frustrated. “sufferin' ain't a competition. but if it was a competition, i'd be winnin'. it was literally, and i mean literally, kill or be killed, every single day for me and my bro. you ever spend every single day and night of your life tryin' not to be murdered by your neighbors? cuz i have!”

He sat back in his chair with a huff, folding his arms resolutely across his chest and staring in irritation. Y/N looked at him with a gleam of pity in her eyes, her expression sad and understanding.

“But I never got to go to art school,” she said finally.

Red stared at her, then stood up from the table, walked across the lawn all the way over to the refreshment table, before dunking his head in the punch bowl. The sounds of heavy gulping were heard, as the level of punch in the bowl rapidly sank down.

*     *     *

“MORE,” Black said. Blue obediently took a marshmallow out of the bag and added it to the skewer he was holding.

“NOT ENOUGH,” Black said, and Blue took another marshmallow out of the bag, skewering it as well.

“what're you doing?” Sans asked, walking up to where Black and Blue were standing under the grill's fireshark, bags of marshmallows and skewers in hand.

“SHOWING BLACK HOW THE S'MORES MAKER WORKS!” Blue said. He added another marshmallow to the fifteen already skewered on his stick. “HE REFUSES TO ENJOY THE PARTY, AND I THOUGHT THIS WOULD HELP!”

“I DIDN'T REFUSE TO ENJOY THE PARTY,” Black countered. “THE PARTY JUST REFUSES TO BE WORTH ATTENDING.”

“well, just be careful,” Sans sighed, rubbing his forehead and strolling off to find his brother. Black scowled at Blue, who picked up another marshmallow.

“I KNOW, I KNOW,” he said, putting it on the skewer.

“YOU ARE INTENSELY LUCKY I DIDN'T TELL HIM.”

“I SAID I WAS SORRY, BLACK!” Blue complained. “BUT I HEARD EDGE'S FRIENDS SAYING IT WASN'T A PARTY UNTIL SOMEONE SPIKED THE PUNCH! AND I WANTED IT TO BE A PARTY!”

“HOW MUCH DID YOU EVEN POUR IN THERE?”

“ENOUGH TO BE THE GREATEST PARTY!”

“I'M SURROUNDED BY DRUNKS AND LUNATICS,” Black lamented. He glared at the marshmallow-covered stick Blue held.

“TWO MORE,” he demanded. Blue poked two more marshmallows, with difficulty, onto the overloaded skewer, then shook the bag he was holding.

“THAT'S THE LAST OF THEM. DO YOU WANT TO TOAST IT NOW?”

“NO. I HATE MARSHMALLOWS.” Black turned on his heel and walked away. On his way past the punch table, he stopped, swiveling his head around to observe the mountain of chip bags still sitting next to it. He glared for a moment, then plunged an arm into the pile, growling in irritation as he pulled his brother out.

Black stalked off towards the house, dragging Mutt, who continued to eat potato chips from a bag still in his hands. They passed by a soaking wet Red leaning against the side of the house, his shirt stained pink from the punch, as Y/N shook the sleeve of his coat.

“Please, Red!” she begged. “You have to help me! My stalker ex just texted me, he's crazy! I don't want anything bad to happen to me! What if he shows up at my apartment?”

“didn't ya just move?” Red accused. “how's he even know where ya live now?”

“He's incredibly persistent!” Y/N complained. “It's not my fault I'm irresistible!”

“aw, fer the love of-”

“Pleeaaaase? I just...maybe I can stay here tonight-”

Red's head snapped up.

“lemme see the texts,” he said, narrowing his sockets at her. Y/N stood back, hugging her phone to her chest.

“I...they're personal!” she said hesitantly. “It's not important. What's important is that he's threatening me!”

“lemme see 'em,” Red repeated. Y/N turned away, but his arm darted out and he quickly grabbed the phone from her.

“No, wait!”

Red scrolled through the phone's recent texts with his thumb, holding the phone out of Y/N's reach as he watched the screen.

---

2 msgs

11:05 AM Jeff: Y/N, you gotta come get the stuff you left at my place

10:37 PM Jeff: seriously, i can't keep your bike here anymore, it's in the way. msg me when you see this or i'll have to drop it off at the donation center.

---

“that's it? ” Red was incredulous. Y/N stopped grabbing for the phone and covered her face with her sleeves.

“It's...you don't understand...” she stammered, “He's...he's emotionally abusive! He knows I don't have anywhere to keep my bike right now! I have nowhere to put it! But he keeps texting and texting me about it! I'm scared! ”

Red stared at the girl in front of him, silently offering her phone back. She snatched it up and clutched it to her, giving him a pitiful gaze through giant, watery eyes, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Red sighed, his shoulders sinking down, before pulling the girl into a hug, which she immediately leaned into with barely disguised glee.

“Thanks Red, I mean it,” she sobbed into his coat in a tremulous voice. “Thanks so much- ”

She was cut off by a rush of darkness and a cold wind that seemed to surround her for an instant. Y/N pulled out of the hug to see that she was suddenly standing on a street downtown. Red gestured behind him with a jerk of his thumb, to a large brown stone building.

“there's th' police station,” he said. “go make a report about yer bike. an' here's some dough for an uber home.” He pulled a few bills from his pocket and slapped them into her hand.

Y/N's mouth fell open.

“But...but-”

“ systems. are. in. place. ” Red disappeared, leaving the girl in front of the police station stairs.

Reappearing at the party, Red made a beeline for one of the drink coolers, cracking open a beer and chugging half of it in one go.

“shoulda brought tony,” he muttered to himself. He took another swig of his beer, before lowering it to gaze with curiosity at something happening on the far side of the lawn.

People had fallen silent, first at the edge of the party, then gradually spreading to the rest of the crowd. Standing by the grill, Edge and the book club were deep in conversation and missed the meaningful looks people were now giving them.

The guests milling about the lawn slowly moved apart, allowing a short, scowling woman to walk straight from the side of the house, through the yard and towards the grill, with an angry, determined stride.

Amanda glanced over Dana's shoulder and did a double take.

“Oh hell,” she whispered. “Rachel's here.”

Rachel stormed through the crowd like the figurehead of a ship parting the ocean waves at its bow, making a beeline for the book club. She stopped a few feet away from them, shaking with barely-suppressed anger.

“You...you...” was all she could get out in her fury. Margaret and the others turned to face her.

“Oh hey, Rachel!” Margaret said cheerily. “Glad you made it!”

“You. Ruined. My. Cookout.” Rachel spat each word with utter disgust. “You petty, vindictive little tramp. ”

Margaret's eyes widened, but before she could open her mouth, Edge stepped in front of her and the others.

“I HOPE YOU HAVE AN EXTREMELY GOOD REASON FOR INSULTING A FRIEND OF MINE,” he said, glaring down the good three feet of height difference between himself and Rachel. But Rachel was undeterred.

“You think you can intimidate me?” she yelled. “I'm not the one to blame here, monster! ”

“WHAT'S GOING ON?” Wine walked up, punch in hand, staring at the commotion. Linda was at his side in a moment, whispering behind her hand. Wine's face screwed up at the news.

“WAIT, THAT'S WHY WE HAD THIS PARTY?” he asked no one in particular.

“They had this party-” Rachel pointed an accusing finger at Edge and the book club- “because they decided out of nowhere to be horrible, spiteful little-”

“HEY, HELLO, HI THERE MISS!” Blue came rushing forward to Rachel's side, looking concerned. “MY NAME'S BLUE! WELCOME TO OUR HOME! WOULD YOU LIKE TO SETTLE DOWN WITH A NICE S'MORE?”

“No I would not! ” Rachel practically screamed. Blue winced and picked up the skewer he had made for Black earlier, from where it still rested on the grill counter.

“AW COME ON, THEY'RE GOOD! LOOK, I ALREADY HAVE ONE MADE UP FOR YOU.”

“blue, maybe this isn't the time,” Sans began, appearing on the other side of Rachel, who looked like she would explode with anger at any moment. But Blue just shook his head and snatched up Rachel's hand, pulling her over to the grill.

“IT'S ALWAYS A GOOD TIME FOR S'MORES! NOW WATCH, MISS. YOU JUST HOLD YOUR STICK UP LIKE THIS-” he shoved the s'more stick into the bewildered woman's hand and aimed it up in the air.

“AND THEN I LIGHT IT LIKE SO-” he leaned over the grill and pressed the fireshark button.

A long jet of flames shot out of the metal shark's mouth, igniting the overloaded skewer filled to the brim with marshmallows, creating a large fireball of burning sugar. Rachel screamed and waved the stick around, before throwing it as hard as she could over the short shrubbery behind the grill.

The burning ball of flaming marshmallows sailed over the property line, slamming into the side of Linda's pergola, where it stuck with a gooey, charred tenacity. Fire shot out across the surface of the wooden beams and within seconds, the pergola went up in flames.

“NO!” Linda screamed.

“NOT THE PERGOLA!” Wine wailed drunkenly.

”huh,” Sans said. “guess it wasn’t treated wood after all.”

Upstairs, the sound of screaming had Stretch sitting up from his mattress and clambering over to his bedroom window. He opened it and stuck his head out as far as he could to see around the side of the house.

People were running around shrieking. There was a sizable fire on Linda's patio. His brother was grabbing the garden hose hooked up to the spigot on the side of the house to put out the flames.

And Wine was standing there on the property line with Linda, watching the pergola burn.

Stretch narrowed his eyes at Wine, then at the burning pergola, then back again.

He started to get an idea.

*     *     *

Papyrus stood on the patio with Rus, watching the pergola next door burn, as people rushed around yelling, knocking over chairs and tables, while Blue and Edge fought to extinguish the flames with the garden hose.

"YOU KNOW, OTHER THAN THAT," Papyrus mused aloud, "I THINK THE PARTY WENT VERY WELL."

Chapter Text

Cleaning the next day was a dour affair.

The skies clouded over and poured heavy rain down all morning, as the residents of the monster house trudged around the yard, retrieving plastic chairs and picking up discarded napkins.

The pergola burning down had really ground the party to an unexpected halt. Guests helped put the fire out with a hose and consoled Linda, who stood staring at the collapsing remains of her once-proud Tuscan trellis. Everyone more or less drifted home, thanking the skeletons for a lovely party and promising to take home a plate or two of leftovers.

Nobody in the house felt like cleaning after what had surely been an emotionally exhausting night. But bright and early, Blue, Papyrus and Edge were up clearing away the stacks of dishes and plastic cutlery thrown haphazardly into, around or near the kitchen sink, and even the laziest members of the household eventually wandered down to help.

Except one.

“anyone seen my bro?” Rus asked, holding a plastic garbage bag as Blue stuffed cans into it.

“NOT SINCE LAST NIGHT.” Blue looked a lot paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. The punch had spiked him back, in a big way. He struggled to maintain his usual buoyant mood.

“ugh, super,” Rus grumbled, shaking the bag to settle the cans and bottles, before knotting it at the top. He'd managed to swipe and hack into Black's phone, deleting any embarrassing evidence of his brother's lack of dancing skills, and even got up early to check Facebook and other sites for any posted party-goer videos. Wherever his brother disappeared to, he definitely wouldn't enjoy coming home to a bunch of drunken footage of himself.

Across the property line, Linda stood at her bedroom window on the second floor and watched the party clean up progress, hands both clutching a large mug of fragrant tea.

Everyone had been very sorry her pergola caught fire. Everyone said that at least no one was hurt, which was the important thing. Everyone offered to help her clean up her yard the next day, which she declined. Rachel had apologized profusely, before slinking off back to her home, metaphorical tail between her legs.

Wine had even offered to buy her a new pergola, looking genuinely distraught over the loss of the first one. But he was utterly wasted at that point, and Linda wasn't sure if she would even be able to collect on that offer from a sober Wine.

There was only one thing of which she was totally certain.

Somehow, some way, through some unfathomable means...

This was Wine's fault.

She narrowed her eyes down at the skeletons, still toiling away in their yard.

*     *     *

Wine groaned and tried to turn his face the other way on the pillow, before realizing that he was not in bed and his face was more or less stuck to the tastefully wood-paneled floor of his room. He peeled himself off with a shake of his head and tried to look up, before a pounding headache overtook him.

What the hell did he do last night?

He tried once more to rally himself, rolling over painfully until he was off his sternum and laying on his side. In front of him on the floor was a yellow blob.

Wine squinted at it with varying degrees of intensity, until it focused enough for him to identify it.

It was a cheery bright yellow drink mug, with the words “Don't talk to me until I've had my coffee!” printed on it in an ironically feminine font. There was a price tag still attached.

“OH GOD,” he muttered at the mug. “I WENT HOME WITH YOU LAST NIGHT?”

He struggled to sit up fully on the floor, every part of him protesting this decision. He was lying in a pile of shopping bags for some reason. Wine closed his eyes, rested his head against his knees and tried to remember.

There was the party, of course, he recalled that. Vaguely. And then...something. And after that, he went...out...yes, now he remembered. The plan to burn down Linda's pergola had been aborted, though he could not remember why. Luckily, Rachel's clumsiness and Blue's love of s'mores had saved it. After the party wound down and the fire was put out, Wine went...somewhere...

Wine gave up and dug around in one of the plastic shopping bags sitting next to him, searching for clues. He tipped it over and poured out a bewildering assortment of items. Blank bullet journals with motivational sticker packs, holographic water bottles and sports bags with “#GOALS” screen-printed on them, a pencil holder that looked like a gold metallic pineapple...

He groaned loudly. Oh no. Not again. He did not get Basic Drunk again.

Stumbling to his feet, of which one was bare and one still wore a dress sock, he slowly paced over to the bathroom suite off his bedroom, flicking the lights on as he entered. He looked in the mirror over the sink, grimacing at the dark circles under his eyes. Well, if that was the only physical damage, perhaps it wasn't so bad this time.

With a sudden chill of fear, he reached down and pulled up his shirt, twisting around to take a look in the mirror at the back of his pelvis.

Phew. No tramp stamp. That would be the last straw.

Dropping the hem of his shirt again, Wine glanced at the shower and pulled back the classy, waffle-textured spa curtain. Filling the tub was a giant pile of glittery bath bombs in various color swirls advertised under the general designation of “unicorn.”

Wine dragged a hand down his face. He turned around, snapping the light in the bathroom off and making it a few feet back into his bedroom, before falling face first on the gray duvet cover of the bed.

This was not happening. Not again.

But at least it could have been worse? Yes, he had a lot of tacky garbage to return to the store now (or possibly bribe his brother to return for him, since he was very certain much of it came from stores he'd rather be beheaded than set foot in). But it could have been worse.

Wine rolled over on the bed, letting his legs hang off the edge. There was something hung up on the wall, at the head of the bed. It was some kind of faux-distressed, country-style wooden sign. He strained his neck around in an effort to read it right-side up.

LIVE

LAUGH

LOVE

“did you just hear a scream?” Mutt put down the dish towel he was halfheartedly pretending to dry a pan with and cocked a head upwards towards the ceiling.

“oh good, bro's home after all,” Rus answered, not looking up from where he was scrubbing at a pink punch stain on the kitchen floor tiles.

*     *     *

“how th' hell was I sposed to know?” Red was yelling, pacing around the patio where Sans was sitting at the umbrella table, scratching at some dried-on melted candle wax left over from a table centerpiece.

“red, she had that kind written all over her,” Sans replied, not looking up from his task.

“whatev'r. i dropped 'er off at th' police station. she got home fine. end o' story.”

“she knows where we live,” Sans said, shooting Red a glare.

“so what? she don't gotta car, just a bike. a bike her scaaary ex has been keepin' in his livin' room for like eight months. y' think she's gonna ride fifteen miles out here to th' suburbs?”

Sans grunted in begrudging agreement, picking the last of the melted candle wax off the glass table surface. Red sat down heavily in a nearby chair and watched him.

“so how many're out there?”

“four that I know of,” Sans replied, finally finishing his task and leaning back with his hands in his hoodie pockets. “that one, the one that bugs black and blue at their shop sometimes, the one mutt and rus ran into that's some kind of mage, and I think one stretch met in a bookstore, though he doesn't say much about her.”

“hmmm.” Red looked up at the rain pouring down the patio umbrella and dripping off the sides, as they both sat huddled at the table beneath it. “well, that ain't too many. just gotta stay away from 'em. you know what they're like if they get too close.”

“i'm not about to let a bunch of you-know-whats flood into the house and make everything weird,” Sans said, closing his eyes and getting comfortable for an impromptu nap. “just keep this between the two of us. the others don't need to know.”

He opened his sockets to look at Red, only to see that the other had similarly snuggled down in his patio chair and fallen asleep. Sans shrugged to himself and closed his eyes again, falling gradually into an unpleasant dream about house maids and karaoke.

*     *     *

Wine walked down the staircase, dressed in his usual around-the-house attire of a henley shirt, jeans and loafers. Under his arm was a wooden sign that looked like someone had put their fist through the middle of it. He crept through the first floor, luckily encountering no one, and made a beeline for the garage.

Once out there, he practically slam-dunked the wooden sign into one of the nearby wheeled trash bins, dusting his claws off in disgust.

Ugh. Never again.

He paused, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, before snapping his fingers. Right, the evidence of his plan. He'd stashed it away until it was time for trash collections. Might as well retrieve it for safety's sake. Wine strode over to the metal set of utility shelves leaning against the wall and stuck an arm down behind them.

He groped around, but came away with nothing. Puzzled, he stood up and shoved the shelves away from the wall, looking for the black plastic bag he'd hidden two days ago.

“don't bother.” A sudden voice had Wine whirling around to face the far side of the garage. Stretch was there, sitting on a few storage boxes, scrolling through his phone.

“AH, DIDN'T SEE YOU THERE, STRETCH,” Wine relaxed and folded his hands behind his back. “YOU MISSED A VERY EVENTFUL PARTY. WHAT SHOULDN'T I BOTHER WITH?”

“lookin' for that bag of evidence you stashed,” Stretch replied with his eyes still on his phone screen, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “it's not there anymore.”

Wine froze, tensing up, his hands gripping each other hard behind his back.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?”

“i moved it,” Stretch said simply. He looked up from his phone and leaned his chin in his hand, supporting his elbow on one crossed leg.

Wine stood for awhile, staring intensely at him, sizing him up. Different scenarios and results were playing out in his head at a rapid pace.

“WHATEVER YOU MAY THINK THAT YOU FOUND,” he finally said, “I'M AFRAID RACHEL IS THE ONE WHO DAMAGED LINDA'S PERGOLA.”

Stretch smiled wider. Oh good, the semi-honest approach. At least they could cut to the chase.

“rachel soaked linda's pergola in turpentine?” he said. “that crafty, crafty woman.”

“YOU CAN'T PROVE A THING,” Wine replied, relaxing into a practiced easy stance and a downright charming smile.

“don't have to. just have to let a certain big guy know what i know and give him your favorite work gloves. his friends will do the rest.”

“YOU WOULDN'T DO THAT.”

“i wouldn't? that's news to me.” Stretch re-positioned himself on top of the box. “it's weird how people forget that i'm basically like the others...a lazy bum, but a lazy bum who's not as stupid as he looks. the minute edge's little fan club finds out, everyone in the community will know, and rumors never demand much evidence. there goes president wine.” Stretch made a little goodbye waving motion. “too bad, the hoa's never been run so well.”

Wine paused at this, and Stretch met his stare with an equally cool one. They locked eyes for some time, before Wine brought a fist in front of his mouth to cough delicately.

“I ASSUME YOU WANT SOMETHING?” he asked finally.

“just a little of your time,” Stretch replied. “in two weeks. a little hangout.”

“YOU...WANT TO SOCIALIZE?” Wine asked, narrowing his sockets suspiciously. “CAN YOU NOT DO THAT WITH ONE OF THE OTHERS?”

“you've got a car and a license,” Stretch retorted. “and i want to go somewhere that i can't shortcut to, because i haven't been there yet. one full day, you spend it with me and we do the activities i want to do. and...” he trailed off for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck with a bone-on-bone scraping sound, “the others can't know about this.”

“IS THAT SO.”

“can't, wine,” Stretch emphasized. “you do this and you can have your bag of stuff back, and we never mention this again. that's a promise. but if you tell anyone, all bets are off.”

Wine glared at him, then let his shoulders sink as he folded his arms rather petulantly in front of him.

“AT LEAST I KNOW YOU'LL KEEP YOUR WORD. FINE. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO?”

Stretch held up a finger, focusing on scrolling through his phone screen with his other hand's thumb. He motioned Wine over. After another suspicious look, Wine sighed and crossed the garage, leaning down slightly to squint at the mobile screen Stretch was now holding up to show him. He frowned.

“WHAT THE HELL IS BODICE-CON?” he asked.

*     *     *

Dinner that night was a rather mixed bag. The rain that had been pouring down all day showed no signs of stopping any time soon. The dinner meal consisted of a lot of leftover party food and conversation was subdued. But at least some positivity struggled to assert itself.

“I THOUGHT THE PARTY WENT VERY WELL!” Papyrus declared, “RIGHT UP UNTIL THE FIRE PART!”

“ya, a real blast,” Red muttered, demolishing tiny sandwiches at a rapid pace.

Black grimaced at this declaration, but was, for once, too tired to argue.

“IT WAS A PARTY,” he said. “NO ONE DIED AND THE HOUSE DIDN'T SUFFER ANY PERMANENT DAMAGE. THAT SEEMS TO BE THE BEST POSSIBLE OUTCOME, GIVEN WHAT WE HAD TO WORK WITH.”

Coming from Black, this was an unusual amount of high praise. Unfortunately, it went completely unnoticed by the rest. They frowned at his callousness towards Papyrus, who looked just a little bit crestfallen.

“IT WAS...MAYBE NOT THE EVENT YOU PLANNED FOR, PAPYRUS,” Wine said, picking at the salad in front of him with his fork, “BUT I THINK YOU MADE A VERY GOOD IMPRESSION ON THE NEIGHBORS, AND THAT'S WHAT COUNTS.”

Sans shot a surprised smile towards Wine for this unexpected bolstering of his brother's feelings. Papyrus straightened up in his chair.

“WELL, YES! AND WASN'T THAT THE GOAL? WE'VE DEFINITELY BECOME MORE POPULAR WITH OUR FELLOW COMMUNITY RESIDENTS!”

“CERTAINLY I HAVE,” Edge bragged proudly. “I RECEIVED MANY INVITATIONS TO NEIGHBOR'S HOMES, TO PASS ON MY ASTOUNDING KNOWLEDGE OF COOKING!”

“that's awesome, bro,” Red said automatically, dumping another load of tiny finger sandwiches on his plate from a nearby platter. “told ya they'd love ya.”

“we're a little less popular with linda, though,” Rus muttered. “but then, that was going to happen anyway.”

“I'M SURE SHE'LL COME AROUND! ESPECIALLY WHEN WINE BUYS HER A NEW PERGOLA!”

Wine stopped himself just in time to prevent a spit-take of his drink. “PARDON?” he gasped. Papyrus looked in concern at him.

“DON'T YOU REMEMBER,WINE?” he asked. “YOU PROMISED LINDA THAT YOU'D BUY HER A NEW PERGOLA. YOU WERE VERY UPSET THAT THE FIRST ONE BURNED DOWN.”

“YOU CRIED A LOT,” he added, and Black exploded with raucous laughter, pointing a claw at Wine's reddening face. The rest of the table more or less tried, and failed, to disguise their snickering.

“OH GOD!” Black gasped for breath. “HOW MUCH OF THAT PUNCH DID YOU HAVE?”

“I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT,” Wine forced out through gritted teeth. “REGARDLESS, I HAVE...SOME WORK TO DO TONIGHT THAT CAN'T WAIT, SO IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME.” He solemnly picked up his plate and managed to not speed-walk into the kitchen, letting the swinging door of the dining room shut behind him, before slamming his dish into the sink at just barely below the force required to break it in half. A second explosion of laughter came from the dining room as he angrily took the long way around through the house, up the stairs to his room.

“WELL, THAT...PERSON WHO SPIKED THE PUNCH WAS...PROBABLY VERY SORRY TO CAUSE ANY TROUBLE, I BET!” Blue said, piping up for the first time. He'd been unusually quiet at dinner and, indeed, all day.

“OH, DO YOU?” Black smirked. “HOW CAN YOU FORGIVE SOMEONE WHO DELIBERATELY INEBRIATED A LOAD OF PEOPLE AGAINST THEIR WILL? GUESTS OF OUR HOME, IN FACT?”

Blue sank a bit lower in his chair.

“I'M SURE THEY MEANT WELL,” he said uncertainly. Black snorted, but didn't add any further comment.

The lights in the fixture overhanging the dining room table suddenly flickered, before going steady again.

“rain's causing power outages,” Sans noted.

“you think it'll go out here?” Stretch looked up from his phone momentarily.

“probably not. but it's supposed to keep raining all night, so leave the windows closed. don't want anything getting in.”

*     *     *

Inside the back yard shed, the power quietly being supplied to the humming machine from the exterior generator went uninterrupted. Small lights blinked dully on the control panel, flashing red at the bottom of capacity bars to indicate some lack of overall power contribution.

Outside, the sluggish storm clouds, belting down rain onto the house, grumbled and flashed with lightning, the ominous cracks of thunder following them close behind. Closer and closer the epicenter of the storm moved towards the house, rolling along the sky with purple-black cloudy cover.

An especially harsh crack of lightning exploded close to the ground, leaving the smell of burning ozone in its wake.

Blue jumped as he was picking up his empty plate from the table.

“DID YOU HEAR THAT?” he asked.

“relax, bro,” Stretch patted him on the shoulder. “'s just a lot of thunder. think we're gonna be through the worst of it in an hour or so.”

Inside the shed, the Machine let out a startling BANG and several bright lights buzzed into life around its edges. The control panel indicators were going haywire, flickering and snapping lights on and off in confusion. Something deep inside the machine was picking up speed, sending the internal humming ratcheting up to a loud whine of buzzing cables and wires.

With a final crack of electricity, the door to the Machine lit up with a brief but intense light, before the entire structure went dark. Lightbulbs on panels died and the outer generator supplying power cut out, hitting some sort of auto-shutoff overload point.

Outside the shed, the rain hammered down in blinding sheets against the roof, creating a deafening drumming inside. The weak amount of light from the house's nearby kitchen just barely illuminated anything through the small shed window.

There was a clanging, scraping noise from inside the Machine.

The door was pushed slowly open and a skeletal hand curled around the edge of it.

A foot stepped out onto the dirty floor of the shed. Behind it, a large, shining blade was dragged through the dust.

A single eye focused through the window on the glowing light of the house.

*     *     *

“WHY DO WE EVEN HAVE GENERATORS IF NONE OF THEM ARE HOOKED UP TO THE HOUSE?” Black complained for the fifth time. “IT'S IDIOTIC.”

“we've got a house generator in the basement, black,” Sans answered grumpily. “we just don't ever use it cuz we don't ever need it.”

Everyone was clearing dishes away into the kitchen and pulling out leftover desserts from the fridge. A few cheesecake platters, some trifles, and a lot of donuts were patiently waiting to be eaten up before they turned stale.

“aw, come on,” Red moaned, pausing in the act of cutting a slice of cheesecake as the power flickered off and on again overhead. “make up yer damn mind already.”

“you think we might need-” Rus began, but was cut off by all the lights suddenly going out. “well, that answers that.”

“red, go figure out the generator downstairs,” Sans said, heading towards the kitchen back door. “i'm gonna go check and make sure the outside generators haven't-”

He stopped as the back door blew open with a violent bang, just missing him. Everyone froze, eyes fixed on the sheets of rain pouring into the kitchen, illuminated through the door by flashes of lightning.

A skeleton stood, soaking wet and silhouetted by lightning in the doorway, staring at them unnervingly. He was dressed something like Sans, but far, far worse. His clothes were ripped and stained in places, his once-white shirt discolored with some reddish-brown marks. He wore no shoes, but carried a blade almost as big as himself.

Everyone's eyes automatically traveled to the horrific hole bashed into his jagged skull, just over his left eye. A crack ran down from it, into the socket that held a frighteningly engorged, blood-red eyelight. The other socket was disturbingly empty. The stranger smiled a sharp, unstable grin at them, his right hand gripping the handle of his blade tighter.

It would have been utterly terrifying if he'd been any bigger than six inches tall.

“AAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” Blue shrieked in a voice so high that everyone flinched, covering the sides of their heads. “HE'S SO CUUUUUUUUUTE!” He darted forward before Stretch could stop him, snatching up the tiny skeleton in his gloved hands. “YOU ARE SOOOOO CUUUUUUUTE!”

The little skeleton looked bewildered and squirmed in Blue's grasp, having dropped his butter knife in shock the moment Blue first screamed.

“bro, put that thing down!” Stretch insisted, swatting the little skeleton out of Blue's hands and onto the island counter of the kitchen. “you don't know where he's been!”

“bet i c'n tell ya where he came from,” Red growled, craning his head around the others to look out at the shed on the other side of the yard. “thought you said you weren't making any headway with the machine?”

“i wasn't!” Stretch yelled. “i didn't! i don't know how this happened!”

They all stopped and observed the little skeleton, who was lying flat on his back on the counter, his one eyelight looking a bit like it was spinning in his socket. He slowly sat up, shaking his broken head, before taking them in with a quick glance around.

“HE'S LIKE A TINY LITTLE DIRTY SANS,” Papyrus breathed, holding his gloves in front of his mouth with glee. “SO ADORABLE!”

“creepy,” Sans countered, kneeling down a bit to look at the stranger. The little skeleton didn't seem inclined to interact with any of them. Instead, he looked about himself on the counter, before zeroing in on a nearby strawberry cake that had just been unwrapped. His eye sockets widened.

“huh,” stretch said, watching the tiny skeleton plow headfirst into the cake, his bare feet kicking behind him as he ate his way to the center. “little guy really likes sweets.”

“PLEASE CAN WE KEEP HIM!” Blue shouted. “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I LOVE HIM AND IWANTTOKEEPHIMPLEASEI'LLTAKECAREOFHIMIPROMISE!” he paused for breath as the others stared at the little bony intruder that was slowly hollowing out an entire cake.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Edge yelled. “I REFUSE TO LIVE WITH BONY LITTLE RODENTS IN THE HOUSE! HE'LL GET INTO ALL THE CUPBOARDS AND CHEW ON OUR CEREAL BOXES!”

“he's not a cat, blue, you can't just...” Rus paused and scratched his head. “i mean...i guess i don't see why you couldn't teach him to use a litter box-”

“we're not doing that,” Sans interjected, looking a bit horrified at his tiny duplicate.

“-but like, he's still a person. a tiny person. not a pet.”

“ya gotta name there, kid?” Red bent down to address the head that was sticking out of the cake now, hoovering up the top layer of strawberry slices at an impressive speed.

The tiny skeleton turned to look at Red, his one eyelight fixed and unblinking. He shrugged and grinned with a face full of cake. He picked up a strawberry the size of his own head and slowly, laboriously, shoved it into his mouth, before attempting to chew it despite being unable to move his jaw.

“he's determined,” Red declared. “i'll give 'im that. an' he can understand us, i think.”

“WE MUST ALL GIVE HIM A WARM WELCOME!” Papyrus announced. “HE CAME OUT OF THE MACHINE AND THUS BELONGS WITH US, BECAUSE DESPITE BEING OH-SO-TINY AND FRANKLY ADORABLE DUE TO SUCH A SIZE, HE IS STILL A SANS, AND DESERVES A HOME!”

“YES!” Blue cried. “AND A LITTLE BED I CAN MAKE OUT OF A SHOEBOX!”

“OOH, OOH! AND WE CAN GIVE HIM A BIG SOCK FOR A SLEEPING BAG!”

“AND HE CAN RIDE AROUND ON ONE OF OUR SLOT CARS!”

“AND TAKE A BATH IN THE SINK AND HAVE A RUBBER DUCK TO FLOAT AROUND ON AND WE CAN GET HIM SOME TINY CLOTHES!”

“MWEH HEH HEH!”

“NYEH HEH HEH!”

“you're so screwed,” Red said quietly to the little skeleton in the cake. The little guy looked up at Red, licked jam off both his hands and grinned.

Chapter Text

The early sun was pouring in through the large window in the kitchen, striking the hanging pots and pans on the decorative rack over the sink, illuminating them with gleams of silver and copper.

Wine and his brother were seated at the kitchen table, as usual. Though Rus had no outside job, his older brother never failed to rouse him in the early morning and make him come downstairs for breakfast, where he could be certain Rus would at least eat his usual massive doses of sugar with a token amount of fiber and vitamins mixed into it, in the form of marshmallow cereal. Rus ate slowly, still half asleep and blearily listening to his headphones under his sweatshirt hood.

On the opposite facing sides of the table, Blue and Papyrus wolfed down their breakfasts, hungry after their customary pre-dawn jog together. The sound of the toaster in the middle of the table popping up caught Blue's attention, and he made a grab for his toast slice from it, spreading a liberal amount of jam over the bread.

Wine flipped through the newspaper, following a few financial articles while sipping a cup of coffee. An insistent gnawing sound finally drew his attention away from the paper and he folded it to one side, focusing on the small skeleton who was diligently eating the orange slices on his plate.

“WHERE DID THIS...GENTLEMAN COME FROM AGAIN?” he asked, watching as his breakfast was devoured with speed. The tiny skeleton finished the oranges and looked up at Wine, absentmindedly chewing on one of the rinds.

“FROM THE MACHINE, LAST NIGHT!” Papyrus supplied, looking proud. “BLUE AND I MADE HIM A TINY BED TO SLEEP IN! HE'S PART OF THE FAMILY NOW!”

“I SEE,” Wine said, watching the little skeleton reach over and begin messily eating Wine's poached egg with bare hands. “A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, MISTER...”

He trailed off as the little skeleton largely ignored him, shoving egg into his mouth as if eggs were about to become extinct at any moment.

“YOU DIDN'T FEED HIM THIS MORNING?”

“WE DID!” Blue said. “AND LAST NIGHT! HE'S VERY HUNGRY.”

“VERY,” he added, watching as the tiny figure polished off the rest of Wine's breakfast, then toddled over to his bread plate, flopping down bodily onto his croissant as if it were a large bean bag chair.

He began eating that too.

“AT LEAST WE WON'T HAVE PROBLEMS WITH LEFTOVERS,” Wine said, folding the newspaper and placing it to the side. “WELL, I SUPPOSE I'LL GRAB SOME BREAKFAST WHILE I'M DOWNTOWN FOR MEETINGS TODAY.” He picked up his empty plate and crossed over to the kitchen sink, placing it neatly inside, before heading out the door to the living room.

A loud thumping came down the staircase, and Black entered the kitchen, brother in tow. He sat a mostly-asleep Mutt down at the kitchen table and silently went to the fridge, opening it and removing items to make breakfast.

“GOOD MORNING, BLACK!” Blue called cheerfully. “HOW ARE-”

“NO,” Black said simply, pointing at Blue, who shut his mouth. “YOU KNOW THE RULES.”

“OH COME ON,” Papyrus chided him. “IS IT REALLY SO TERRIBLE FOR PEOPLE TO TELL YOU GOOD MORN-”

“AH, AH!” Black snapped. “YOU EITHER!” He watched them for a moment with a warning glare, then grabbed a frying pan from the cupboard and placed it on the stove burner, lining up ingredients on the counter. The sound of cooking eggs and the smell of frying bacon soon filled the room.

Papyrus shrugged and stabbed a pancake with his fork, eating a bite while watching the tiny skeleton on the croissant finish devouring his bakery-fresh bedding. The little creature sighed and stretched out on the bread plate in contentment, patting his non-existent little stomach.

“WHAT IS THAT LITTLE RAT DOING ON THE TABLE?” Black yelled, finally spotting the creature as he brought two slices of bread over for the toaster. Blue reached over to cup a hand around the small skeleton defensively.

“HE'S NOT A RAT, BLACK!” he retorted. “HE'S A MEMBER OF THE FAMILY!”

“IT'S DISGUSTING AND IT'S VERMIN,” Black snapped. “PUT IT IN THE GARAGE OR SOMETHING. I DON'T WANT TO SEE THAT RAT ON THE GOOD FURNITURE.”

“we have good furniture?” Rus finally spoke at last, having removed his headphones to watch the proceedings.

Black slammed his and Mutt's breakfast plates down on the table in a foul mood, taking Wine's chair to sit down. “WHERE EXACTLY DID YOU KEEP THAT THING LAST NIGHT?” he demanded. “IN THE YARD, I HOPE.”

“OF COURSE NOT!” Blue cried. “WE MADE HIM A LITTLE BED IN A SHOEBOX! HE SLEPT DOWNSTAIRS IN OUR ROOM.”

“I GAVE HIM A NICE CLEAN SOCK TO USE AS A SLEEPING BAG!” Papyrus added.

Black ate quickly, shooting glares at the both of them over his plate, before eyeing the tiny skeleton balefully as it stood up and crossed the table in front of him, seemingly unperturbed by Black's hateful gaze.

“WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THE LITTLE RAT DURING THE DAY?” he went back to staring at Blue and Papyrus.

“AH! I, UH, WELL...I DON'T THINK I CAN TAKE HIM TO THE POLICE ACADEMY WITH ME,” Papyrus admitted, scraping up the last of his pancakes with his fork. “THEY MIGHT FROWN ON SUCH A THING.”

“I-”Blue began, but Black cut him off.

“DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TAKING THE RAT INTO MY CLEAN SHOP KITCHEN. I WON'T TOLERATE IT NEAR THE FOOD. FOR ALL WE KNOW IT HAS RABIES.”

“OUR KITCHEN,” Blue muttered out of habit. He looked around the table for “the rat” in question.

Mutt was slumped forward on the table, arms folded in front of him, eating bites of his breakfast while offering some to the tiny skeleton. The little guy accepted an entire slice of bacon and methodically inserted it into his mouth, teeth working relentlessly to make the bacon slowly disappear. He licked his tiny hands and made grabby motions for more. Mutt chuckled and handed him a little fried potato wedge.

“STOP FEEDING THE RAT, MUTT!” Black hollered, shoving his brother's elbow. “IF YOU FEED IT FROM THE TABLE, IT WILL NEVER LEAVE!”

“just like me, right m'lord?” Mutt joked, throwing his brother a wink. Black huffed and pouted with both arms crossed at his chest.

“RATS AT THE TABLE, HUMANS CRAWLING ALL OVER THE BACKYARD,” he complained, mostly to himself. “HORRIBLE WAY TO START THE WEEK.”

