Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Aaah I still can't believe we're here!” Elnina had looped an arm around Lanino’s, meanwhile her gaze tipped up to watch the dazzling lights. “It's been ages since the laptop has been back!”

“Is it as beautiful as you remember?” Lanino questioned, a wry smile on his lips, almost as if he knew the answer before asking the question. 

Elnina's nose scrunched, though, she kept a polite smile. 

“I mean–pretty to look at, but it's still a city at the end of the day, love.” 

“You're awfully quiet, Tenna.”

“Huh?” With his attention grabbed, it was hard to miss the slight worry written on the lovebirds’ faces. “Ah–sorry! I was caught up in my own head. It's just been so long.” Tenna's smile was soft and, in a perfect world, disarming. 

“I'm sure it will be a treat getting to experience a show for a change, hm?” Lanino’s own gaze turned to meet with Tenna who released a soft puff of air. 

“The same could be said for you two. It will be a nice treat for all of us.” 

Tenna knew their reasoning behind the trip, he wasn't dense. He knew he hadn't been particularly pleasant as of late. The family had been fighting. The family had been fighting a lot. His ratings were taking a bit of a hit, though the kids still seemed invested in him. Still, he would have preferred it not been during the height of screaming in the home. 

It was just hit, after hit, after hit. With the return of the laptop, it seemed like a perfect time to try and cheer their dear friend up a bit. Even if being in the city again stung a bit, they didn't need to know that. After all, he didn't own the entire city. 

Despite the rough memories, Tenna wouldn’t lie and say he had no fondness for the city. He had many fun memories of parties, galas, meeting with friends, photo shoots, all things he hadn’t reminisced on in quite some time. Walking the streets filled him with nostalgia, both of the sweet and aching varieties. 

He hated that he still allowed so much of his life to be tainted by a man who hadn't even been around for over half a decade. Tenna would have liked to have said he never thought of the mailman any more but that would have been a flat lie. It was infrequent now, often revolving around his anger. Though, of course, the dull ache would be ever present. He hadn't expected him to leave such a mark on every facet of his life. Sitting in the theater, it was hard not to think about the numerous shows he'd taken Tenna to. In his reminiscing, he found his gaze wandered to one of the boxes, occupied by what looked like a couple; he'd remembered the champagne they, themselves, had shared over the show. The aftermath. 

“Tenna, you alright? Your fist is–pretty tightly clenched.”

“Oh. It is.” He had no excuse for that one. He flexed his hand at the mention and, instead, moved to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry. I guess I'm still in my head. I'll feel better once the show starts.”

Elnina smiled, though not before placing a comforting hand on his knee. 

“You should enjoy it. I've heard good things. Apparently the lead actress is quite the talent.”

Elnina knew him well; just as she said, he had enjoyed the performance. They had elected to see a lighter hearted comedic show. Tenna also had to admit that it had been nice to sit back and enjoy someone else's performance as opposed to his own. His breaks from the stage were few and far between; a quiet night getting to kick back and enjoy himself was a coveted opportunity. Well, quiet for a short while, anyhow. Unsurprisingly, he hadn't gone without being recognized himself. Upon entering the lobby, he had been crowded by various fans of the show asking for pictures and autographs. He’d always had a hard time saying no; it was what led to his signing of a handful of autographs as they attempted to exit the theater. It was only after Elnina grabbed his hand was he forced away and shoved into a cab. 

“I knew we weren’t going anywhere for a while if I left it up to you.” Elnina had mused, meanwhile, Lanino had given the driver the appropriate address. “We would’ve missed our reservations.” 

“Right–sorry.” Tenna flushed. “I completely forgot about the reservations. Hah–what would I do without you?”

“Well, you would miss a lot more plans, that’s for certain.” 

“Hey, I’m good with time when I’m on the clock. You can’t blame me for loosening up when I’m not working.” 

“I have to give you that much. I don’t think you’ve ever missed a cue, Ant.” Lanino had sat in the front of the cab, and he turned to look over his shoulder to give that compliment. 

“Like I said; punctual where it matters. And if someone is waiting for me. That’s obviously why I keep you two around, to drag me off when necessary.” 

“Hey, we’re here to lean on, but we’re not your keeper. If you need someone getting you to places on time, hire an assistant.” Although she’d made the comment, they both knew damn well she would have been happy to keep track of his appointments if needed. 

“Maybe I’ll have to consider it.” Tenna mused and pushed back against the seat. “Unrelated, are either of you considering a new direction in your careers?” 