“YOU CAN'T JUST CALL HIM THE RAT,” Blue argued, reaching over to gently take the small skeleton from Mutt, who slapped his hand away and pushed another piece of bacon towards the tiny creature. Blue rubbed his hand and continued, “WE'VE BEEN COMING UP WITH A FEW NAMES...”

“OH NO YOU DON'T! NAMING IT JUST MEANS IT WILL STAY LONGER!” Black pointed at Blue with his fork, before turning it around to eat the piece of fried egg that was on it.

“BUT WE HAVE A LIST OF REALLY GOOD NAMES!” Papyrus insisted. “WE BRAINSTORMED ALL THROUGH OUR JOG THIS MORNING! HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT 'MAX FERRARI'? THE ULTIMATE COOL-GUY NAME!”

Black groaned and hid his face in his hand.

“OOH, OR IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT,” Blue added, “I WAS RATHER FOND OF 'SIR TINYTON OF THE MINIATURE REALM'!”

“JAKE STEELE, MINI MAN OF MYSTERY!”

“MWEH HEH! THE BITE-SIZE BARON OF BONESHIRE!”

“JUST CALL IT RAT AND BE DONE WITH IT!” Black shouted, making the windows shake in their frames. “IT'S TOO EARLY TO HAVE A CONVERSATION THIS STUPID!”

He shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth in one go, dumped his plate in the sink, and stamped his way out of the kitchen.

Papyrus watched him leave, before suddenly looking around the table at the mess of post-breakfast plates and a now-sleeping Rus.

“WHERE IS 'THE RAT', ANYWAY?” he asked.

Out in the living room, Black snagged his work apron off the wall coat rack where he'd left it the day before. He turned to see his brother lying on the couch, waiting to shortcut him and Blue to the donut shop. Mutt shook himself awake and slowly unfolded his long limbs, standing up. Black stopped in front of him, looking his brother up and down.

“WHERE IS IT,” he said, not so much a question as an accusation. Mutt dug a small packet of dog treats out of his pocket.

“s'fine, i won't smoke 'em in the store, m'lord,” he said lazily.

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.”

Mutt stared at him without moving, then relented, slowly reaching inside his jacket hood. Burrowed into the thick fur lining was the rat, still eating a slice of potato in his grubby little hands. Black sighed.

“PUT HIM IN THE KITCHEN WITH RUS.”

Mutt hesitated, holding the little skeleton to his chest and looking at the carpeted floor next to the couch.

“wanna take him to work, m'lord,” Mutt said quietly, not making eye contact. Black scowled.

“NO.”

“won't even know he's there.”

“BECAUSE HE WON'T BE, CORRECT. MUTT, I WON'T HAVE THE RAT IN MY ESTABLISHMENT. WE PREPARE FOOD THERE, IF YOU'VE FORGOTTEN.”

“i'll keep him in my pocket, promise,” Mutt mumbled, looking up at last to his brother, who grimaced.

“I KNOW WHAT THIS IS ABOUT, MUTT. BUT THE ANSWER IS NO.”

There was a slight pause as Mutt shifted from side to side, his leather boots clumping awkwardly on the carpet.

“please?” Mutt tried again, this time with an attempt at sad puppy eyes. Black stamped his foot.

“WE DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS, BROTHER!”

Mutt made a sadder face and hugged the little rat to himself. After an intense standoff, Black sighed loudly.

“FINE. BUT HE IS ENTIRELY YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. IF I SEE HIM EVEN ONCE OUT OF YOUR POCKET, THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY. UNDERSTAND?”

His brother nodded eagerly and tucked the rat back into his furry hood, straightening it out to hide him. Black spun on one heel and shouted in the general direction of the kitchen.

“BLUE! HURRY UP OR WE'RE LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!”

* * *

Sitting in the shed, Stretch balanced a bowl of cheese crackers on his knee, while leaning against the wall to scroll through his phone. Last night's bizarre event with the Machine activating on its own had unsettled everyone. Stretch had double-checked it to make sure it was totally unplugged from any power source. Unfortunately, he discovered that one generator had been left plugged in from a previous test. This must've been what triggered the Machine bringing that...tiny little Sans...through. Now the Machine was thoroughly disconnected from even the slightest amount of power and several pieces had been removed to examine what had gone wrong. Or right. Depending on your perspective.

Stretch's perspective was that he was actually, really getting to go to Bodice-Con, and everyone else could go jump in a lake, the Machine included. Devouring crackers with one hand and scrolling with the other, he had purchased two one-day VIP tickets to the event and was now filling out a helpful programming grid on their site, provided for attendees to plan their visit by blocking out which panels, events and signings they wanted to see most.

Stretch was attempting to fit literally everything offered for Saturday onto one intensely jam-packed schedule. Sure, it might be a bit of rushing around between signings and panels, but it would be worth it. He had little blue discussion panel blocks studded here and there in the grid, a handful of yellow book pop-up sales blocks scattered about, a sizable pink block for the Tales of Longing series anniversary panel, a long red block for the costume contest...and in the center, the crown jewel of his schedule, a big purple block for the book signing with Vanessa Highcastle. All other blocks were arranged around this one, or discarded if they conflicted with its time slot. He was going to meet Vanessa Highcastle, the author of Tales of Longing, and get a book signed by her. A book signed to him!

He'd blocked off a precious half hour free slot before the signing, to make sure he got a space in the line. And to hyperventilate into a paper bag in the bathroom beforehand. Just in case.

The machine sat largely forgotten, as Stretch agonized over his schedule. Would Wine keep his word and actually go? There was still almost two weeks until the convention. Could he find a way to weasel out of it in that time? Could he find the evidence bag Stretch hid?

No. He'd never find that. Stretch had stuck it in the one place he'd never, ever look.

Not that Wine hadn't been trying. Stretch had woken that morning to find things in his room just slightly out of place. To the casual eye, everything was out of place, because everything was all over the place. But Stretch knew that sock was definitely not close enough to the wall to actually touch it the day before, and that empty cereal bowl balanced on two engineering books had been more to the right, about to topple over, rather than neatly balanced in the center. Some of his shirts in the laundry pile by the closet were not arranged in the precise strata he recalled. Wine had been looking for the bag.

Stretch rolled his eyes. As if he'd hide it in his own room.

He didn't want to resort to blackmail, but Wine was the only one who already knew that he read romance novels. He'd found out accidentally, but he hadn't told anybody. Much as Stretch loved his brother, he knew that Blue, if told, would eventually spill his secret...he could imagine his brother buying a stack of romance books for him on his birthday and presenting them in front of everyone. Stretch shuddered.

No. it had to be Wine. Wine had a car, Wine had nothing better to do on a Saturday, and Wine could keep a secret.

Stretch tipped the bowl of cheese crackers into his mouth and went back to his programming schedule. Satisfied with the arrangement at last, he emailed it to himself for printing out later.

His gaze hovered over the schedule as he noticed the “Costume Contest” block. Stretch looked up at the ceiling in thought for a moment.

With a flick of his fingers, he navigated his browser over to Amazon.

* * *

Black stood behind the register of Superior Donut, watching his brother intently. Mutt was at his usual table in the corner, seemingly asleep, with his legs tangled in the chair in front of him and the one he was sitting on tipped back slightly, so he could rest his head against the wall.

Black narrowed his eyes at Mutt, then turned slightly to observe the wall behind the counter.

Sparkling, sugary rows of donuts were on display, neatly separated into long, plastic alcoves by flavor. Twenty-four of each kind arranged in little rows, the optimal number for display, at least according to Black. Twenty-four chocolates. Twenty-four glazed. Twenty-four blueberry. Twenty-four cinnamon powdered. Rows and rows of pristine product.

Black frowned at the donuts.

The door to the shop tinkled with the sound of the little entrance bell and Black looked up, acknowledging the entering customer with a nod. A man shaking out an umbrella approached the counter.

“Large black coffee and a glazed donut, please,” he said. Black punched in the order on the register, shook out a small paper bag and turned to the donut wall.

Twenty-one chocolate donuts sat in their alcove. Twenty-three glazed rested beside them.

Black snapped his head up in anger at his brother, who hadn't moved an inch. Mutt did not seem to even be awake. He leaned against the back wall with his eyes closed, his chest slowly rising and lowering steadily in slumber.

Black growled under his breath, bagged a donut and went to the coffee dispenser to fill the order. He finished ringing up the customer, made change and watched the man leave. He turned around to the donut wall.

Fifteen glazed donuts greeted him.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!” he shouted across the empty store at Mutt, who seemed to rouse himself from his nap with difficulty.

“wassat, m'lord?” he asked sleepily. Black pounded his fist on the counter.

“THIS IS COMING OUT OF YOUR PAY, MUTT!” He slammed the register closed and pulled off his paper hat, storming into the back room. Mutt could hear him yelling for Blue to take the register.

He pulled out a donut from the pile in his pocket and broke it in half, passing it up into his hood. Little bony hands reached out to grab it, before a ferocious gnawing sound was heard and crumbs flew out of the hood. Mutt chuckled and held up the other half as a tiny hand patted his cheekbone to signal for more.

“you want some coffee too?” he asked in a low voice. A small purring noise came from inside the hood.

* * *

Papyrus was in a good mood as he drove home that afternoon in the light rain. He'd made a lot of progress since he joined the police academy, and while his test scores hadn't always been...as incredible as befitted a man of his superior skills...the sergeant in charge of his PT training had been very impressed with his physical prowess. Possibly because Papyrus breezed through all the grueling physical training with the air of a man playing hopscotch. The instructors had thrown more and more difficult fitness routines at Papyrus, until they eventually just made up a custom workout for him to do every day, separate from the other recruits. It mainly involved jogging 15 miles around the track, bench-pressing a large cement roadblock, then picking up various big dumbbells from the academy's gym and hurling them several yards away at a target.

Papyrus found it very invigorating, especially when the other policemen came out to film him on their phones. He apparently had quite a following on Youtube now.

Driving home in his recruit uniform, Papyrus slowed to a stop at a red light in the middle of downtown Ebbot City, idly watching the people on the sidewalk nearby. His gaze fell on a small toy and hobby shop, squeezed in-between a bike repair place and a deli.

Papyrus got an idea. He quickly looked around for a good parking spot.

The door to the hobby store swung open and a very tall skeleton in a police recruit uniform entered. Looking up from the magazine he was reading at the counter, the elderly owner momentarily froze, unsure of how to process this new development.

“GOOD DAY, SIR!” Papyrus said cheerfully. “DO YOU HAPPEN TO SELL DOLL CLOTHES HERE?”

The old man behind the counter craned his head back to look Papyrus in the eyes.

“You want a what now?” he asked, squinting up at the skeleton. “Speak up son, I'm a bit deaf.”

“OH, I'M SORRY!” Papyrus yelled, shaking all the glass display cabinets around him. “IS THIS BETTER?”

“Little bit,” the man answered. “What can I do for ya?”

“DO YOU HAPPEN TO SELL ANY KIND OF SMALL CLOTHES THAT WOULD FIT A DOLL OF ABOUT SIX INCHES TALL, OR POSSIBLY A SIX INCH TALL PERSON, IF SUCH A THING ACTUALLY EXISTED, WHICH OF COURSE IT DOESN'T BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE RATHER STRANGE AND SUSPICIOUS?” Papyrus finished yelling and all the merchandise on the shelves around him stopped rattling. Outside, several car alarms were going off.

“Oh yeah, sure, we got that. Right over here.” The old man shuffled out from behind the counter, leaning on a small cane as he walked slowly further into the shop. Kites, car kits, sailboat models and electric trains all jostled for space along the shelves of the store. Old toy poster advertisements from twenty years ago had been pinned up to decorate the walls, but were now faded. The smell of ancient carpeting and hobby craft paint permeated the shop, while the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

The man led Papyrus to a long display shelf of dolls and clothing.

“Lemme know if you need anything else, son,” he said, already walking back up to the counter without waiting for an answer.

“THANK YOU!” Papyrus screamed after him, and the lights overhead flickered momentarily. He turned his attention to the merchandise.

There were a lot of dolls, mostly of the big plastic baby variety, the kind that closed and opened their eyes depending on how you held them. A few popular fashion dolls had been scattered around as well, adding a gaudy bright pink to the overall color scheme of the products. Most of the items looked like they had been sitting on the shelves for some time, with signs of faded packaging and dust here and there.

Papyrus carefully examined each item. There wasn't much in the way of choice, at least outside of big fuzzy-felt baby clothing. He frowned.

What would be good for their new little friend?

Pushing a pile of little plastic toy-sized baby strollers aside, he pulled out box after box, but nothing really stood out. Everything was the wrong size, or cheaply made, or had a giant strip of velcro on the back. Papyrus imagined walking around with a big, scratchy plastic piece of velcro the size of a skateboard sewn into the back of his shirt, and grimaced. Unfortunately, there just didn't seem to be any alternative. And their new tiny friend did need clean clothes.

He picked out a few of the least awful choices and sighed as he tucked them under his arm. He tilted his head up and stopped.

On a high shelf on the wall, clearly meant for display, was a set of little wooden dolls with painted-on faces. Boys and girls, in small, well-made outfits. They were unboxed and lacked any price tags. They seemed to have been handmade. Papyrus gently lifted one of the little boy dolls down.

It was covered in dust, evidently having been up there for years. He shook it off and looked at the clothes it was wearing. They were nice. No velcro or cheap fabric, no gaudy colors. The stitches were tiny and precise, with teensy little metal snaps. Little boots made of leather scraps had incredibly tiny metal eyelets with laces in them.

There were quite a few of these dolls, and a few little extra clothing pieces lying on the shelf. Papyrus gathered them up carefully in both hands.

“EXCUSE ME, SIR?”

The old man at the front of the store had gone back to his magazine, but looked up when Papyrus' large shadow fell over the counter.

“I'D LIKE TO KNOW HOW MUCH THESE ARE?” Two large skeletal hands carefully laid down a selection of the wooden dolls and some clothing on the counter. The old man pushed his magazine aside and looked at them.

“Hell, I'll be...” he said softly, with a faint smile. “Forgot about these.”

He held a few up to look at them closely, wiping away some of the dust on the dolls' faces. Papyrus waited patiently, as the man looked at the dolls, seemingly far away in thought.

“The wife made these...” he said after awhile, mostly to himself. “Angela always liked her dolls. Made 'em better than anyone else. Better than these cheap plastic things nowadays. Had 'em up on the shelf for display so long, I forgot all about them. I remember when I put 'em up there, ten years ago I think. Seems like it wasn't that long ago, though. Wanted everyone to see how talented she was. She loved her dolls.”

“I'M SORRY,” Papyrus said quietly, though he knew the man couldn't hear him. He put a hand out to scoop the dolls up again.

“I'LL PUT THEM BACK,” he added in a louder voice, “THANK YOU ANYWAY.” He motioned to take the doll in the man's hands back as well. The old man looked up at him sadly.

“YOU SHOULD PUT THEM ON DISPLAY IN THE FRONT WINDOW,” Papyrus said to him. “THEY'RE EXTREMELY NICE.”

“Yeah,” the man answered, still looking lost in thought. “I should. The wife would like that, I think.”

He picked out two of the little extra sets of boys' clothes that Papyrus had brought up.

“You just wanted the clothes, right?” he asked. Papyrus held up his hands, looking horrified.

“NO SIR! I COULDN'T BUY YOUR WIFE'S CREATIONS FROM YOU! THEY'RE IMPORTANT!”

“S'ok, son,” the man replied quietly. “Thanks for liking them. She would have been very happy to hear it.”

He reached over to an old register and tapped a button, popping open the drawer, while putting the two outfits in a little paper bag. Papyrus smiled as he took out his wallet.

* * *

Dinner at home was chinese takeout and yet more party leftovers, as no one felt like cooking.

“they're nice, bro,” Sans said, looking at the tiny clothes Papyrus had proudly shaken out of the paper bag. Two short-sleeved shirts, white and blue, a little blue jacket with tiny buttons on it, two pairs of pants and a pair of boots lay on the table. Blue leaned across the table to examine them.

“THOSE ARE SO CUTE!” he exclaimed. “I BET HE'LL LOVE THEM!”

“not even here two days and you already get presents,” Stretch joked, gently poking the rat, who was sitting next to him on the table, inhaling an egg roll. The rat paused to look up at him with his one big red eyelight, then went back to chowing down.

“WHY. IS. IT. ON. THE TABLE,” Edge growled between clenched teeth.

“cuz that's where people eat, edge,” Sans said, a warning note in his voice, “so let's not argue about it.”

“HONESTLY, IF WE FED HIM ON THE FLOOR, SOMEONE WOULD JUST STEP ON HIM,” Wine added.

“EXACTLY! PROBLEM SOLVED.”

“HE'S NOT A PROBLEM, HE'S A MEMBER OF THE FAMILY,” Blue said defensively.

“AM I A MEMBER OF THE FAMILY?” Edge asked, browbones raised.

“OF COURSE!”

“GROSS,” Edge declared, going back to his dinner. Black snickered, then jumped.

“WHERE IS IT?” he demanded. Everyone looked at him. Then they followed his eyes to the spot on the table where the rat had been sitting moments ago.

Black stuck his head under the table to see Mutt lying on the rug beneath, flat on his back with the rat sitting on his chest. He was feeding fried wontons to the rat, who was making them disappear as fast as Mutt could pick them out of the bag.

Black groaned.

* * *

Late at night, Mutt sat upright on the large dog bed in Black's room, leaning against the foot of the bed while his brother paced up and down.

“SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE NOBODY IN THIS HOUSE LISTENS TO ME,” he was saying to the room in general. “AND THEN I REALIZE I ONLY FEEL THAT WAY BECAUSE IT'S TRUE.”

Mutt nodded along, half-asleep at this late hour. He yawned and Black stopped pacing. Walking over to his brother, he put a hand out.

“GIVE ME YOUR JACKET.”

Mutt looked startled, but obeyed, slowly removing his coat. Black snatched it up and shook it upside down violently. A donut fell out of the pocket. He frowned at it, then kicked it away.

“TURN OUT YOUR POCKETS,” he demanded. Mutt obediently turned his jeans pockets inside out.

Black tapped a foot in annoyance, looking his brother up and down, before raising a brow.

“LIFT UP YOUR SHIRT.”

Mutt hesitated, glancing away to the side.

“NOW, MUTT!”

Mutt waited another moment, then slowly lifted up the hem of his big orange sweater. Black leaned over to inspect him.

Inside Mutt's ribcage, one of the wicker napkin baskets from the donut shop was wedged into his chest cavity. It was filled with shredded up store napkins, upon which the little rat was sleeping peacefully, like a bird in a feathered nest.

Black straightened up and stared at the wall for some time, before slowly running a hand down his face. He picked up the set of pajamas laid neatly out on his bed.

“I AM GOING TO TAKE MY SHOWER NOW,” he spoke, slowly and deliberately. “WHEN I RETURN, AND I REALLY CAN'T STRESS THE IMPORTANCE OF THIS ENOUGH, THERE HAD BETTER NOT BE A TINY MAN INSIDE YOUR CHEST.”

“yes, m'lord,” Mutt said meekly. Black closed his eyes, pivoting around on one heel and striding out the bedroom door, into the hallway.

In the shower, he leaned one arm against the tile wall and let the hot water pour down onto his head.

Nobody ever listened to him. Sure, let's have a party and invite the entire idiot neighborhood! Things probably won't burn down! Let's have some tiny little homunculus of a rat move into our house! That's not weird or dangerous!

He sighed, closing his eyes and breathing in the shower steam. He just didn't understand why the others were so unperturbed by this little...thing suddenly in their house. At least his brother sort of had a reason.

* * *

It was nighttime in the Capitol, as a very young skeleton stole down the back alleys towards his home. He hadn't been able to grab much at the market today. The monsters selling at the food stalls had eyes like hawks. But at least what he'd managed to steal was enough to feed him and his brother for the night.

He paused and hid in the shadows of a darkened corner as bigger monsters walked by, talking loudly among themselves. When it was safe, he kept going.

He reached the end of a little disused side alley and headed for a large wooden crate that had a sheet of plywood pulled over the front of it as a makeshift barrier. He gave a curious series of knocks before moving it.

Inside the crate, his little brother was curled up in the corner among a pile of discarded bedding and fabric. There were a few little books and other salvaged odds and ends in the crate. Sans crawled in, carefully pulling the plywood over the front of the box again.

“Dinnertime!” He tried to sound cheerful while unwrapping a bag full of stolen food and arranging it on the floor of the crate. But Papyrus didn't move. Sans looked up sharply at him.

“What's the matter?”

Papyrus shrugged and held a small bundle of fabric closer to his chest. Sans scooted over next to him and looked down at it. He sucked in a breath.

Carefully nested inside the bundle of fabric was a small orange kitten, about six weeks old, a scrawny, dirty little thing that was breathing shallowly. Sans closed his eyes and grimaced as his brother started talking.

“Found him in the alley...I think he's hurt,” he babbled. “I thought...maybe we could keep him...”

“Brother, we can't,” Sans said as gently as he could, trying to take the bundle away from Papyrus, who refused to give it up.

“I'll take care of him! He can have some of my food!”

“It's a liability. You can't have any pets, you know that. You'll just get attached.” Sans frowned at his brother, who just hugged the kitten tighter.

“Please, Sans! He needs help!”

Sans sighed, drawing up his knees and laying his head down on them. Papyrus looked upset, but stubbornly clung to the little kitten.

They sat in silence for awhile.

“Has it eaten anything?” Sans asked finally. Papyrus sat looking at the kitten in his arms.

“About an hour ago,” he said hopefully. “I gave him some bread and he ate a bit of it.”

Sans sat up straight. He carefully lifted part of the fabric that was covering the kitten and tried not to wince at what he saw. He didn't need to be a healer to know that it was going to die. He quickly tucked the blanket back around it. Papyrus scooted over and leaned against his brother. Sans leaned back, closing his eyes.

“Maybe if we just keep him warm tonight, he'll feel better,” Papyrus said.

“Maybe.”

“Can we go find a healer for him tomorrow?”

Sans sighed.

“Of course.”

They sat together in silence. Eventually Papyrus fell asleep, the thin little kitten still bundled protectively in his arms.

Just before morning, Sans took the dead kitten and buried it. When Papyrus woke up, Sans told him the kitten had gotten better in the night and run away.

* * *

Black sighed, one hand paused on the shower tap, before eventually shutting it off.

Back in his room and dressed for sleep, he shut the lights off, so that the only illumination came from the waxing moon outside the window. He could see his brother already passed out on his own big cushion at the foot of the bed. Black walked around him, as quietly as he could.

The little rat was curled up asleep under Mutt's chin, the blanket having been tucked carefully around him. He was making an odd sound, almost like purring. Black watched them for a few moments, then climbed into his own bed.

It wasn't until much later the following day when Black realized that Mutt had slept the whole night through, undisturbed by nightmares.

Chapter Text

Mutt and Rus sat at the kitchen table, intently watching the scene in front of them.

The rat, dressed in his brand-new clothes, was in front of a piled-high plate of spaghetti, which he was devouring at an alarming speed. Instead of chewing, he would insert a spaghetti noodle end into his mouth and simply inhale it, letting it spool out from the plate and down the bottomless pit that was his throat, before grabbing another noodle end and starting the process all over again.

The house was unusually quiet and the two had the kitchen to themselves, which meant raiding the pantry for something to feed their new tiny friend. A tupperware container of leftover spaghetti was liberated from the fridge for this purpose.

“it's a neat trick,” Rus admitted, watching this spaghetti inhalation/annihilation while filming it on his phone. “it's...weirdly satisfying to watch it happen. Like one of those youtube videos of paint cans being filled, or something.”

“he can pretty much do this indefinitely,” Mutt replied, as the little skeleton finished the plate of spaghetti in record time and laid down flat on his back, face covered in sauce and perfectly content.

“cool. can he do any other tricks?”

“nah, not really. he's more like a cat than a dog.”

“kinda wanna put a tiny uniform on him so he looks like my brother. that would make wine laugh, or piss him off. either way, it'd be hilarious. you gonna name him?” Rus poked the little guy in the belly through his blue jacket. The rat idly kicked up one tiny skeleton foot at Rus' hand, but otherwise seemed completely unbothered. He continued methodically licking all the spaghetti sauce off his own face.

“m'lord and edge call him the rat, and everyone else just kinda started doing it too, so i dunno,” Mutt admitted, scooping the rat up gently with one hand and tucking him into the thick fur lining of Mutt's hood. “but i've been calling him kitty sometimes.”

“why kitty?” Rus eyed the two little feet sticking out of Mutt's hood next to his jaw.

“cuz of this.” Mutt reached up and stuck a hand inside his hood, petting the rat's head very carefully. A low purring noise emitted from the hood.

“huh. cute,” Rus said. “you think he wants to go to the store with us?”

“you want a snack, buddy?” Mutt cooed at the pair of feet sticking out of his hood. The feet wiggled around in anticipation.

“that's a yes,” Rus said, standing up and putting his headphones in his pocket, before heading for the door.

Walking down the back streets of Ebbott City, Rus and Mutt took in the cloudy, humid day in silence, with only the occasional comment. After a rainy two days, the humidity was making everything sticky and subdued in town, as workers and shoppers alike scrambled to get inside the refreshing air conditioning of offices and shops.

The King Mart's grimy green-and-gold lit sign buzzed with a barely-audible drone over the door into the convenience store. Mutt shoved the door open as it jangled its entry chime, holding it open for Rus with one shoulder. They split up to head to their respective spots...Mutt to the snacks and cigarettes, Rus to the soda fountain. Mutt wandered down a few middle aisles in the store center, coming to a halt in front of the rows of wrapped cupcakes, donuts and bread rolls.

“see anything you want?” he asked quietly under his breath. The rat stuck his head out of the fur-lined hood and went wide-eyed at the selection of pre-packaged, chemically-processed bounty on the shelves in front of him. He made to leap straight onto the shelf in excitement, but was caught in mid-air.

“nah, can't have you bein' seen by humans, buddy,” Mutt said, tucking the rat back into his hood. “just point to what you want.”

The rat stared at the metal shelving loaded with junk food and pointed at a giant pink snowball treat. Mutt grabbed it, then moved onto his own shopping in the beef jerky section. As he turned away, he failed to notice the rat simply disappearing from his hood and reappearing on the snack shelf.

“you want anything?” Mutt straightened up and called down the aisle towards Rus, who stood at the back of the store, giant empty drink cup in hand, patiently waiting for a woman with a stroller to finish using the soda fountain.

Rus started to shake his head, then let his jaw drop as he pointed behind Mutt. Mutt turned just in time to catch an empty snack wrapper that was flung off the shelf.

“what the hell-”

“rat! no!” Rus was running up in an instant, trying to call out without making a scene. He stopped in front of the snack shelves, grabbing a fistful of empty wrappers. The rat was wedged bodily inside a mini buttercake package, eating the bread product from within the plastic bag. Mutt leaned forward and snatched him up, shaking him out of the package.

“i thought you were going to hold onto him!” Rus hissed, gathering up destroyed snack wrappers. Mutt looked panicked as he tried shoving the rat in his pocket.

“i did! he was in my hood! can he...you think he can shortcut?”

His question was answered when the rat, tired of squirming around in Mutt's hands, blipped over to Rus' arm and attempted to snatch at some of the rescued half-eaten snacks that Rus was holding.

“oh great! just great! Why didn't you te-”

“What's going on here?”

Both skeletons spun around to face the store manager...an angry, heavyset man with a thick black beard and a pair of matching bushy eyebrows. Behind Mutt's back, Rus snatched up the rat, dumped him into his empty fountain drink cup and slammed the plastic lid on top.

“nothing much, uh...” he looked at the empty wrapper destruction in both his and Rus' hands. “just...got too hungry to wait. we're paying for these.”

“You're damn right you are,” the manager said heatedly. “Right now. And what are you doing?” He wheeled on Rus, who jumped.

“just...was going to get a soda,” Rus stammered. He walked quickly over to the soda fountain and held the cup up to it to illustrate. “super quick!”

“Okay,” the manager said, walking close to the soda fountain, folding his arms and observing Rus. “Quickly then.”

“uhhhh...”

Rus was sweating as he looked at the giant cup in his hand, holding it as if it were a ticking grenade. He tentatively peeled the flimsy plastic lid off it and, almost in slow-motion, positioned the cup under a soda spigot at random. The manager continued to watch him closely.

“heh...um...yeah...” Pouring sweat, he shot a glance at Mutt, who had guessed where the missing rat was and now looked horrified, violently shaking his head behind the manager's line of sight. Rus grimaced and, with no other way out, cringed as he slowly, reluctantly, reached up and hit the dispense button. He flinched visibly as the machine started up.

A loud buzz of the machine slammed on and a wide stream of Cherry Bing Blast flooded out of the tap and into the cup.

“nooooooo!” Mutt hissed, his hands in front of his face, eyelights constricted into pinpricks with fear.

Rus' hands shook as the soda gushed into the giant cup, at the bottom of which the little rat still lay. He averted his eyes from it, shooting an apologetic glance to Mutt, who looked ready to faint.

“All right son, now if you're finished...” the manager began to say, but trailed off, staring. The soda machine was still going. Rus stood there with the dispense button pressed, gazing at the flow of soda that barreled down into the cup, not even close to filling it. It continued to pour. And pour. And pour.

“um,” Rus said.

“huh,” Mutt managed. The manager looked confused and, more importantly, angry.

“What are you two trying to pull?” he demanded. He made to step forward and snatch the cup from Rus' hands, but Mutt jumped in front of him, pushing a giant wad of bills onto the manager.

“sorry, sorry, we're going now! sorry your soda fountain is broken! this'll cover the snacks!” he said, blocking the manager's view of the machine in question.

“Broken? It isn't broken, you're doing something funny-”

Taking advantage of the commotion, Rus turned his back and shook the rat out of the cup. He stuffed the little skeleton in his pocket and turned back around, shoving the empty cup onto the manager.

“it's okay, i wasn't thirsty! thank you!” he yelled, trying to manage a placating smile, before grabbing Mutt and bolting out of the store.

Outside, they immediately shortcutted a block down the street, into a side alley.

“gimme him! is he okay?” Mutt asked in a panic, spinning around the moment they arrived to grab at his friend. He scrabbled at Rus' jacket, trying to figure out where the rat was hidden. Rus pushed him off.

“dude, he's fine! he's not even wet.” Rus produced the rat from his pocket and Mutt snatched him up fast enough to knock the wind out of the little skeleton, cradling him to his chest, eyes wide with concern as he looked the rat over for injuries.

“he was drinking all the soda as it fell down into the cup,” Rus explained, as Mutt shushed and petted the completely unperturbed rat, who was busy licking snack cake crumbs out from between his tiny fingers. “where the hell does he put it all? i don't get how he does it, it's unexplainable.”

Mutt, having finally calmed down, rolled his eyes and did a one-armed little jazz hands motion.

“maaaaaagic,” he said sarcastically, earning an equal eye-roll and snort of derision from Rus.

“Did someone say magic?”

The two skeletons turned and glanced down the alley, where a darkened figure was slowly approaching them.

“oh great,” Rus moaned. “this again.”

The young woman in the green cloak emerged from the shadows. It was the mage they had met once before, once again carrying her rune-covered leather side satchel. Despite the oppressive humidity, she still wore her wool cloak with the hood up, though this time she had accessorized with half a dozen mystical-looking rings and necklaces.

“lady, were you waiting for us to show up or something?” Rus asked, folding his arms and leaning against the brick of the alley. “because this is the second time we've met like this. or do you just live in gross alleys?”

“No!” the woman said. “Of course not! I was...drawn here...” she nodded towards the little rat Mutt was holding, “by a powerful source of magic.”

“that would be us, yes,” Mutt said, sticking the rat inside his hood and out of sight. “both of us, in fact.”

“Not you!” the woman protested. “A different kind! I sensed an incredible power that can't be fully explained.”

“were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” Rus asked. “because we literally just said that.”

The mage woman pretended not to hear him, instead throwing her hood back dramatically, shaking out her hair.

“I'm Y/N,” she said. “I think it's only proper that we finally introduce ourselves.”

Both skeletons stared at her.

“you're who now?”

“Y/N.”

“are you asking me?” Rus cocked his head at her.

“No, I'm...look, never mind.” Y/N shook her head before gesturing to the two of them. “And you are?”

“i'm robert danforth, attorney-at-law,” Rus replied immediately.

“i'm wanted in five states,” Mutt added. “for crimes of handsomeness and arson.”

“Okay, you know what?” the woman balled her fists up and glared at them, one eye glowing with an icy blue magic. Neither skeleton batted an eye at her irritation. Rus took out his phone and started scrolling through texts. The woman made a visible effort to contain herself, before sighing.

“Look,” she said sharply, “I just sensed there was a powerful magic nearby and that's what summoned me. Unlike regular humans, mage souls are a lot like monster souls, in that we can sense powerful sources of magic.”

Rus and Mutt looked at each other, genuinely bewildered.

“i can't do that,” Mutt said at last.

“uh, ditto. i don't know anyone who can do that. that's just like, a you thing, i guess.”

“What?” the mage looked baffled. “No, that's not right. Monsters are more in tune with their souls than humans. They can sense things more easily, like soulmates, or powerful bonds, or deep emotions.”

“i'd like to point out that my friends alphys and undyne spent the last five years not knowing that they liked each other,” Mutt said, pulling out a cigarette pack from his pocket. He shook it, frowned and crumpled it up, tossing it away with a sigh.

“you're in big trouble, mister. i'm outta cigs.” He gave a mock-scowl to the little rat, whose head was sticking out of his hood. Mutt smiled as he got a tiny pat on the nasal bridge in response.

“anyway,” he continued, reaching up to scratch the rat's head, “humans are the ones with really powerful souls. so if anyone's got super powers, it's them. or, you, or whatever.”

“Well, I have a mage soul, so technically yes, I am different from regular humans, soulwise.” Y/N preened a bit at this fact.

“yeah, how so?”

“don't ask her things,” Rus hissed, still glued to his phone, but the mage spoke up over him.

“I...well, it's just so different, I don't know how to explain,” she hesitated, looking apprehensive for the first time. “Very different and unusual. I'm not really sure I want anyone to see it.”

“okay.” Mutt went back to rummaging through his coat, trying to find a stray cigarette.

The mage stood silently, clenching and unclenching her hands around the strap of her sigil-covered satchel.

“But I suppose,” she said after a bit, “if it's that important-”

“it isn't,” Rus interrupted, and she shot him a death glare.

“-then I could, just for a minute...gosh, this is so embarrassing, I mean...”

She paused and looked away, covering the side of her face with one hand as if blushing. When this got no reaction, she turned back.

“it's just that I'm not like other people,” she continued, “and it's so terrible to be the only one who's like this, I feel like you're going to think I'm so strange-”

“lady, do you want us to ask to see your soul?” Rus said finally, looking up from his phone. “will it make you feel better if we ask?”

“Oh for god's sake, here!” the woman spat out, making a brief pulling gesture at her chest with one hand. A luminous object popped out and hovered in front of her, lighting up the alley.

Both skeletons stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

“welp,” Mutt said.

“huh,” Rus said.

They continued to stare for some time.

“why's it all...glittery?” Mutt asked at length. “and what are the little wings for?”

“and why's it shaped like a...sorta...heart-shaped diamond gem thing?” Rus added. “are you sick, or...”

“No I'm not sick!” the woman insisted. “I'm different! A mage soul is much, much different from a regular human soul!”

“it's much tackier, i'll give you that,” Rus agreed. “it's like if anime and christmas ornaments had a hate-baby.”

“how is something golden and holographic rainbow at the same time?” Mutt asked. “i feel like i'm staring into a pre-teen girl's fever dream.”

“It just is, okay?” Y/N seemed to be getting more cross by the second. This was apparently not the reaction she was hoping for. “And the wings are there because of my faerie heritage.”

“what.” Mutt deadpanned a look towards her. “your...what?”

“dude, no,” Rus tried to cut him off, but the mage answered regardless.

“Well, monsters may not remember this, but a long time ago before you were sealed in the underground, humans intermarried with the faerie kingdom, which produced the first mages so that-”

“yes, fine, okay, skip it,” Rus shut her down in a hurry. “whatever. whatever you say, lady.”

Y/N crossed her arms and scowled at him. She only stopped when she noticed Mutt had been inching towards her out of curiosity. He tilted his head towards her chest, as if listening.

“why's it...making noise?” he asked. The mage puffed out her chest and clasped both hands in front of her, a plaintive expression crossing her face.

“That's my soul song, of course! The tune that resonates in my very being and expresses my emotions, my special melody unique within all the universe.” She gazed distantly into the overcast sky, contemplating some greater, ineffable power.

Mutt made a face and listened, his head a foot away from the floating soul.

“is that a music box cover of a melanie martinez song?” he asked at length.

“N-no! No it is not! It's the unique song signature of my soul that-”

“that's 'carousel,' right? i'm pretty sure it's 'carousel.' is it?”

“No it's not!” the mage flung a hand in front of her chest and her soul popped back out of view. She threw her hood back up, glaring at the both of them.

Mutt straightened up, casually scratching the rat's head. The rat had emerged from his hood fur and was now leaning far out to observe Y/N. Her eyes landed on him and widened as she stepped forward, one hand raised.

“I didn't...I didn't notice his head!” she gasped. “Why is it broken?”

“he ain't broken. everyone's different, lady,” Mutt said defensively, holding a hand over the rat to hide him from sight. The rat only used Mutt's hand to grab on and lean further forward, staring curiously at the woman in the cloak over the tops of Mutt's fingers.

“Ohhh, the poor thing,” Y/N cooed. “Let me heal you, little one. My faerie mage healing touch will fix you.”

“can it cure delusions as well?” Rus muttered. “might wanna keep it handy.”

The mage reached out slowly to the rat, who stuck his head out to meet her hand. She smiled angelically at him, as the tips of her fingers began to glow with a soft, pink radiance. The rat stared in wonder at the magical light, single red eyelight blown wide.

Then he bit her on the thumb.

“AHH! YOU LITTLE RAT!” she screamed, reeling back and clutching her hand to herself.

“oh, so you do already know him,” Rus snickered. Mutt laughed out loud at the display, as Y/N danced up and down, shaking a painful, but bloodless, bite mark on her thumb.

“i guess he thinks he's fine the way he is, lady.” Mutt gave the rat an approving pat on the head.

“I can't believe you!” Y/N shrieked. “I'm trying to help you guys! Anyone else would be ratting you out all over town for having that horrible little thing with you!”

She stopped yelling and jumping around in pain, standing still with her hand tucked under her other arm, as both Rus and Mutt suddenly loomed tall and turned bodily towards her. The space in the narrow alley had taken on a heavy, ominous shadow.

“run that by me again, lady?” Mutt asked softly. The rat, sensing the sudden change in the atmosphere, crawled further into the fur of Mutt's hood and made himself as invisible as possible.

“I...I don't have to repeat myself!” Y/N said, trying to stand up tall as well, smoothing out her cloak. “At any rate, seeing as this...new source of powerful magic has been discovered, I might just have to report this to the Shadow Mage Counsel!”

Her triumphant smirk quickly faded at the looks on the skeleton's faces.

“wrong answer,” Mutt said, baring his teeth.

“thought you were the last living mage?” Rus demanded. Y/N looked torn for a second.

“Well, I'm...” she stammered, not taking her eyes off Mutt, whose expression seemed to be getting more hostile by the second, “I'm...I'm the youngest living mage! So obviously, unless I have kids, I'll be the last.”

“you're just making this up as you go, aren't you?” Rus said.

“I'm certainly no-”

“darlin', you're gonna wish you died out first if you keep talking 'bout my little pal,” Mutt growled, taking another step towards her. The mage nervously took a step back. “i hear humans like burning witches.”

“and hanging, sometimes they do that,” Rus pitched in, also taking a step forward to hover near the mage.

“bet someone like you getting exposed to the general population isn't going to find this city so comfortable to live in,” Mutt continued, cracking the knuckles of one hand. “so you should forget what you saw here and walk away.”

“I...you...you're a magic user-” the mage sputtered.

“yeah, but humans know about us, don't they?” Mutt interrupted coolly, leveling an intense, burning gaze at the trembling young woman. “maybe some of them don't like us, but they can at least identify us walkin' down the street. now witches? they could look like anyone. that's scary. or so i've heard.”

The rat stuck his face briefly out of Mutt's hood, grinning and drawing a tiny finger across his neck at Y/N.

The mage stammered and clasped her bag to herself, looking from Rus to Mutt and back again. She had backed herself up against an overflowing trash bin that was sitting by the wall of the alley.

“You...” she fought to articulate her thoughts through the climbing fear, as two very tall monsters stared her down, blocking her from the mouth of the alley.

“You're supposed to protect me from humans!” she yelled suddenly. “Keep my secret, help me out, because I'm not like them! You're not supposed to blackmail me with it!”

“not sure who told you that,” Mutt said, leaning back at last from his position of looming over her and crossing his arms over his chest. “we're from the part of the underground where all the jerks lived. so this shouldn't really be a surprise.”

“my brother says blackmail is always an option,” Rus added, almost cheerfully. “the only thing that's never optional is manners.”

He dropped his phone into his jacket pocket and zipped it up, before nudging Mutt with one elbow and indicating the alley exit with a nod of his head. They both turned to leave.

“T-this conversation isn't over!” Y/N yelled.

Mutt shot a look at the furious woman over his shoulder.

“well, you say that, but-”

Y/N blinked, and both skeletons were gone.

*      *      *

“so let me get this straight,” Sans sighed, sitting limply on the living room couch, his head angled back across the top of the couch until he was staring at the ceiling while he talked. He, Rus, Mutt and Wine were all gathered in the main room of the house, waiting for dinner to be ready. They talked quietly as the banging of pots and pans, as well as several arguing voices, filtered out from the kitchen, signaling the usual dinner preparations.

“you let that mage see the rat,” Sans said, not taking his eyes off the ceiling. In his lap was the money box from the food truck, a sure sign that he had just gotten home from work and was far too tired to deal with anything more complicated than food and a nap.

“not on purpose,” Rus insisted. He was also seated on the couch and also slumped backwards, staring at the ceiling. At his feet, Mutt was sitting on the floor, his head reclined back on the couch cushions. He would have been staring at the ceiling as well if the rat wasn't taking a nap on his face, clinging to him like a snoring starfish.

“UNACCEPTABLE,” Wine said sternly. He had been in the middle of preparing for a weekly HOA meeting when he was called into the common area by Classic, in order to hear Mutt and Rus recount their run-in with the mysterious and apparently irritating mage woman. Now he was seated in his favorite armchair by the window, tapping one gloved claw rhythmically against the arm of the leather chair. Even as he fretted about the upcoming meeting, a thought struck him.

“WHAT WAS THAT PART ABOUT THE FAIRIES?” Wine added out of curiosity.

“you're not saying it right,” Rus groaned. “it's faerie.”

“THAT'S WHAT I SAID.”

“yeah, but when she says it, you can somehow hear the extra 'e' in it.”

“I'M SORRY?”

“dude I dunno, she just...everything she says makes me cringe,” Rus huffed out. “on the inside. if i hang around her any more, my ribcage is going to collapse in on itself like a house of cards built entirely out of second-hand embarrassment.”

“same,” Mutt added, muffled through a face full of napping rat.

“guys, we cannot let anyone see the rat,” Sans groaned, finally shoving the heavy money box off his lap and onto the couch space next to him. “we can't explain this one away as a 'cousin.' not even a distant one.”

“she won't say anything.” Rus sat up straight, giving Sans a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “we blackmailed her good.”

“YOU BLACKMAILED SOME STRANGE WOMAN?” Wine asked incredulously. “A MAGE, NO LESS? OUT IN PUBLIC?”

Rus nodded.

“with threats of violence and public exposure, yes. also burning.”

Wine wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “I AM SO PROUD OF YOU,” he beamed. Rus gave him a thumbs up.

“okay, no one else is to know about the rat, all right?” Sans insisted. “seriously.”

“yeah, yeah, we got it. we won't take him out of the house.”

“not even into the backyard,” Sans emphasized. “not anywhere. got it? especially since he can shortcut. we need to know where he is at all times.”

When there was no reply, he finally turned his head to look at the floor by the couch. Both Mutt and the rat had vanished.

“where did they go?”

Rus made a shrugging motion and relaxed back into the couch. Wine was staring out the front window, lost in thought.

Sans sighed heavily, then stood up, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“welp, i'm gonna go scream into something,” he said, strolling out of the room towards the stairs. “like a pillow. or maybe a cereal box. call me when dinner's ready.”

“don't scream into my lucky charms,” Rus called over his shoulder. “i don't want my breakfast tasting loud.”

*      *      *

Mutt was in his room, which was an oddity for him. He hardly ever spent any time in it.

Located just off the large shared space that Papyrus and Blue had in the sprawling basement, his bedroom was much smaller, which was fine by him. It was big enough for a decent-sized bed, his clothes and his guitar on a stand in the corner. He really only used it to store those items.

Not that Blue and Paps wanted to let it go at that. When they were trying to figure out who would sleep where, the others had written off the tiny room as a possibility until Mutt claimed it himself, saying it was fine for what he needed. There was no window in the room and no carpeting...was it intended as a laundry room at some point?...but they had laid down carpet for him and moved a bed and dresser in.

This was fine.

When Blue and Papyrus had finished decorating their own space, painting the walls with a combination of carefully-stenciled racing stripes and stars, they turned their attentions to Mutt's neglected room. They'd offered to decorate it for him, making it more homey and inviting so he would use it more often.

And that was fine.

Mutt lay on his bed now, letting the rat sit on his chest while devouring a packet of crackers, scattering crumbs everywhere. The bedroom had several rock posters put up on the walls (“BECAUSE YOU'RE A MUSICIAN!”) and a black-light...thing, hung up over the head of the bed (“BECAUSE IT LOOKS SO COOL, MWEH HEH!”). The bedspread was black with orange bones on it in a random pattern.

They had painted the room in what they decided were Mutt's favorite colors...the burnt orange shade of his favorite sweater, and the electric purple color his brother liked to wear.

And that was fine, although it made him feel like he lived inside a Halloween superstore.

Mutt watched the rat tear through crackers with a fond smile on his face. He had never cared about his room, or any of his things, really. But now, he had an odd feeling that they weren't enough, that they could be better. The rat needed a place to call home, after all, and probably couldn't live in Mutt's pocket forever (though Mutt really didn't see why that would be a bad thing). He felt like the rat should have a place to relax as well. A...space of his own, even just a corner. Something better than a pocket. Somewhere that would make him happy.

It was an odd feeling, and one that he wasn't entirely familiar with...wanting things to be better than fine, at least for someone else. Sure, he always wanted the very best for his brother, but so did Black, who usually made that happen for himself. Outside of that laser-focused concern, nothing else bothered Mutt, at least so far as anyone could tell. Nothing troubled him if Black was happy, and Black was always in charge, so if Black wasn't happy, Mutt would find out soon enough and fix things. His brother wasn't exactly the type to suffer in silence. Mutt never had to wonder about what needed to be done, because he'd be swiftly informed of it.

But Kitt- the rat didn't speak. How was Mutt to know if things were fine for him? He could only guess, and food seemed to always be the answer. He had a nagging feeling this wasn't the right way to go about it, though. He'd never had a pet. Weren't you supposed to buy them special food dishes? Little mouse toys with catnip inside, or rawhide bones, or...a swing to perch on? One of those plastic castles inside a bowl? Wooden blocks to chew?

He'd tried googling some things, but quickly realized he'd have to first determine what kind of pet the rat was closest to being. He was currently torn between a cat and a ferret, and they each apparently had very different needs.

Mutt frowned at the ceiling, leaning back to rest his head on his pillow. He should find a pet store in town and pick up a few things, try some items out. Maybe if he just made some options available, the rat would choose his own stuff.

That meant asking his brother for money. Technically, he didn't get paid for working at the donut shop, but like clockwork every week, Black would give him allowance money at the same time he doled out Blue's cut of the profits. Mutt had spent it all on the usual stupid things: cigarettes, snacks, a bunch of quarters he put into one of those claw vending machines to win a keychain shaped like a combat boot (worth it), fast food and more than a few drinks downtown at Grillby's.

Would he...was he allowed to ask for a raise? Or maybe he could do extra work? Just this one time, not a habit or anything. Just for the sake of getting Kit- the rat some little things to make him happy.

Toriel's horns, he just thought of voluntarily doing extra work. Black's skull was going to explode. But it was just this one time. Because this time, even though he knew things were fine...it seemed like it would be nice if they were better than fine.

A sudden movement had him tipping his head up to glance down his chest at the rat, who had finished the crackers, moved onto finding and devouring every last scattered crumb across Mutt's sweater, and was now curling up to sleep. Mutt smiled and unhooked one arm from where it was propped behind his head, reaching down to rub the back of the rat's skull, petting him with one finger until a telltale purr started up inside the little skeleton. The rat nudged himself into a little ball, toes curling and uncurling with happiness from getting petted.

Mutt very, very carefully slipped a hand under the rat, picking him up as if he were a glass butterfly, before gently lifting him over to tuck into the wide, baggy collar of his sweater. The rat gave a stretch and a yawn, snuggling down warmly into the thick, knitted fabric, his briefly interrupted purring quickly returning. Mutt gingerly laid his head back down, feeling the little sleepy creature under his chin send a rumbling purr through his jaw, a feeling that lately seemed to calm Mutt down, letting him relax in earnest, instead of his usual stress-avoiding naps. He made a mental note for his future shopping list.

Item one: even comfier sweater. The rat liked cuddling inside of warm, soft fabrics.

“good kitty,” he whispered, patting the little lump tucked into his sweater collar. The lump stuck a sleepy little hand out from under the fabric and patted him back.

Chapter Text

An early dinner was fully underway by the time Mutt finished his nap and came back upstairs. Shortcutting directly under the table, he sat the little rat down on the rug next to him. Digging into the plate already put down under the table for him by Black, Mutt began cutting half his food into tiny rat-sized pieces.

Up on the table itself, serving dishes were being passed around and portions divvied up. Grilled chicken legs, baked potatoes and other items were shunted from dishes onto plates.

“AH, I SEE EDGE HAS MADE JUDICIOUS USE OF THE GRILL,” Wine noted, serving himself from the plate of chicken. “AGAIN.”

He reached for his wine glass, but paused to scrutinize a bowl of salad that had ended up near his elbow.

“IS THIS...?” he began, but lacked the words to finish his thought, instead lapsing into silence as he examined the tiny grill marks on the back of a leaf of romaine.

“YOU CAN THANK MY ESTEEMED GRILLING PROWESS FOR THE ENTIRE MEAL,” Edge asserted proudly, popping a grilled crouton into his mouth with his claws.

“WELL THIS CERTAINLY WON'T EVER GET OLD,” Black sighed, neatly slicing a perfect grid into the top of his potato with his knife, before adding butter. “I'M SURE IT WILL BE AT LEAST NEXT MONTH BEFORE WE TIRE OF GRILLING EVERY MEAL, AND NOT LAST WEEK, AS I HAD PREVIOUSLY ASSUMED.”

“if you wanna cook, just say the word,” Sans said. “don't complain that edge is making food if you're not gonna do it yourself.”

“I REFUSE TO COOK FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T HAVE THE CLASS TO APPRECIATE MY BEST EFFORTS!” Black retorted.

“yeah, save those truly astoundin' meals for th' guy who eats under th' table,” Red countered. “boss is doin' a great job.” He inserted a grilled chicken leg into his mouth momentarily, before pulling it back out perfectly stripped of meat. “s'delicious an' you know it.”

“i'm questioning the need to grill the desserts, though,” Stretch put in. “ i'm not saying that pie isn't a traditionally grilled food...i mean, it isn't, but i would never say so.”

Blue took a sip of his drink, pulled a face and looked inside the cup.

“IS MY...HAS MY ICED TEA BEEN GRILLED?”

“YOU'RE WELCOME,” Edge said, calmly grabbing another roll from the breadbasket.

“IDIOTIC,” Black muttered. He stiffened as Edge ducked his head under the table.

“YOUR BROTHER SEEMS HAPPY,” he smugged a grin at Black as he came back up, prompting Black to also duck down for a glance at the floor. Under the table, Mutt's plate was clean and he was napping sprawled out on the floor, the rat curled up on his chest. Black scowled and put his head down to his plate, plowing through his meal faster with the aim of leaving the table as soon as possible.

Blue sighed. “WELL, AT LEAST WE HAVE A GREAT DESSERT TONIGHT!” he said brightly. “WHO BOUGHT THE RED VELVET CAKE?”

“I DID,” Wine replied.

“YAY!”

“AND IT'S NOT FOR US,” he finished.

“BOOOOO!”

“IT'S FOR MY MEETING TONIGHT WITH THE HOA, SO DO NOT TOUCH IT,” Wine warned, giving a hard look to both Blue and his brother Rus, the two biggest sweets fiends in the house. Rus slumped in his chair.

“so no dessert.” he said glumly.

“WE HAVE POPSICLES IN THE FRIDGE, RUS!” Papyrus reached over to pat him comfortingly on the back.

“popsicles are just slightly more glamorous water,” Rus muttered petulantly.

“i'm sure they'll be better once edge grills them,” Stretch snickered. He looked to Red for a swift rebuttal on his brother's behalf, but Red had his face in his phone, which was currently blowing up with vibrations from texts. He was frowning, and a brief sweat had broken out on his skull.

“everything okay there, bud?” Sitting next to Red, Sans shot him a pointed look. Red grunted and stuffed his phone in his pocket, where it continued to audibly vibrate, as Red went back to eating and pretended not to notice it. Sans narrowed his sockets at the odd display. After a few minutes of ignoring Sans' staring, Red slammed his hands in his lap, aiming a furious gaze at his plate.

“she won' stop callin' me,” he hissed under his breath, not looking up. Sans rolled his eyelights.

“your problem now, buddy.”

“wha' the hell do i do to get 'er to stop?” Red whispered desperately, but his classic counterpart only shrugged, eyes once more on the food in front of him.

“get a new phone number, that's what i did.”

The phone in Red's pocket continued to buzz, as text after text arrived without pause. Sans shot him a sympathetic sideways glance.

“maybe get a new phone, just to be sure.”

* * *

Half an hour later, the dishes were cleared from the table, Wine had excused himself to grab the cake box and leave for his meeting, and everyone more or less wandered off into the rest of the house.

Mutt awoke under the dining room table, which was not exactly a rare occurrence. Post-dinner naps on the rug happened fairly often. He stretched out slowly, letting his spine pop satisfyingly here and there, before relaxing again. He reached a lanky arm up to pet the rat sleeping on his chest.

His hand encountered sweater, but no rat. Tilting his head up, he looked around. The rat was nowhere in sight.

Sitting up quickly, Mutt turned this way and that, his movements becoming more frantic as the little skeleton did not appear to be in the room at all. He patted the pockets of his jacket, then pulled it off to comb through the fur lining of the hood, but came up empty-handed.

“kitty?” he hissed at the dish cabinet on the far wall, bending down to peer under it, eyelights darting back and forth over the shadows. “where are you?”

He continued to crawl around the room on hands and knees, growing more and more distraught as he poked his head under chairs and in corners, before darting through the large open door frame that lead to the hallway.

In the kitchen, Blue and Papyrus were drying freshly-washed dishes, while Stretch sat at the kitchen table, scrolling on his phone. Across the table, Red sat with a vibrating jacket pocket, eyes fixed on the opposite wall as if his life depended on winning a staring contest with it.

“you uh, gonna answer the phone blowin' up in your pocket?” Stretch asked after awhile.

“nope,” came the very short answer, which despite being only one word, managed to pack the entire phrase 'this is not a topic up for discussion' into it.

“ah. okay then.”

The swinging door to the dining room slammed open, startling everyone and causing Blue to drop a plate, which shattered loudly across the floor. Mutt stood wild-eyed in the doorway, the claws of one hand partially embedded in the door that he had pushed open, his left socket leaking a distressing amount of magic. He took a deep breath.

“WHERE'S MY KITTY?!” he bellowed in a rage to the house at large, causing the glass inserts of the decorative cupboard doors to rattle.

He stood heaving frantic breaths, staring madly at everyone in the kitchen, all of whom were frozen in place and staring back.

“WE HAVE A CAT?” Papyrus asked at last.

* * *

“...AND CONSIDERING THE VERY BRIEF NOTICE, I THINK WE SHALL HAVE TO ASK THEM TO BOOK THE TERRACE FOR A FUTURE WEEKEND.” Wine picked up a stack of paperwork in front of him, shuffling it into a neat, squared pile on the meeting room table.

“Yes, I think next month's weekends are all open, except for the 4^th,” Edith agreed.

The clubhouse of the Walnut Valley Grove community was closed to residents for the night, but the meeting room was still in use. This evening's board meeting of the Homeowner's Association had flown by faster than usual, thanks in no small part to Wine's ever-meticulous handling of the paperwork and forms...but mostly due to the beautifully-wrapped cake box sitting in the middle of the polished oak table, waiting patiently as a reward at the end of the meeting. More than one covetous glance had flickered towards the sugar-filled pink confectioner's box during a review of the last meeting's minutes. A stack of small paper plates and forks sat expectantly off to the side.

“WELL NOW, IF WE'RE ALL FINISHED WITH THAT,” Wine said, gesturing towards the box on the table, “WOULD ANYONE CARE FOR CAKE?” As if the question really needed to be asked.

“Oh, let me serve it Wine, don't get up.” Joy leaned over towards the box that was closer to her seat, pulling off the ribbon holding the folded box together. “I just love ordering from this shop, don't you think they do a lovely job of wrapping?”

“I know Bethany and Roger had something from them for their 50^th anniversary,” Gary replied, as the cake box sides folded outwards and down to reveal the dessert, “and they delivered it in a tall striped box with a collapsible lid at the toooooohMYGOD WHAT IS THAT?”

Wine, who had been doing some last-minute note-taking on a pad of paper, snapped his head up at the shrieks erupting from the other members, who were backing away from the table and pointing towards the cake. His jaw dropped.

Sitting in the middle of what used to be a cake, but was now more or less red velvet fallout, was the rat, covered nearly head to toe in buttercream icing and crumbs. He was frozen in the act of sucking on one hand while grabbing for a large chunk of cake with the other, his tiny red eyelight staring at the panicking humans in front of him, before slowly shifting around to stare at Wine.

The other members of the HOA had jumped away from the table, eyes wide in shock. Wine stood part of the way up, then sat back down heavily, gazing in consternation at the rat.

Wine, like Black and Edge, had grown up surviving in a kill-or-be-killed Underground. But where Black's strength lay in his sheer unstoppable tenacity, and Edge's strength lay in his, well, strength, Wine's forte was the good-old fashioned skill of lying. No matter how dire the situation or how dangerous the stakes, Wine had experienced countless times where his ability to concoct, cement and successfully sell a perfect lie had saved his metaphorical skin.

This was not one of those times.

“AAHHHHHHHHHOHHHHH DEAR, WHATEVER ARE YOU DOING IN THE CAKE?” Wine babbled desperately, his brain latching onto the first and only cover story he could come up with. “AH, UM...ALEXANDER?”

The humans at the table turned as one to stare at him. Wine smiled the biggest grin he could muster and tried not to sweat.

“HAHAHA!” he continued, just a bit too loudly, sharp teeth bared in a grin that was more of panic than of mirth, “WHAT A SILLY EMBARRASSMENT THIS IS! EVERYONE PLEASE MEET MY...SON FROM A PREVIOUS MARRIAGE, SAY-HELLO-TO-THE-NICE-PEOPLE-ALEXANDER!” The last bit was rushed out as Wine gripped the sides of his chair tightly under the table, resisting the urge to close his eyes tight and pray this worked.

A moment of silence passed. And then...

“Oh, oh my goodness, what a shock that was!” Edith sat back down, fanning her face with a paper. “Oh Wine, I'm sorry, he just startled me!” She gave a nervous laugh, and the other humans did the same, taking their seats once again. Wine silently breathed a sigh of relief.

“YES, WELL...” He attempted to pull himself together. “I'M SO TERRIBLY SORRY ABOUT THIS, ALEXANDER JUST LOVES SWEETS.”

“HOW DID YOU GET IN DADDY'S CAKE BOX?” he continued to ad-lib, waggling a finger at the rat, who stared at Wine as if he had just grown two more heads. “I THOUGHT UNCLE SANS WAS WATCHING YOU TONIGHT!”

The rat gawked at him, one piece of cake still clutched in his hand, halfway to his mouth.

“Wine, you never told us you had a son!” Edith leaned forward to coo at the rat, who stuffed the chunk of cake that was in his hand into his cheeks, watching her intently as if the human might take his cake away. He tilted his head down to look for more large pieces of cake next to him and Edith gasped as the hole in his skull became more obviously visible. Robert flinched beside her.

“My god, his hea-” He cut off right in the middle, suddenly embarrassed at his own comment. He threw a look to Wine that was half apology, but also half question. Wine glanced down at the table, folding his hands in front of him as if suppressing some internal emotional struggle. In reality, he was inventing the next part of this lie. Now that the basics were in place, the rest should be easy. Too easy, in fact, and it was but the work of a half-second for his mind to come to a horrible, but nevertheless very true conclusion.

He could use this. But did he dare to be that much of a low bastard?

“I'M AFRAID...ALEXANDER'S MOTHER IS...NO LONGER WITH US,” Wine said, pausing for moments of audible grief as he kept his head lowered towards the table. “I CAN ONLY THANK THE FATES THAT THE CAR ACCIDENT WHICH TOOK HER DID NOT ALSO FULLY CLAIM MY SON. WE MAY HAVE...HAD OUR DIFFERENCES OVER CUSTODY AND SO FORTH...BUT OUR LOVE FOR OUR CHILD WAS NEVER IN QUESTION. I'M JUST GRATEFUL TO HAVE HIM WITH ME NOW. HE REMINDS ME...SO MUCH OF HER. PERHAPS IN SOME SMALL WAY, SHE IS STILL WITH US BOTH.”

Yes, he was, in fact, going to be that low of a bastard.

Wine darted a momentary glance upward. Three-quarters of the rest of the meeting was fighting back tears, and Robert, the solitary set of dry eyes in the room, was giving Wine the saddest, most empathetic look possible. Edith, sitting closest to Wine, reached out and placed a hand over his own gloved one, giving it a gentle squeeze to comfort him. He nodded his silent thanks, using his other hand to run one claw delicately across the lower rim of his eye socket, the very picture of a man struggling not to let his overwhelming grief get the best of him.

Inside, Wine was torn between feeling like either the biggest jerk on the planet, or the smartest one. He looked up as the rat stood and slowly toddled over to Wine, weaving around pieces of uneaten cake and tracking tiny frosted footprints across the polished table. As if perfectly on cue, the rat stopped in front of Wine and held his arms up.

Not one to waste an excellent bit of theater, Wine gently picked up the rat with both hands and held him close, cringing inwardly at the disgusting amount of slobbered-on crumbs and icing that was ruining the front of his immaculate uniform, and which he was almost certain the rat was wiping onto him on purpose. He cradled the tiny skeleton as if he were made of glass, before sealing the entire spectacle with a kiss on top of the rat's little skull.

One look sideways towards the rest of the group and Wine knew he had given the perfect performance. Not a dry eye in the house.

* * *

“Take care, Wine,” Edith was saying for the twentieth time, as the other members of the HOA piled into their cars outside the clubhouse and drove off in the swiftly dimming evening light of summer. “Really dear, if you need anything, just call.”

“YOU'RE TOO KIND,” Wine murmured, still holding the rat while standing on the sidewalk by the clubhouse entrance. “SAY GOODBYE TO AUNTIE EDITH, ALEXANDER.”

The rat stared at Edith with his one overly-illuminated red eyelight. She smiled and wiggled her fingers at him in a goodbye, before snapping them with a sudden thought.

“Just a moment, I know I have....in here somewhere...” She dug around in the white leather purse that was hanging from her shoulder. “I always have some for the grand-kids...”

Waving goodbye as Edith's car pulled away a moment later, Wine watched her go. In his arms, the rat watched as well, messily sucking on a large red lollipop.

When he was sure they were out of view, Wine held the rat up at arm's length and contemplated him thoughtfully. The rat stared back at him, drooling slightly around the lollipop that just barely fit in his mouth, though not enough to properly close his jaw.

“WELL, ALEXANDER,” Wine said, speaking more out loud to himself than to the rat, “IT WOULD SEEM THIS FIASCO, COUPLED WITH HUMANITY'S TOTAL LACK OF UNDERSTANDING OF MONSTER BIOLOGY, HAS DELIVERED ME AN UNEXPECTED BIT OF VERY USEFUL SOCIAL CAPITAL. I'M WILLING TO BET THAT A LOT OF LOCAL IRRITANTS IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD WILL BE FAR LESS LIKELY TO CHALLENGE THE AUTHORITY OF A BEREAVED SINGLE FATHER RAISING HIS POOR, NON-VERBAL, INJURED SON.”

The rat, whether by accident or some actual bit of understanding, gave Wine an expression of pure disgust.

“OH DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. YOU WRECKED MY CAKE. BUT PLAY YOUR CARDS RIGHT AND YOU CAN HAVE ALL THE CAKE YOU WANT. MAYBE EVEN ICE CREAM.”

Wine tucked the rat, now Alexander, into the crook of his arm, strolling home down the sidewalks of the little community, the wheels in his head once more turning as he enjoyed the warm, summer evening air.

“I WONDER IF THEY MAKE BABY SLINGS IN YOUR SIZE,” he mused, taking out his phone with one hand and beginning to thumb through a few internet searches for infant carriers and accessories. “PURELY FOR THE LOOK OF THE THING, OF COURSE.”

It was only a fifteen-minute walk up the road from the clubhouse before Wine arrived back home, one hand busy filling up an online cart on the luxury Baby Bergdorf website. He paused to tuck his phone into his pocket, turned the doorknob and nudged the front door open with one shoulder, still holding Alexander in the crook of his arm.

“dad's home,” Rus announced cheekily from where he was lying on the living room couch, sweatshirt hood drawn over his face.

“IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE, ACTUALLY. WHERE IS-” Wine's question was cut off by a tremendous crash from the kitchen.

“yeah, don't go in there,” Rus warned, flopping over onto his stomach without so much as a glance to his brother. “mutt's losing his entire actual mind.”

The sound of incoherent screaming and a lot of expensive dishes breaking, along with frantic yelling, drew Wine to stand at the door of the kitchen next to a worried Stretch. Inside, Mutt was tearing every dish and glass out of the cupboards, while Edge and Black tried to pull the lanky skeleton down off the counter. Mutt fought them with both elbows, digging the toes of his combat boots into the countertop. Blue and Papyrus were running around attempting to catch the flying dishware before it hit the floor. Sans was trying to keep his brother out of the path of any airborne pots and pans, and Red was in the corner of the room, filming it all on his phone with a huge grin.

The kitchen curtains had been torn off the windows and scattered about. Both racks in the dishwasher had been pulled out of the machine and thrown to the other side of the room. Cereal was all over the floor, shaken loose from pulled-apart boxes. The fridge was lying across the middle of the floor on its side, door open with food having been apparently pulled out of it, then discarded. A spilled jug of milk was slowly puddling outwards from the interior.

“SO HELP ME YOU MONGREL, IF YOU BREAK ANOTHER SERVING DISH, I WILL BEAT YOU WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR WRETCHED LIFE!” Edge was screaming, while somehow fighting a losing battle with Mutt's left arm, despite his own incredible strength.

“OH NO YOU DON'T! ONLY I GET TO BEAT MY BROTHER TO THE BRINK OF DEATH!” Black shrieked, yanking on the back of Mutt's jacket hood, as his little brother pushed all of Blue's collectible Star Wars glasses onto the floor with a crash, shoving both arms inside the cupboard to feel around in it.

Blue screeched to a halt. “I ATE AT MCDONALD'S FOR SIX WEEKS TO COLLECT ALL OF THOSE!” he wailed, kneeling by the shattered glass pile in the very picture of bereavement.

“nah ya didn't,” Red countered, tapping the video zoom on his phone to frame the broken glasses more artistically. “y'just bought stretch like eleventy-million happy meals.”

“THAT WAS THE BIGGEST SACRIFICE OF ALL! HE SHOULDN'T EAT THAT TRASH!”

“MAY I ASK WHAT'S GOING ON?” Wine called out, and Red turned from his filming to look at him.

“mutt's going crazy cuz he can't find the raaaaaaaaatRAT! RAT! WINE'S GOT THE RAT!” Red stopped in the middle of his explanation to point a claw accusingly at the kitchen door.

Mutt's head snapped in Wine's direction so fast his neck cracked audibly. In a flash, he shortcutted off the counter and slammed into Wine, bodily tackling him. Caught unawares by his sudden disappearance, Edge and Black stumbled into each other in the background, cursing.

“GIVE HIM!! GIVE!!” Mutt was screaming hysterically, fighting Wine tooth and claw. To his credit, Wine was blocking every move with one arm, while protecting Alexander with the other. Mutt's irrational flailing was easily countered, until Mutt grew frustrated and simply headbutted Wine as hard as he could. A sickening crunch of skulls colliding made everyone in the kitchen wince.

Momentarily dazed, Wine slumped against the door frame and Mutt snatched up the tiny skeleton with a triumphant shout. He immediately sat down on the kitchen floor tiles, fussing over the rat as if nothing had happened.

Everyone paused where they stood. The only sounds in the kitchen were the slow drip of the milk jug and Mutt's soft cooing and shushing at an entirely unbothered rat, who curled up on his sleeve, gnawing on a lollipop stick in contentment.

“SHOULD HAVE LET ME BEAT HIM,” Edge muttered to Black, crossing his arms.

Wine sat up, rubbing his aching forehead. He tugged at the hem of his jacket to straighten it, before remembering that it was covered in cake, icing and drool, and that wrinkles were the least of its issues at the moment. He sighed and ran a hand over his skull in frustration.

“HAND HIM OVER, PLEASE,” he said calmly, stretching an arm towards Mutt to take Alexander, pulling back swiftly when Mutt actually snapped at his hand, growling in warning.

“LOOK AT THIS PLACE!” Black, having recovered from his state of shock, was now raging and kicking debris across the floor. “I AM....THIS....YOU...” He paused in front of his brother, so furious that actual words were building up to a bottleneck in his throat and having a hard time forcing themselves out. His fists cracked and his arms shook as he stared murder down at his little brother, who was completely unaware of the thunderous wrath now hanging over his head. Mutt had taken out a piece of candy from his pocket and was busy unwrapping it for the rat.

“I NEED HIM BACK EVENTUALLY,” Wine said to Mutt, who ignored him and shuffled around to aim his back at Wine, jealously cradling the rat closer to his chest and drawing up his knees to hide him. “ALEXANDER IS, THROUGH A SERIES OF FRANKLY IDIOTIC CIRCUMSTANCES, NOW MY RESPONSIBILITY.”

“alexander?” Sans repeated the name in complete bafflement. He darted a glance around to see that everyone else had a similar reaction. Wine, who was attempting to stealthily reach out to Mutt without getting his hand literally bitten off, nodded absentmindedly.

“YES. HE'S MY SON NOW.” He winced as he got his hand slapped away harshly.

Mutt turned his eyes towards Wine. The rat turned his eyes towards Wine. Everybody, in turn, stared at Wine, except for Wine, who was now staring at his phone. He had paused to take it out of his pocket when a notification came through with a buzz.

“OH, JUST WONDERFUL,” he muttered, thumbing at the screen. “THEY SOLD OUT OF THE HESSIAN GRAY INFANT CARRIERS, JUST AS I HAD IT IN MY CART.”

He scowled up at Mutt, who stared at him in utter confusion.

“ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? I HAVE TO SETTLE FOR BEIGE.”

Chapter Text

It was the afternoon following the incident in the kitchen.

The night before, glass had been swept up, the fridge had been righted, damages were mended as well as could be expected at that hour and everyone had gone to bed. Mutt had been thoroughly screamed at by Black, then retreated to his room in the basement while clutching the rat to his chest, citing a desire to be as far away from Wine as possible. Wine had retired to his top floor suite to consider his options.

He needed Alexander, that much was certain. He'd painted himself into a corner on this one and now needed the little rat to get out if it...and to potentially increase his standing in the community. But Mutt was not going to just hand him over. The devastation of their kitchen (and the nice china Wine had spent quite a bit on) was evidence enough that force would not work.

This was going to take a little finesse.

A day later, they both sat across from each other at the polished dining room table, while the afternoon sunlight poured in through the bay window. Wine had his gloved claws folded neatly in front of him on the table, while Mutt was sullenly hunched down in his chair with his long legs drawn up to his chest. In his lap and mostly out of sight, he cradled the rat.

Wine cleared his throat.

“SO, MUTT, I UNDERSTAND YOU'VE GROWN VERY FOND OF OUR LITTLE FRIEND,” he began, gesturing vaguely to Mutt's legs and the out-of-sight rat. Mutt said nothing, eyeing Wine up and down, as if he expected an attack at any moment.

“yup,” he finally replied, short and monotone. His demeanor seemed relaxed, but underneath the lazy exterior he was clearly wound up tighter than a clock spring. Anyone who crossed him in this mood was going to lose a staring contest, or a limb.

“AS HAVE I. HE'S QUITE THE ENGAGING FELLOW.”

Mutt glared at Wine silently, one hand curled over the little skeleton in his lap possessively. Wine tried again.

“NOW I DON'T WANT YOU TO THINK I'M TRYING TO TAKE ALE- YOUR KITTY AWAY FROM YOU.” Wine paused to flash a charming smile. “FAR FROM IT! I WANT YOU TO TAKE CARE OF HIM.”

Mutt squinted suspiciously at Wine across the table.

“I THINK YOU TWO HAVE OBVIOUSLY FORMED A VERY STRONG BOND AND I'M GLAD FOR YOU,” Wine continued. “I HOPE YOU'RE SEEING TO ALL HIS NEEDS?”

“i feed 'im,” Mutt mumbled, glowering at Wine.

Wine sighed and spared a brief glance out the window to the lovely summer day he was currently missing out on. He could be enjoying an orange and a glass of wine on the deck right this moment. Instead, he was locked in a discussion with an older, more hostile, more dangerous version of his own brother. And if Rus was anything to go by, Mutt would probably know when Wine was lying.

This was not going to be an easy negotiation. But difficult negotiations were the kind Wine excelled at. It was all a matter of gathering information, assessing your opponent's desires, then inserting a metaphorical lever in just the right spot. Luckily, the lever needed in this situation was the easiest one to wield.

“I'M GLAD HE CAN ALWAYS DEPEND ON YOU TO REMEMBER HIS MEALS,” Wine smiled again. “I TRUST YOU'RE ALSO TAKING CARE OF HIS OTHER BASIC NEEDS?”

Mutt frowned and momentarily darted his eyes to the side, before fixing them back on Wine. It was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Wine grinned a bit wider.

“YOU ARE GETTING HIM EVERYTHING HE NEEDS TO BE COMFORTABLE AND HAPPY, YES?”

“yeah.” The muttered answer was quiet and not as confident as it could have been. Wine dropped his smile into a look of concern and cocked his head.

“HE DOESN'T NEED ANYTHING, DOES HE? YOU KNOW YOU CAN ALWAYS COME TO ME FOR ANYTHING EXTRA HE MIGHT WANT. I'M HAPPY TO HELP.”

“'m fine,” Mutt said a bit more forcefully, shifting in his seat. “i asked m'lord for more hours at the store.”

“WONDERFUL! HOW DID THAT WORK OUT?”

Mutt stared at the table in front of him.

* * *

“AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” Black rolled around on the floor of the donut shop kitchen, his pristine, starched white uniform getting wrinkled and slightly dirty. He clutched his sides as if trying to hold himself together.

“c'mon, i mean it,” Mutt tried again, which only made Black laugh even harder. “'m serious, i just need extra money for stuff for kitty. like, a tiny bed...toys...one of those cages with the plastic tubes he can run around in...”

Black tried to pull himself to his hands and knees, but was laughing too hard. His shaking arms buckled, he fell flat down on the floor again and continued laughing into the plastic tiling under his face.

“seriously, just for a little while.”

In absolute hysterics, Black finally managed to get to his knees, turned and pointed a trembling arm to the door of the back room that led to the front of the shop.

“G-GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I THROW UP!” he cackled, holding his aching sides with his other hand.

* * *

“he's thinkin' about it,” Mutt said.

Wine adopted his most Concerned and Caring expression, usually reserved for expressing sympathy about someone's relative dying, or in matters of extortion.