That had earned him the laughter of his friends, and Tenna couldn’t help but smile to himself. 

Despite getting caught up at the theater, the trio had thankfully made it to the restaurant on time; while he never would have admitted it, Tenna would have been upset if their table had been given away. Then again, while he didn't particularly like to do it, he wouldn't have been against throwing his name around. He liked the place; no, it wasn't the fanciest, but he liked the food and the atmosphere and he liked the memories it held.

At least at first. 

They meant well. Tenna knew he had been a lot to handle–he’d always been a lot to handle, but with the abandonment and the fighting he knew it was more than everyone was used to. He'd tried to be better for them–though, granted, it came after months (years) of meltdowns and tantrums. Now he tried to keep them contained to his room. Even then, it seemed it was still easy to clock he was not doing even remotely well. 

The lovers had just wanted to cheer him up; give him a night of fun where he hadn't needed to worry about the show, or the family, or anything he had been fretting over for months. And, while he had enjoyed himself, there was just too much tied to this place. Flashes of the past came to mind, causing his heart to ache. He smiled through it, sipping his wine, engaging in conversation. He'd neglected to notice when his foot began bouncing anxiously. 

They'd reminisced about the first time they'd come to this restaurant; how Tenna's had a glass of wine spilled on him and how mortified the poor waiter was. They teased that it had been the moment he must have realized red was a good color on him. 

“Excuse me, I'll be right back. If the waiter comes by, order me another glass of Chardonnay.”

Excusing himself was typically code for him going to take a smoke break. He knew they had to be upset with him, Elnina especially. God, she's been riding him for years trying to get him to quit–he was pretty damn close too. 

Oh well, he'd thought as he struck his lighter and lifted it to the cigarette held between his lips. At the very least, the hit of nicotine calmed his nerves. With a sigh, smoke came billowing from his mouth. He couldn't keep doing this to himself, but moreover, them. He hated worrying everyone around him. He hated the deep anxiety that had settled in his chest. His heart raced more often than not anymore. If ever he thought he forgot his deep seated fear of becoming irrelevant, it always managed to rear its ugly head. 

He took another drag from his cigarette. Too many things at once made him particularly unpleasant. One more, he told himself. Then he'd let Elnina whip him into shape. 

“I'm sorry.”

“I DON'T NEED YOU TO BE [ apology video ] I NEED YOU TO [ fix issue ]!”

Tenna's attention turned to the alleyway beside the restaurant. A diner stood beside on the opposite side of the gap; he assumed it was either workers from that or the restaurant. 

“There's nothing I can do. Look it's not you, it's just–”

“[ bull spit ] IT'S NOT–[ discriminate ]!” 

“Augh, dammit, don't make this harder than it needs to be.”

Poor guy, Tenna briefly thought. It looked like he was getting the short end of the stick. He flicked some ash from his cigarette and took another drag. 

“YOU [ know it ] THAT I [ knead ] THIS JOB! I CAN'T HELP–
CAN’T–
CAN'T HELP–
TICKS.”

“I know.” The second voice heaved a sigh. 

“THEN DON'T [ do it ] THIS! I–I GOT YOU THIS [ gig ]!”

“Yea, years ago!” 

“PLEASE!
PLEASE. 
[ last chance ]!”

“Okay! Okay. But you need to get the ticks under control, Spamton. I can't keep vouching for you.”

Every inch of him tensed. Tenna almost felt as if his brain stalled. Spamton? He quickly shook his head and was once more flicking the ash from his cigarette. No, that made no sense. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen a single scrap of him or his ads anywhere. Perhaps that should have been slightly unnerving, now that he considered it, but no, Tenna found it mildly vindicating. He left, and for what? For his name to be completely wiped from every inch of the city. He couldn’t help the snort that escaped him with that thought. 

Regardless, Spamton didn't sound like that. Or, maybe he did but, he didn't speak like that. And what he would be doing working at a diner? Unless he'd hit rock bottom, he was still an Addison. He always had that to fall back on. 

“THANK YOU.”

“Yea. You’re closing tomorrow just–get it together, alright?” 

“I WILL.” 

Tenna heard a door shut. Footsteps soon approached him, and for some reason his heart began to thrum harder than usual. A small man emerged from the alleyway, a cigarette clenched between his teeth, meanwhile he seemed intent on fussing with his lighter. 

“[ @&#$?&! ] COME ON.” 

His hand was shaking; Tenna assumed it made it difficult for him to strike the flame. 