“WELL I MUST SAY, I'M VERY IMPRESSED WITH WHAT A POSITIVE INFLUENCE HE'S HAD ON YOU! I'M SORRY I EVER TRIED TO TAKE HIM AWAY.”

Mutt, who had been staring a bit glumly at the table surface, snapped his eyes back to Wine. He watched as Wine reached into his jacket's breast pocket, pulling out a slim leather wallet.

“LET ME HELP YOU OUT WITH SOME OF KITTY'S EXPENSES, JUST UNTIL YOUR BROTHER GETS AROUND TO PAYING YOU...WHENEVER THAT WILL BE.” Wine rifled through some bills.

“don' need it, i can manage just fi-” Mutt cut himself off suddenly, as Wine laid down a row of bills on the polished table in front of himself.

Crisp one-hundred dollar bills, so fresh from the bank that you could still smell that special scent of currency ink and paper. There were a lot of them, theatrically fanned out in a neat row, like a card spread at a casino table.

“DO YOU THINK THIS WILL BE ENOUGH?” Wine asked, indicating the long line of bills. “I CAN ALWAYS GET YOU MORE, IT'S NOT A PROBLEM.”

Mutt practically salivated at the sight of the money, absentmindedly lifting up one arm to hold the little bitty skeleton in his hand to his chest. The rat turned around, having been asleep this whole time, blinking tired eye sockets at the table over the top of Mutt's knees. He stared at the money as well, though not with the ferociously covetous look that Mutt gave it.

This was more than the combined pocket money and delivery tips he earned in months.

“YOU KNOW,” Wine mused, eyelights casually examining the ceiling as Mutt stared at the money, “I WAS WALKING BY A FEW STORES DOWNTOWN THE OTHER DAY AND I NOTICED SOME LOVELY PET TOYS IN THE DISPLAY AT MARTIN'S. A PRICEY BOUTIQUE, OF COURSE, BUT TOP OF THE LINE. THEY HAD THIS ABSOLUTELY CHARMING LITTLE WICKER BASKET BED IN THE WINDOW. YOU CAN EVEN GET IT MONOGRAMMED, I BELIEVE.”

Wine paused to straighten the hundred dollar bill on the end of the spread, until they were lined up perfectly. Mutt's eyes followed the actions, like a dog intently watching its dinner being prepared.

“AND OF COURSE, THERE'S ALWAYS THE GOURMET TREAT BAKERY, LILLIPET’S. IF LINDA'S WORTHLESS YAPPY DOG IS GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT TREATS FROM THERE, SURELY KITTY DESERVES THEM EVEN MORE?”

“um,” was all Mutt could say, staring at the money hungrily. He had slowly, unconsciously, leaned forward until he was practically laying across the table. Suddenly, he gave his head a little shake and leaned back in his chair.

“what do you want for it?” he asked suspiciously. Wine shrugged, held his hands palms up in a harmless gesture, before simply pushing all the money over to Mutt's side of the table, ignoring Mutt's eyes growing wide in shock and confusion.

“NOTHING! IT'S THE LEAST I CAN DO. AS A MATTER OF FACT, I WAS HOPING TO BUY KITTY SOME NEW CLOTHES AS WELL. I HAVE AN EXCELLENT TAILOR ON CALL WHO CAN MAKE CUSTOM OUTFITS FOR HIM. NOTHING TOO ELABORATE. SHIRTS, PANTS, A WARMER COAT FOR WINTER...”

He watched as Mutt's eyelights unfocused, gazing into some inner imagined scenario of luxury pet ownership. Wine smiled, a shark smelling blood in the water.

“...THOSE ADORABLE LITTLE ANIMAL PAJAMAS, PERHAPS. HE'D LOVE A LITTLE PAJAMA SET WITH CAT EARS, DON'T YOU THINK?”

Mutt's eyes snapped back into focus and despite himself, his face lit up in a delighted smile, reaching down to snatch at the pile of bills in front of him and stuff them in his jacket pocket. The mental image of the rat in a kitty onesie was too tempting to turn down. And Wine knew it.

“OH DON'T BOTHER SPENDING THAT MONEY ON CLOTHES, THAT'S JUST FOR TOYS, ACCESSORIES, TREATS...WHATEVER YOU LIKE!” Mutt paused in the act of crumpling the bills deep into his pocket and gave Wine a puzzled look. Wine gestured toward the sunny bay window on the far wall.

“WHY DON'T YOU GO OUT AND PICK UP SOME NICE THINGS FOR HIM?” He suggested. “IT'S A LOVELY DAY, PERFECT FOR SHOPPING. AND YOU DO HAVE THE DAY OFF FROM WORK, DON'T YOU?”

Mutt hesitated, eyes drawn to the front window, one hand clutching the rat to the front of his shirt. The idea of strolling into all the best stores in town, pockets stuffed with cash, rat inside his hood and able to choose whatever he liked, was almost intoxicating.

The only thing keeping him from shortcutting away to do just that was a nagging feeling that this money was not free. He didn't grow up in a dangerous Underground, by the side of the Royal Guard's captain, without quickly learning that no one gives without eventually taking.

Certainly not someone like Wine.

“you want something in return, dontcha grandpa?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair to stick his legs up on the table, folding them over each other and planting his heavy boots on the polished surface.

He knew Wine hated that nickname, as well as feet on furniture. And if he was willing to bribe this hard, there was a pretty desperate reason. With a pocket full of Wine's money and the rat still in his possession, Mutt was suddenly feeling confident about his bargaining position.

True to form, Wine flinched at the nickname, but kept himself from openly glaring at the heavy combat boots currently crumbling bits of dirt all over the nice, clean table.

“WHAT I WANT AND WHAT YOU WANT ARE THE SAME THING,” he insisted, gesturing towards the rat that was sitting on Mutt's chest. “WE BOTH WANT TO TAKE CARE OF...KITTY. SO I PROPOSE WE SPLIT UP THE WORK. YOU WATCH HIM AND KEEP HIM FED AND ENTERTAINED, AND I WILL PAY FOR ANY EXPENSES HE HAS. SIMPLE ENOUGH?”

“y'never cared 'bout him before,” Mutt countered, petting the rat, who snuggled into his hand. Wine had no anwer to this, and instead tried a different tack.

“LOOK, ALL I WANT IS TO BE ABLE TO CALL HIM MY SON IN PUBLIC, IF AND WHEN HE GETS SEEN IN PUBLIC. WHICH, I WANT TO REMIND YOU, HAS ACCIDENTALLY HAPPENED ON YOUR WATCH TWICE NOW. THIS 'ALEXANDER' BIT WILL BE BENEFICIAL TO YOU. YOU WON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT HIDING HIM SO MUCH. HE CAN RUN AROUND IN THE YARD AND HAVE FUN. AREN'T YOU TIRED OF KEEPING HIM COOPED UP IN YOUR JACKET ALL DAY?”

Mutt looked a little chagrined, shooting a guilty glance down to the rat, who was curled up on his sweater.

“AN EASY EXPLANATION FOR EVERYONE, AND IT WON'T CHANGE A THING,” Wine continued in his most lulling, persuasive voice. “I TAKE CREDIT FOR TAKING CARE OF HIM...IF THAT EVER COMES UP IN FRONT OF OTHERS...AND YOU STILL GET YOUR KITTY. AND KITTY GETS EVERYTHING HE WANTS. EVERYTHING HE DESERVES. EVERYONE WINS.”

He watched as unease and new considerations flitted across Mutt's expression, his hand still idly stroking the rat's head as he mulled these words over.

“he stays with me,” Mutt finally asserted, though it came out as more of a question that a statement. Wine nodded.

“AS MUCH AS YOU LIKE. NATURALLY, HE'D HAVE TO COME WITH ME ONCE OR TWICE-”

Mutt scowled and put both hands over the rat defensively.

“-JUST TO GET MEASURED FOR HIS CLOTHES, AND MAKE AN APPEARANCE HERE AND THERE TO KEEP UP THE 'SON' COVER STORY.” Wine shifted back into gentle persuasion, the pleasant tenor of his voice taking on the soft tone of calming a startled horse. “WE CAN'T KEEP HIM LOCKED UP AND BUY HIM DOLL CLOTHES FOREVER. DON'T YOU WANT HIM TO HAVE NICE THINGS, MADE JUST FOR HIM? FOR GOD'S SAKE MAN, THERE ARE CHIHUAHUAS WALKING AROUND RIGHT NOW IN CUSTOM OUTFITS. YOU DON'T THINK KITTY IS WORTH MORE THAN AN IRRITABLE PURSE RODENT?”

Mutt frowned at his boots, seemingly teetering on the brink of a decision. Wine took his chance.

“CAT ONESIE, MUTT.”

“okay, fine! but you don't get to walk off with him unless i say. i don' wanna see you near him otherwise. you're just paying for stuff, you're not his dad.”

Mutt pulled his feet off the table, leaned forward and stuck a reluctant hand out for Wine to shake. Wine took it graciously, smiling at Mutt all the while, though his eyes were fixed on the rat.

“YOU WON'T EVEN KNOW I'M HERE,” he purred softly.

* * *

Elsewhere in the house, Stretch was a pirate.

He stood in front of the long rectangular mirror that was tacked to the inside of his closet door, admiring the costume he'd bought for Bodice-Con. Sure, it was a lot more than he'd initially planned to spend, but it was deluxe. Way better than the others he'd found online.

He'd laid in wait by the front door all afternoon on the living room couch, anxiously refreshing the app on his phone as he tracked the delivery. No one was getting ahold of this box but him. He very much doubted there would be another close save after the last time.

When the doorbell rang, Stretch practically levitated off the couch at the speed of sound. Tearing open the front door and snatching up the sizable Amazon box, he shortcutted up the stairs to the safety of his room.

Wait, did he remember to close the front door?

Not important. The box was here. The box was secure in his bedroom. Eighteen seconds later, the box was lying upside-down in the corner, ripped open and empty, while Stretch excitedly flung off his hoodie and stumbled about, trying to free his long, skinny legs from his cargo shorts.

Now, as he stood in front of the plastic-framed, narrow mirror, he imagined he cut a very dashing figure in the black and gold embroidered captain's coat, rows of gold buttons shining down the front of it and detailing the wide cuffs. There was a shirt too, a billowy white pirate shirt with ties at the front. The boots, which he'd paid extra for to get in his size, were a bucket-topped musketeer style and gleaming. There was even a hat and prop sword!

No pants though. It did come with pants, but they were too short for his tall, thin frame by at least a foot. Not a big deal. He could find black pants easily, not a problem, any store had black pants. For now, he did his best to imagine the final effect in the mirror and ignore the yellow and blue striped boxers he was wearing under the long coat. He tipped the hat down over one eye at a rakish angle.

This was so cool.

A sudden knock at the door of his bedroom had Stretch almost jumping out of his new boots. He scrambled about, throwing off the costume coat and shoving it into his overflowing dirty closet.

“STRETCH? MAY I SPEAK WITH YOU?” Wine's voice calmly floated in from the other side of the door.

“in a minute, yeah, don't come in!” Stretch yelled in a panic, flinging the last of the costume into the closet. He kicked both feet, launching the unlaced boots in as well, before pushing the closet door shut. He scooped up his hoodie and threw it over his head.

Wine stepped back as the door suddenly cracked open and Stretch poked his head out.

“yeah, uh...what's up?”

“I...WAS HOPING TO HAVE A WORD WITH YOU,” Wine replied slowly, looking at Stretch's nervous grin. “ABOUT THIS WEEKEND?”

“oh. oh! right, right, uh...give me...a minute...” Stretch looked about himself, unwilling to let Wine into his room, but unwilling to walk away from the door without closing it.

“i need to put pants on,” he finally admitted. Wine grimaced, looking away.

“IF YOU'RE, ER, ENGAGED IN ANOTHER ACTIVITY AT THE MOMENT, IT CAN WAIT-”

“no i'm just...wait, no, NO, I'M NOT!” Stretch flushed up, practically shouting in mortification. He sighed, stuck a head down the hall to see that no one was looking, and gestured Wine in.

“i was trying on clothes,” he clarified, still red-faced and embarrassed, tugging his long hoodie down over his boxers as he looked about for his cargo shorts. “tryin' to, you know...pick an outfit for saturday.”

Wine stepped delicately around the disaster area of Stretch's room, weaving through piles of belongings and dirty dishes, before finally making it to Stretch's desk chair and seating himself.

“SO THIS IS WHERE ALL THE DISHES ARE GOING,” he said, frowning at the messy piles of dirty plates on the floor. Stretch shrugged, having located his pants and pulled them on.

“so, uh...what's on yer mind, pal?”

“ABOUT THIS SATURDAY...I ASSUME YOU HAVE PURCHASED THE TICKETS?”

“yep!” Stretch dived towards the desk, shifting piles of books, papers, magazines and other stacks of items, in a complicated procedure that no doubt followed some sort of mysterious, organizational logic. He produced a printout of two VIP passes for Bodice-Con and handed the sheet of paper to Wine, who looked it over politely.

“I SEE. VIP AS WELL! THESE CAN'T HAVE BEEN CHEAP.”

“worth it!” Stretch practically sang in an unusually happy voice, opening the door of his closet to retrieve the costume he'd tossed in there. He dug out a clothes hanger from some hidden depth in the closet and carefully hung up the pirate coat, fishing around to find the matching shirt and hang it as well. They were the only things actually hanging on the barren clothes rack built into the closet.

Wine narrowed his eyes at the surprisingly energetic Stretch. He almost sounded like his brother Blue, his mood was that good. Almost. The lazy slump in his posture and the filthy room sort of ruined the comparison.

This was not going to be as easy as his earlier negotiations with Mutt. Wine cleared his throat.

“WELL, I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU WOULD ENJOY THIS LITTLE OUTING,” he said, as Stretch finished what little cleaning he'd began and closed the closet door with a push, shoving in the pile of stuff that spilled out of it at the bottom. “IN FACT, I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT IT WHEN I CAME ACROSS SOMETHING INTERESTING ONLINE.”

Wine had taken out his phone and scrolled up a website, then turned the phone for Stretch to read. Stretch leaned down, hands on his knees, squinting at the screen.

“I SAW THIS AND I THOUGHT I RECALLED THE TITLE FROM THAT EARLIER PURCHASE YOU MADE, THE ONE I INTERCEPTED FROM BLACK A WHILE AGO,” Wine went on, holding the phone steady. “TALES OF LONGING, THAT WAS THE SERIES, WASN'T IT? FUNNILY ENOUGH, THE AUTHOR WILL BE ATTENDING THIS...BODICE-CONVENTION.”

Stretch said nothing, staring in amazement at what was on the screen in front of him. Wine smiled cautiously.

“SADLY, I READ ON THE CONVENTION'S WEBSITE THAT THIS MISS HIGHCASTLE WILL ONLY SIGN ONE BOOK PER PERSON, ASSUMING YOU EVEN GET A SPOT IN LINE, OF COURSE. HOWEVER, THIS ONLINE AUCTION INCLUDES, IF I'M NOT MISTAKEN-”

“the first twenty volumes of tales of longing,” Stretch breathed, eyes riveted on the auction listing. “the entire original series, all signed...”

“SIGNED BY MISS HIGHCASTLE, FIRST-EDITION PRINTINGS AND IN MINT CONDITION,” Wine finished for him. “AND I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, 'WHY CHANCE STRETCH'S POTENTIAL DISAPPOINTMENT AT SOME CROWDED, BUSY, NOISY CONVENTION, WHEN I COULD INSTEAD GET HIM THIS SIGNED SET? SO MUCH MORE VALUABLE THAN A SINGLE BOOK.'”

He smiled beatifically at Stretch, who stood up slowly, an inscrutable look on his face.

“OF COURSE, IF I WERE TO EXPEND THIS AMOUNT ON SUCH A FINE COLLECTION, IT'D BE A BIT UNFAIR TO ALSO HAVE TO WASTE MY SATURDAY GOING-”

“you're not bribing your way out of this, wine,” Stretch said flatly, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets. Wine looked surprised, but rallied.

“BRIBING? HARDLY. I'M MERELY OFFERING ANOTHER WAY TO PAY YOU BACK FOR-”

“we're going.” Stretch flopped down on his bed, picking up his own phone from where it lay amid the crumpled sheets. “i'm texting you the address now, so hang onto it.”

Wine briefly flashed a furious glare at Stretch, but it was gone by the time the other skeleton looked up at him. He instead smiled and pocketed his phone very slowly.

“AH. I JUST THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE THE BOOK SET EVEN BETTER. I ASSUMED, WELL...WHAT WITH YOUR DISLIKE OF CROWDS...AND SOCIALIZING... AND THE FACT THAT IT WILL BE A VERY BUSY, VERY PACKED CONVENTION HALL-”

“don't even try it,” Stretch turned his attention back to his phone, thumbs flying over the keyboard. “i'm going, you're going, we're going, and then you get your arson kit back. that was the deal.”

Wine scoffed indignantly at the word arson, crossing his arms over his chest.

“YOU'D GIVE UP A COLLECTION WORTH THOUSANDS, JUST TO ATTEND SOME...SOME FRUSTRATED HOUSEWIFE GATHERING?”

“you'd spend thousands of dollars just to avoid spending a day with me?” Stretch shot a sad look to Wine, a look calculated to mimic Wine's own brother's face. It was a very good impression, as he and Rus were almost identical and he was only a few years older.

Wine actually winced and turned away quickly. Stretch smirked.

“IT'S NOT YOUR COMPANY I DETEST, BUT THE POTENTIAL OTHER ATTENDEES. AND THE EVENT IN GENERAL. THE WHOLE THING JUST SEEMS EMBARRASSINGLY IDIOTIC.”

“well, i'm an embarrassing idiot,” Stretch said softly, staring at his phone. “might as well embrace it.”

“and stop going through my stuff,” he added, as Wine opened his mouth to speak. “the bag isn't in here.”

“WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU THINK I'D WILLINGLY COMB THROUGH THIS CESSPOOL OF A ROOM?”

Stretched snorted derisively. “yeah, you just happened to recall what book i bought in the mail three months ago,” he replied. “you haven't been digging through my things to find something better to bribe me with, sure.”

Wine stood up, attempting to remain nonchalant, even as an angry, unfamiliar feeling of being bested was rising in him.

“YOU KNOW STRETCH, YOU'RE NOT NEARLY AS STUPID AS YOU LOOK,” he said calmly, walking gingerly through the messy room and towards the bedroom door.

“EVEN WITH YOUR PANTS INSIDE OUT,” he added. Wine exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Stretch darted a look downwards, groaned and pulled his cargo shorts off in a huff.

* * *

Downtown in Ebbot City, a small, neat little white building sat on the corner of a relatively quiet street. Several professional services were listed on the large sign that was planted in the lawn out front of the building, including one for Dr. Priya Ahuja, licensed therapist.

“an' then she just goes on an' on about her parents an' her aunties an' art school and ah boo hoo, my ex don't wanna keep my stuff at his place any more, i'm the saddest person alive, he's so mean, i'm scared...”

“Mm-hmm.” A middle-aged woman in a flowing green dress sat on the other side of a small table, surveying the Stratego board game in front of her. She picked up a piece and made her move.

“an' it's like, 'god lady, i get it! ya have th’ saddest life ever! now couldja shut up about it fer five minutes? what exactly do you wan' me to DO about it?'”

Red scowled at the Stratego board, thought for a moment, then moved a piece.

Inside the cozy, brightly-lit little therapist office, there were a number of board games and activities stacked up on the shelf, used to help reluctant patients relax and open up more easily. The sunlight streaming down through the skylight in the slanted roof gleamed off the waxy green leaves of a jumble of potted plants in the corner. A scarlet mandala throw rug spread out across the soft, white carpet.

“It sounds to me like your friend-”

“not my friend,” Red interjected. Priya nodded.

“Your acquaintance then, might be what we call an emotional vampire.”

“thos're real?” Red's jaw dropped and Priya laughed, covering her mouth with one hand.

“Not a real vampire Red, no. An emotional vampire is someone who drains you of energy and happiness by being constantly needy, or insecure, or demanding, or just involved in constant drama.”

“god, that's like, everything in this chick, plus more,” Red groaned, rubbing a hand against his forehead. He moved another piece and Priya countered it with her next move, capturing it.

“Well, emotional vampires may not necessarily be bad people, Red. Often they don't even know they're doing it and don't really mean any harm, even if they end up exhausting you or leaving you feeling depressed in their company. Sometimes they just haven't had clear boundaries set for them and don't know when they're overstepping. On the other hand, with some people you may set clear boundaries and they'll still overstep them. It's up to you to identify these people in your life and find out if they're causing you more harm than happiness. Then you have to decide if it's something that can be fixed, or if it's time to walk away from that person.”

“huh.” Red stared at his game pieces, contemplating a new move.

“Do you feel this woman would respect your boundaries if you made them more clear to her?”

“i...” Red trailed off in thought. “i dunno. i don't think so. she kept tryin' to get me to let her stay at our house even though i jus’ met her. think she tried th’ same thing with cl- with sans.”

“That...is concerning. What does Sans think about her?”

“eh, he thinks she's one a' the-” Red paused and looked up at his therapist. “you, uh...that whole uh, not tellin' anyone stuff is still okay, right?”

Priya smiled and nodded over the board game. “Everything you say is in strict confidence with me, Red,” she assured him. “Even the 'other dimensions' thing.”

Red relaxed in his chair. “y'know classic'd kill me if he knew i told ya that,” he smirked. Priya shrugged in response with another smile.

“Well he'll never know, unless you tell him yourself.”

“y'think i'm crazy or makin' it up, dontcha doc?”

Priya gazed at the skylight that hung above both their heads before answering. “I believe that you believe it,” she said finally. “And I believe that you are not speaking from a place of mental instability or delusion. It's a lot to ask someone to accept on your word, but I believe you're being genuine about it.”

“well, that's prolly as good as it's gonna get,” Red said, grabbing one of Priya's game pieces and taking control of a square. “anyway, don' really wanna talk 'bout her anymore, she's...a special case me 'n classic're figurin' out. i'll letcha know if she pops up again, though.”

“That's fine, keep me posted. How is your brother, by the way?”

Priya noted the slight frown that crossed Red's face.

“he's...doin' better,” Red said at last. “got his new friends and all. we had the barbecue and neighbors seem to really like him. he did a great job with the grill and the food n' everything. talked to a lotta people and they were real nice to him, so that was great.”

Priya watched as the frown on Red's face disappeared slowly and he warmed up to a smile, describing how much socializing his younger brother did at the party. It was always a pleasure to see Red talk about Edge, simply because of the obvious love and pride he held for his brother.

“i jus' don' really like his new friends,” Red finished, his smile falling once more. Priya focused on the board game in front of her with one hand, while jotting down a few notes in a small yellow pad at the edge of the table with the other.

“His book club? What kind of things about them concern you?”

“ehhh, dunno, just don' like having him outta the house all day long, not knowin' where he is or what he's up to,” Red admitted. “mebbe i'm overreacting. guess i sound like wine with his bro rus, always lookin' over his shoulder. but i worry, y'know?”

“That sounds like a difficult situation to be in.”

“yeah.” Red picked up a Stratego piece and examined it closely. “i guess he could have worse friends ‘n a buncha housewives, really. all boss does is sit aroun' an' gossip with 'em.”

* * *

The sharpened axe slammed into the broad trunk of an oak tree, burying its blade practically up to the handle.

“YOUR TURN, AMANDA.” Edge held out another axe and Amanda took it. “REMEMBER, AIM AND FOLLOW-THROUGH ALL THE WAY WITH YOUR THROW.”

He turned and observed the others, who were also outside in Candice's backyard, picking up various weapons from the large metal box Edge had brought over. Margaret had commandeered a set of throwing knives and was examining them with interest.

“Cooooool,” Candice said, pulling a large, wicked-looking mace out of the box. She hefted the iron weapon and gave it a swing, nearly knocking herself off her own feet with the heavy mace's momentum.

A stuffed training dummy had been set up in the yard, staked into the ground. Dana was standing in front of it, looking uncertain. She had her yoga pants and exercise top on.

“I'm just supposed to hit it?” she asked Edge, who strode over to join her. “With...like what, with my feet? Like kickboxing?”

“DANA.” Edge laid a hand on the small, chubby woman's shoulder. “I DO NOT WANT YOU TO HIT THE DUMMY. I WANT YOU TO INSTEAD IMAGINE THAT IT'S THE PERSON YOU WOULD MOST LIKE TO SEE PERMANENTLY ERADICATED FROM THIS EARTH.”

Dana stared at the dummy, then squinted hard in concentration.

“Janice at spin class,” she muttered through gritted teeth. Edge's claws patted her shoulder.

“A FINE CHOICE. FOR TOO LONG, JANICE HAS CONSISTENTLY HOGGED THE STATIONARY BIKE BY THE WINDOW THAT YOU PREFER, AND SHE KNOWS IT.”

“Think you're so much better than everyone because you wear a size two dress and Lululemon everything,” Dana hissed, her eyes focused on the dummy, fingers starting to curl into grasping talons.

“SHE HAS BEEN A THORN IN YOUR SIDE FOR TOO LONG, DANA. SHE THINKS SHE CAN TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY YOURS.”

Dana vibrated with fury, a murderous stare leveled at the target in front of her. Edge leaned down to put his mouth by Dana's ear.

“DESTROY HER,” he whispered.

Dana unleashed a banshee scream and bolted forward, slamming into the training dummy. The sounds of ferocious ripping and screaming echoed through the backyard, as stuffing and wooden fragments flew.

Within five minutes, the training dummy was an unrecognizable pile of shredded fabric and lumps of cotton, clinging by a thread to the wooden stake, which had been pulled up from the ground and tossed an impressive distance. Dana stood up slowly, heaving sharp, furious breaths, both hands clenched in fists, her eyes wild with rage. Edge clapped her on the back, then turned her around to face him.

“I THINK WE'RE READY TO START YOU ON SWORDS,” he said.

* * *

“Well, a little gossip never hurt anyone. It's good that Edge has made some new friends, don't you think?” Priya asked. “I know you want to be there for him and keep him safe, but perhaps it's best to let him make his own choices this time.”

“yeah, yeah,” Red agreed, propping his chin up on both fists as he looked at the Stratego board. “i gotta admit, i ain't the boss of him. he c'n make his own friends.”

“I had thought he was the boss of you, actually,” Priya smiled, and Red laughed.

“nah, nah, that ain't why i call 'im boss. i gave 'im that name a long time ago, cuz he reminded me of one a’ them final bosses in a video game we salvaged from th’ dump. he thought that was cool, so it stuck.”

“Oh, I see!” Priya brightened up and Red wagged a finger at her.

“what, you think all of us in th' bad undergrounds got tragic evil backstories?”

“i...assumed it was just a very dangerous situation to be in,” Priya admitted. Red rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“nah, not everything was life 'er death. lotta it was, but not everything. take black, fer example. he told us when he got here that he got those scars ov'r his left eye socket from a bad fight. but then one time we got 'im all trashed on vodka and he admitted he got 'em falling off a bicycle the first time he tried to ride one.”

Red laughed uproariously, slamming a hand on the table and knocking several game pieces over. Behind her hand, Priya tried hard not to laugh as well.

“he still don' know how to ride a bike!” Red yelled, before collapsing back into hysterics.

* * *

Fourteen miles away, Black looked up from where he was adding change to the cash register at Superior Donut. He squinted into the air in front of him.

“MUTT!” he suddenly yelled. “OH DAMMIT, HE HAS THE DAY OFF.”

“WHAT'S UP, BLACK?” Blue stuck his head into the front of the shop from the back kitchen.

“SOMEONE IS TELLING THE BICYCLE STORY,” Black hissed. He scowled into the distance as Blue walked up beside him.

“THE WHAT?”

“GET MY GUN,” Black said.

“YOU DON'T OWN A GUN.”

“THEN GET WINE!” Black amended. “IT'S FOUR PM, HE'S PROBABLY JUST AS LOADED BY NOW.”

* * *

Twenty-three miles away, sipping a glass of Cab Suav over the newspaper in the kitchen at home, Wine suddenly looked up.

He frowned into the distance.

After a moment's thought, he drained his glass in one gulp and went back to reading.

* * *

Four miles down the street from Red's therapist, Stretch stealthily made his way into the bookstore, waiting until there was a large line at the registers, distracting the employees and blocking the view of the door.

Wine was right, though he hated to admit it. Vanessa Highcastle would be signing only one book per attendee at Bodice-Con. It had taken him ages and ages to narrow down which book he wanted her to sign, laying them all out on the floor of his room and agonizing. Some were arguably the best installments in the series. Some were in better condition. Some were a little chewed-up, but had special sentimental meaning.

He decided eventually on his most beloved copy of volume 16, Jewel Of The Winter Palace. It was absolutely dog-eared, the table of contents page had fallen out and it was the first one he'd acquired, after picking it up at a secondhand store. He could practically quote whole bits of it from memory. This was definitely the one he wanted Vanessa to sign.

Now Wine, on the other hand...

Stretch made it to the back of the store without incident, parking himself in front of the romance section.

Wine would be asking for her to sign a pristine copy of what most people agreed was the standout book of the series, A Bride's Price. After all, if Wine was attending too, he could also stand in line with a book, right? Stretch could get two books signed at once!

But his own copy of A Bride's Price was less than stellar, having had a drink spilled on part of the corner of the pages. A nice new clean copy was in order.

He hummed and searched the shelves, hands in his hoodie pockets, before finding what he was looking for, carefully taking down the new book from the shelf. Outwardly, he was just another lazy guy browsing a bookstore, but inside, he was practically ecstatic. In a few days, he'd be in a huge convention hall filled with romance books, not in front of some dinky little shelf in a store.

His wallet was hurting already. Stretch grinned to himself.

Book in hand and making his way up to the front, Stretch took a deep breath, rallied and adopted the laziest look he could muster.

Maybe she wouldn't be working tod-

“Hi Stretch!”

...of course.

Stretch sighed and turned, seeing the shy little employee girl waving him over to her miraculously empty register. He steeled himself.

“hey there,” he said, setting the book down on the counter. The shy clerk smiled at him through a lock of mousey hair that covered one eye.

“haven't, um, haven't seen you in a while,” she murmured, picking up the book to scan it. Stretch shrugged.

“places to go, things to do,” he said lazily. The girl turned a sad look to the counter in front of her.

“Oh...must be nice,” she said softly.

this is what you do, lady, Stretch thought to himself, trying to avoid eye contact with the girl who was now staring expectantly at him. every time, this is what you do. why are you so good at making other people feel bad?

“You know, there's um, there's a convention for these books this weekend.”

Stretch froze, schooling his face into a blank look. But the dread had already taken hold of him.

“that so?” he said with an air of disinterest.

“Yeah, I was, um...” the girl trailed off, before finding her train of thought again, “I wanted to go but, um...I don't think I could.”

Stretched nodded and took out his debit card.

“Because I'm just so shy,” the girl added. Stretch nodded again.

“And it would be just impossible for me to, you know...go alone,” she emphasized the last part, looking hard at Stretch, who nodded once more and waited patiently at the card reader for her to finish ringing him up.

“I just wish I had someone who was braver than me as a friend,” the girl sighed, apparently not even trying to finish the transaction anymore. “Anyone at all. I don't have anyone.”

“Hey Y/N, I'm going on break, you want anything from the deli?” a woman in an employee apron stepped up to the counter to address the girl, who momentarily frowned, then hid her face behind her hair and mumbled.

“Um, no, thanks Kelly.”

“Didn't you say you wanted to buy lunch today?” the friendly woman continued. “You left your lunch bag at home, so I thought-”

“It's fine, no, I'm fine.”

Kelly shrugged, gave a brief customer service smile to Stretch and walked briskly out the front door. Stretch watched her go before turning back to the counter.

“your roommate?” he asked. Y/N seemed a bit displeased, but nodded.

“she seems nice. you sure she wouldn't wanna go with you to this...book thing?” The very last thing Stretch wanted was to actually run into this girl at Bodice-Con, but he just couldn't help the question.

“no, she...she's not...she wouldn't be interested.”

“did you ask her?” Stretch had to admit, this was the most conversation he'd voluntarily opted for in public. He wasn't even all that invested, but at this point it was like half a bad movie that he'd walked in on and wanted to see the ending, just for closure's sake.

“she's...” Y/N grasped for an explanation. “We're not really friends, she...she's not what I'd call like, um, a good friend.”

Stretch stared at her.

“ouch.”

“No, I mean she's nice and all!” Y/N backtracked. “But like, she's not...sometimes we argue about stuff, and, we don't have a lot in common, you know...”

“all friends argue,” Stretch said simply. “even me and my bro argue sometimes, and we're best friends, plus we're total opposites.”

“Yeah, but, um, like...” Y/N twisted a strand of hair around her finger and bit her lip, looking away. “I just...I really want to find some friends that understand me, and we'll just, you know...get along better, and they'll always know how to cheer me up. Like Kelly's nice, but then she wants to talk to me about all these problems and I just...I just need someone less...complicated. Someone more fun and stuff.”

“wow,” Stetch said, after Y/N had finished her speech. “that's horrible.”

Y/N hung her head. “I know, it's so hard to find friends that will make me hap-”

“no, i meant you're horrible,” Stretch clarified. “does kelly listen to your problems?”

“I...!” Y/N was looking aghast at Stretch's response. “No, I mean...yeah, sometimes, but-”

“sounds like you want friends who will do all the “friend” work for you, kid,” Stretch finished. He picked up the book from Y/N's hands and tapped it against the counter in front of her.

“14.95 plus tax,” he said.

----

Hope you're enjoying this story! If you'd like to check out my new fic on Ao3, "Golden Valley," it features an Edge bitty and a Wine bitty, some fluffy feels, a lot of Boss yelling, and future comedy and shenanigans!

Chapter Text

It was six in the morning, which in and of itself should have been a crime worthy of a long prison sentence.

Stretch's phone vibrated as its alarm buzzed away on the mattress next to his head, having been tucked halfway under his pillow eight hours beforehand, though an excited Stretch had only managed to fall asleep three hours before the alarm went off. His plans to get a good night's rest and wake up bright and early were already off to a dispirited start.

Flailing one bony hand out blindly, Stretch knocked the phone onto the floor and hit the alarm button almost entirely by accident, before muttering as he flopped over onto his other side to fall back asleep, digging his long legs under the tangled sheet for warmth. Luckily, Previous Night Stretch had taken that into account. One minute later, a second alarm went off, more obnoxious than the first. Stretch cracked an eye open, groaned, rolled over and retrieved the phone to turn it off. He stuffed it under his pillow.

Undeterred, the phone alarm went off again a minute later, as Previous Night Stretch had programmed in a surprising amount of backup alarms.

Seven different alarms later, Stretch finally sat up in bed, wondering why on earth his alarm was going off at all. He squinted blearily at the back of his bedroom door, where a dark and unfamiliar collection of shapes met his eyes.

“THIS,” said a boldly-scrawled paper sign with an arrow pointing downward. It was taped up over a pirate costume that hung on the small white hook screwed onto the back of the door. Previous Night Stretch apparently knew himself very well.

Stretch stared at it stupidly, willing the gears in his foggy head to turn. Eventually, he got there. 

Bodice-Con! Today was the day!

He scrambled clumsily out of bed and snatched up the costume, sticking it into a waiting tote bag, before grabbing his regular clothes and quietly sneaking out of his room to go wash up.

Downstairs, Wine was already awake, though he didn't seem very pleased about it. With the tense expression of a man who had dental surgery scheduled for after breakfast and his own execution scheduled after lunch, he grimly poured red wine into a large silver flask over the kitchen sink, wiping down the top with a towel after screwing the cap on.

He was going to need all the help he could get if he wanted to survive this day with his patience intact. It was a pity he only owned one flask, or at least a bag sturdy enough to conceal an entire bottle.

Setting the flask down next to the sink, Wine turned to rummage in the fridge for a quick breakfast, selecting some grapes, a bagel and peanut butter. No one else was up yet...well, except for Blue and Papyrus, whose early morning jogs always began at precisely five AM and ended several hours later. But they had left the house already and with any luck, Wine and Stretch would be out the door and on their way, undetected.

That was the plan, at any rate. Wine had cursed himself for overlooking the most important aspect of this idiotic trip: the alibi. What were they going to use as an excuse for both of them vanishing from the house and not returning until late? He'd been so preoccupied with the whole Alexander thing (and, privately, so very sure of persuading Stretch to give up the convention in favor of the book set he offered to buy), that he hadn't thought of any good reason for why they would both be leaving the house.

At least if they left without suspicion, they'd have most of the day to come up with a story together and rehearse it. It wasn't the best plan, but Wine had been run off his feet with other people's jackassery lately and felt more than a little entitled to just wing it.

Hearing someone trying (and failing) to be quiet in the foyer, he finished most of his hasty breakfast and headed out to see Stretch putting some bags down by the door.

“ready?” Stretch whispered conspiratorially, as if anyone upstairs might overhear. Wine rolled his eyelights.

“ONE MOMENT, I'LL BE BACK DOWN SOON. JUST GRAB MY FLASK AND BAGEL AND MEET ME OUTSIDE.” Wine picked up a pad of sticky notes from the end table and crept upstairs.

Gathering up everything, Stretch hauled it out to the empty driveway. The air was still damp with dew at this hour and the sun not yet entirely risen above the treeline yet. He had little time to look around the empty street, before Wine appeared at the doorway, grabbing his food and wine flask from Stretch as he walked out.

“CORNER OF SEVENTH AND POPLAR,” he instructed, holding out a hand for Stretch to grab before shortcutting away. Instead, a canvas tote bag appeared in his hand. Upon further inspection, he found two more tote bags stuffed inside the first. He shot Stretch a look.

“i'm buyin' lots of stuff today, pal,” Stretch shrugged. “and i got my own things to carry.”

He held up a similar tote bag already in his grip, which seemed to be oddly full, then gestured with his other hand towards Wine. Sighing heavily, Wine grabbed Stretch’s outstretched arm and they disappeared.

Reappearing moments later on a street corner in downtown Ebbot, they walked half a block towards a private garage facility, passing by the odd early-morning jogger and dawn shift worker.

“don't see why you can't just leave your car parked at home,” Stretch noted, shuffling his tote bag for a more comfortable hold.

“I'M SORRY, HAVE YOU BEEN INSIDE OUR HOUSE AT ANY POINT?” Wine replied, turning into an open garage bay and heading down to the glass-enclosed cashier's office. “WE CAN'T EVEN KEEP DOORS INTACT FOR VERY LONG. I'M NOT PARKING MY CAR ANYWHERE NEAR THE OTHERS.”