“Need help?”

“NO, I’M–”

Every inch of the man froze. Slowly–ever so slowly his gaze had turned to meet with him. He stared at his legs for a moment, then his vision trailed up to meet with his face. The cigarette once held between his teeth hit the ground. 

“Are you–” 

Gone. He bolted. Before Tenna could even react he was down the street and racing around the corner. Okay–there wasn’t any line of reasoning he could come up with to explain that reaction. Tenna’s gaze hesitantly turned to the diner. He had already ditched his friends long enough–they would start to worry. Besides, why did he even care if that little man resembled Spamton? Not only was it clearly not him, but if he had, in fact, washed up, then he deserved it. Who was Tenna to care about his comings and goings anymore? His cigarette butt was flicked and stamped out. He picked it up and wandered over to a nearby trash can to dispose of it before heading back into the restaurant. 

His fingers brushed the handle–his body refused to proceed. 

“Dammit.” He turned on heel and quickly entered the nearby diner. 

“Good Evening.” The hostess greeted. “How many–ohmigosh! M-Mr–you’re Mr. Tenna!”

“Hah–hello, yes.” Tenna had smiled warmly; he could see the girl was younger. That, and he supposed he was used to this response. He could use that to his advantage. “I was wondering if you couldn’t help me with something?”

“I–yes, of course!”

“I actually came here to see Spamton. I was waiting for a while out front–did he leave early? I thought he mentioned he was closing tonight–unless that’s tomorrow?”

“Spamton?” She’d asked incredulously. Her face scrunched briefly, though it seems she may have realized how rude that came off. “That’s tomorrow. He got called out early today–honestly, just between us, I’m surprised he’s lasted this long. He’s constantly breaking things and he’s–well, nevermind. If he does come in tomorrow, he’ll be here until closing, around ten.” 

“Drat.” He’d played the part, as if he hadn’t already known that information. “Thank you anyway. I guess I’ll have to swing by tomorrow, then.” 

She seemed to be buzzing with the knowledge he would be back.

“Ah, and also, could you keep this between us? I haven't seen him in a long time. I actually planned on surprising him.” 

“Sure, of course! Take care!”

“You too.” He'd given a gentle wave before he exited the diner. 

He pressed himself against the brick building, meanwhile a hand grasped at the fabric of his shirt. His heart was pounding–he didn't need to breathe, and yet, he swore he would have been lightheaded otherwise. He felt lightheaded; there was a distinct buzzing inside his screen he couldn't dull. 

Spamton worked there. That man was Spamton. He couldn't even begin to put together his thoughts on the situation. Of course he was curious–God, he looked like that. He'd been begging for his job; his Spamton didn't beg, not for matters like that. He felt unbelievably hurt and betrayed because, fuck, he leaves to go do this? But nothing trumped the indescribable anger. He leaves to go do this? Promised success and then ran–the fucker deserved this. If he were a big person, he would leave him to stew. It was obvious he was already suffering, he hadn’t needed Tenna there to rub it in his face. 

He had twenty four hours to sit on it. 

With his heart rate under control, he’d released a soft sigh and returned to the restaurant. 

“Tenna!” While they had both called his name upon his approach, Elnina had been the one to hop up from her chair. 

“Where were you–we were getting worried!”

“Sorry.” Had been his sheepish response as he took his seat. At the very least, they had refilled his glass. “I ran into a fan–you know how I am about getting away.” 

As Elnina eyed him, he’d taken his cup and took a sip. Slowly, she sat back down, though her scrutinizing gaze remained. 

“Were you outside smoking?” 

“Um–”

“Tenna! You quit!”

“Well, I was trying to quit, actually. I’m not doing a great job of it.”

She released a sigh, and Lanino smiled sheepishly. 

“Clearly.” He’d mused behind his own glass, and Elnina had thrown a sharp look at him as well. 

“Last hurrah.” She threatened, and Tenna couldn’t help the soft laugh that followed. 

“Okay, I swear. Last hurrah.” With that confirmation, she seemed to ease back into her chair. 

He knew he was being quieter than usual for the remainder of the meal. Enough so that it had prompted Lanino to ask if he had been alright.  

“I am. Sorry. I was just thinking–we’re having so much fun. Why not book a hotel and stay the night? We could find some other things to do in the morning. When do we ever get an opportunity like this?” With no reason to fret, Lanino returned his smile, and he could see his hand moved to grip Elnina’s under the table.