“fair enough,” Stretch shrugged. Wine stepped up to the glass ticket counter, but was apparently recognized without having to say anything. The man inside simply gave Wine a familiar wave, turned around and said something into a walkie-talkie.

Precisely three minutes later, a sleek, elegant black sedan rolled down the garage’s inner ramp and came to a slow halt in front of them. The valet hopped out at once and tipped a nod to Wine, who smiled and clasped the man's hand in a warm handshake, thanking him by name. When the man pulled his hand back, he was already pocketed a twenty-dollar bill from it.

“ALL RIGHT, RULE NUMBER ONE OF MY CAR: DON'T TOUCH MY CAR,” Wine said, as he and Stretch arranged their tote bags in the back of the car and got into the leather-upholstered front seats.

Stretch shot Wine a baffled look, then held his elbows awkwardly up, as if trying to mimic floating in zero gravity.

“BY THAT, I MEAN DON'T TOUCH THE CONTROLS FOR ANYTHING,” Wine continued, adjusting the rear view mirror. “AT ALL. IF YOU WANT SOMETHING ADJUSTED, ASK ME TO DO IT.”

“can you put my seatbelt on, dad?” Stretch mimicked a baby voice, holding his arms above his head as if helplessly waiting for assistance.

“YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT.”

“buckle me daddy, uwu.”

Wine glared at him.

“THIS IS GOING TO BE AS LONG OR AS SHORT OF A DRIVE AS YOU MAKE IT, STRETCH.”

“all right, all right, just kidding.” Stretch clicked his seatbelt in place. “let's go. oh, wait!"

He dug around in his hoodie pocket, before pulling out a USB stick and handing it to Wine.

“road trip music mix,” he explained. Wine took the data stick and summarily dropped it into the cup holder between their seats.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” He instead tapped the stereo system to life with one gloved claw. As they pulled out onto the city streets, the sound of old-fashioned blues filled the car.

“what is this?” Stretch asked, furrowing his brow at the stereo. “and more importantly, was it recorded with microphones, or just carved directly into the gramophone cylinder you play it on?”

“I'M SORRY YOU DON'T APPRECIATE CULTURE,” Wine sniffed. “MAYBE THAT WILL CHANGE FOR THE BETTER ON THIS DRIVE.”

He frowned and stared straight ahead at the road as the USB stick appeared under his nose, waving around tauntingly in his field of vision. When Stretch got no response with this, he poked the data stick into the side of Wine's face.

“my trip and we do what i want, remember?” he said, still jabbing the stick annoyingly into Wine’s cheek. “and i want to listen to the mix i made just for this drive.”

Wine grit his teeth, breathing a heavy sigh between them that escaped more as a hiss. He reached up and plucked the USB stick from Stretch's hand brusquely, plugged it into the car stereo and tapped a few buttons.

A random dramatic excerpt from the Pirates of the Caribbean movie soundtrack blared over the speakers. Stretch grinned and settled into his seat, while Wine leaned forward to unconsciously grip the steering wheel harder.

This was going to be a very long drive.

* * *

Rus woke up to the sound of his brother not dragging him out of bed.

It was a baffling sound. He opened his eyes and saw that the sun had already climbed some distance up in the sky, ruling out the possibility of it being anywhere near six AM, his normal forced wake-up hour. His blanket was still covering him, instead of being yanked away and prissily folded up to be deposited at the end of his mattress.

Rus idly wondered if most of the house had burned down overnight, leaving only his room intact. Possibly Blue's suspicions had finally paid off and aliens were invading, even now fighting a battle to the death with the assembled household outside. But the lack of shouting and laser sounds pointed towards that not being the case.

Not a lot of other options were coming up to explain why his brother hadn't woken him. Unless...

Rus froze up, then shortcutted directly to his brother's bedroom. A quick glance around at the neatly made bed and absence of passed out skeletons or Instagrammable retail goods was enough evidence to assume that Wine had not been on another basic bender. 

That ruled out his only other explanation. Weird.

Rus blipped back to his own room, before tiredly running a hand down his face. A yellow square stuck to his palm.

Oh. Another forehead sticky note from his brother. Rus had a habit of hoarding papers and notes as an artist, meaning his room was constantly cluttered with them. The only notes that ever grabbed his attention were usually ones adhered directly to his face.

“GONE OUT FOR MOST OF DAY. BEHAVE YOURSELF AND MAKE GOOD CHOICES. LUNCH IN FRIDGE. EAT IT OR ELSE.”

Such a heartwarming message. Rus crumpled the paper up and tossed it on the floor, before falling back down into bed and rolling himself up in the massively, almost absurdly down-filled comforter his brother had given him last Gyftmas, his sudden weight on the overstuffed blanket causing a slow, airy fwoooooosh as the puffed-up comforter settled gradually under him. Curling it around him, the skinny, lanky skeleton resembled a popsicle stick wrapped in a pillow.

Lunch could wait. Possibly until dinner.

* * *

The gleaming luxury sedan sped along the highway out of town, passing other cars easily and making astonishingly good time. Inside, Wine gripped the steering wheel in a death hold and focused every last ounce of his attention on the road in front of him. One eye socket was slightly twitching.

“A crew of drunken pilots...we’re the only airship pirates...” Stretch sang along, feet propped up on the dashboard (after having been forced to begrudgingly take off his crocs. He refused to sit normally and Wine refused to allow shoes on the leather interior). He beat time to the music with his hands against his knees, his socked feet and skinny legs warmed by the sunlight beating down through the windshield.

“Toriel's horns,” Wine muttered furiously under his breath, “Can we not...just...LISTEN TO SOMETHING ELSE?” He only managed to just catch himself before shouting the last words. Stretch stopped drumming and looked up at the ceiling of the car in thought.

“yyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeno,” he finally answered. “but you can turn it down.”

He barely finished speaking before Wine's hand shot out and snapped the volume knob down to almost zero. Wine sighed in instant relief.

“SO,” he said with a forced brightness, “TELL ME, STRETCH: WHY DO YOU HAVE SUCH AN INTEREST IN THIS CONVENTION? OR INDEED, IN THIS GENRE OF NOVEL?”

Stretch opened his mouth to answer, then clacked it closed as he shot a look at Wine.

“no.”

“NO?” Wine parroted back, sparing  a glance to his passenger before refocusing on the drive.

“no, i don't think so,” Stretch repeated, folding his arms across his chest. “you're only asking me in order to get something embarrassing that you can use to make my life miserable later.”

Wine blinked at the dashboard.

“IMPRESSIVE,” he admitted. “ON ANY OTHER DAY, YOU'D BE RIGHT. BUT I ACTUALLY HAVE ANOTHER REASON FOR STRIKING UP CONVERSATION.”

“yeah? what?”

“I'D LIKE TO DROWN OUT-” Wine glared at the stereo system “-THE NEAR-CONSTANT PLAYING OF PIRATE AND PIRATE-ADJACENT MUSIC. JUST FOR A WHILE. JUST FOR MY SANITY.”

Stretch shuffled around in his seat, then sighed.

“i dunno,” he said at last. “i guess because when we were underground, i found a lot of romance books in the trash that came down from the surface. people read through ‘em quickly and then toss ‘em. i used to hang around the dump in waterfall looking for cool things or stuff my bro might like. i picked up some of them and read them on my work breaks and just got hooked. i had no idea what the surface was like and they were just a...really interesting window into the human world.”

He paused in thought.

“gotta admit...i expected the surface to be a hell of a lot more flamboyant than it is. with a lot more fair maidens.”

He jumped as Wine let out an uncharacteristic cry of excitement. Wine was focused ahead on the road, turn signal on, as he guided the car off the highway and towards an exit that held a large sign for the convention center.

“FINALLY!” Wine snapped the stereo off in triumph and relaxed into his seat at the newfound silence. 

Stretch didn't even fight him for further control of the music, instead gluing his face to the passenger window as the large, glass-covered convention center came sparkling into view. Hundreds of cars filled the multitude of parking lots surrounding it and shuttles from various nearby hotels were dropping attendees off at the front doors.

Maneuvering around towards the valet station at the head of one lot, Wine pulled up to the front of the parking area, which was closed off by a simple toll-style barrier. A man in a convention security jacket approached the car and Wine obligingly lowered the driver's window, smiling pleasantly up at him.

“Sorry sir, the parking lots are full,” the man said, or at least had planned to say. But before the window had fully retracted, Wine had retrieved the leather wallet inside his jacket pocket and was already opening it.

“Sorry s-“

“EXCUSE ME, WHERE DO WE PAY FOR PARKING?” Wine instantly asked as the man opened his mouth. The man paused, then tried again.

“Sorry, the lots are all-” the man was once again cut off when a number of bills appeared under his nose.

“THIS IS ENOUGH, CORRECT?” Wine asked, ignoring the large standing sign by the gate that had only been partially covered by a “FULL” notice and still visibly showed the day rates for parking, far below the handful of high-denomination bills Wine was now holding out.

The man looked at Wine, then the money. He took it with a large smile.

“Yep, that's exactly it.” He waved at a worker inside the valet booth, making a pointed gesture towards a distant, cordoned-off lot. Dropping his keys with the man, Wine and Stretch hopped out, gathering their belongings from the back seat.

“I'LL BE SURE TO PAY THE REMAINDER ON MY WAY OUT,” Wine said offhandedly. He affectionately patted the hood of his car with emphasis. An understanding nod passed between him and the valet, who sat down in the driver's seat of Wine's car, but only after placing a paper mat on the floor in front of the seat to protect the carpet from any dirt on his shoes. He drove Wine's car slowly off towards the distant lot, with all the care and speed of an elderly grandmother transporting a shipment of sleeping kittens.

“what was that all about?” Stretch asked as they walked towards the front of the convention center, bags in tow. “you already overpaid the guy.”

“AH YES, BUT ONLY FOR THE PARKING SPOT IN THE OTHERWISE 'FULL' LOT, WHICH YOU SHOULD KNOW IS NEVER FULL IF YOU HAVE THE RIGHT AMOUNT. THE SECOND, FUTURE PAYMENT IS TO ENSURE NOTHING HAPPENS TO MY CAR WHILE IT'S OUT OF MY SIGHT.”

“sheesh. surprised you don't tuck your car in for beddy-byes in the ebbot garage every night.”

“I WOULD IF THE OWNERS OF THE GARAGE DIDN'T KEEP TELLING ME TO STOP.”

Stretch rolled his eyes and hoisted his canvas tote up onto his shoulder, grabbing the door handle and holding it open for Wine. Inside, a rush of cooling air conditioning hit them, as well as the sound of many voices echoing in the high ceilings of the center.

The line for badge registration was snaking around and around in maze-like aisles at the front of the hall, but Wine and Stretch breezed past it to the VIP counter, which had only a handful of attendees waiting to pick up their badges.

Stretch’s expression was typically calm, almost bored with the proceedings, but he was bouncing slightly on his heels in excitement, hands stuffed in his big hoodie pocket as he snuck glances around at the other con-goers. Most were middle-aged women in comfortable tank tops and t-shirts, chatting with each other while they waited. A few younger women wandered in and out of the halls and the occasional husband in tow carried a bag full of books for his wife.

Soon enough, the skeletons were at the front of the line, giving their names and picking up their badges set in little plastic sleeves, hooked to Bodice-Con branded lanyards.

“It's great to see some more guys here,” the older woman across the counter said, handing them each a paper with last-minute programming schedule changes printed on it. “I love how the genre's really opened up to other demographics.”

“heh...yeah, well, you know...” Stretch began to say, then, realizing he had no idea how to finish that sentence, abruptly ended it, looking down at his shoes with newfound interest.

The woman smiled and slid him a convention programming book across the booth counter.

“Are you two...?” she trailed off, smiling more widely while looking back and forth between them. Stretch looked confused and Wine, who was trying to look anywhere else, suddenly whipped his head back towards the conversation.

“WHAT? NO!” he said heatedly, before getting a grip on himself. He gave a polite cough into his fist and stood up straighter, gesturing between himself and Stretch.

“WE'RE RELATED,” he continued in a somewhat quieter tone. “COUSINS.”

“Oh! Oh I see, sorry.” Contrary to her statement, the woman did not look a bit sorry. She waved pleasantly after them as they left the booth...Wine with his hands clutched tightly behind his back and his face a mask of deceptive calm, Stretch with his own mortified face bright red and mostly hidden behind his con booklet, having just now understood the woman's question. Wine ignored him and looked at the crowd of people slowly entering the main convention hall, chattering away as they fixed their badge lanyards, read from the programming guide and swung temporarily empty tote bags at their sides. Quite a few bags had whimsical prints of housecats on them, along with various sassy or pun-centric captions. Some people darted curious looks in the skeletons’ direction. There were a few monsters dotted throughout the crowd, mostly of the bunny or cat persuasion, all of them decidedly feminine. Wine and Stretch seemed to be the only male monsters in attendance.

This was Wine's personal Hell. He was entirely certain of it. Was this truly the price he must pay for a little harmless arson? If he were to maybe, hypothetically, make an impassioned plea towards any currently listening dieties...possibly offer to buy Linda that replacement pergola he had drunkenly promised...would the convention hall kindly burst into a spontaneous fire, necessitating an immediate evacuation and ultimately a drive home? He didn't want to solve all of his problems with fire, but you had to admit, it did a very good job getting rid of things he didn't like.

Wine looked around himself, but no miracles, divine or otherwise, seemed forthcoming. He sighed and let his shoulders slump a bit as he walked into the main convention hall doors...before he was jerked backwards by the elbow.

“wait, wait!” Stretch said, pulling Wine back from the hall entrance and over to the far wall where the restrooms were located. “stay here a sec, i'll be right back.”

Stretch picked up the filled tote bag he'd been carrying and walked off towards the men's room, leaving Wine to lean against the dull blue wall of the con center in frustration.

These were the times that try men's souls.

* * *

Rifling through the fridge back home, Rus found the tupperware container with his name on it in Wine's neat handwriting. Popping the lid off revealed a nicely-arranged lunch consisting of a ham and cheese sandwich, precisely-sliced carrot sticks and mixed berries with yogurt for dessert. Rus smiled fondly at his brother's efforts to never leave him without a thoughtful, balanced lunch to eat.

He stuck the tupperware back in the fridge, grabbed a can of Cool Whip from the door shelf and sprayed it directly into his mouth. Wandering out onto the backyard patio, he continued to eat from the can of dessert topping as he watched Mutt, who was sitting on the lawn.

Mutt had the rat out on the grass to play in the fresh air and sunshine. The tiny skeleton was making the most of his newfound freedom by laying flat on the ground and eating treats, which were being supplied to him as fast as he could swallow them, from a seemingly never-ending bag in Mutt's lap.

Surrounding them on the lawn was a frankly incredible amount of toys, the majority of which seemed to have been purchased more or less at random. There were catnip mice, rawhide bones, a little hamster wheel, balls with bells in them, wood chewing blocks, a fishing line with feathers and a jingle toy attached to one end, pop-up ferret tunnels, not to mention a very large aquarium castle and a little plastic diver.

The only loose connection the items had in common was the fact that they had been expensive.

“s'up,” Rus said, walking over to observe the rat, who was making treats vanish with impressive speed. “where'd all this come from?”

“bought it,” Mutt said, looking visibly happy, a strange sight for the normally aloof skeleton.

“seriously? your bro paid for all this?”

Mutt said nothing, but his smile dropped an inch or two. He darted his eyes up to Rus, then back down to the rat. He rustled the treats bag to unearth more at the bottom, pouring them out into his hand.

“got an arrangement,” he finally replied. “no worries.”

Rus raised a brow, but didn't respond. He shook the now-empty can of Cool Whip in his hand.

“wanna go to king mart?” he asked. “i need a drink.”

“nah,” Mutt replied, pushing a few catnip mice towards the rat, who bit them experimentally. Finding they weren't nearly as edible as the treats, he ignored them.

“what d’you wanna do today?”

“i’m doin’ it,” Mutt said, swapping out the catnip mice for rawhide chew bones, which the rat seemed to show marginally more interest in, briefly chewing the end of one before losing interest.

Rus stood for a moment on the lawn, staring at the rat’s returned attention to the treat bag.

“you just gonna...watch him eat?”

“that's the plan,” Mutt replied, pouring treats directly into the rat's mouth now. “then i gotta set up his house downstairs later.”

“you bought the rat a house?”

“yep. s’got a tiny pool.”

Rus looked baffled, and for a moment turned a bitter look on the rat, who was too busy eating to notice.

“kay. see ya,” he mumbled instead, walking back towards the house. He glanced back over his shoulder at Mutt, hoping for a response. But Mutt was too engrossed in his pet, cooing in delight at the rat's antics in the grass.

Rus sighed and blipped up to his bedroom, walking around the mess of papers and clothes coating the floor. He pulled up the high-backed rolling chair in the corner and sat down to some scattered art supplies on his desk, tapping a chill playlist into his phone and setting it up next to him on a speaker dock.

His room was very nice, under all the mess. Unlike the other lazy brothers, most of whom were content to throw a mattress on the floor and call it a day, Rus’ furniture was minimally tasteful and well-arranged, courtesy of his brother. He had an actual carved wood bed frame (draped in laundry), a chest of drawers (the drawers of which were overflowing with junk), a side table (covered in used drinking cups) and a large corner desk, still somewhat visible under the piles of papers and sketchbooks.

Rus settled down to his latest project. He'd been working on an art piece to post up later that weekend...he maintained a tumblr and instagram for his art.

He didn't have a lot of followers. Some, but not many.

Rus slumped forward on the desk, staring at some sketches he'd taped to the wall in front of him. Nothing seemed to really speak to him today. He hesitantly picked up a mechanical pencil, hovering it over a blank page for a few moments, before irritably putting it down again.

Rus had creative blocks before, but this felt different. He'd often work through them regardless, just sketching and conceptualizing until something hit. But lately it seemed kind of pointless. No matter how hard he worked and how much he posted, he only ever had the same small handful of followers commenting on his art. He just wasn't special enough to stand out the way other artists did. He was run of the mill, at best. The “and that guy too” of every group. Nobody's first choice, nobody's standout memory.

His own brother ditched him today. Even his own...best...guy he hung out with a lot...ditched him today. Rus was even less interesting than a rat who did nothing but eat.

Rus folded his arms under his chin and stared out the nearby window, ostensibly at the large oak tree that grew next to the house. But he was really staring at nothing.

* * *

“Oh my GOD, I love your costume! Can I get a picture real quick? Please?”

Stretch stopped and smiled at the woman holding up her phone expectantly in his direction.

“sure thing, honey,” he answered, and the older woman giggled. She snapped a couple pictures of Stretch posing in his pirate costume. Behind him, Wine stood with Stretch’s bags on his arms, both of their lanyards and badges draped around Wine's neck. He strained one arm up to glance at the watch on his wrist.

This had been happening all morning. They couldn't get three feet without some silly women squealing about Stretch's costume and asking for a picture. They were aware this costume was cheaply mass-produced and could be bought literally anywhere online, right? Did they really need to get an in-person photo of it as if Stretch were the Dalai Lama? Did they need to do so in the middle of the dealers' hall? Did Stretch really need to have that nervous tic where he called every woman “honey” out of habit, making all the frumpy housewives and spinsters giggle like schoolgirls into their hands?

Wine finally got a glance at his watch and almost dropped all the bags in defeat. It had only been two hours. That day when Queen Toriel almost had him beheaded because she'd heard a rumor he was plotting an insurrection...that day had finally been outclassed.

This was now the worst day of Wine's life.

The convention center was crowded, noisy and filled with a majority of women whose main fashion accessories seemed to be comfortable sneakers and an overall coating of pet hair. Wine hadn’t seen any handbags higher on the fashion totem pole than Macy’s clearance section. He was surrounded by aisles and aisles of book and seller stalls, each featuring large, gaudy vinyl banners depicting men in various stages of shirtlessness and women in various stages of swooning. Someone had looked at his royal guard uniform and asked what his “costume” was from, prompting Stretch to intervene and drag him off before Wine had a public meltdown.

He was glad he had to hold all of Stretch’s bags and paraphernalia during every impromptu pirate photo shoot, “so as not to ruin the picture.” It afforded him a convenient reason to slink out of the photo and stand safely off to one side. Wine refused to let any photographic evidence exist of him attending this convention. His reputation would not survive it.

Too late, he realized that he really should have stolen Black’s clothes and dressed as him for this event. Blue would have been a more believable choice, personality-wise, but he couldn’t pass off his scarred visage for Blue’s unmarred, starry-eyed one. Black, on the other hand…

They were the most visually alike, after all. It would have afforded him another layer of protection from humiliation in case of stray photos. Now he had only his wits to rely on.

More than once, Wine’s keen guard instincts saved him from being caught in the background of random strangers’ photos. He had tucked and rolled behind a table a few times, avoiding becoming even a distant, blurry shape in panoramic photos of the crowd taken by staff.

Now he lurked sulkily over near a fake potted plant, halfway behind a promotional banner, as Stretch was bombarded with flashing phone cameras yet again.

“Oh my god, are you like...doing an undead Captain Bayne costume?” a woman in her twenties asked, her eyes shining at Stretch from behind her glasses. “O-oh my god, no offense, not because you're a monster, oh my god...that sounded terrible, sorry, sorry...”

The woman buried her face in her hands in embarrassment, her curly, frizzy hair falling around her shoulders.

“Oh my god, I am so awkward,” she muttered. She only looked up when Stretch laughed good-naturedly.

“nah, it’s okay, honey,” he said, flashing her an uncharacteristically charming smile. “How’s this?”

He tipped his pirate hat rakishly down over one eye and gave a practiced look that had all the best intentions of being smoldering, if not the actual final result.

From behind the potted plant, Wine rolled his eyelights so hard they almost fell out of his head.

The girl in front of Stretch eagerly ate it up, however. Turning red and giggling half-hysterically, she took a number of pictures of Stretch, before thanking him and apologizing profusely again, bumping awkwardly into people and a table behind her as she backed away with a wave before disappearing into the crowd.

This was the best day of Stretch’s life.

The convention was huge, with a million things to do. He'd gone through practically every bookseller's booth and picked up copies of books he'd been trying to track down forever. He'd sat in on some panels about this and that, new series that he was following, old favorites, discussion panels on practically every little minutiae about the genre. There were people here that somehow knew more about his favorite books than he did, which was both incredible and...validating? Like he wasn't that big of a loser to like these books so obsessively?

He wasn't the only person in costume either...loads of women in homemade dresses were here, and their handiwork was amazing. They really knew how to sew, and were more than willing to talk to Stretch about the details of historical clothing. He was embarrassed to think of how little he knew about it, though it was one of the parts he loved to see described in books. His ability to picture them was formerly limited to “big, floofy, ruffly” vague ideas of lovely heroines’ gowns. He always liked how beautiful the maidens in the books sounded in their old-timey dresses, even if he didn’t understand how said old-timey dresses were put together.

Basically, all you had to say was “satin” and “maiden” in the same sentence and you’d have Stretch’s undivided attention for at least the next twenty minutes.

It was also the one singular time when Wine climbed out of his Pit of Eternal Sulking and participated in the conversation. Apparently he had some previously unmentioned passing interest in dressmaking and was happy to discuss stays, panniers and other mysterious devices of fashion.

No one looked down on Stretch's costume for being store-bought either. On the contrary, everyone seemed to want a picture of him, or even with him, like he was one of the beefcake male models the convention had hired to do group photo shoots with laughing, high-fiving attendees in the greeting hall.

He’d never been so popular! His brother had always talked about how amazing it would be to join the royal guard and become popular, but Stretch had never truly understood why Blue wanted that. The prospect of people constantly coming up to talk to him in public seemed awful. Just the thought made him want to hide in his room and take a nap.

This was different, though. Everyone was so nice, everyone liked him, everyone got his costume reference and read his favorite books and understood the dorky joking references he made to the series. Not just understood them, but laughed at them.

This felt like...acceptance. Belonging. Being finally, amazingly, at home among others.

Stretch wanted to bottle this feeling and take home jars and jars of it. Was it too early to start thinking about what other romance cons he could attend? Where there others? Were they nearby? Oh my god, he could make his costume even better. Maybe he could take a couple shifts on Sans’ food truck, save up and get something custom made.

Stretch was still staring into the distance with a smile when Wine rejoined him, tapping on his shoulder.

“SO, ARE WE JUST ABOUT DONE HERE?” He tried not to sound too hopeful as he reshuffled the bags on his arms. “THERE’S PLENTY OF TIME BEFORE THIS MISS HIGHCASTLE DOES HER SIGNING. IN THE MEANTIME, I THOUGHT PERHAPS WE COULD DROP YOUR PURCHASES AT THE CAR, GO OUT AND FIND SOMEWHERE DECENT FOR LUNCH...WHICH WOULD NECESSITATE YOU CHANGING INTO YOUR REGULAR CLOTHES, OF COURSE...”

Wine trailed off as Stretch snapped out of his daydreaming.

“nice try, grandpa,” he replied, grabbing one of his tote bags from Wine’s overloaded arm. “there’s a food court here in the con center. we can go there if you’re hungry.”

The words “food court” might as well have been “death by staple gun” for how horrified Wine looked at the prospect. But before he could complain, he was being once again dragged along by his elbow.

“besides, we have another awesome section of the con to check out!”

“LOVELY,” Wine muttered, his usual reserves of politeness completely exhausted. “BE STILL MY UTTERLY NON-EXISTENT HEART.” He thought of the flask in his jacket, but decided against it. He might need it even more later on...there was still that book signing and “anniversary panel” to endure.

He glanced up as Stretch finally slowed to a halt, in front of a large entrance to another spacious exhibit hall. Stretch was grinning widely at the sign on the easel that sat next to the door. Wine looked over to it as well.

ARTISTS’ ALLEY

“Oh dear god no,” Wine whispered in terror. He froze up and dug his heels into the cheap event carpeting, leaving two sharp trails in it as Stretch dragged him forcefully inside.

Chapter Text

Wine walked through the looming hall with the slow confusion of a disturbed sleepwalker, eyelights darting back and forth at the nightmarish sights and sounds that surrounded him. Sudden high-pitched laughter echoed out of the madness from time to time, causing him to flinch and back away, looking over his shoulder as even more unseen, ghoulish things crowded up from behind.

Twisted, ill-proportioned humanoid shapes leered at him out of the jumble of confused colors and patterns, some engaged in frightening, confusing acts that made a mockery of human intimacy, their bodies contorted with painful anatomical flaws. He searched for something familiar, something that made sense, but nothing surfaced out of the murky mass that hemmed him in on all sides.

The strange, sparse architecture was stretched, non-euclidian and baffling, summoning up a feeling of dread and sickness at the sight of its bent and blurry shapes. Giant, dilated glassy eyes filled with odd reflective spots stared down freakishly at him from the walls through a nauseatingly pink storm of sakura petals. The eyes...the horrible, bulbous, staring, empty eyes...

Wine cowered in fear at the incomprehensible madness that slowly closed in on him, gripping the sides of his skull and squeezing his sockets tight in a desperate effort to block it all out.

“oh my god, it’s just artists alley,” Stretch said, picking up a sketch he’d commissioned and carefully rolling it into a small poster tube in his tote bag. “stop being a drama queen for five minutes.” He stepped away from the commission artist’s table and kept walking through the exhibit hall.

“ART DOES NOT EVEN EXIST IN THIS ROOM!” Wine waved an arm in a sweeping gesture around the hall, as if mere words would never be enough to capture the true horrors. “IF IT DID, ONE OF THESE SAUCER-EYED, CAT-EARED ABOMINATIONS WOULD HAVE LEAPT OUT AND MURDERED IT BY NOW.”

“no one’s asking you to buy anything, wine.”

“PERSPECTIVE AND BACKGROUNDS HAVE BEEN ENTIRELY EXCLUDED FROM THIS GALLERY OF THE DAMNED,” Wine continued, incensed. “AND IN THEIR PLACE WE SEE A MULTITUDE OF HUMANS DRAWN BY HUMANS WHO HAVE APPARENTLY NEVER SEEN HUMANS.”

“WHAT IS THIS?l” he suddenly yelled, jabbing a claw accusingly at an illustrated print of a handsome shirtless man, his jeans unzipped suggestively, that was being displayed on a booth rack. “THIS DOES NOT BELONG IN A PUBLIC AREA! I KNOW I’VE SEEN CHILDREN HERE TODAY!”

“WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN?” he asked of the sky in general.

“sorry, ignore him,” Stretch said to the artist at the booth in question, who had put down their sketchbook in favor of staring at Wine. “his whole thing is that he’s like, a nightmare.”

“Maybe...don’t let him go down that aisle, then,” the artist said slowly, pointed down a row that led in another direction. “That’s the, um, NSFW stuff.”

“WHAT DOES THAT ACRONYM MEAN?” Wine demanded, while Stretch dragged him away by the jacket sleeve.

“it means a lot of little yellow sticky notes covering up various bits of art you will hate, so let’s just keep going the other way while you calm down.”

Wine closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He repeated the action several times.

“MY APOLOGIES,” he said at last, opening his eyes again. “TODAY HAS BEEN A BIT...CHALLENGING. I’M A LITTLE OUT OF MY ELEMENT.”

“i know, buddy,” Stretch said gently.

“I SUPPOSE IT’S A BIT UNFAIR TO JUDGE ARTISTS WHOSE WORK IS APPARENTLY IN GREAT DEMAND AT THIS VENUE.”

“possibly, yeah.”

“I’LL TRY MY BEST NOT TO BE NEGATIVE ABOUT THIS ARTISTICALLY-BANKRUPT DEPRAVITY AND THE PEOPLE WHO PROFIT FROM IT.”

“you’re killing it so far.”

“THANK YOU. IF YOU DON’T MIND, I THINK I’LL JUST WALK WITH MY EYES ON THE FLOOR.”

Wine looked down to observe the shoes of passersby, all of which were some variation of Brand X comfy sneaker, $22.99 with Amazon Prime.

“I THINK I’LL STARE AT THE CEILING,” he amended.

“dunno why you have such a problem with this kind of art,” Stretch wondered aloud as they walked. “rus has a tumblr and does lots of fan art for it. he probably draws this sorta thing all the time.”

Wine stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily frozen. He put a hand in his jacket pocket.

“BE RIGHT BACK,” he said to Stretch, before bolting away.

*     *     *

At home in the living room, Rus was slumped down on the comfortable couch, feet propped on the coffee table, surrounded by a hoard of snacks and two-liter bottles of soda. Slowly eating a pile of gummi bears off his chest without putting down his controller, he played a video game on the big television.

His phone rang in his pocket. Grumbling, Rus reluctantly paused his game and took his phone out, tapping answer when he saw the caller ID.

“hey bro, what-“

“YOU ARE NO LONGER ALLOWED TO BE AN ARTIST, PAPYRUS!” Wine’s voice bellowed through the phone, causing Rus to wince and hold it away from his head. “I’M SIGNING YOU UP FOR PIANO LESSONS ON MONDAY!”

“AND YOU’D BETTER EAT LUNCH!” was the last thing heard before the sound of Wine hanging up.

Puzzled, Rus looked at his phone, before eventually stuffing it back in his pocket. Reaching over to the table, he grabbed a bag of sour candies and settled back into the couch, pouring them out onto his shirt, just under his chin. 

Poking the candies one at a time into his mouth with his tongue, he unpaused his game.

*     *     *

Wine pocketed his phone and stepped back out from between two booths, looking around for Stretch in the throng of people milling up and down the artist alley aisles. Over the heads of the crowd, he spotted the white plume of ostrich feather on Stretch’s pirate hat and soon rejoined him.

“SORRY, HAD TO MAKE A QUICK CALL. WHAT IS THIS?”

Wine looked up in puzzlement at the booth Stretch was standing squarely in front of with an excited shine in his eyes. The booth was staffed solely by a large bearded man, who was folding and stacking what appeared to be white sheets or towels of some kind.

“WHAT ARE THESE?” Wine nudged Stretch, who snapped back to reality and gestured at the booth.

“daki pillow cases,” he answered. Wine frowned.

“YOU WANT TO BUY PILLOWCASES? CAN WE NOT DO THAT AT HOME? IS THAT SOMETHING WE REALLY NEEDED TO COME HERE FOR?”

“these’re special ones.”

Wine cast a look over the booth in question, leaning slightly forward to examine a folded-up pillow case in a plastic bag that sat piled with the others on the tabletop.

“AMAZED AS I AM THAT YOU ACTUALLY USE PILLOWCASES LIKE A CIVILIZED PERSON, I’M STILL CONFUSED AS TO WHY YOU WANT TO BUY SOME. WE ALREADY HAVE PLENTY.” 

“not like you to shy away from stuffing the hall closet with more household junk,” Stretch countered. “how many dining room tablecloths do we need when we only have one dining room table?”

“WE HAVE DIFFERENT TABLECLOTHS FOR DIFFERENT OCCASIONS, BECAUSE WE’RE NOT HEATHENS,” Wine replied, casting a suffering look skyward as if this were all too obvious. He reached forward and flipped one of the pillow case packs over to see the price tag.

“pal, you have put more tablecloths into that closet than there are fish in the sea. don’t even get me started on the cloth napkins that no one uses, or is allowed to use. this is an intervention. you have a problem.”

“MY ONLY PROBLEM IS THAT I LIVE WITH NINE PEOPLE WHO WOULD BE CONTENT TO EAT OFF AN ABANDONED FRONT DOOR BALANCED ON STACKS OF CEMENT BLOCKS.” Wine stood up straight and clasped his hands behind his back resolutely, eyes still casually taking in the booth. “THE LEAST I CAN DO IS MAKE SURE IT’S COVERED IN SOMETHING HALFWAY DECENT.”

Stretch held his hand up to his ear like an imaginary phone, the other hand signaling not to interrupt his pretend call. “shhhh, this is for the best, wine. i’m signing you up for a linens-anon meeting.”

“Linens Anon sounds like the medieval version of Bed, Bath and Beyond,” the man at the dakimakura booth put in, clearly enjoying the conversation that was taking place in front of him while he rearranged his booth stock.

“oh god, it does. hark and come gettest thou a bushel of savings during our feast of st. olaf 
holiday sale!”

“A crusade of bargains awaits! Live thee like a lord at serf prices!”

“i’m too lower-class to shop at linens anon. i have to shop the pirate outlet store, tarps ahoy.”

“Verily may you obtain a bountiful stock of wares for the whole of thy fiefdom at Ye Bigge Lottes.”

Stretch and the man laughed hysterically. Wine tapped his heeled boot on the floor with restrained impatience.

“VERY NICE, WELL DONE. IF WE MIGHT MOVE THIS ALONG...WHAT EXACTLY IS THE PURPOSE OF A BED LINEN BOOTH AT A BOOK CONVENTION? AND MAY I ASK WHY THE PILLOWS HAVE CARTOONS ON THEM?”

“Dakimakuras,” the large man elaborated, holding up a bagged pillow case. “Dakis for short. They’re specialty pillow cases for body pillows. People collect ones with their favorite characters on ‘em, usually anime stuff, but not always.”

Wine looked critically at the pillow case held up in front of him, unimpressed.

“COLLECTORS CRAWL INTO BED WITH...CARTOON PILLOW PEOPLE?” he asked at last, one brow raised delicately. “HOW DISTRESSING.”

A vibration in his pocket had Wine looking down to retrieve his phone. He tapped Answer and held it to the side of his head.

“LIKE TWO BOTTLES OF WINE AND A LIFETIME OF REGRETS IS ANY BETTER?!” Black’s voice erupted from the speaker. An abrupt click followed and the line went dead. Wine stared at the phone in his hand, mystified.

“I’D LIKE TO KNOW HOW HE DOES THAT,” he said at last.

“you got any tales of longing?” Stretch asked the man in the booth, who crouched down and rummaged in some boxes under the table. He came up at last with a crinkly package, shaking the contents out of it.

“Got one Cassandra left, but no Captain Baynes, so don’t even ask,” he chuckled, spreading the pillowcase out on the table for inspection. Stretch pounced on it in a flash, grinning so wide his face practically split in half. He carefully smoothed out the long pillow case to admire the life-size artwork on it.

“AND WHO IS THIS WOMAN?” Wine asked, critically examining the redheaded beauty that decorated the pillowcase spread in front of them. She was depicted on the fabric as if she were lying on white sheets in a lilac-colored dressing gown covered in frills, her masses of fiery hair fanned out around her, a demure smile on her face.

The man behind the booth table pointed to a small Tales of Longing book cover poster tacked up among others on the side of the booth’s outer wall. 

“she’s cassandra fairheart,” Stretch jumped in to explain, a gleam in his eyes as he launched into his favorite topic. “she’s sort of the main character of the tales of longing series, along with captain bayne. i mean, aside from some of the spin-off books and the prequel series and a mini-arc that starred her sister vivienne, but those books really aren’t as good as the main series and lot of people don’t even think they were truly meant to be canon because cassandra never mentioned she had a sister until that arc started and if you read between the lines it almost seems like an alternate universe version of cassandra herself which might be why-“ 

Stretch abruptly stopped talking, mostly because Wine’s gloved hand was over his mouth. Wine closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.

“SO SHE IS THE HEROINE OF THAT BOOK SERIES YOU ENJOY SO WELL,” he summed up, removing his hand slowly from Stretch’s face. “UNDERSTOOD. AND YOU’D LIKE TO OWN A GIANT PILLOW CASE WITH HER IMAGE PRINTED ON IT.”

“that’s the idea, yeah,” Stretch said, picking up the pillow case to examine the pixel quality of the printing before looking around at the stock behind the booth owner. “do you guys carry the pillows too, or just the cases?”

“MUCH AS I DON’T WANT TO ASK THIS BECAUSE WE HAVE TO LIVE IN THE SAME HOUSE AND EAT OFF OF THE SAME PLATES,” Wine interjected, as the bearded man hooked and pulled down a sizable body pillow in a plastic bag from a pile on top of a display shelf, “WHY DO YOU—WHY DOES ANYONE—WANT TO OWN A PILLOW OF THESE CHARACTERS? A PERSON-SIZED PILLOW?”

He glared at Stretch.

“IT’S FOR SORDID REASONS, ISN’T IT,” he hissed accusingly.

“oh my god, just stop,” Stretch moaned, dropping the pillowcase on the table and turning to pull Wine away from the booth for a moment. They stood a few feet from the dakimakura booth, out of the path of foot traffic, as Stretch attempted to explain.

“look, people buy them because everybody buys them. it’s a thing people do because it’s funny and dorky and it’s a way of showing you stan a certain character.”

“STAN?” Wine echoed in disgust. “IF I CATCH YOU STANNING ANY INANIMATE OBJECTS WHILE IN THE HOUSE, I WILL TELL YOUR BROTHER. THEN I WILL SANITIZE ALL THE DOORKNOBS YOU’VE TOUCHED.”

“it means you’re a fan of something!” stretch groaned, running a hand down his face in frustration. “stop being weird, all of this is just a thing people do because they want to alleviate occasional back pain with sleeping position support and simultaneously simp for their waifu!”

Wine scowled, eyes narrowing at Stretch as he crossed his arms.

“THIS IS ONE OF THOSE MEMES, ISN’T IT?” he said. “THE INTERNET ONES?”

“yes, boomer, it’s a meme,” Stretch sighed. “and stop complaining about every little thing around here. i said you had to come with me today, but nobody’s forcing you to understand or like it.”

“I DOUBT I COULD BE MADE TO DO EITHER OF THOSE THINGS UNDER EVEN THE MOST UNETHICAL OF TORTURES,” Wine huffed. “FINE, GO BUY YOUR AMANDA MEME PILLOW.”

“cassandra,” stretch said hotly, “her name is cassandra. don’t be a jerk on purpose.”

“OH I DO APOLOGIZE,” Wine smiled. “I WOULD NEVER SPEAK ILL OF YOUR BEDDING. PLEASE, DON’T FORGET TO INVITE ME TO THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY. I KNOW A LOVELY COUCH CUSHION I CAN BRING AS MY PLUS ONE.”

“wine,” stretch warned. 

“TELL ME, HAVE YOU AND CASSANDRA PLANNED FOR THE WEDDING TO BE HELD ENTIRELY IN THE LAND OF MAKE-BELIEVE, OR WILL GUESTS LATER RELOCATE TO A RECEPTION HALL IN THIS WORLD?”

“we wanted to wait until after you and linda pick a venue,” Stretch snapped back, instantly being rewarded with a fire blazing in Wine’s eyes.

“YOU RETRACT THAT AT ONCE,” Wine whispered darkly, fists clutched at his side.

“what, the wedding gift? i haven’t even hit up linda’s wishlist yet, sorry. you guys are registered at target, right?”

Wine shot a poisonous glare at Stretch, who continued to look nonchalantly about himself, ready to play this game all day if necessary.

“god knows you obsess over that woman every single day,” he continued. “did fining her thousands of dollars really not get her attention? you had to burn her house down too? she’s seriously playing hard to get.”

Wine, already nearing his breaking point from half a day of convention horrors, was practically vibrating with rage. Suddenly, his eyes darted over Stretch’s shoulder and he instantly relaxed, assuming his usual comfortably proper posture with his hands clasped behind his back.

“SPEAKING OF HARD TO GET, IT LOOKS LIKE YOUR LADY IS OFF THE MARKET ENTIRELY,” he replied with a smile.

Stretch whipped his head around to the body pillow booth, only to see another attendee putting the Cassandra pillow case in their tote bag and walking away, while the booth owner counted out some dollar bills from the transaction.

“no, no, no!” stretch moaned. “that was the last one!”

“PITY, SHE SEEMED LIKE SUCH A NICE GIRL.” Wine’s smugness was entirely off the charts, soaring skyward into purely theoretical numbers. He held his head high and pretended to appraise an anime art print hanging on display at the booth next to him.

“THIS MAN IS SUFFERING FROM SOME TERRIBLE ILLNESS,” he noted to himself as he looked the print over critically. “I THINK THE MOST DEBILITATING SYMPTOM IS AN OVERABUNDANCE OF ABS.”

Behind him, Stretch was silently fuming at Wine’s back, his eyes darting around the artist’s alley in anger, looking for something, anything…

His eyes landed on it in the distance.

“all right, let’s go,” he said abruptly, snatching up Wine’s elbow and steering him down an aisle towards the back of the exhibit hall.

“DONE ALREADY?” Wine beamed at him as they walked. “SURELY WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIND YOU A BETTER SUBSTITUTE FOR THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY. HOW ABOUT A NICE, DOWN-TO- EARTH GIRL ON A HANDKERCHIEF?”

“keep talking, grandpa,” Stretch muttered grimly as he more or less dragged Wine to the far exit of the hall.

“OH SURE, SHE MAY NOT BE AS GLAMOROUS AS SOME DAMSEL ON A GIANT PILLOW, BUT SHE’LL ALWAYS BE THERE FOR YOU. IN YOUR POCKET, NEXT TO YOUR KEYS.”

Wine’s quiet laughter at his own merciless teasing gradually died in his throat when he became aware of what they were heading toward. He tried to stop dead in his tracks, but Stretch grabbed both his arms from behind in one quick motion and practically frogmarched Wine in front of him.

“OH NO...NO, NO, NO, I FORBID IT!”

“my trip, my rules,” Stretch reminded him, a joyless smirk plastered on his face. Wine squirmed, but the many bags and totes hanging on his arms weighed him down clumsily and made wrestling his arms from Stretch’s grip impossible.

“I WAS ONLY HAVING A LITTLE FUN!” he insisted. “I’LL BUY YOU ANOTHER MEME PILLOW ONLINE WHEN WE GET HOME!”

“not happening,” Stretch said. He finally stopped in front of the entrance to a side hall that joined up at the back of Artist’s Alley. There was the usual metal easel with a large sign at the door.

PHOTOSUITE

Shoving Wine into the large hall in front of him, the two skeletons looked around at the photoshoot sets that had been built for attendees to have their portraits taken on, mimicking several classic covers of romance books. There was a fake romantic forest with a mountainous backdrop, a galleon ship’s helm, a lavish corner of a parlour room with velvet antique sofas…and a gaudy, gilded bedroom featuring a giant four-poster bed draped in pink satin.

Stretch grinned and tightened his grip on Wine, pushing him slowly toward the bedroom set. Wine’s eyes grew wide with fear as he thrashed in the taller skeleton’s hold.

“OKAY, TWO MEME PILLOWS!” he yelled in desperation.

Stretch stared around himself at all the sets as he walked. Honestly, in his opinion, they looked nice. The forest was very fake-looking, naturally. But the parlour and bedroom sets? Really pretty. Lots of gold details and fabrics and antique furniture and stuff. 

He might, in a drunken stupor, on a dare, with absolutely no other living souls within earshot, possibly quietly admit that he would like to have a bedroom like that. Not so many flowers and all that, but sort of romantic and old-timey. Assuming he had a girlfriend with which to share it. Would be kind of silly otherwise.

And he was dying to get on that pirate ship set. No way was he leaving the con without a photo of himself on that thing. It was just too perfect.

Wine, on the other hand, was screaming internally as he was shoved towards what had to be the single most horrific bedroom ever assembled, his eyelights contracted to mere crimson pinpricks and darting around frantically at the terrifying scene before him. The queen-size bed had white-painted spiral columns at each post, wrapped in fake ivy garlands and topped with clusters of fake pink and white roses. There were swaths of cheap polyester pink satin fabric artlessly looped around the top, clashing almost gleefully with the fake fur throw and overdone goldtone damask bedspread, itself a hellish mishmash of metallic thread patterns and swirls, edged with gold tassel trim. A million overstuffed, ruffled pillows vied for real estate at the head of the bed and the walls of the “room” had been covered in a lavender fabric. A fake window was mounted on the wall behind the bed, drowning in cheap white organza that made up the curtain coverings. Wine felt physically ill just looking at it.

Vases with more randomly-arranged artificial roses were scattered about, no doubt sent by mourners and loved ones to this, the very public funeral for the death of Good Taste.

Everything had been liberally sprayed with gold paint. Everything.

Wine remembered the flask in his jacket. Was now the time? He really felt that now was the time. 

Steel yourself, man, he thought grimly. There’s still the signing and anniversary panel yet to come.

Damn convention venues for banning public drinking on the premises! Why hadn’t he just brought some bottles of wine, left them in the car and then sneaked out periodically to get a drink throughout the day?

Wine started suddenly at the thought. Good lord, did he actually have a drinking problem?

No. No, of course not. That would mean Black was right about something and Black was never right about anything. It was one of the few comforting constants of the universe.

“okay, let’s get a nice picture for the scrapbook,” Stretch declared, giving Wine one final shove that had him momentarily stumbling towards the bed.

“I CATEGORICALLY REFUSE TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED AT THIS EVENT,” he hissed, whirling around and dumping the bags on his arms at Stretch’s feet. “NO DISCUSSIONS. DO NOT PUSH YOUR LUCK, STRETCH.”

“luck or leverage?” Stretch mused aloud, a hand to his chin. He strolled past the fuming Wine and leaned against the wall of the set, next to a gold-painted side table supporting a plaster vase decorated with cherubs. “pretty sure it’s leverage. and we agreed that we’ll do what i want to do.”

“THEN BY ALL MEANS, YOU SIT ON THIS VOMITOUS FURNITURE AND LET THE WORLD COMMIT THE SIGHT TO FILM AS IF IT’S SOMETHING TO REMINISCE OVER, RATHER THAN A DARK STAIN ON ONE’S PAST THAT ONE CAN NEVER FULLY ERASE.” 

“they don’t use film, dad.” Stretch rolled his eyes. “they have digital cameras.”

“Hey there!”

A volunteer appeared from around the corner of one set, carrying a clipboard. The woman was dressed in a roomy purple sweatshirt with a colorful illustration of a puppy in a flower basket printed on the front, a PHOTOSUITE staff badge hanging around her neck. “Did you guys want to take some pictures in the bedroom set?”

“MY COUSIN DOES,” Wine smirked and childishly pointed at Stretch, who visibly shrank away from the florid, gaudy four-poster bed.

“no, uh, nah, that’s okay…” he muttered, moving to stick his hands in his hoodie pocket, before realizing he wasn’t wearing it and awkwardly crossing his arms instead.

Wine, seeing the usual reserved Stretch reappear for the first time in hours, seized his opportunity for revenge. He sat down on the gold damasked, overstuffed bedding, folding one leg over the other primly and patting a twisting, gilded column of the post frame.

“YOU KNOW, MY DEAR,” he began, flashing the volunteer a charming smile that had her smiling back (and for a brief moment, wishing she’d worn makeup that day), “IF MY COUSIN HAD A BEDROOM LIKE THIS, HE MIGHT ACTUALLY CLEAN IT ONCE IN A WHILE.”

The woman laughed along as Wine chuckled at Stretch, who was now standing with his hands shoved inside the large sleeves of his pirate coat, glaring at both of them.

“cute,” he said icily. Wine smiled wider.

“OF COURSE IT WOULD HARDLY BE YOUR DREAM ROOM WITHOUT A SHELF FOR YOUR LITTLE HORSEY TOYS, WOULD IT?”

Wine made a horizontal gesture towards the wall to indicate where a shelf might go, before turning his eyes back to Stretch.

Stretch had frozen up and was staring at Wine in horror, mouth slightly open.

“what….um….what’re you…how...” he finally got out. Enjoying Stretch’s fearful expression, Wine waved a hand dismissively towards the distance.

“OH, YOU KNOW,” he replied vaguely, before turning to the photosuite volunteer, who was watching the conversation with interest.

“HIS OLDER BROTHER TOLD ME ONCE THAT MY COUSIN JUST ADORED A TATTERED COPY OF BLACK BEAUTY WHEN HE WAS SMALL,” Wine said cheerfully. “DRAGGED THAT BOOK EVERYWHERE WITH HIM. ISN’T THAT SWEET?”

“Awww, that’s so cute!” the woman trilled, smiling at Stretch, who was now trying to sink into the collar of his costume jacket, his face bright red.

“YES, I UNDERSTAND HE HAD A QUITE A FEW OF THOSE SORT OF...HORSEY BOOKS.” Wine turned on the edge of the bed to fully face Stretch, who was trying to disappear into the cheap pink satin of the hanging curtains trailing down the wall behind him.

“DIDN’T YOU ALSO HAVE A LITTLE COLLECTION OF THOSE PLASTIC HORSE TOYS? THE ONES WITH VELVET FLOCKING ON THEM?”

“Oh yeah, I had a bunch of those when I was a kid too!” the woman put in. 

“I CAN SEE NOW WHY HE ENDED UP GRAVITATING TO THIS CONVENTION’S GENRE OF NOVELS.”

“Yep, true, true,” the woman nodded sagely at Wine. “Horsey books are a gateway drug to romance novels.”

She jumped slightly as Stretch came stomping in front of her, having grabbed Wine by the arm and now dragging him away forcefully, bags and totes snatched up and carried with difficulty in the other hand. Just outside the photosuite, he finally halted and wheeled around on Wine, his face furious.

“what is your problem?” he hissed, dropping all his bags angrily and pointing at the smaller skeleton. Wine gave a sharp-toothed grin and held both arms out to the side in confusion.

“DON’T YOU WANT ME TO GET INVOLVED WITH ALL THIS?” he smiled. “YOU SEEM SO HAPPY TO BE IN YOUR ELEMENT. I THOUGHT WE MIGHT BOND A BIT OVER YOUR INTERESTS.”

“no you don’t,” Stretch spat at him. “you want to humiliate me and ruin the entire day because you’re mad you had to come and you can’t just suck it up and be an adult about it.”

“I’M NOT AN ADULT?” Wine was incredulous, all teasing thrown aside in favor of finally venting his frustrations. “I’M NOT THE ONE PRANCING ABOUT IN SILLY COSTUMES. I’M NOT THE ONE MAKING SMALL TALK ABOUT FLORID FANTASY BOOKS WITH LOVE-STARVED MAIDEN AUNTS AND NAIVE TEEN GIRLS.”

Stretch opened his mouth to protest, but Wine quickly cut him off.

“I’M NOT THE ONE WHO WANTS TO SPEND ACTUAL MONEY ON A RIDICULOUS PILLOW WITH A DRAWING OF AN IMAGINARY WOMAN ON IT! I’M THE ACTUAL ADULT HERE, WHILE YOU ARE BEHAVING LIKE AN EMBARRASSINGLY FOOLISH, CHILDISH...little…”

Wine trailed off. Stretch was staring at the floor, shoulders slumped, his eyes sad and heavy...looking very much like someone else in that moment. 

Wine swallowed hard.

*     *     *

“THIS IS WHAT YOU’VE BEEN MAKING WITH THE ART SUPPLIES I BOUGHT YOU?” Wine scoffed, examining the comic book-style drawing that had been handed to him. “HONESTLY, I EXPECTED BETTER. THIS SORT OF THING ISN’T REAL ART. I’M SIGNING YOU UP FOR LESSONS WITH AN INSTRUCTOR, HAVE THEM GO OVER A SOLID FOUNDATIONAL CURRICULUM, SO YOU CAN LEARN ACTUAL CREATIVE TECHNIQUES. THE FIRST LESSON SHOULD DEFINITELY BE ON PROPER PROPORTIONS…”

Wine looked up from the drawing to see his little brother’s eyes were cast down at the floor, threatening to fill with tears, his hands fidgeting with the hood strings on his yellow and black sweatshirt. Wine hastily put the drawing down on a nearby table and made a grab for his brother’s skinny shoulders to comfort him.

“NO, NO...PAPYRUS, I DIDN’T MEAN THAT! YOU DID A GOOD JOB, REALLY...I ONLY MEANT…”

Rus managed to dodge Wine’s grasp, shortcutting away to somewhere and leaving Wine alone in the dingy kitchen of Sans’ Ebbot City apartment, where they had been staying for the last month after the machine brought them to this world. 

Wine sighed and picked up the colorful homemade drawing that Rus had brought to show him, looking at it for a long time.

Finally, he crossed the small kitchen in a few strides. Plucking a plastic fruit magnet from the front of the refrigerator, he stuck Rus’s drawing to it, carefully smoothing out the paper sheet.

*     *     *

“I...I DIDN’T MEAN THAT, STRETCH,” Wine backpedaled. “EVEN IF I DON’T...REALLY UNDERSTAND YOUR HOBBIES AND INTERESTS, THEY’RE STILL YOUR OWN. I PROMISE I WON’T COMPLAIN ANY MORE.”

Stretch said nothing, merely shrugging and crossing his arms, looking to the side. 

“I’M BEING SINCERE,” Wine tried again. “LOOK, WE CAN GO BACK IN AND I’LL TELL THAT WOMAN THAT I MADE ALL THOSE STORIES UP, IF THAT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.”

He pulled at Stretch’s pirate coat sleeve, trying to cajole him back to the Photosuite.

“COME ON. I’LL EVEN BUY YOU A NICE PORTRAIT OF YOURSELF ON THAT SHIP SET.”

“promise?” Stretch was wary, but Wine gave his most solemn look.

“I DO. SO LONG AS I DON’T HAVE TO BE IN IT. COME NOW, DON’T SULK OR THE DAY REALLY WILL BE RUINED.”

Stretch thought for a moment, then picked up most of the bags, slowly making his way back into the photosuite hall. 

Wine breathed a sigh of relief, scooping up the remaining bags and following after him.

“WHY DON’T YOU SHORTCUT HOME AND TAKE THESE BAGS TO YOUR ROOM?” Wine suggested as he caught up to Stretch. “THEY’RE VERY CUMBERSOME.”

“yeah, i guess,” Stretch relented. They both stopped just inside the door of the Photosuite behind a photography backdrop on a stand, arranging all the bags in Stretch’s arms.

“be right back,” he said. “hold my hat for a minute.” He pushed the wide captain’s hat into Wine’s hands.

“WAIT, CAN YOU-“ 

But Stretch had already disappeared with a lazy smile, leaving Wine to drop the arm he had extended. He snapped his fingers in irritation. 

Should have asked him to bring back a bottle of wine…

“Yeah, there were two a minute ago, but they left.”

Wine started at the sudden voice on the other side of the canvas backdrop. He turned to walk around to the other side where the photosuite volunteer was apparently speaking to another staffer.

“One of them was...you know…”

“Ugh. The weird kind?”

Wine stopped dead, listening intently from behind the canvas to the two women.

“Yeah, pretty much. Dorky guy in a costume, should’ve taken that to a comic book con or something, not here. Guys like that are the worst.”

There was a rustling of papers on a clipboard, as the second volunteer sighed.

“I know, I just go hide in the break room when they come by. It’s like, sorry this is the only place you fit in, but I can’t listen to you talk my ear off about whatever series you’re into right now. This is a chick con, go be weird elsewhere.”

The first volunteer hummed thoughtfully.

“I try not to judge, but seriously. At least don’t wear a costume, you stand out so bad. Get your girlfriend to come with you next time.”

“You think that guy’s got a girlfriend? Seriously? Wow, that’s really a thing you said out loud.” The second volunteer laughed, eventually joined in by the first.

Wine’s fists were balled up so tightly that his claws were almost piercing the palms of his gloves. They were talking about his brother. Cousin. Whatever.

His family.

He was going to ruin these women. Finding their supervisor and getting them booted from the convention would be a pleasant start, but hardly a fitting punishment. Finding out where they lived and how flammable their houses were, on the other hand…

He really needed to analyze why he wanted to set so many things on fire. It was starting to seem unhealthy.

A quiet, choked sound came from behind him.

Wine looked over his shoulder to see Stretch had already returned and had been standing there for some time. He was staring miserably at the floor. His eye sockets were rimmed with tears. 

Wine quickly reached out for him, but Stretch vanished, reappearing with a stumble several yards away in front of the exit to artists alley, before running clumsily inside and disappearing into the crowd.

Chapter Text

The sellers’ hall at Bodice-Con was noisy and ringing with the chatter and laughter of convention-goers browsing just after lunchtime. Women of all ages bought and sold romance novels and fiction books, posters, t-shirts, toys, jewelry, art and trinkets. The halls were packed with casual fans and die-hard enthusiasts alike, dressed in comfortable sweatpants and lugging canvas tote bags filled with purchases.

Parting through the sea of people came a skeleton carrying a pirate hat.

Striding purposefully through the convention center’s halls, Wine’s head never stopped scanning left and right, his eyelights darting all about himself, taking note of every detail, every possible secluded area. He snaked through the crowd of attendees, casting glances over to inspect every booth and table with military efficiency, before moving on. Combing the building from one end to the other, he mentally eliminated each quadrant in his search. His heeled boots clicked relentlessly across the floor, the tails of his deep red scarf swaying from side to side behind him.

“Oh my god, I love your costume! Lemme get a pictu- HEY!” Wine calmly grabbed the phone of the woman who had stuck it in his face, tossing it away over his shoulder without looking back or slowing down. He was a man on a mission.

Somewhere in the con center was a sad skeleton and Wine was going to find him.

“Sorry dude, you gotta go around this area while we set up fo-“ The volunteer who had turned to wave the skeleton aside suddenly had his face grabbed and his head roughly shoved out of the way, staggering against a pillar while Wine kept walking in a straight line through the only partially roped-off atrium.

He was going to find Stretch and console him, buy him lunch, buy him a new meme pillow and matching meme sheets...

Two volunteers, engaged in carrying a sofa out of the way of a setup area for a meet-and-greet, paused to watch the stone-faced skeleton heading towards them. Without breaking stride, Wine stepped up, onto and over the sofa they were carrying, landing on the other side and continuing onward.

...hell, he’d even buy Stretch a pony if he wanted one. He probably still liked horses, right?

There was a large piece of stand-up signage temporarily dragged over to block the meet and greet far entrance, a colorful printed Bodice-Con banner mounted on a tall plastic frame.

A loud pop and Wine’s gloved fist appeared in the middle of it, followed by the rest of him as he strode through the paper banner with an audible ripping sound. He reached into his jacket pocket on the way through, letting a fistful of cash fall on the floor in front of the ruined banner as he walked away down the hall.

“What are you doing?” a volunteer in an orange security vest shouted, running up towards Wine. “You can’t just wreck the signs like that!”

“I PAID FOR IT,” Wine said, not stopping to look as the man jogged up alongside him.

“What? That’s not...you can’t just, we...who do you think you are?” The man darted in front of Wine to block his way, before suddenly finding himself grabbed by the collar and held up high enough that he had to stand on his toes.

Wine put the pirate hat he’d been carrying onto his own head.

“I’M A PIRATE,” he growled in a dangerously low tone. “GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY.”

*     *     *

“Who wants another salmon?”

“Right here, I'm starving.”

“One more please, Edge?” Amanda called across the lawn. Standing at the grill, Edge waved his spatula at them and added more fish to the rack. Book club was being held at the monster house today, which had more or less turned into a late lunch on the grill and drinks on the patio.

The girls gathered around the deck table, idly going through a bottle or two of Wine's private cabernet that Edge had liberated from the pantry. For some reason Wine had been gone all day, which was a good enough excuse to raid his alcohol stash.

“Doesn't he like, work from home?” Dana asked, staring tipsily at the wine bottle on the table in front of her.

“WINE SOMETIMES GOES DOWNTOWN FOR MEETINGS,” Edge replied, walking up to the table with a platter of food. “BUT AS TODAY ISN'T A WEEKDAY, WHO KNOWS WHERE HE IS. ONLY HIS BROTHER IS HOME AT THE MOMENT.”

“Is your brother home?” Margaret asked. “I don't think we ever got to meet him at the party.”

Edge sat up a little stiffly in his chair. “Y-YES,” he said slowly. “BUT LIKELY LAYING ABOUT AS USUAL! HIS INDOLENCE KNOWS NO LIMITS.”

“Awww, I wanna meet your brother,” Amanda cooed. “Is he older or younger?”

“older,” Edge muttered, almost inaudibly. “BUT SA-RED IS FAR LESS ACCOMPLISHED THAN I AM!”

“REDDDD!” Candice drunkenly bellowed up at the second-story windows on the back of the house, “COME DOWWWWN! WE HAVE FOOD! AND BOOZE!”

The girls giggled hysterically. A bedroom window was slowly raised and Red's tired face poked out of it.

“the hell's that?”

“Red!” Candice shouted gleefully. “Come down and have lunch!” She waved her glass enthusiastically at him, sloshing red wine across the patio. Red scowled at her and pulled his head back inside, closing the window as a chorus of disappointed boos came up from the patio. Edge put his drink down and stood up.

“JUST A MOMENT, GIRLS.” He walked quickly into the house.

Upstairs, Red's bedroom door banged open and Edge stood glaring through it at the skeleton laying on the messy bed in a tshirt and boxers.

“SANS! ARE YOU COMING DOWN FOR LUNCH OR NOT?”

“wait, they were serious?” Red put down the car magazine he'd been reading to stare at his little brother. “i thought they was just bein' weird. or drunk. or drunk an' weird.”

Edge sighed, folding his arms and tapping one boot crossly.

“IT WOULD NOT KILL YOU TO JUST MEET THEM,” he huffed.

“ya, you'd think that, but i've seen that dana chick during yer training. She's got a mean right hook.”

“SANS!”

Red sat up, rubbing his forehead. “bro, i wanna...meet yer book club. course i do. just kinda busy right n-”

“NO YOU AREN'T,” Edge immediately snapped. “YOU DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH THEM. THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I'VE BROUGHT THEM OVER TO VISIT, AND YOU ALWAYS HAVE A REASON TO AVOID THEM.”

He stared at the floor, ignoring the messy piles of clothes and fast food wrappers scattered across it.

“THEY'RE MY...FRIENDS. MAYBE YOU DON'T LIKE THEM, BUT I DO.”

“i...yeah,” Red sat up on the edge of his mattress. “sorry, boss. i'll, i'll give 'em a chance.”

Edge waited, but Red didn't move.

“wait, like...i gotta give 'em a chance right now? today?”

“YES!” Edge exploded. “THAT'S WHY I CAME UP HERE!”

“a'right, a'right, fine,” Red waved him away. “i'll do it, just lemme get dressed.” He slowly stood up from his bed and blearily glanced around for wherever he had thrown his jacket.

Edge seemed to lighten up a bit, turning on his heel and pulling the door closed behind him.

“AND DO NOT EMBARRASS ME!” he added before slamming the door shut. Red winced at the loud bang, then frowned at the wall.

He had been putting off meeting the girls. He didn't like them. They weren't good enough company for his little brother and he was pretty sure they were a bad influence. But...

*     *     *

“How is your brother doing lately?” Priya asked, assembling some small corner pieces to the jigsaw puzzle that lay on the table between her and Red.

“nngh,” came the non-committal answer. Red searched for more blue pieces to add to his pile. “still hangin' out wit' that...book club.”

His therapist nodded sympathetically.

“I know you aren't thrilled with his choice of friends,” she said slowly. “But you've also told me that Edge is much happier these days. More productive and involved with the household as well, with fewer arguments. Is he still cooking dinner?”

“most nights. 'm real proud of him.” Red smiled for a moment. “didn't know he liked to cook.”

“Maybe this change is for the better. Perhaps if you got to know Edge's friends the way he knows them, you might see a side of them that you like.” Priya pushed the completed corner of the puzzle up to meet the other edges.

“doubt it,” Red stabbed a piece of his own end of the jigsaw puzzle into place with a scowl.

“Well, maybe not, then. But they're Edge's friends and they mean a lot to him. Shouldn't that mean something to you as well?”

*     *     *

Red sighed.

“yeah, don' embarrass him, in fron' of those drunk idiots?” he muttered to himself. “not sure how i could even manage.”

Turning to kick a pile of laundry over in search of semi-clean shorts, he paused when his eyes landed on the small bookshelf in the corner, stacked up with a few odds and ends that had gotten sucked into this world with him when the Machine grabbed him from his old bedroom.

His eyes landed on one object in particular and he grinned sharply.

*     *     *

Wine had gone through the main exhibit hall twice and scanned all the side areas and meeting rooms, before finally finding Stretch. Walking by a long, empty hallway that led to the utility corridors, he spotted the lanky skeleton sitting alone, at the end of a row of chairs lined up along the wall. There was a beige water cooler next to him and a little side table littered with used paper cups from other attendees. Stretch sat looking at the floor, his chin popped up in one hand, a cup of water in the other.

Wine slowly walked down the narrow hallway, hearing the noise and bustle of the exhibit floor gradually fade away, replaced by the electric buzz of ceiling lights and the humming water cooler. He stopped in front of Stretch, who made no move to acknowledge him.

Wine held out Stretch’s costume pirate hat to him.

“I DECREED THAT WHOSOEVER CAN FIT THIS HAT WILL GET A FREE LUNCH,” he said. “TRIED IT ON EVERY ELIGIBLE PERSON IN THE KINGDOM, BUT NO LUCK. WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY?”

His attempt at a joke fell flat, as Stretch didn’t even look up. Wine coughed awkwardly into his fist.

“SO,” he tried again, “WHAT'S NEXT ON THE AGENDA?”

“s'fine, we can go home now,” Stretch mumbled.

“WHAT? DON'T BE ABSURD, THAT SIGNING HASN'T EVEN HAPPENED YET, OR THE ANNIVERSARY PANEL-”

“let's just go, we did all the fun stuff already,” Stretch said. He looked into the paper cup in his hands, before finishing the last bit of water at the bottom of it.

Wine sat down on the chair next to him, placing Stretch's costume hat down and his convention booklet in his lap.

“I KNOW THIS IS ABOUT WHAT THOSE TWO IDIOTIC WOMEN SAID,” Wine stated, briefly flashing a very angry look towards the far wall. “BUT THAT IS NO REASON TO JUST RUN AWAY. NONE OF WHAT THEY SAID WAS THE LEAST BIT TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT, STRETCH. YOU ARE NOT UNWELCOME HERE. NEITHER ARE YOU A LOSER, OR CREEPY OR WHATEVER OTHER HALFWITTED INSULTS THEY MIGHT HAVE COME UP WITH-”

“yes i am,” Stretch interrupted. “but i thought at least i'd be among my own loser kind here, you know? but those women had me pegged the moment i walked in. they knew exactly what i was. so does everyone else.”

Wine frowned at him, but said nothing. He stared at the light blue wall across from them, eyes narrowed in thought. The water cooler next to them kicked on in its chilling cycle, filling the end of the hallway with a rattling buzz as they sat, far away from the rest of the loud convention hall.

After a moment, Wine took out his phone, tapping away rapidly at the screen.

“WATCH THIS,” he instructed Stretch, holding the phone in front of the other skeleton's face. Stretch sighed, but reluctantly directed his attention to the screen, which was playing a short clip of a video. Some men yelled insults at each other in the front seats of a car that was barreling down a highway, while being chased by the police. A few smash cuts of some kind of heist or something followed, some quips from both men were cut in, before a glossy movie title appeared at the end.

Wine tapped the video off after about sixty seconds.

“THAT WAS THE TRAILER FOR A MOVIE THAT WILL BE IN THEATERS LATER THIS MONTH,” he said. Stretch stared at the floor.

“amazing.”

“WHAT IS THE MOVIE ABOUT?”

“i only saw like a minute of it, wine,” Stretch grumbled. “if this is some weird memory test, i don't want to play.”

Wine frowned. “YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T EVEN MAKE AN EDUCATED GUESS AS TO THE PLOT OF A TWO HOUR MOVIE, AFTER SEEING THE WHOLE TRAILER?”

“of course i can't.” Stretch rubbed his eyes tiredly with one hand.

“THEN WHY DO YOU THINK TWO STRANGE WOMEN KNOW EXACTLY WHAT KIND OF PERSON YOU ARE, JUST FROM TALKING TO YOU FOR SIXTY SECONDS?”

Stretch took his hands away from his eyes and for a moment they flickered over to Wine's face, before zooming back down to the floor.

“that's....you know...whatever,” he said at last. “that's different.”

“OH, VERY. I IMAGINE THE SAME IDIOTIC BUDDY ADVENTURE COMEDY WE'VE SEEN A THOUSAND TIMES BEFORE IS FAR MORE COMPLEX THAN AN ENTIRE PERSON WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS.”

Stretch opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, knitting his brow as he continued to stare at the toes of his boots. Wine pocketed his phone.

“THEY DON'T KNOW YOU AT ALL. THEY DON'T KNOW HOW LOYAL YOU ARE TO YOUR FRIENDS. THEY DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE YOUR FAMILY. YOU PERSONALLY ASSEMBLED A 2000-PIECE ROCKET SHIP MODEL FOR YOUR BROTHER LAST GYFTMAS, EVEN THOUGH IT TOOK A WEEK. YOU STAYED UP ALL NIGHT TO FINISH IT IN TIME, THEN SUSPENDED IT FROM OUTSIDE THE FRONT WINDOW, SO IT WOULD BE THE FIRST THING IN THE SKY THAT HE SAW WHEN HE OPENED THE CURTAINS THE NEXT MORNING. THAT IS SOMETHING NO ONE COULD EVER KNOW, JUST BY LOOKING AT YOU.”

Wine nudged Stretch in the side with one elbow.

“YOU SUCCESSFULLY BLACKMAILED ME, STRETCH. IF I WASN'T SO ANNOYED ABOUT IT, I'D BE PROUD. YOU KNOW YOU'RE ONLY THE SECOND PERSON TO EVER DO THAT?”

“who's the first?” Stretch asked, half-interested.

“MY BROTHER. HE BLACKMAILS ME EMOTIONALLY WITH SAD EYES UNTIL I BUY HIM MORE OVERPRICED MARKERS. MY POINT IS, YOU ARE FAR MORE THAN SOME WOMEN IN KNOCKOFF SNEAKERS AND PUPPY SWEATSHIRTS THINK YOU ARE. FOR GOD'S SAKE, YOU WORKED AS DOCTOR GASTER'S ASSISTANT! YOU'RE INTELLIGENT, YOU'RE RESOURCEFUL-”

“i got coffee,” Stretch said quietly. Wine stopped counting off Stretch's positive attributes on one hand, still stuck on the second finger as he turned to give a sharp look.

“PARDON?”

“i. got. coffee.” Stretch looked thoroughly miserable now. He curled over in his chair, hiding his head between his arms. “and ran to the vending machine for people. and washed beakers. i was an assistant, not a scientist.”

There was a very long silence between the two skeletons, as Wine continued to stare at Stretch, who was now curled low enough to wrap his hands around his feet.

“i barely got a passing grade in science classes at school,” Stretch continued, as if determined to admit it all at once. “i only got the assistant job because my friend undyne was given a position and she put in a good word for me. she did all the real science-assisting stuff. i just fetched coffee and cleaned the labs and i wasn't even good at that. i...i lost the job, and i had to take some worthless sentry gig in snowdin, because they'll take any loser for that. you just sit around all day in your post and do nothing.”

“YOU'VE BEEN MAKING NO PROGRESS ON THE MACHINE,” Wine said to himself, still staring at Stretch's head, which was tucked far under his arms in shame.

“i don't know what i'm doing!” Stretch finally broke, sitting up straight, rubbing at his eyes as tears threatened to fall. “i don't know anything about science or building stuff! everyone just assumed i'm brilliant cuz all the others were! rus can engineer or hack anything, sans and red worked as actual scientists...hell, even mutt has a degree in quantum mechanics! black had to frame three people for murder to get mutt moved to the front of the waiting list for the royal university!”

Stretch cried into the sleeve of his pirate coat, scrubbing at his face with the wide cuff to dry it, even as more tears fell.

“and i'm too scared to tell them the truth, that i've just been wasting everybody's time. i'm a total screw-up, i have no talents, i'm not good at anything, i wasn’t even good at getting coffee. i c-can’t talk to people, i c-can’t fix the m-machine...i can't even fit in here!” He hid his face in both hands, his narrow shoulders quaking, as he started crying harder.

“a-ll i d-do is sit around in a m-messy room...all d-day, while m-m-my bro-brother w-works...” Stretch sobbed for air in between words, “r-reading about people having m-more adventures an' an' an'...d-doing greater things than i’ll ever do. an' i hate it!”

He fell silent, hiccuping sobs into his sleeves. Wine looked taken aback by this sudden outburst. Shaking himself out of his momentary stun, he desperately fished around in his jacket, pulling out a handkerchief. Patting Stretch carefully on the back, Wine waited for him to look up. Stretch went on crying for a few moments, the only sound in the otherwise quiet hallway.

When he finally took his face out of his hands, Wine carefully wiped at his eyes. He put the handkerchief over Stretch's nose.

“BLOW,” he instructed. Stretch hesitated, then blew his nose loudly. Wine took the handkerchief back and put an arm around Stretch's shaking shoulders again, using the other hand to pat his arm comfortingly.

“YOU'RE YOUNG,” Wine said, in a far softer voice than he usually cared to use. “YOU HAVE MUCH POTENTIAL, THAT'S CLEAR. YOU HAVE YOUR WHOLE LIFE TO FIND OUT WHAT YOU'RE GOOD AT. AND IN THE MEANTIME, YOU HAVE MANY ATTRIBUTES THAT WILL HELP YOU IN THAT RESPECT. YOU'RE OBVIOUSLY PASSIONATE ABOUT YOUR INTERESTS. YOU'RE UNAFRAID TO CONFRONT YOUR FEARS IF IT MEANS DOING WHAT YOU WANT TO DO. YOU'RE INCREDIBLY OBSERVANT. YOU ARE SINGLEMINDED AND DETERMINED WHEN YOU'RE FOCUSED ON ACHIEVING A GOAL. THESE ARE NOT ATTRIBUTES EVERYONE POSSESSES.”

“AND YOU KNOW,” Wine continued, using the back of his glove to dry more of Stretch's face, as Stretch folded his skinny arms around his own waist and hugged himself, “EVEN THOUGH AT TIMES YOU MAY NOT BE MY FAVORITE HOUSEMATE, THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU'RE MY LEAST FAVORITE FRIEND. THIS TRIP HAS BEEN...EYE-OPENING, FOR CERTAIN. PERHAPS FOR ME EVEN MORE THAN YOU.”

Wine leaned back in his chair, looking at the drop-tile ceiling of the hallway, its embedded fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

“I ADMIT, I CAN BE...A BIT STUBBORN WHEN IT COMES TO DOING THINGS I DON'T FEEL LIKE DOING. BUT I CAN LEARN TO CHANGE THAT, I THINK. AND IF I CAN CHANGE, THEN YOU CAN TOO.”

“into what?” Stretch sniffled bitterly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “the only thing i know how to do is make a mess, waste my brother's money and read stupid romance books.”