“That sounds wonderful, don’t you agree, love?”

“I do! We never get time out so–let’s enjoy it while we can!”

“Wonderful.”

With a soft smile, Tenna rose his glass to his lips and finished his drink.

Chapter Text

It had been a rough day. It had been a rough half a decade–regardless, Spamton had a rocky start to his day. He woke up late; that was entirely his fault. He hadn’t typically needed an alarm on street cleaning day. On this particular one, it stood to reason that he had fallen into a deep enough sleep that he’d slept right through it. It was so rare he was able to remain asleep for more than an hour or two at a time and so, of course, it only made sense he’d pass out the one night he hadn’t set his alarm. 

The next issue with his day had been the fact he had needed a shower. Living in a dump meant he, of course, did not have a shower readily available to him. He’d joined a shitty gym; the small fee was worth the access it gave him to the showers. The issue was the fact he had to actually get himself across town to use them and he was already running late. By the time he had gotten there, they were closed for cleaning, and it meant he’d had to wait around until they were ready, setting him back even further than before.

Somehow he’d made it  to work on time, but his day hadn’t exactly improved from there. His hands were getting worse, as were his ticks. He’d come to terms with the ad speech; there was nothing he could do to reverse it. If he focused, really focused, he was able to speak normally but God it exhausted him. The mental fortitude it expended typically resulted in him glitching which, naturally, led to other accidents. Not to mention, glitching wasn’t exactly an attractive trait among other code-bearing citizens. Who wanted someone perceived as defective serving them? 

Broken dishes, unintended advertisements, and a lack of control over his volume had been what ultimately led to his impromptu meeting out back. 

Spamton couldn’t lose another job. It wasn't his first rodeo; he'd had this conversation again, and again, and again. He wasn't sure why this had been the one to finally wear him down–perhaps because he'd been running out of options. 

He didn't usually beg; not in this context. But he also just–couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn't keep job hunting. He was running out of jobs, the will, and the mental capacity. More and more he felt himself losing his grip on himself–on reality. 

One more chance. He’d managed to secure a final chance. When the door clicked behind him he had rubbed at his eyes. He wanted to swear, to knock over the nearby trash but he’d had enough self restraint to refrain. Instead, he’d slipped into his pocket and placed a cigarette between his teeth. He knew it was an expensive habit, that his money should have went to getting an apartment, but he just didn’t fucking care anymore. 

His joints were stiff; it was getting cold again. Even after five years it was something he wasn’t sure he would ever grow accustomed to. How was he meant to adjust to his exposed joints? To them locking in the cold–to the trembling? His brows knitted together as he struggled to strike a flame. 

“Need help?”

Apparently his struggle had been particularly pathetic to observe, as someone had offered to help. He, genuinely, wasn’t sure what the fuck that was about. People weren’t nice in the city–or, well, they weren’t nice to him. Regardless, it seemed like this schmuck was being earnest; he probably was a tourist. That said, Spamton wasn’t exactly keen on being rude–and he hadn’t the energy for a fight. 

“NO, I–”

His brain sputtered. That voice–he recognized that voice. He swore every wire in his body had tensed when the realization hit him. That voice–it made no sense, hah, he really was going crazy. The laptop was far, far away from that overgrown television. It was–but–

Slowly, his vision had turned to meet with a glimmering gold smile. The belt was all he needed to see to confirm his suspicions, and yet, his eyes still trailed up to meet with the kind expression directed at himself. He didn’t recognize him. His cigarette slipped from between his teeth and hit the ground. He wouldn’t give him the time to recognize him. 

Spamton knew he couldn’t always rely on his speed, but he had made a mad dash down the street and rounded the corner. He ran–he ran until he swore his artificial lungs would give out and he was left wheezing and coughing in an alleyway. 

Tenna–in the city–Tenna in the city after half a fucking decade–and he runs into him? In the entire city, out of all inhabitants, they run into one another? And Spamton’s first instinct was to run? In retrospect, he supposed that wasn’t terribly surprising. As he leaned against the wall of a nearby building, he couldn’t pull his gaze from the puddle at his feet. Or, rather, he couldn’t pull his gaze from the hazy reflection that stared back. Of course he ran. 

He didn’t recognize him.

Spamton stared silently at his reflection as the heaving of his chest slowed. It was second nature that a hand rose and ran through his hair, attempting to slick back the stray pieces that surrounded his face. 

He spent all this time resenting him, silently fuming, only to be filled with complete and utter dread the moment he saw him. No, it wasn’t just dread, he was ashamed. He was hardly the man he once was–and that shame slowly became overtaken by pride. He was too proud to be perceived like this. He didn’t want to give Tenna the satisfaction of knowing where he’d ended up without his stupid help. No doubt he would mock him; poor little Spamton. Without the great and mighty Tenna he ended up without anything; he ended up in a dump, a shell of his former self.

Spamton wasn’t entirely clueless, he had seen TV Time, knew Tenna was bashing him, that he took every opportunity afforded to him to poke fun at his old partner. Tenna recognizing him after presumably overhearing him nearly being fired from his job at a diner, after seeing him look like this–he needn’t give him any more ammo to use against him. 

Whatever. It had been a one time occurrence; they met and he ran. At the very least, he knew to occasionally look out for him around the area so long as the laptop remained in the Dreemurr home. He had more important things to worry about for the time being, mainly, how cold it was getting.

Spamton sniffed; a hand rubbed beneath his nose. With his impromptu acid bath, he’d lost all insulation–actually, more accurately, he had lost the remainder of his insulation when he was evicted from his previous apartment. Again. Most of his savings went with his business endeavors. He had been able to sustain a shitty apartment for a while until, finally, he’d lost that as well. Now he had a lovely place full of garbage juice, trash, and disgusting smells.

He’d slipped another cigarette between his teeth and fought with his lighter as he continued the journey back home. A cloud of smoke slipped out of his mouth as he stood in front of a dumpster. Once he’d flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, he pulled open the lid and slipped inside. 

“ROCK [ @&#$??&! ] BOTTOM.” Spamton lamented as his shaking hands moved to cover his face. 

He tried to keep his work clothes clean, though, it meant he now had even less layers to keep him warm. The shitty hole-filled blanket he had could only do so much; regardless, he'd wrapped it around himself as tightly as he could physically manage. 

Spamton had given up on achieving any meaningful amount of sleep ages ago. He had to constantly keep himself at least minorly tuned into his surroundings if he wanted to avoid getting chucked into a garbage truck or having heavy trash dumped on him. That wasn't even accounting for the weirdos who hung around. Yea, he recognized he was hardly any better, but it hadn't changed the fact he wanted to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. 

He knew he needed to invest in a heavier blanket or clothes. And yet, he'd decided to waste it on cigarettes, coffee, and a bagel. He supposed the bagel wasn't a waste, he hadn't eaten in–he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, the more he thought about it. So, that was a necessary expenditure. The other two, he'd argue, kept him sane. 

A later shift meant he had more time to stand in the shower. He relished the warm water; moreover, he appreciated that he was no longer shaking. He swore he'd never get the cold entirely out of him–and winter hadn't even started. 

He had the time to properly put himself together, to mentally prepare for his shift that had to go flawlessly because, again, he needed this job. 

Spamton had shown up a little early. He'd forced his salesman smile, hell, he'd forced himself to speak through the ad speech. It left him beyond exhausted, but hey, it earned him some good tips. He wouldn't lie and say that hadn't brought him some joy–he still had it. 

By the time his break rolled around, business had slowed significantly, though that was typically to be expected on a late Sunday night. Thankfully, Spamton thought, as he stamped out his cigarette and headed back inside. 

“Spamton, you've got one in your section.”

“SERIOUSLY?” 

It figured, there was always one right before closing. He was tired of masking–his literal brain hurt. With a sigh, he'd taken a glance over at the dining area–

“[ #$@! ]”

He quite nearly dove into the kitchen; thankfully, he had an ounce of restraint.

“Spamton? The hell's your deal?” Another server questioned. 

“TAKE IT.”

“What?”

“TAKE IT. I KNOW THE [ bucket of bolts ]. HE [ leave a tip ] WELL–TAKE IT!”

“Weren't you just in hot water yesterday?”

Spamton bristled.

“SHUT [ up! ]. HOW WOULD YOU EVEN [ permission granted ] THAT?” 

“Go do your job, Spamton.” 

“AUGH! [ donate to a shelter near you ]!” 

He couldn't exactly storm over there. Instead, he'd stewed in his anger for exactly ten seconds before taking a deep breath, composing himself, and proceeding towards the table–towards Tenna. 

“What do you want?” 

Tenna's head tipped. He stared, silently, a soft grin held up on his lips. He oozed smugness. It made Spamton’s skin crawl when he tsked. 

“Now, I don't believe that's any way to speak to a customer.”