Wine sighed in frustration, flipping one hand absentmindedly through the convention booklet he had in his lap as he stared into the distance. Thinking hard, he idly ruffled the pages with one thumb, before glancing down at the book.

He stopped flipping the pages. He turned a few back to re-read a page, landing on a list of panel events. He looked it over for a moment, then smiled.

“IT'S ALL WELL AND GOOD TO READ STORIES...BUT HAVE YOU EVER TRIED WRITING THEM?”

Stretch turned to give a baffled look to Wine, who was still gazing at the little schedule block listed on the page in front of him.

A Beginner's Panel For Writing Fan Fiction

Conference Room 102B

3:00 PM

Wine checked his watch, then stood up quickly.

“JUST ENOUGH TIME TO MAKE IT, IF WE HURRY,” he said, pulling Stretch up from his chair by the shoulders. Stretch got to his feet shakily, still unhappily hugging his arms around himself.

“for what?”

Wine paused, then picked up the discarded pirate hat, dropping it in place onto Stretch's head.

“OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS, MY FRIEND. LET'S NOT KEEP HER WAITING.”

He grabbed Stretch by one hand and jogged back down the hall towards the main exhibit area.

*     *     *

“an' this is from when we found a buncha spraypaint cans in the dump.” Red turned the page on the book in his lap. “ha, they were scrubbin' that crap off the walls of the town for like a week.”

“Oh my GOD, this is priceless,” Amanda said, leaning over the back of Red's chair. All four members of the book club had gathered around Red after he finally made an appearance on the patio. Edge had gone back to add some food for his brother onto the grill, giving Red a chance to show the girls what he had brought down with him.

“Awwww, look at this one!” Margaret squealed. “That is beyond adorable!”

“ha, yeah, i like that one. first time he managed to dress 'imself fer school. picked the outfit all by himself. had his shirt on backwards an' everything, but i didn' have the heart to tell 'im.”

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT?” Edge carried another plate of grilled salmon over, just in time to hear the girls all shriek with glee as Red turned the page in the photo album. Red aimed a giant grin at his brother.

“oh, hey boss! was just showin' yer friends some stuff from back home...pics of the underground, some old photos...yer baby pictures.”

Edge stopped in his tracks, frozen like a statue carved entirely from ice and impending humiliation.

“Oh my goddddd Edge,” Dana yelled, “I just died at the picture of you with all the spaghetti down the front of your shirt!”

“No no, the best was the one in the dump where he's in that discarded bathtub like it's a fort.”

“Edge, you were like, the cutest little kid!”

Red chuckled as the girls laughed along at the album. Edge looked like he wanted to flee with the food tray still in his hands. He glared absolute daggers at his brother, who was beaming like a proud mother hen at the well-loved little album book in his lap.

“dunno why i didn't come meet yer friends sooner, boss,” he said. “they're a riot.” He flipped ahead in the album. “hey, who wants to see my little bro's mopey goth phase?”

*     *     *

Attendees were filing out of the panel room when Wine looked up from reading his convention booklet in a comfy chair by the window. He stood patiently by the door of the room until the last of the panel-goers exited and a distracted Stretch finally appeared, scribbling things down with a borrowed pen on the back of his own booklet, which was covered in hasty writing.

“WELL, HOW WAS THE PANEL?” Wine asked, before being stopped by Stretch holding up a finger at him while continuing to jot down notes.

“hang on,” Stretch said.

“wait,” he added.

“one sec,” he amended.

“almost done,” he clarified.

“just about-“

“TAKE YOUR TIME, STRETCH,” Wine replied amicably. He waited until Stretch eventually stopped writing and shoved his rolled-up booklet into one of the wide pockets of his costume jacket, a big smile on his face. He caught Wine smiling back at him and sheepishly ducked his head into his wide coat collar, just a little bit.

“I TAKE IT YOU'VE GOTTEN SOME GREAT INSPIRATION?”

“it...was pretty good,” Stretch admitted. “i mean, it's not as hard as i thought it would be, especially if i just start out writing for myself and don't worry too much about posting it anywhere. i have kind of always wanted to change a few things i've seen in some fanfic tropes. that i've heard of, not read!” he added hastily.

“I'M VERY GLAD TO HEAR IT,” Wine said, taking Stretch by the elbow to move him along into the main flow of crowd traffic. “NEXT IS THE AUTHOR SIGNING, I BELIEVE. THE BOOKLET SAID THAT VIP ATTENDEES MAY LINE UP EARLY, SO LET'S BE SURE TO GET A GOOD SPOT.”

“i wonder if it would be weird to do a self-insert for my first time?” Stretch wondered aloud as they walked. “what do you think?” He looked over at Wine, who had stopped in the middle of the crowd and turned a sharp shade of red in the face.

“wine?”

“I...” Wine composed himself and continued walking, avoiding Stretch's gaze. “I BELIEVE THAT SORT THING IS NOT SOMETHING YOU SHOULD DISCUSS IN PUBLIC.”

“still talking about writing, dude.”

“OH. THANK GOD.”

“geez, grandpa.”

They meandered over to a large group of women, who were blocking the flow of foot traffic near the far end of the exhibit hall. A roped-off line had appeared, snaking back and forth in front of a booth, into which volunteers were trying to herd attendees.

“Back of the line is here!” a man shouted, ushering more people into the long queue. Women scrambled to get as good a spot in the line as fast as possible, while workers finished arranging the banner over the booth in question. VANESSA HIGHCASTLE SIGNING was printed on it in large, scrolled purple font.

“No cuts!” a woman said angrily, as Wine calmly walked to the end of the long, roped-off line and began pulling Stretch by the arm straight through it, gliding in and out between those in line and towards the booth.

“WE'RE VIP, DEAR,” Wine replied simply, flashing the badge around his neck. Elbowing his way through the lineup, Wine slowly steered Stretch up to the front, waving their VIP badges left and right at irritated attendees.

“I'm a VIP too!” a woman insisted, as Wine pushed past her.

“SPLENDID. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU START DRESSING LIKE ONE.”

“MOVE, I'M GAY,” he added to another woman, surreptitiously picking the overloaded purse off her shoulder and dropping it on the floor. She turned and scrambled to retrieve items rolling out of it, while Wine slipped in front of her to insert himself and Stretch near the head of the line. He beamed as Stretch aimed a quizzical look at him.

”you’re what now?”

“AH, SEE? YOU THOUGHT I DIDN’T KNOW MEMES. I KNOW SOME MEMES.”

Stretch hunched his shoulders in embarrassment as the grumbles from the two women standing directly behind them gradually got louder. Wine grinned to himself, then turned to aim a look over his shoulder.

“MY APOLOGIES LADIES, BUT YOU KNOW BOYS ONLY PULL THE PIGTAILS OF THE PRETTIEST GIRLS ON THE PLAYGROUND. I'M SURPRISED YOUR HUSBANDS AREN'T HERE TO GUARD WHAT'S THEIRS.”

“UNLESS THERE ARE NO HUSBANDS?” he asked with a smile and a wink that would have put a bishop in jail. The two women behind him clammed up, faces flushing and suddenly hiding behind their hands with embarrassed smiles.

Wine turned back around, shot a glance to Stretch and rolled his eyes sarcastically. The grumbling behind them stopped.

At the front of the line, two volunteers waited with the roped entrance in hand until the official start of the signing. Stretch strained up on his toes to get a look at the booth, where a number of people were milling about and talking, before clearing out to start the event. The table was facing sideways, away from the lineup. After what seemed like ages, the volunteers were given the okay from the table, finally lifted the rope and ushered the first attendee in line towards the signing.

Stretch bounced on his heels, trying not to look as nerve-wracked as he felt. Did he look okay? Was he sweating? Was it stupid to dress up? Would Vanessa think his outfit was dumb? Was he supposed to bring his own pen? Would they be okay with him getting a picture with her, or were those forbidden or did they cost extra oh god he FORGOT THE BOOKS.

“wine!” Stretch hissed under his breath as they were moved up the head of the line. “the books i wanted her to sign! i left them in the tote bags!” He glanced around at the crowd of people on all sides, unwilling to shortcut away in front of so many humans. He had never been expressly forbidden to do so, but everyone had agreed that it was best not to let that particular ability become general knowledge. Just in case.

Wine froze up, thinking fast. He turned this way and that to peer over the heads of others, but there were no nearby booths to buy from in a hurry, and they were next in line. Stretch looked ready to cry from anxiety.

“THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT,” Wine said softly, trying to prevent a meltdown. “I WAS THE ONE WHO TOLD YOU TO TAKE THE BAGS HOME, SO DON'T BLAME YOURSELF. DEEP BREATHS, STRETCH.” He mimicked a deep breath and held it, waiting until Stretch did the same thing, then let it out slowly. Wine motioned for Stretch to breathe again, turning around to face the rest of the line as he did.

Wine's wallet was out in a flash, a wad of bills in hand.

“I WILL GIVE THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS TO THE FIRST PERSON WHO HAS TWO COPIES OF TALES OF LONGING, ANY VOLUMES.”

There were a few stares, a long pause, then a sudden scramble as tote bags were emptied. A dozen hands waved books in Wine's face.

“AND THAT'S WHY YOU SHOULD ALWAYS CARRY CASH,” Wine said, before suddenly being enveloped in a tight, lanky hug from Stretch.

*     *     *

“Next!”

Stretch walked stiffly around the side of the booth's table to where a volunteer was waiting in front, waving him forward. Breathing hard and clutching a brand-new copy of Midsummer Fire to his chest like a protective talisman, Stretch slowly approached.

Sitting at the table was a small, white-haired lady with a pink crochet shawl over her shoulders, her elderly eyes squinting up at him through large, octagonal glasses. She had a glass bowl next to her, full of wrapped hard candies.

“Hello, dear,” she said, motioning Stretch over. “Thank you for waiting.”

Stretch placed the book reverently on the table in front of Vanessa Highcastle, wringing his hands together in excitement and stress. Wine stood behind him, giving him a gentle nudge in the back and a head tip towards the table. Say hello, he mouthed over Stretch's shoulder.

“hello!” Stretch's voice came out in a nervous squeak as he whipped his head back around to face the table. “i'm! a...really big fan!”

He mentally slapped himself. She definitely hadn't heard that about a hundred thousand times. Stupid.

Vanessa smiled up at him and held out a hand. Stretch instinctively wiped his own hands on his coat and took hers, shaking it awkwardly.

“you look different in your books,” he blurted out, then froze up. WHY? Why did his mouth insist on saying the dumbest things possible?

“I'm sure I do,” Vanessa answered matter-of-factly. “Seeing as I'm not in them.” She smiled again as Stretch's face screwed up in confusion. She picked up the book in front of her and flipped to a black-and-white photo on the last page, showing a young dark-haired woman posing wistfully in front of a stone wall covered in trailing ivy.

“That's my sister Edie,” she said, pointing to the picture. “I never liked getting my picture taken when I was young, much too shy. So when they told me I'd have to take a photo for my author page, I asked my sister to go in my place. People say we look alike.”

“Though I don't think either of us has looked like this in about forty years,” she added, grinning at the very out-of-date photo in the book. “But then, who cares what writers look like? It's only the book that matters.”

“MY COUSIN IS THINKING OF BECOMING A WRITER,” Wine put in, even as Stretch jumped to shush him.

“no, no, i wasn't, i just went to a panel on writing today...” Stretch trailed off, nervously smiling at the tablecloth. He was blushing so hard that the normally unnoticeable little nicks and divots on his cheekbones and nasal bridge had darkened, giving him the temporary appearance of freckles. Vanessa reached forward to pat his arm kindly.

“Why not try it? You never know if you're good at something until you give it a go.”

“i'm not really good at anything,” Stretch muttered, glancing up briefly. Vanessa's eyes crinkled up behind her glasses in amusement.

“Neither was I, dear. That's why I started writing.” She picked up the book in front of her. “To whom would you like this made out?”

“s-stretch,” came the hesitant answer. Vanessa scribbled “To Stretch-Thank you for reading!” in the front of the book with a purple fountain pen, signing it underneath very neatly. While she waited for the ink to dry, Wine stepped forward and placed his own book on the table.

“MY NAME, COINCIDENTALLY ENOUGH, IS ALSO STRETCH,” he said with a knowing smile, which the old lady at the table mimicked back at him.

“Cheeky devil.” She picked up the second book and lifted her pen.

“um.”

Stretch leaned forward across the table towards Vanessa.

“my, um...my real name is papyrus,” he said very quietly. Vanessa nodded at him.

“Nice to meet you, Papyrus,” she whispered. “My real name is Gertrude Owenstein. But good luck selling a romance book under a name like that.”

Stretch's jaw dropped in shock and Vanessa winked at him, finished scribbling in the book, waved it back and forth a bit to let the ink dry and handed it back.

“Remember what I said, dear,” she reminded him, as the next group of attendees was ushered up to the table, “you never know until you try. Don't forget your candies.” She pushed the glass bowl of sweets towards them. Stretch and Wine each dutifully took a candy and waved goodbye.

Away from the table, Stretch snatched up the second signed book and turned to the inside cover. On it in purple ink was written:

To Papyrus-

An excellent Captain Bayne...

and that's no “stretch!”

-V. Highcastle

*     *     *

“vanessa highcastle said i should be a writer,” Stretch said in awe for the tenth time, the unwrapped hard candy from the signing table clacking around in his mouth.

“YES, I WAS THERE.”

Wine and Stretch were sitting in the last row of chairs that filled the biggest meeting room in the convention hall. The Tales of Longing anniversary panel was filling up quickly and the speakers were just settling down on the small stage at the front of the room, tapping microphones to test them and pouring glasses of water from the pitcher on the table.

“i know, but...but vanessa highcastle said i should write!” Stretch was almost vibrating in excitement, unable to sit completely still on the metal folding chair.

“I ALSO SAID YOU SHOULD WRITE. IN FACT, I SAID IT FIRST.”

“but you're not vanessa highcastle!”

“TO MY EVERLASTING REGRET.”

“did you see what she wrote?” Stretch flipped open the book again to re-read the dedication.

“SEVERAL TIMES.”

“she is so awesome,” Stretch said reverently.

“UNDOUBTEDLY.”

“i'm putting it in my room so it doesn't get messed up. brb.” Stretch glanced around to see that no one was looking, then disappeared quite suddenly.

Wine took this moment to pull out the flask hidden away in his jacket. Only this insufferably long panel was left on his list of Unbearable Things To Endure Today. He had promised to sit with Stretch during it (in the last row, unobserved by others). But he hadn't promised to be sober.

All in all, it hadn't actually been a terrible day. Not as such. Parts of it were bad. Parts were good. Parts had been bad for Stretch, and were about to be bad for other people because of that, which was good for Wine. He was really looking forward to having an excuse to be a jerk to someone without any guilt.

This extra-long anniversary panel was the only irritating thing left. Then a few more turns around the exhibits, some last-minute book buys and the trip would be over. One glass of wine was hardly going to put a dent in sitting through this wretched panel, but it was better than nothing. Wine unscrewed the cap to his flask.

Stretch blipped back to his seat just in time to hear the moderator welcoming everyone. A cheer and general applause went up around the crowded room and Stretch clapped loudly along. Taking the noise as a good cover, Wine ducked his head behind the chair in front of him and tipped the entire contents of his flask down his throat at once.

“what's wrong?” Stretch sat back as the applause began to die down. Wine had dropped his empty flask on the floor and was coughing violently, gripping his throat with one hand as Stretch patted him on the back.

“WHAT THE HELL-” he gasped out, before being seized by more coughing. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY FLASK?”

“what? i...nothing, dude! i got it from the table in the hallway and we left, remember?”

Wine stared at him in horror.

*     *     *

“Someone bring out the snacks!”

“Yeah, I've got them!”

Margaret came out through the kitchen back door, carrying a large tray of cheeses, fruit and crackers.

“This is yours too, hon,” she said, handing a metal container to Candice. “You left it here last visit, found it by the sink.”

“Oh, that's where it went! Nice.” Candice unscrewed the cap and tipped the flask into her juice drink. A cloud of red poured into her cup. She picked it up in confusion and sniffed it.

“Who put wine in here?” she asked.

Chapter Text

“The Sea's Gift”

You were just an ordinary skeleton, living in a quiet suburb outside of the big city with your family. School was behind you and while trying to figure out what to do with your life, you had a series of odd jobs here and there. Nothing special, but enough to help support the household.

Today however, you had the day off and were eager to spend it outside for once. It was a gorgeous day, with not a cloud in the sky. Plus, being outdoors meant no one could track you down and hassle you to do chores.

Grabbing a favorite book from your room and a drink bottle from the fridge, you shortcu walked down the sidewalk, taking in the perfect weather and carefully-mown lawns around you.

As you made your way down to the nearby shore, you felt like today was going to be just another lazy summer day with your nose in a book.

It was only a twenty-minute walk to the small, sandy beach that you often spent time at, just getting away from everything and thinking about life. A storm had come through the night before, washing ashore all sorts of debris and branches. Picking your way around the junk, you strolled down the sandy strip to head for your usual spot on a grassy dune.

“Help! Oh, help me please!”

A tiny voice, just barely heard over the constant movement of the waves, suddenly grabbed your attention. Looking around, your (e/c) eyes scanned the beach, trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from.

“Help!”

Now you were sure it wasn’t your imagination. The voice seemed to be coming from a pile of wet branches and leaves, lying close to the water. You carefully approached the assortment of junk, which had bits of old fishing line and some kind of wine bottle tangled in it as well. You lifted a branch curiously from the top of the pile.

Underneath, a small bitty was trapped. Her long, flaming red hair was bedraggled and filled with wet sand, and she wore a tattered lilac-colored dress. Her leg seemed to be stuck under one of the branches. As soon as daylight shone on her from around the branch you lifted away, she looked up, her turquoise eyes full of tears.

“Oh, help me!” she cried, louder than before, holding out a hand to you. “I’m stuck!”

Your soul broke for the poor, suffering bitty. You gently lifted the branches and leaves away that were trapping her, picking her up very carefully from the sand. She seemed exhausted and nearly swooned away in your hands as soon as she was freed.

“Poor thing, how did you get here?” You brushed the damp hair away from her face, as she struggled to take deep breaths. “Hang on, let me get you some fresh water.”

Thankfully, your water bottle was still mostly full. You pulled it from your hoodie pocket and cautiously poured a capful of water for the tired bitty, offering it to her. She held the cap in her tiny delicate hands and sipped the water, already seeming to be rejuvenated by it.

You looked the little creature over as she drank. You knew a few facts about bitties...creatures that were custom-made from fantasy character templates and sold as pets. You weren’t crazy about the idea...it just seemed so unfair to the bitties. This little one seemed to be from the newest line, the Fair Maiden bitties. You’d noticed them being advertised on tv quite a bit lately and they were very expensive, even for bitties...a kind of pampered pet for the ultra-rich.

But this little maiden had clearly seen better days.

“How did you end up in that mess?” you asked curiously. The little bitty stopped drinking and looked up at you imploringly.

“I was out on the yacht with my owner, Mr. Bayne,” she answered, tiny tears welling up in her eyes as she recalled what happened. “He brought me out there to show off to his guests during a party. I fell overboard when someone bumped into the drinks table and instead of saving me, he just let me go, saying he could always buy a new one. I managed to grab onto a champagne bottle and floated to shore during the night.”

The little bitty started crying in earnest and you felt your soul flare up in anger. How could anyone be so cruel? How could they treat this little maiden as if she were a toy, and not a living person? You had half a mind to track down this Bayne guy and call the cops!

But you knew it would do no good. Bitties didn’t have rights. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t treat this one with the respect she deserved, even if no one else did.

“Don’t cry, shh, it’s okay,” you soothed the little bitty, holding her close to your chest and gently petting her head. The tiny maiden clung to your shirt with both little fists, still sobbing.

“P-please don’t throw me away!” she cried desperately. “I have nowhere to go! Please don’t abandon me! It wasn’t m-my fault! I’ll be b-better, I swear!”

“Hey now, nothing is your fault,” you assured her, wiping off her little face with a corner of your sleeve. “And I would never abandon you. If you want, you can come home with me and we’ll get you cleaned up. I’m sure my family would love to meet you.”

The tiny bitty looked shocked, then smiled a little smile full of hope, as if this were all too good to be true.

“Y-you mean it?”

“Sure thing, honey.”

The maiden bitty scrubbed her eyes with her fists and smiled more widely at you, nestling close to your shirt.

“W-what’s your name?”

“(y/n). And you?”

“I...” the bitty trailed off, hiding her face a bit in your shirt. “I wasn’t ever given a name. I was hoping...maybe…”

You waited for her to finish speaking, before realizing that she was asking you a question. You weren’t very good at naming stuff, but it seemed like names were important to bitties, and this one had never even been named at all.

“Well,” you began, staring up into the sky in thought. “How about....Cassandra?”

The bitty smiled and hugged the front of your shirt, nodding shyly at you in approval...

“STRETCH! YOU’RE MISSING THE GOOD PART!”

Stretch snapped out of his scribbling, putting down the small blank paper pad he’d grabbed from a convention information table. He’d been so engrossed in jotting down notes for his first fan fiction that he’d actually stopped paying attention to the Tales of Longing anniversary panel. Just a few days ago, that would have seemed impossible, but now he felt full of a new and unexpected desire: the desire to create stories, instead of just consume them.

He looked over at Wine, who also seemed consumed by some unfamiliar feeling. Wine was sitting in an apparent daze of rapt attention, eyelights riveted to the stage where the panel speakers were now addressing the topic of Cassandra v. Vivienne.

“wine? you okay, buddy?” Stretch reached over and poked Wine with his pen, and was rewarded by a hand pushed into his face.

“SSHUUUSH!” Wine hissed unsteadily, eyes still on the speakers. “NO WAIT WAIT, UNSHUSH. SO VIVIENNE IS ACTUALLY CASSANDRA?”

“uh, well some people think so,” Stretch replied, mildly surprised. “i mean, she’s supposed to be cassandra’s long-lost sister, but she doesn’t ever interact with cassandra and her mini-series is stand-alone and if you look at the way the events play out in the story, they’re sort of a weird parallel to stuff that’s happened to cassandra hers-”

“SHUUUUUUUSHHHHHH!” Wine hissed again, flailing both hands at Stretch’s face, as the speakers changed topic. Stretch leaned away from the leather gloves being batted around in front of him and instead focused on the panel discussion. But his eyes kept darting towards Wine, who had grown increasingly more interested in the panel and was now, literally, on the edge of his seat.

When the last round of applause came, signaling the end of the hour-long anniversary panel, Wine finally sat back in his chair, eyelights blown wide.

“OH MY GODDDDD,” he said. “THIS IS SUUUUUCH A GOOD SERIES.”

“right?” Stretch beamed. “i told you it was good!”

Wine was already scrambling to pick up his things and leave the panel. “HURRY UP!” he said as he packed his empty flask back into his jacket pocket. “LET’S GO CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE….THE DEALER THINGS! THE SHOPS!”

“the booths?” Stretch asked. “uh, i mean i already looked at most of the ones i wanted-”

“BUT I DIDN'T,” Wine continued. “NOW COME ON!”

“uh...yeah, sure!” Stretch rolled up the rest of his note papers and shoved them into the giant pocket of his pirate coat. “sure, i’ll show you the best booths, if you want.”

“I DO WANT!”

The crowd of exiting attendees thinned out on the other side of the large conference room doors, with Stretch and Wine bringing up the rear. Stretch looked around for the best path towards the vendors’ room.

“let’s go around the other side of this aisle and cut through the hallway to...uh, wine?”

He turned to see Wine staring slack-jawed at a giant Bodice-Con banner hanging over the general exhibit area. On it was a mandatorily-tanned and generically shirtless man, holding a beautiful woman who was wilting in his arms, probably from desire, but possibly also from heat exhaustion or sleep deprivation. Maybe indigestion. It was difficult to be certain.

Wine stared in agony at the banner as Stretch came up to stand by his side.

“THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEEE,” he wailed. “THAT’S MY GOALS. IT’S NOT FAIR.”

“you want to be shirtless?” Stretch was baffled. As far as he could tell, Wine had been acting strange ever since the beginning of the panel. Not even the incredible storytelling of Tales of Longing should be able to bring this kind of change about.

What could have started it? Wine had downed all the wine in his flask, then gotten irritated about it for some reason. He sat stock still and sweating for the first ten minutes or so of the panel, but then began to relax and even enjoy the proceedings.

Now Wine was pouting- actually pouting- at him.

“NOOOOO,” he complained. “THAT SHOULD BE ME AND AND AND AND...JULIEEEEE…” he trailed off in an actual whine. Stretch was stunned.

“uh...who’s julie, dude?”

Wine turned a pained look on him and took a deep breath.

Julie

*      *     *

“hey.”

Sans nearly jumped a foot in the air inside the hot dog truck, dropping a bag of rolls onto the floor.

“dammit red, don’t do that!” he scowled at Red, who had just appeared by his side.

“sorry not sorry. you want to go to the beach next weekend?”

“what?” Sans was reluctantly picking up and then throwing out the rolls which had been shaken loose from the bag. Selling had been brisk today in the downtown of Ebbot and he’d hardly had a moment to restock. With a short lull in business, he’d been hoping to catch a little break and get off his feet.

“put these away and scrape the grill,” he said to Red, who made no move to take the roll bag being offered to him.

‘s’my day off.”

“you made me drop ‘em. you get a bread roll penalty.”

“there ain’t a bread penalty.”

“take the L, pal.”

Red sighed, and took the bag, turning away towards the grill, as Sans pulled out the tall stool tucked under the counter and sat down heavily.

“so, beach. how ‘bout it?” Red began halfheartedly scraping the grill with a spatula.

“dunno.” Sans made circles with his feet to work out the tired kinks in his ankles. “why?”

“uh, the beach is good? that’s why. sun, surf, sand, a word for beach ladies that begins with S…”

“dunno,” Sans said again. “that’s a long drive to the shore. and saturdays are usually good for business, ‘specially this time of year.”

“sellin’ at the beach would be even better,” red countered. “oh dang, sellin’ starts with an S too! it’s fate, my man. come on, we can bring th’ whole house.”

“we don’t have a permit for selling at the beach.”

“could get one easy. an’ we’ll make back the cost in sales.”

Sans turned a look on Red. “saturday’s your day to work the truck. you gonna work the whole day at the beach?”

“sure thing, dogs’ll get sold all day an’ you can relax on th’ sand an’ not do anything. you need some you-time, pal. you’re overworked, always handlin’ everything yourself.”

Sans squinted at him, ignoring the obvious sucking-up and leaning forward on the worn wooden stool. “i’m not going through all this just for you to ditch me at the beach.”

“you won’t have to take a single shift, trust me. i’ll handle it.”

Sans stared hard at Red, who stared back. Finally, after much scrutiny, Red rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance.

“ok fine, boss wants to go wit' his friends an' i figured we all go together, okay? jus’ wanna keep an’ eye on him.”

He left out the part where Edge and the girls had decided, over lunch, to go to the beach next weekend and had also decided, over drinks, that Red should go with them, regardless of his work schedule.

“just keepin’ an eye on things,” he repeated.

“from the truck,” Sans clarified and Red nodded.

“i ain’t goin’ to babysit him, jus’ wanna be close by in case.” He stuck a hand out to Sans, who eyed it with apprehension. Finally, he reached out and shook it.

“you’re selling dogs all day,” he confirmed again. Red smiled, flashing a gold tooth.

“i got this, pal.”

*      *      *

“AND HE KAYAKS. THAT IS SO...SO...WHO EVEN DOES THAT?”

Stretch, sitting on a comfortable chair across from Wine, nodded. They were both tucked away in an alcove of the convention by a window, seated in two blue arm chairs with a small metal coffee table between, as Wine expounded upon the many personal deficiencies of one Nathan, intended groom-to-be of one Julie Dartmont, regional representative for the HomeOwner’s Association...a woman of whom Stretch had never heard until today, but who had apparently been living inside Wine’s head rent-free for several months.

“i mean, i guess some people like to kayak?”

“NOBODY DOES!” Wine complained. “KAYAKING WAS INVENTED JUST TO MAKE PEOPLE LOOK COMPETENT AND OUTDOORSY ON SOCIAL MEDIA!”

He buried his face in his hands.

“that’s rough, pal,” Stretch replied, more than a little mystified at the sudden breakdown of a man he had formerly assumed to be the model of stoicism. He had a sneaking suspicion that this was the part where he should provide good, uplifting advice to Wine, much in the same way Wine had done for him earlier in the day.

Unfortunately, that advice would have to be about girls, a topic upon which Stretch was woefully uninformed. If Wine needed advice on the best Pringle flavor (Original), or which volume of Tales of Longing was the worst (Fireside’s Torment, hands down. No shade, it just wasn’t as strong as any of the others), Stretch was a fountain of information. But girls? Not so much.

Still, it was kind of nice to see that Mr. Perfect also had problems getting a date. Was that mean to think? Probably. But Stretch wasn’t going to tell him so, therefore it didn’t count. He also would not be telling anyone else, because he had a feeling that if anyone else found out, a sober Wine would murder him and seal his dust up in a false wall in the attic.

“maybe, uh….” Stretch grasped for any sort of positive thing with which to present the forlorn-looking Wine in front of him, “um, you might...meet someone here? there’s tons of ladies here, dude. i’m sure a lot of them would like you.”

Wine wiped his nose on his leather glove and turned a pathetic look towards Stretch, who almost burst out laughing. Without the superior smug expression, and with his eyelights blown wide, Wine looked a bit like a scratched-up, red-eyed version of his brother, especially when Blue was trying to use Sad Eyes to get Stretch to clean his room. It never worked, but it was still cute.

“YOU THINK?”

“sure, pal.” Stretch stood up and motioned for Wine to do the same. “and in the meantime, i bet looking at all the sales booths will cheer you up.”

“OKAY,” Wine muttered, slowly getting to his feet as well, but with the air of a man whose heart had been irrevocably broken, for whom no true happiness would ever be possible again.

Twenty minutes later, he was buying tote bags.

“OHHHHH MY GOD, THIS IS TOO CUTE!” Wine waved a canvas tote bag in front of Stretch’s face while grinning widely. “PLUS I CAN PUT ALL MY OTHER SWAG IN IT!” He spread out the bag for Stretch to see the design printed on it: a wine glass full of tiny romance books and hearts, with the curly-fonted caption “Books, Boys and Booze.”

“did you just say swag?” Stretch gaped at Wine, who was piling up more purchases at the edge of a reseller’s merch booth, to the amusement of the woman sitting behind the table and tallying it all up. #BossBabe keychains, two bookends shaped like sexy high heeled-shoes, lip gloss in a container that looked like a teeny tiny vodka bottle…

“dude, you don’t even wear lip gloss.”

“I JUST WANT IT FOR THE BOTTLE!” Wine defended, adding the tiny gloss to his purchase pile. “WAIT, SHOULD WE BE GETTING SOUVENIRS FOR THE REST OF THE GUYS?”

“i’ll...be right back,” Stretch replied, backing away. He snaked his way around a group of people crowding a nearby booth and slid into a small indented area of the wall that held a fire extinguisher. Holding one hand over his ear to block out crowd noise, he used the other to retrieve his phone from one of the deep pockets of his coat.

Laying on the couch at home in a state of half-nap, Rus felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and groggily took it out, checking the caller ID first.

“hey man, s’up?”

“hey dude, um…” Stretch hesitated, now unsure of what exactly to ask. “hey, uh...quick question: does your brother ever, like...get drunk on wine? like really drunk?”

Rus sat up, a little more awake.

“nnnnnot that i know,” he answered slowly. “you’d have to put him in like, a swimming pool of wine and let him drink his way out first. why?”

“no reason, just....we’re out doing some shopping-”

“whatkindofshoppingwhereareyou?” Rus sped through the question in a panic, sitting fully upright and clutching the phone to the side of his head. Drunk. Shopping. Oh no.

“uh, just out, you know…”

“stretch, you better tell me where he is!” Rus interjected, voice rising in pitch. “right now! before he gets worse! what did he have to drink?”

“just wine, seriously! from his own flask!” Stretch strained over the crowd to try and keep Wine in sight at the booth. “look, I gotta-”

“was it vodka?” Rus interrupted, sounding even more agitated. “whiskey? what?? he can’t handle liquor! he gets all…” Rus paused for a moment, looking around at the empty room he was in.

“basic,” he finally whispered into the phone.

Stretch, meanwhile, stood staring at the patterned convention carpeting while contemplating this information, an inscrutable look on his face.

“stretch?? are you still there? tell me where he is so i can go get him! and don’t let him buy anything else! and return anything he bought! don’t lose the receipts! where are y-”

“gotta go,” Stretch said as he ended the call and silenced the ringer on his phone. It lit up immediately with an incoming call, but he ignored it, pocketing his phone instead. Stretch made his way back to the merch booth, only to find Wine had moved onto the next booth down, a sort of medieval-themed table with handmade items for sale.

“OH MY GOD STRETCH, LOOK AT WHAT I GOT FOR YOU,” Wine exclaimed as soon as he spotted his companion. He held up some sort of viking-style drinking horn. It was over a foot long and engraved with “Stretch” on it.

“ARE THEY NOT HILARIOUS?” he enthused. He put the horn into the small white box it was originally packed in. “YOU CAN GET THEM ENGRAVED WITH YOUR NAME! RIGHT ON THE SPOT!”

“that’s...awesome, bud,” Stretch said, bemused. He went to take the box from Wine, but was instead handed a paper shopping bag full of identical boxes. Wine beamed.

“I GOT ONE MADE FOR EVERYBODY AT THE HOUSE!” He practically vibrated with excitement. “HOW GREAT IS THAT?”

“the greatest.” Stretch was now grinning even harder than Wine. He took the bag of souvenirs and steered Wine around to point towards another hallway, through which the sign for the Photosuite was just barely visible in the distance.

“how’d you like to go take some selfies?” he asked casually. “with props.”

Wine gaped at him. His eyelights briefly turned into little red stars.

*      *      *

Rus had been calling Stretch’s phone, as well as his brother’s, nonstop for several minutes. Eventually he resorted to texts, every one of which went unseen on Wine’s phone.

PAPYRUS (BROTHER): dude where r u

PAPYRUS (BROTHER): are you wasted rn

PAPYRUS (BROTHER): stretch said you’re trashed and buying stuff

PAPYRUS (BROTHER): i’m not returning more junk

PAPYRUS (BROTHER): stop whatever ur doin and come home

PAPYRUS (BROTHER): WHERE R U

No answer. In desperation, Rus hastily put on shoes and blipped all over town to places he suspected his brother might be...the craft store, the IKEA, that one shop that sells nothing but overpriced soap and bath bombs, the Micheal Kors outlet...

Zero. He ended up back at the house after an hour of frantic searching.

Where was he? And why was Stretch with him, of all people? And how did he get drunk in the first place? Did Stretch take him to a bar or something? Rus tried to picture Stretch in a bar, but the notion was just too absurd. Might as well picture Classic at the gym.

Why was his brother out with Stretch anyway? The note he’d left just said he’d be gone for the day.

Rus slumped onto the sofa once more, slowly inching down until his butt was practically hanging off the cushion edge and his chin rested on his chest.

Did they go out and do something fun together? Something apparently so fun that his brother was getting hammered during the daytime, on actual booze? Where’d they go, the beach? A party? Somewhere cool?

Somewhere without him, clearly. Why would Wine take a guy who looked like his own brother and not his actual brother? Was Rus really that boring, that Wine would rather have a day out with some….some better version of his little brother?

Rus sat alone in the living room, his thoughts going in endless circles, feeling more depressed than he had in a long time. The only way he’d get any real answers was when his brother finally came home.

He just wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them.

*      *      *

“OHHHH MY-”

“god, i know,” Stretch finished for Wine. “pretty great, huh?”

They were standing at the door of the Photosuite, gazing in on the decorated sets. Wine was looking absolutely in love with everything on display, while Stretch was darting his eyes furtively around, seeking out the two women who made fun of him earlier. The coast seemed to be clear.

“okay bud, what do you want to do fir- wine?” Stretch turned to see that his companion had disappeared. Wine had practically levitated over to the parlour room set and was posing on the velvet-upholstered Victorian sofa, trying to angle his phone for the best selfie possible.

“PEOPLE ARE GOING TO JUST DIE WHEN THEY SEE THIS,” Wine announced, turning his head back and forth, eyes on his image in the camera to find the best profile.

“i hope i don’t die when you sober up and see it,” Stretch snickered to himself. He couldn’t help it. Yeah, Wine had turned it around by the end of the day, but he still had a lot of mockery and complaining from earlier to make up for, as far as Stretch was concerned. What better than some idiotic photos to even things out? Especially if Wine took them himself?

He blipped over to Wine’s side as Wine stopped snapping pictures.

“OH WOW, I HAVE SO MANY TEXTS-”

“lemme get you a better picture.” Stretch snatched up Wine’s phone and made a show of aiming it while checking the angle in the camera. In between photos, he switched over to the text app and deleted Rus’ most recent texts. No sense ruining what was shaping up to be a bizarrely fun end for this trip.

He stuck Wine’s phone in his pocket and continued taking pictures with his own.

Blackmail had become disturbingly easy lately. Maybe Wine was right, and Stretch did have a lot of potential to be good at something. Extortion, for example.

“Hey, you have to pay for photos to be done in the suite, it’s not really for self-oh, you guys again.”

Stretch froze up. He turned slowly to see the same woman in the puppy sweatshirt, holding her clipboard and eyeing him closely.

“just, uh, waiting for you guys to get here so we can do a portrait,” he said, his courage and good mood failing him. And things had just been looking up…

“Sorry, I was on break. OK so, you guys want a picture in the parlour set, then?” The volunteer jotted something down on her clipboard. “Let me go get the photographer.”

“oh, uh, no, i didn’t want to ta-”

“MY COUSIN NEEEEEEDS A PICTURE ON THE PIRATE SHIP!” Wine had finally torn himself away from posing to notice that a third person was present. He jumped to his feet and pointed at Stretch.

“ABSOLUTELY NEEDS,” he repeated. “THIS IS GOING TO BE JUST...JUST INSTAGRAM GO-”

“Okay, wait over there and I’ll go get you a receipt. It’s $22.50 for each portrait,” the woman cut him off. She turned on her heel and walked away, even as Wine stuttered to a halt in the middle of his favorite saying. He narrowed his eyes at the retreating figure.