Spamton’s teeth grinded. It was an old, nasty habit, now accentuated by his lack of lips. 

“What can I get for you–sir?”

If it wasn't for his extreme focus on maintaining any semblance of normal speech, he would have been apt to say more. It was for the best. He really needed this job. He would keep that phrase on repeat in his brain. 

“Oh, a coffee would be fine. Bitter. You shouldn't have any issues with that.” 

“IN THAT CASE, I COULD GET YOU A [ fifty percent off ] LEMON TO [ suck it ].” He’d grumbled under his breath as he walked away from the table. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”  

He’s made his way behind the bar, meanwhile, he felt the eyes of his coworker burning through him. 

“You shouldn’t talk to customers that way.” 

“YOU SHOULD [ mind your manners ] YOUR OWN [ business practices ].” 

He forced the coffee pot down with more force than necessary before he returned to Tenna’s table. He took more care with the mug despite how desperately he’d wanted to smash it on the table. At the very least, he’d been more composed as he placed the creamer besides his cup. 

“Do you need anything else?” 

Tenna did not initially respond. Instead, he stared at the cup brought to him which only served to annoy Spamton further.

“I didn’t ask for milk.”

“You take your coffee with milk, T-T–Ttt–” He couldn’t say it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t say it. His skin began to crawl. He was going to start glitching. “You wouldn’t like the creamer we have. Now can I go?”

“Mr. Tenna!”

“Oh, look, your adoring public, call if you need me.” 

Spamton couldn’t move fast enough. He could feel it; bits of him began glitching, his face burst into colors, cutting in and out.

“Ah, hell, Spamton, again?” 

He’d collapsed to his knees in the kitchen, keeping him away from prying eyes. The glitching intensified, breaking up his face into multicolored bursts. 

Hurts hurts hurts.

A fist pounded into the back of his head once, twice. The third time seemed to resolve the brunt of it, and the static in his eyes slowly faded. 

“You keep hittin’ yourself in the head like that and you’re gonna give yourself a concussion, puppet boy.” 

Spamton released a shaky breath–he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it. 

“YEA, WELL. NOT MUCH [ stock left ] TO [ scramble ].” 

Slowly, he picked himself up from the floor and brushed at his pants. The cook was watching him with a careful gaze; Spamton felt like he was burning beneath it. 

“PLEASE DON’T [ tell all ].”

“I’m not a snitch.” 

“HAEAEAEHAEH. THANKS.” 

He had, begrudgingly, returned twice during Tenna’s time spent at the diner to refill his cup. Thankfully, the hostess talked his screen off, leaving him free to run back to the kitchen. Eventually he had been informed they were cleaning up to close and the asshole fucked off, allowing Spamton to properly do his job and clock out. 

As he stepped out into the night, a cigarette slipped between his teeth. Despite the unbelievably shitty end to his shift, he supposed the day had been a better one overall. He had held his shit together–for the most part. One glitch that hadn’t even been caught by any customers felt like a good shift. He pulled out his lighter and fussed with the wheel. 

“COME ON.” 

Fire burst from the lighter and Spamton bristled. He could fucking feel he was being watched. He raised the flame to the tip of his cigarette. After pocketing the lighter, he turned on heel and began his brisk walk home. 

“Spamton!” 

He was just shy of jogging as he hustled down the street. He could have broken into a sprint, very easily could have shaken him, he just hadn’t the energy, not after adjusting his speech all day. He was exhausted. 

“G–Spamton, would you slow down?”

Spamton wasn’t sure why he wasn’t taking the hint. The fuck did they have to talk about? He was annoying him even further because he couldn’t even go home if he was following him. He hadn’t needed him knowing his current living arrangements. He had enough ammo as it stood. 

A hand brushed his jacket and Spamton turned just as quickly to slap it away. The look he gave him was poison. Then again, the look he received in turn was no better. 

“DON’T TOUCH ME.” 

“Okay, fine.” As a sign of good faith, he raised his own hands. “I won’t touch you. But, I think I’m owed an explanation.”

“[ #$@! ] YOU!”

Tenna almost looked as if he had been struck. His shock quickly turned to anger. 

“EXCUSE ME?”

“YOU HEARD ME! GO [ #$@! ] YOURSELF, YOU [ larger than life ] [ CRT ]. YOU WANT TO [ chat now ] AFTER THAT? [ #$@! ] YOU!” Spamton took a drag of his cigarette and flicked the ash in his direction.

“Oh, you’re mad? YOU have the audacity to be mad at ME?” 

Tenna couldn’t help himself; he’d grabbed Spamton. With his size, it was easy to wrap a hand around his torso and sweep him off his feet. 

“YOU LEAVE, DON’T SAY A WORD, AND YOU–”

A puff of smoke was blown into Tenna’s face, leaving him coughing. 

“OH, YOU LITTLE–” 

“YOU [ visit now ] TO WHAT? EMBARRASS ME? OKAY! [ game set match ]! [ mission accomplished ]! LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

“I didn’t even know if you were ALIVE or DEAD, SPAMTON.” 

“YOU [ visit ] KNOWING DAMN WELL I WAS [ work from home ]! MAY BEE YOU CAME TO [ ruin me ] MY LIFE AGAIN?”

“ME?? RUIN YOUR LIFE?”

“YOU’RE [ ow ow it hurts ] ME< [ boob tube ]!!”

“GOOD! YOU’RE LUCKY I DON’T CRUSH YOU RIGHT HERE!” 

His grip tightened. Spamton felt his heart hammering against his chest. He began to panic. Teeth sunk into Tenna's hand. 

“OW! YOU LITTLE–”

He dropped him; of course he dropped him, the bastard had just bitten him! And yet, the moment his grip slipped–Tenna had been holding him quite some distance from the ground. A drop like that–

Spamton jolted when he'd fallen into the same hand that had previously been crushing him. He couldn't do this–he couldn't actually hurt him. Tenna stared down at him in horror, perhaps more so at himself; that he'd been so overcome by rage he had seriously squeezed him to the point of biting. Spamton looked horrified himself, splayed out in his palm, though his horror was much shorter. He very quickly recovered and returned his look with one full of anger.

“I–”

“DROP ME.”

Tenna carefully placed him back on the ground. Spamton smoothed down his shirt and adjusted his jacket. Truthfully, it had been a way for him to try and quell his shot nerves. His hands were shoved into his pockets to disguise the full tremble that overtook them. 

“You seriously think I ruined your life?” 

Spamton scoffed. 

“YOU HAVE NO [ @&#$??&! ] IDEA.”

“THEN ENLIGHTEN ME!”

Tenna waited patiently for an answer he wasn't sure would come–if it even existed. He saw Spamton tense; his brows furrowed. 

“YOU [ used car ] ME.”

“ME?” Tenna scoffed. “ME??”

“YES YOU!” Spamton jabbed a finger in his direction. “YOU JUST [ sweet talk ] AND [ promises ] TO STAY BIG! YOU AND THAT STUPID [ contract ] [ ruins ] ME!”

“OH POOR SPAMTON.” Tenna bent at the waist to get his face closer to the man. “As if you're blameless! You used me for advertising! God forbid I ask you to share ANY of your success!”

“I TOLD YOU I [ access denied ]! 
AGAIN
AND AGAIN
AND AGAIN! 
BUT YOU DON'T [ @&#$??&! ] [ hear now ]!
YOU BEGGED
AND BEGGED 
AND I WASN'T 
I WASN'T 
I WASN'T [ permission granted ]!!
BUT I STILL THOUGHT ONE SECRET–
YOU!!
YOU YOU!!
YOU AND THAT [ deal of a lifetime ]!!”

“If you weren't allowed to, why didn't you just SAY that? Then WHY WERE YOU GOING TO SIGN?”

“BECAUSE I [ cared ] ABOUT YOU!!” 

Not that that was any new information. Of course he fucking cared, he never hid how much he cared. 

“I [ agree to all ] AND YOU CAN'T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO [ pick me up ] A SINGLE [ call now ].”

“What are you talking about? YOU never picked up!” 

They both stared silently at one another, perhaps soaking in the realization of those admissions or still fuming in their hurt and anger. 

“[ clear cache ].”

“What?” 

“F–ff[ forget about it ]!” 

Spamton was the first to pull away. His back turned to face him, and he was intent on properly losing him this time. 

“Wait, we're not done here!”

“GO [ homepage ], [ trash heap ].” 

“Spamton–”

His antennas vibrated. Shit–he was way later than he'd said. They were probably worried about him, and yet–Dammit! The irony was not lost on him as he yanked down his antenna to answer the call. Before he knew it, Spamton was gone. 

He hadn't stopped running until the lid to the dumpster was shut firmly above him. Spamton's heart hammered against his chest. Fingers laced through his hair. He hadn't even been afforded the ability to calm himself before his face burst into color and glitched. He tugged at his scalp as the glitching continued, waiting for it to end. 