Stretch stood uncomfortably, arms folded awkwardly over his chest after he had instinctively tried to shove his hands in his hoodie pocket yet again. There was no time to back out of the situation, as a large, genial-looking man with a lot of curly red hair and a beard to match appeared from around one of the backdrops, carrying a complicated-looking digital camera.

“Hey guys, what can I do for you?” the photographer smiled and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the pirate ship set. “You want the ship, right? Obviously.”

“Killer costume, man,” he added to Stretch, who slumped a little self-consciously into the big jacket. He had a feeling he was being made fun of yet again.

“it’s not that great,” he mumbled, but the photographer shook his bushy head.

“Nah, it rules. We’ll make you look killer, my dude. Hop up on the set and let’s make this happen.” His genuine tone was infectious, and Stretch stood up a little straighter and smiled, following the man towards the set in question.

“I’LL STAND OUT OF THE WAY,” Wine announced loudly, to no one in particular, before edging off slowly towards the side of the Photosuite hall. He wandered around the sets until he spotted a door to a small side room, where sounds of conversation could be heard inside.

“I figured he’d be back,” one of the volunteer women was saying to the other. They were both seated in the room at a tiny white table covered in disposable cups and assorted paperwork. “I’m just gonna stay in here and let Elliot deal with that mess.”

“Yeah, they don’t pay me enough to handle weirdos.”

“They don’t pay you at all.”

“Well I mean, the badge was free. And parking.”

Wine inched his head around the corner of the doorframe and watched the two women gossip. Next to the door, a couple of coats and some larger handbags had been tossed on a chair.

“I mean, who even dresses up if you only have a one-day badge?” one of the women continued to complain, while filling a cup from a small coffee maker sitting on a back counter at the far wall of the break room.

“Right, if you’re such a big fan, why not get the weekend pass, it’s like-”

“I know, right...”

A red-gloved hand snuck around the doorframe and into both handbags, drawing out a pink cardholder wallet and a teal imitation-leather bill fold attached to a phone case.

“...didn’t even ask before taking pictures...”

“Don’t get me started, this one lady was so rude-”

The gloved hand appeared again, neatly placing the wallets back into their respective bags, before vanishing around the edge of the door. Not a moment too soon, as the woman in the puppy sweatshirt turned and walked over to retrieve her phone from her bag.

“...the fattest person I’ve ever seen. And it’s like, you’re gonna wreck the furniture props. God.”

“People get here and just lose all consideration for everyone else,” the other woman said. “Zero consideration for anyone. Manners aren't hard, seriously.”

“I don’t know why I even work the con some years,” the woman in the puppy sweatshirt continued, clicking through some messages on her phone with one thumb. “I always think it’s going to be fun, and by the end of the weekend, I wish someone would just mail me to China.”

Wine calmly strolled away from the break room door, pocketing a piece of paper with some hasty notes written on it.

In the main area of the Photosuite, Stretch had finished his shoot and was now waiting patiently by a table full of computers and large-scale printers, as his portrait was being downloaded and printed out for him. Stretch’s former great mood had returned in full force. He admired the now-printing photo of him posed at the prop helm, holding it confidently with both hands as he pretended to scan the imaginary sea’s horizon.

“Nice,” the photographer enthused. “I swear, we didn’t have any pirate costumes this weekend, I thought this set would go to waste. Hey, if it’s okay, you wanna sign a waiver for us to use the photo on our website for next year?”

“uhhhh…” Stretch faltered. One the one hand, yes, that sounded so cool. On the other hand, if anyone found that site...anyone he lived with...well…

“OKAY, NOW LET’S DO GLAM FACES!”

Stretch jumped as Wine appeared behind him on the pirate ship, doing some sort of pouty duck-lips pose, an incredible feat for someone with no lips. Stretch carefully led him by the elbow off the ship set.

“think we’re done here, pal,” he said, tearing Wine away from embarrassing himself even further. “how ‘bout some snacks? we can go to the food court.”

“You’re not in the costume contest?” The photographer was aiming a puzzled look at Stretch, even as took the finished portrait out of the printer and placed it in a protective folder. “It’s starting pretty soon, I think.”

“OH MY GOD, LET’S GO SEE THAT!” Wine looked ready to burst with excitement, but Stretch shook his head, taking the picture folder carefully in both hands.

“nah, this is...this is just a store-bought costume, i don’t think they’d let me enter it.”

The photographer shrugged his shoulders and took Stretch’s debit card, swiping it through for payment. He handed the card back. Stretch stuck it carefully in his wallet, tucked the photo folder securely into the bag full of Wine’s drinking horns, before turning to his companion, who was no longer in the room.

“okay wine, let’s go get soooooome where did he go.”

*      *       *

“THANK YOU FOR CALLING SUPERIOR DONUT, HOME OF THE SUP-”

“yeah shut it, you wanna go to the beach?”

Black frowned at the phone in his hand. He was standing in front of the register while a line of customers snaked through the donut shop, towards the door. Blue should be answering the phone on the extension in the kitchen, so why Black was forced to was anybody’s guess.

“RED, I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR TH-”

“gettin’ a permit to sell donuts at the beach this saturday,” Red continued, cutting straight to the point. “crazy awesome crowds. you can use th’ food truck. easy money an’ promotional whatsits.”

Black glared sideways with a look of deep suspicion at the phone nestled between his shoulder and face, even as he spun around to fill a coffee order at the machine.

“WHAT’S THE CATCH?”

“you gotta sell hot dogs too.”

“THAT’S IT?”

“that’s it. long as you sell dogs too, you c’n use the truck an’ get all that beach crowd money.”

Black frowned into space, thinking. The customer in front of the counter began tapping their foot impatiently, glaring at the hot coffee Black still held in his hand, just out of reach. He seemed to eventually reach a decision.

“FINE. BUT I DON’T WANT ANY INTERFERENCE! WE RUN THE TRUCK MY WAY!”

“you won’t even know i’m there,” Red's voice chuckled on the other end of the line, before hanging up.

Black put down the phone, seemed to finally remember the coffee he was holding and handed it over to the customer in silence. Before greeting the next person, he turned to shout at the doors leading to the back kitchen.

“BLUE! GO ONLINE AND FIND A PRINT SHOP THAT DOES OVERNIGHT ORDERS!”

*      *      *

“sorry-”

“sorry-”

“scuse me, sorry-”

Stretch shoved and jostled his way through the crowds of the exhibit hall, not even bothering to look around for Wine, though he was, in fact, looking for him. Unfortunately, he already knew exactly where he’d find him.

One large, airy space of the convention center had been set up with a portable stage and sound equipment, standing in front of a huge bank of windows, framed with tall drapery, that overlooked the green lawns outside. A very large grid of spectator chairs had been set up in this space, occupying most of the hall. They were already filled to capacity by the audience for the Costume Contest, which was underway. A number of costumed attendees were grouped behind large curtains hung from frames on either side of the stage, waiting their turn in the show.

Stretch expected to have difficulty getting in after the event had started, but luckily the volunteers working the crowd saw a guy in both full costume and a hurry, and they evidently assumed he was in the show. Workers waved him on towards the backstage area, even as the announcer for the show could be heard booming over the speakers.

“And that was number four, Eileen Schofield, as Dresdemonia from Vampire Lord’s Legacy!”

The crowd applauded enthusiastically, as the woman onstage took another bow and hurried off to the stairs on the end.

“Next up is number five, Deborah Greene, as Annalita Zephyr from the Midnight Shadows series!”

Stretch swiveled his head this way and that in a panic, scanning the entire crowd. But Wine was nowhere to be found. He fled up a set of nearby stairs, to the narrow railed walkways that ran around the atrium on the second floor of the hall, looking down onto the first floor where the contest was talking place. Leaning over the railing, Stretch used the higher vantage point to comb the room, searching through the giant crowd for Wine. Finding him was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.

“THAT’S NOT EVEN LINEN!”

No, wait. Finding him was going to be more like finding a haystack in a big pile of bigger haystacks.

“EVERYTHING I WEAR IS BESPOKE, THAT’S WHY!”

At the haystack factory.

In front of the stage was the judging table, and in front of the table as Wine. He had his back to the four judges and was busy yelling at the haughty woman on stage in a green-and-black striped Victorian dress.

“BECAUSE I KNOW SYNTHETIC LACE WHEN I SEE IT!” Wine continued, even as the woman bridled indignantly at the accusation. “I CAN ALSO SMELL IT! ALL FIVE OF MY SENSES CAN DETECT FRAUD!”

He stuck out his tongue for good measure, as if to indicate that the very air around the woman's dress tasted fake.

“Sir, you need to sit down,” one of the judges leaned forward to address Wine sternly, while waving for some security volunteers to come help him.

“THE ONLY THING I NEED TO DO IS DRESS WELL AND DIE,” Wine answered, turning unsteadily to glare at the judge. “BECAUSE I’M TOO POWERFUL TO BE LEFT ALIVE.”

Without another word, he hooked a spiked heel into the edge of the stage and hoisted himself up.

“AND ANOTHER THING...” he continued loudly, standing in front of the woman in costume.

Stretch watched from the upper walkway, equal parts amused and mortified. Should he go down there, or would security take care of it? The last thing he wanted was to have to get up on stage in front of everyone and wrangle Wine.

His eyes darted towards the audience to gauge their reaction. Not that great, if some of the scowls were to be believed, though quite a few people seemed to be enjoying the trainwreck. A few of them were taking out their phones to…to…

Stretch snapped his head back towards Wine, who was still onstage and now arguing with security over what constituted “hand-sewn.”

All day, Wine had been dodging cameras in an attempt to leave no photographic evidence that he was anywhere near this convention, and now he was about to take center stage, quite literally. Stretch gripped the rail of the walkway in a panic. There was no way he could shortcut right onto that stage in front of so many people! Or could he? Did this constitute an emergency? What would Classic say?

He looked around, up and down, willing a solution to appear. It did, in the form of a large convention banner hung across the atrium. Stretch sighed. This was not the best idea he’d ever had.

But Captain Bones never left a shipmate behind.

“I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!” Wine insisted, jerking his elbow away from a security volunteer who was trying to corral him off the stage, while two others blocked the audience’s view of him in an futile show of normalcy. Parts of the crowd were now shouting and booing at the proceedings.

“Hey crazy guy, over here!” A voice from behind a large camera at the front of the audience called out to Wine, who fought to get a glimpse around the side of the security people. But before the camera could get a focus on him, there was a loud shout of shocked voices from above the atrium. The audience looked up.

A skeleton in a pirate costume came swinging down on one end of a con banner, fake sword between his teeth as his hands desperately gripped the vinyl fabric, a paper bag full of drinking horns on one arm.

“YAHHHHHH!” He yelled around a mouthful of plastic sword.

In a stunning move, he swooped across the stage and snatched Wine right off it, landing with a tuck and roll on the far end of the atrium. The banner collapsed and fell on the crowd, who were shouting and standing to get a better view of what had happened. Too late, both skeletons had shakily stood up and bolted from the area, into a side hall full of smaller vendor tables and some cardboard standees for selfie-taking, trying to blend in with the crowd.

“you…owe…me…so…bad,” Stretch was panting and shaking slightly from leftover fear, while rubbing the shoulder he had landed on.

That was simultaneously the coolest and stupidest thing he'd ever done. Too bad his brother missed it.

Wine had stumbled to a rest, leaning on a cardboard cutout of a hunky male model who was dressed as some sort of Scottish lord. A Scottish lord who apparently could afford castles and horses, but not shirts.

“HOW DO YOU GUYS DO IT?” Wine was complaining to the cutout. “IS IT THE SHIRTLESSNESS? I THOUGHT WOMEN LOVED A MAN IN UNIFORM. HAVE I BEEN WEARING MINE EVERY DAY FOR NO REASON?”

“wine, stop it.” Stretch grabbed at his companion, steering him away from the cutouts and down the hall. “con’s over, we're leaving right....right...now…”

He trailed off, coming to a slow halt at the sight of a life-size cardboard standee of Cassandra from Tales of Longing. It…she…was stood up near a large bay window, the late afternoon sun hitting her flaming red hair with a tinge of sunset colors. She stood with her hands clasped under her chin in a fetching pose, wearing her signature pale lilac dress and a gentle, winsome smile.

Wine looked at Stretch, then the cutout.

“YOU WANT ME TO GET A PICTURE OF YOU WITH IT?” he guessed.

“yeah…sure…” Stretch said to no one, staring at the cutout with a freckled blush across his face and heart-shaped eyelights.

A sudden racket from the other end of the hall snapped him out of his reverie. Convention security was coming towards them, looking this way and that for the troublemaking skeletons.

“time to go,” Stretch said, quickly grabbing Wine, ducking behind a post and shortcutting to the parking lot outside. He frantically flagged down the lot attendee, who slowly ambled over at a glacial pace, before recognizing Wine and speeding up considerably.

“I’ll have your car out right away, sir,” the attendee said, turning to bark some orders into a walkie-talkie. Forty-five seconds later, Wine’s car was at the front of the convention center.

Wine sat down in the driver’s seat, but was shoved unceremoniously into the passenger side, landing with his face against the door. The bag full of drinking horns was tossed on top of him.

“OWWW,” he muttered into the side upholstery.

“you’re not driving trashed,” Stretch said sternly, getting into the driver’s seat. He looked around and noticed the attendee still standing at the side of the car.

“right, right,” he mumbled. “sorry, just…”

Reaching over to rifle through Wine’s jacket, he produced a wallet and grabbed a random assortment of bills from it, shoving them at the attendee.

“thank you okay bye!” he stammered out, starting the car and taking off down the long stretch of road that lead out of the convention complex, winding among grassy lawns towards the highway. Half a mile away, he pulled the car over.

“one sec,” he said to Wine, who was still drunkenly struggling with his seat belt. Stretch disappeared, then reappeared a few seconds later, rummaging in the back seat of the car. He shortcutted back into the driver’s seat and took the wheel in both hands.

“YOU TOOK YOUR DRIVER’S TEST, RIGHT?” Wine asked, eyeing Stretch’s nervous posture.

“yeah yeah, calm down, i took it. okay, first thing’s first, we find a drive-thru and get you some coffee to sober up.”

“OH MY GOD, YES! PUMPKIN SPICE!”

Stretch groaned and jabbed the engine start button. Wine looked around as the car started off again down the road.

“STRETCH, WHO’S THE WOMAN IN THE BACK SEAT? IS THIS A KIDNAPPING?”

“it’s nobody, get some sleep,” Stretch said, eyes on the road. “it’s gonna be a long drive.”

“SHE’S VERY FLAT.”

“dude, just take a nap.”

The sleek black car disappeared down the road, towards the setting sun over the rustling trees.

*      *      *

“Everyone, we’ll restart the costume contest in just a few minutes!” A security volunteer was standing onstage, speaking into the MC’s microphone, as workers untangled the giant convention banner from where it had fallen among the audience chairs. “Thanks very much for your patience, we appreciate it!”

The entire incident with the two skeletons had happened so fast that no one was quite sure what had occurred. The audience chattered away with each other, as the con staff rushed to resume the show programming.

“Was that actually part of the show?”

“No idea. If it was, it should have been planned better.”

“I hate impromptu skits.”

People muttered and discussed all through the crowd, debating the incident.

In the middle of the audience, a hand was still holding a phone above the crowd’s head, having captured the entire incident.

Linda Harcourt lowered her phone and played back the video footage of Wine on stage, before backing up the file to a cloud drive.

She smirked to herself.

---

Please enjoy this AMAZING fan art of Stretch as a pirate! :O So good!  CLICK HURR

Chapter Text

Chauffeuring Wine home from BodiceCon had been an adventure, which was a nice way of saying it had been a complete pain in the ass. Wine was still drunk, wouldn’t shut up for half the drive, demanded to go through three Starbucks drive-thrus on the way, and showed an amazingly high tolerance for pumpkin spice lattes. And he kept criticizing Stretch’s driving, despite being constantly reassured that Stretch took his driver’s test.

“WHY ARE WE GOING SO FAST?” Wine stared in bemusement out the passenger side window at a blur of trees and electrical poles, all speeding along rather incoherently. Several cars were switching to another lane to avoid them as they hurtled along the highway.

“we're not, it's just relative. everything looks faster cuz it's outside the car,” Stretch answered. 

“OH.”

True, Stretch hadn’t passed his driver's test, not as such, but just knowing what was considered important on the test was enough for one drive home, wasn’t it? And as soon as they dislodged that tree branch out of the front grill of Wine’s car, everything would be fine.

The whole drive, Stretch had been consumed by one thought: the question of what to tell everyone else when they got home. What would happen when the others asked where they’d been all day? They never came up with a cover story. On top of that, Wine was still tipsy, which added yet another complicated layer to the alibi. Stretch thought they’d have time to brainstorm on the drive home, but Wine had been incoherent for the first half and asleep for the rest.

Stretch had mentally gone through a hundred different possible scenarios for a cover story outing, each of them just a bit too unbelievable, given how little Wine and Stretch actually had in common. 

An antiques show? Wine would go, but why would Stretch? 

A movie? Stretch might go, but Wine hated the movie theater, always complaining about the bad manners of other people in the audience.

The more Stretch thought about it, the more apparent it was that anything he might actually leave the house for was not something Wine would want to do, and vice versa. But he had to think of something.

The sun was setting when their little community of streets came into view. Stretch had perfected his story at last, as he negotiated Wine’s car into the turn onto their suburban street. Wine had been out doing…Wine things. Whatever Wine did on the weekend. Stretch had called to ask him a question and deduced over the phone that Wine sounded drunk. He managed to get Wine’s downtown location out of him and shortcutted over out of concern. He’d found Wine in no state to drive home, so had driven him home himself. Yeah bro (he mentally countered a fictitious Blue’s protests), he knew he shouldn’t drive without a license. But everyone else was busy except Rus and Mutt, and neither of them had licenses either. He couldn't just leave the car randomly downtown! He didn’t want to inconvenience the others and hey, it had worked out just fine!

Why did it take so long to get home, if Rus had talked to Stretch on the phone hours ago about this? Well…Wine had some people with him at the time. Business people. Stretch didn’t want to embarrass him, and-

No, no wait, better, there was traffic. Yeah, loads of it, an accident, they’d been stuck in the car for a while. Also Stretch had taken Wine to a coffee shop to sober him up a bit before the drive. Good. Perfect.

Not at all perfect, really. It was terrible. But it was a story and it was about as solid as it was gonna get. Stretch put on his game face and pulled the car into the monster house’s driveway. There were lights on in the living room, but it seemed most of the family wasn't home yet. At any rate, no one seemed to have noticed him driving up. Wine was all but asleep in the passenger seat, face flattened against the glass of the window as he slumped to the side, eyes closed.

Almost too late, Stretch remembered his prize in the backseat. He carefully collected up the stolen cardboard standee of Cassandra and shortcutted to his room, stashing her gently in the corner behind the door. He stripped off his pirate costume, flung it into the crowded closet and tossed on some normal clothes.

Blipping back down to the driver’s side of Wine’s car, Stretch began negotiating Wine out of the other seat.

He stopped.

He thought a moment…

He looked around at the car as it was parked in the driveway…

He opened the car door and stood up, carefully dragging Wine into the driver’s seat and buckling the seat belt around him…

He slammed the car door as loudly as possible and immediately shortcutted to his room.

“is that my bro?” Rus’ voice rang out from downstairs, just as Stretch made it back to his bedroom. The sound of someone else answering indistinctly from the kitchen followed, then a person standing up hastily from the couch.

A minute later, there was a bumping and clattering from over Stretch’s head, on the attic level.

“YOU DROVE HOME DRUNK!” Rus’ normally quiet voice was heard plain as day in Stretch's room, his shouts muffled through the ceiling. “where’s stretch? why didn’t he bring you home? where were you?!”

The sound of pained groaning answered back.

“UGH, MY HEAD…”

“what is all this? tote bags, books…did you even save the receipts this time?”

“JUST…WENT TO A BOOK…THING, PAPYRUS…”

“wha- a what?”

Stretch froze up in fear. Was Wine about to spill everything to his brother? The sound of furious rummaging through Wine’s “swag bags” was heard.

“oh god, you ended up buying romance books? black’ll eat you alive if he finds out.”

“UGH…”

“just…get some rest, bro. it’s fine. nobody will know.”

The sound of Rus helping his brother into bed floated down from the ceiling, before bags could be heard shifting around, collected up and stashed somewhere safe and out of sight. 

Stretch's shoulders sagged in relief and he sat down heavily on his messy mattress.

He felt like a jerk, leaving Wine out there. But it was the most believable cover story. Stretch had run across Wine while Wine was out shopping. Wine assured him he was fine. Stretch’s phone battery had died. Stretch had…gone to see a movie. Two movies, in fact. Wine assured him he would get a ride home. How was Stretch to know Wine would drive himself home while drunk? Wasn't Wine supposed to be Mr. Responsible? Stretch wasn't his babysitter!

He'd been a pain to Stretch the whole trip, and also several days before. Well, except at the end, but...still. Stretch had to look after him while he was trashed at the con! He risked his neck saving Wine from embarrassing photo evidence! Wine owed him!

Even as he told himself all of this, Stretch felt increasingly…something. Regretful? He knew that Wine, when he sobered up, would back up whatever story Stretch invented, even this one, just to keep his word and never admit he was at a romance novel convention.

And why shouldn't he? Wine left Stretch to come up with the alibi all by himself! Mr. Clever Tactical Underground Spy Man or whatever, leaving Stretch to think of a cover story? Stretch could barely come up with a game plan for lunch on any given day! It was the best he could do, and it worked!

But it made him feel...bad. Upset. Because sadly, the whole deception hinged on the fact that this was apparently not an uncommon occurrence. He didn’t know what felt worse, the fact that he impulsively framed Wine for drunk-driving, or the fact that it was such a believable lie that Rus didn’t even sound that shocked. Just tired and resigned to it. Apparently Rus was used to looking after his older brother in situations like this, even making excuses for him. The guy was only nineteen.

Stretch shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. It wasn't...great...what he did. But it was entirely the most believable scenario, as well as the only one that would keep them both from being questioned. Wine himself, if he were sober enough to do so, would have agreed this was the best option under the circumstances. Rus would even unknowingly help cover it up for them, to make sure his brother didn't get embarrassed.

Technically, everybody would win. Sort of. Mostly.

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and looking around. Just forget about it. What's done is done.

He spotted the Cassandra cutout, still in the corner, and the guilty feeling inside him temporarily faded, as he jumped up in excitement to go inspect his beloved prize. The cutout was unharmed during her abduction, and was indeed life-sized, standing a little less than a head shorter than Stretch. Her masses of soft, wavy red hair and shining eyes were printed with brilliant ink, her colors almost lifelike. He held the cutout at arm's length and happily admired it. This was so much better than the daki pillow he missed out on. Almost. You couldn't snuggle a cardboard cutout while you slept.

Stretch paused and aimed a look over his shoulder at his unmade bed.

…

No. Better not.

He placed Cassandra reverently back in the corner behind the door, then frowned at the floor in front of her. Her dainty satin-slippered feet were nestled into a pile of messy laundry, discarded plastic pens, a book, a magazine, three empty potato chip bags and a busted shoelace. Hardly any place for a lady to stand.

He leaned down and began picking some things up.

* * *

The next morning was a bright and fair-weathered Sunday, cool enough but promising hotter temperatures in the afternoon.

Inside the kitchen of the monster house, four people were seated at the breakfast table. Wine ate mechanically, slightly slumped forward, dark circles under his half-open eyes. He winced at every moderately loud sound, his head pounding.

Across the table, Rus sullenly stared at him over a bowl of marshmallow cereal, headphones looped around his neck and blaring tinny music.

Next to him, Black also stared in anger across the table at his own brother, who was leaned over his plate of eggs and bacon, sleepily shoveling it into his mouth while letting the tiny rat inhale his toast and butter for him.

Black glared at him in slowly rising fury, one socket twitching. A noise from the hall and subsequent hearty slam of the front door announced the return of Blue and Papyrus from their morning jog.

“WELL, WELL! A VERY GOOD MORNING TO Y- OH, MUTT!” Papyrus' voice echoed into the kitchen as he entered. “I SEE IT'S LAUNDRY DAY AGAIN!”

* * *

Many months ago on a brisk autumn afternoon, a house full of monsters descended in a pack of jokes and bickering on the local Halloween superstore, filling the building with noise, arguments and roughly ten percent more skeletons than it previously contained. 

“JUST PICK ONE!” Black yelled at his brother, who stood lounging against the accessories wall, hands in his jacket pockets. Everyone else had selected a costume to wear to the upcoming Halloween party at Queen Toriel's home and were now waiting on Mutt, who had yet to even look at the costumes. He chose instead to fixate in mild concern on a plastic skeleton hanging from the display rack in front of him.

“MUTT!”

“nnnngh,” he replied in irritation, finally tearing his gaze away from the plastic naked guy and glancing around himself slowly at costumes for sale, the very picture of reluctance.

“I WILL NOT HAVE YOU DEFY THE QUEEN'S SPECIFIC ORDERS TO ARRIVE IN COSTUME, MUTT!” Black stamped one foot in frustration from the end of the costume aisle.

“wasn't really an order, bud,” Sans said, a foam costume of a giant slice of pizza tucked under one arm. “the invitations said it was just a suggestion, really.”

“DO NOT MAKE ME CHOOSE FOR YOU!” Black continued as if he hadn't heard. “YOU WILL NOT HUMILIATE ME IN FRONT OF HER ROYAL MAJESTY!” Behind him, Stretch rolled his eyes at Rus and made an exaggerated kissy face gesture, both of them stifling their laughter. It wasn't a secret why even short visits to Toriel always seem to fluster Black, even if Black thought it was. 

“WE ARE GOING TO THE REGISTER NOW! YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO PICK A COSTUME ON THE WAY THERE, OR DIE ON THE WAY HOME!”

Mutt whined and pushed himself off from the wall in slow-motion.

“NINE! EIGHT!”

The rest of the skeletons turned and headed to the front of the store, Black calling out numbers over his shoulder. Mutt ambled along behind as the household made their way up to the checkout, crinkling bags of costumes in hand.

“SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!”

They stopped at the checkout, Mutt being the last to arrive at a glacial pace, while his brother stood to the side furiously, tapping one foot.

“FOUR! THREE! TWOOOOOO...!”

Mutt looked around at a large checkout bin full of generic black cloaks with hoods. He lazily swatted one out of the bin and tossed it over, landing it on the checkout conveyor next to Blue's astronaut costume.

“ONE! NOW WAS THAT SO DAMNED DIFFICULT?!”

* * *

Several nights later, the house was assembled in the foyer to leave for the Halloween party, adjusting costumes and checking their reflections in the large wall mirror by the front door. Mutt sauntered in, costume under his arms and still in its plastic bag.

“REALLY MUTT, YOU DIDN'T EVEN IRON IT?” Papyrus chided. Red aimed a baffled look at him.

“y'think he even knows where th' iron is? or how it works? or what it looks like?”

Instead of answering, Mutt dumped his costume out of the clear bag, pausing as he held it up in front of him.

“huh,” he muttered, letting the costume unfold and shake out. The others stared.

“OH...UM...”

“is that...?”

When folded up, the frilly black and white french maid outfit in his hands looked very similar to the black cloaks it had accidentally been stocked alongside. Unfolded, not so much. Mutt stared at it for a minute, then shrugged and shook his heavy jacket off, tossing it onto the couch. He pulled the costume over his head and down over his regular clothes, hiking up the ruffled skirts to put his hands back in his jean pockets.

Black slapped a hand to his own face and groaned in resignation.

After the Halloween party had concluded and the household returned home more or less majority-sober, Mutt balled the french maid outfit up and tossed it into his messy closet in the neglected basement room, letting it remain there in the cramped darkness for more than a month, forgotten to the world at large until one fateful Thursday.

“BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T DONE ANY LAUNDRY FOR WHAT COULD BE, BY CONSERVATIVE ESTIMATES, AT LEAST SIX HUNDRED YEARS! THAT'S WHY!”    

Black stood fast in the hallway with his arms crossed, while his little brother remained just inside the upstairs bathroom, dripping water down onto the tiled floor, a towel around his hips and a scowl on his face.

“y'took my clothes from in here too?” he scoffed, uncharacteristically defiant in the face of Black, who grinned mirthlessly at him. “c'mon, i was in the shower!”

“THEY WERE ALSO DIRTY. EVERY LAST THING YOU OWN IS DIRTY, AND I GAVE YOU A TIMELINE FOR DOING YOUR LAUNDRY. YOU DIDN'T DO IT, SO NOW YOU DON'T GET ANY OF YOUR CLOTHES BACK UNTIL YOU AGREE TO SPEND THE DAY WASHING, DRYING AND IRONING THEM, UNDER SUPERVISION!”

Mutt sucked in a sharp breath.

“not the iron-”

“THIS IS NON-NEGOTIABLE, MUTT! COME SEE ME WHEN YOU'RE READY TO BE CLOTHED AGAIN!” Black stomped off down the hall and into his room, slamming the door behind him. 

Mutt frowned and shortcutted to his basement room, hunting around for something to wear while still in his towel.

“ironin'...pffff, washin', forget it, half that stuff wasn't even that dirty...”

His hatred for laundry day was the one sticking point between him and his brother. On everything else, Mutt let Black have his way with absolute rule. But he despised doing laundry with the very core of his being and knew Black would eventually get fed up and wash everything for him, if he just put it off for long enough. 

Usually. Today was apparently the last straw.

Mutt looked under the bed, in the corners, clawed through junk in the closet. Black really had taken every last scrap of clothing possible while Mutt was in the shower. Was he going to have to borrow stuff from Rus? Black couldn't confiscate his clothes too, could he? Could he keep borrowing long enough for Black to give in on his ultimatum and wash Mutt's clothing himself, like always? He might decide to retaliate by withholding Mutt's allowance, though. Damn.

His eyelights landed on a balled-up pile of acetate and ruffles shoved into the corner of his closet, which Black had apparently deemed not actual clothing and thus not worth taking.

Mutt, on the other hand...

* * *

The TV blared away in the living room, set on a dramatic daytime soap opera. Rus shuffled into the room from the kitchen with a plate of cookies in hand, before seeing Mutt's head over the top of the couch.

“hey dude, you feel like going to...uh...um...” Rus trailed off, having approached the back of the couch and now looking over it, down at Mutt.

“what...” he tried again, and Mutt shushed him.

“watchin' my stories, keep it down.”

“AH, THERE YOU ARE, MUTT!” The front door slammed harshly behind Black and Blue as they made their way inside, carrying bags of groceries in both arms. Black grinned maliciously at his brother while navigating the bulky bags through the narrow entryway. “I'M SURPRISED TO SEE YOU OUT OF YOUR ROOM, INSTEAD OF HIDING AWAY IN YOUR SHAMEFU-”

Black stopped dead, dropping both armloads of grocery bags and forcing Blue to walk into the back of him, the collision causing one of his own bags to fall.

“BLACK? WHAT'S WRONG?” he asked.

Mutt turned his head from where he was seated on the couch, wearing nothing but the wrinkled french maid costume, his skinny bare legs propped up on the coffee table.

“yeah m'lord, what's wrong?” he repeated, innocently. 

Black gaped at his little brother. Then he slowly took a very, very deep breath.

Everyone else in the room covered their ears.

Seven days later, after sleeping, eating and making donut deliveries in a french maid costume accented with his usual heavy spiked jacket, Mutt's clothes got washed and put back into his closet for him by a Black so visibly enraged that the wire hangers he was holding rattled together in his shaking hands like castanets.

The costume was secured in a safe location, ready to be deployed the next time Mutt ran entirely out of clean clothes.

* * *

 
“ALWAYS NICE TO KNOW WHAT DAY THE WASHER AND DRYER WON'T BE AVAILABLE UNTIL SUNDOWN! WELL DONE, MUTT!”

Papyrus moved to retrieve waffle mix out of the cupboard. Black continued to stare in anger at his brother over the breakfast table, while Mutt continued not to notice. He kept groggily feeding half of his breakfast to the rat, who was seated on the folded, unused napkin next to his plate.

Having now finished breakfast, Wine placed his dishes in the sink and took the remainder of his hangover upstairs, leaving his brother still sulking over a half-eaten bowl of rapidly softening cereal pieces. Rus watched him go in silence, before grumpily making an attempt to fish some of the colorful mini-marshmallows onto his spoon three at a time, picking them out slowly from around the disintegrating cereal puffs. He turned his eyelights up to focus on the rat, who was play-fighting Mutt for the last slice of bacon on his plate, while Mutt chuckled and made it a brief game of tug of war. Eventually, Mutt let him have the bacon, before pulling out a half-empty bag of boutique dog treats.

Black's eyes, which had been taking the whole scene in with an expression of mild disgust, suddenly snapped to the bag.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?”

Mutt froze, hand halfway in the bag, as the rat watched him patiently.

“uh...bought it with m' allowance?” 

“REALLY? I THOUGHT YOU WENT THROUGH IT ALREADY? YOU TOLD ME YOU WANTED EXTRA WORK BECAUSE IT WASN'T ENOUGH! WHERE DID YOU GET THE MONEY FOR THOSE?”

Mutt's eyes darted to the side nervously.

“just uh...had some cash left over.”

“THOSE ARE FROM A VERY EXPENSIVE SHOP,” Black pointed out, glowering at the embossed label on the bag in suspicion. The rat, all out of patience for his next snack, had stood up and was now clawing at the side of the bag, as Mutt fumbled with it. 

“yeah, that's...it's...” He looked over at Rus, his convenience store cigarette alibi buddy, for help. Rus silently watched him, eating his cereal.

“...stole 'em from th' table on linda's patio,” Mutt finally finished, sweating slightly under his hood. “sorry.”

Black humphed, finally turning his gaze down to his plate and pulling the day's newspaper over to himself, away from Wine's empty place setting.

“NOT A PROBLEM THEN. DREADFUL WOMAN.”

Mutt sighed quietly in relief and began feeding treats one by one to the rat, who accepted and scarfed them down as fast as they were handed out.

Rus continued to watch Mutt ignore everyone else at the table in favor of the rat. He narrowed his eyes at the little skeleton.

* * *

“Pieces of Eight”
By CaptainBones23

You don’t know how it happened…one minute, you were just an ordinary skeleton living in an ordinary suburban house, sitting at home reading in your room. The next moment, you were here, in a strange new place that looked like some sort of big, historic house, standing in a lavish hall lined with mirrors. No big explosion, or alien abduction, or even a flash of light. Just you at home, then you being here.

You’d barely gotten over the shock of this sudden change, when a shout went up from further down the hall and figures came running towards you. In a flurry of activity, you were hustled through a doorway, into what appeared to be a large antique-furnished room. Now you were surrounded by eight women, all of them dressed in gowns and staring at you in curiosity, as they talked among themselves.

“Who is this bedraggled landlubber?!” the one called Marigold demanded, eyeing you up with a baleful glare, her flaming red hair gathered in a messy braid over her shoulder. “He’s not one of us!”

“Calm yourself, Mari,” the timid Daisy tried to soothe her. “Mayhap this is just a small misunderstanding?”

“How came you here?” A third, softer voice, full of kindness and concern, had you turning quickly around to see who had spoken behind you.

It couldn’t be….but it was! You’d know this woman anywhere. Lilac gown, beautiful face, a waterfall of crimson tresses down her back…

It was Cassandra Fairheart, the main character from the popular Tales of Longing book series! You loved that series! But how could she really be standing here?

And more importantly, how could there be seven more of her, all slightly different, but unmistakably Cassandras, all gathered in this strange, chandelier-lit room? The one called Marigold was dressed like a pirate queen, with a rose-shaped patch slung over one eye, and she stared you down mercilessly.

“Have you been hexed into our world by the same cursed amulet that gathered us all together?” she barked.

“W-what?” you stammered, totally confused. “What amulet?”

“The very same accursed object that has thrown our lives into such vexatious circumstance,” the proud Cassandra in the corner coldly interjected, holding a silver mirror in one hand. Narcissus, you remember the others called her. “The Soul Stone.”

“If you’ve come to cause yet more strife, you’ll not find an easy berth aboard this vessel!” Marigold added, hand on the hilt of the shining sword that hung at her side.

“Vessel?” you gasped in shock. “What are you talking about? Where am I?”

“Come, look and see,” the Cassandra behind you said, putting a delicate hand to your shoulder and leading you to an oddly-rounded window on the far wall.

You stared out the window in absolute shock.

What you had thought at first to be a large mansion or some kind of fancy lodge was actually a giant pirate ship, in the middle of the open seas at- [DING!]

A sudden ping from Stretch’s phone had him pause his typing in mid-sentence. He leaned away from his desk and stretched his arms upwards, having been hunched over his keyboard at his messy desk for much of the day. He picked up his phone to see the text message from his brother, asking about something on the family shopping list. Tapping out a reply, Stretch put the phone back down, rubbed his sockets and returned his attention to the computer screen, taking a short break from writing and instead opening up a tab on his browser to the romance novel fan forum he modded.

There were quite a few busy threads today, all giving BodiceCon attendee reports, sharing pictures and gloating over merch hauls. He’d proudly posted a photo of his own haul the night before, with the contents of several totes spread across his bed, though he wisely didn’t include any of the art commissions. You never knew if the artist might be a member of the forums and recognize him.

His biggest brag was the pair of books signed to him by Vanessa Highcastle. Even with his name blacked out in the photo, the dedications and signatures on the inside covers were inspiring a lot of jealousy.

TiamatGem: AHHHHH SOOO COOL

Hannah_Bakes: “An excellent Bayne and that's no stretch” omg you went in costume?!! Omgggg

BBYDesiree: so jealous, wish i’d gone ;_;

LHardcore: nice

Stretch didn’t want to preen too much, but it was pretty great to show off his hard-won booty and the personal book dedications. If only they knew what he’d had to go through for it.

It was an hour later, while he was still scrolling through the various threads, that a private forum message popped up. Stretch moused over and tapped on his inbox.

Sender: LHardcore
Subject: “An excellent photo…”

Stretch clicked to open the message.

The screen paused a moment…

…then loaded a photo. 

A photo of Wine drunkenly arguing with security on stage at the convention. A photo with Stretch just visible in the corner, blurry but identifiable, swinging in on a banner. A photo with the giant Bodice-Con brand logo on the backdrop of the stage, in full view.

Stretch felt a sudden, horrifyingly cold grip of fear on his spine. He froze up, staring at the screen, as another message suddenly popped up, this one with a video attachment.

Sender: LHardcore
Subject: “…and that’s no ‘Stretch’.”