He'd called him. Tenna had called him. Why? Why hadn't heard gotten any then–why hadn't answered? He wrote to him. He called. He begged. 

No, no, this was a distraction. He was distracting him from what really mattered. 

HEAVEN. BREAKING THESE STRINGS. FREEDOM.

A fist pounded into his skull. Heaven, heaven, dammit, why did he keep thinking about heaven? He swore he could feel the phantom threads that once wrapped tighter around his limbs. 

The fact of the matter was that he couldn't do this, not again, not after what he knew. He was a goner. He was as good as dead. It was just a matter of time. 

A hand touched his cheek and he grimaced when it felt wet. 

“UGH. GROW UP [ baby ].” 

He wrenched his eyes shut and yanked the blanket over himself as he turned to face the opposite wall and attempted to will himself to fall asleep. It was never for more than an hour or so at a time, but at the very least, staying asleep and staying warm kept him from fretting over frivolities. 

Chapter Text

“UGH HOW IS IT [ rise and shine ] ALREADY?”

Hands ran down the length of his face, meanwhile Spamton rolled onto his back. When his hands fell, it left him staring at the lid of the dumpster. A hand slapped at the stupid alarm clock blaring his ear off, and he heaved a sigh of relief when it was silenced. 

Cold. 

He always tucked his clothes away before sleeping; he couldn’t risk his uniform being destroyed. Usually he’d keep them carefully tucked away both in his bag and under the dumpster but, well, considering the events of last night, he’d settled on keeping them with him. 

He had to save money that morning; it meant going to the gym, showering while there, then rushing to work. That was often how his days went, save the occasional trips to buy more cigarettes. He would always find some spare dark dollars for that. At the very least, his days became less eventful. Presumably, Tenna had cut his losses and gone home like Spamton had advised. He convinced himself he didn’t feel any particular way about that; he hadn’t the time to worry himself with his goings on when he still hadn’t bought a heavier coat, nor blanket. Honestly, he hardly had the energy to do anything by the end of his shifts. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep himself under control; to stop the glitches and the vocal ticks. Sure, maybe it made more work for him physically–and mentally–but it meant his work quality improved and he wasn’t at risk of losing another job right before the thick of winter. 

Some days were easier than others. It was one of those other days when a waitress found him glitching in the back alleyway. At the very least, she’d had the common decency to wait until he’d mostly pulled himself back together before bothering him. 

“Spamton, you got someone asking for you.”

“WHAT?” He’d asked between breaths. “I DIDN’T EVEN [ doing ] ANYTHING!”

“You did something. Dunno why someone like him wants to talk with someone like you.” She fumed as the door slammed behind her. 

Someone like–

“OH, SON OF A [ puppies 4 sale ]!” 

Again–why was he back again? Why did he keep bothering him at work? 

When he’d peered into the dining room, he had a moment of tentative hope where he thought it was any other celebrity who maybe for some reason was looking for him and that it wasn’t going to be Tenna waiting patiently for Spamton to once again make an ass of himself.

All of that to say, of course it was Tenna.

“Why are you back here?”

Spamton seemed to startle him; he wasn’t sure how, it wasn’t as if there was anyone around to keep him preoccupied. When his gaze turned to meet with him he seemed–fidgety. Nervous. It was certainly a stark contrast from his first visit. 

“I didn’t know where else to find you.” 

Spamton bristled. 

“Why were you looking?” 

“I wasn’t looking, I wouldn’t even know where to look.” He wasn’t sure why that was what he got defensive over but, whatever. “I just–I don’t know.”

“Great, do you at least know what you want to order?”

“No.”

“Awesome. I’m so glad you made me cut my break short for this.” 

“I want you to get coffee with me.” 

Spamton stared at him incredulously. That explained the nerves, at least. 

“I’m working.”

“Not now, obviously.” Spamton would give him the slight twinge of annoyance in his tone on that one; he was purposely trying to be annoying with his comment. “Or dinner. Or lunch. I don’t care, just–grab something with me.” 

“Why?” Spamton was understandably skeptical; hell, the man very well could have crushed him just days prior. “I was always taught to avoid a second location.” 

“Christ, Spamton I’m not–I just want to talk okay I–I don’t know!” He was too loud; he drew some stares. He shrunk slightly smaller than he already was. “You’re gone for years and–I don’t think I’m unjustified just wanting to have a conversation after everything.” 

Spamton didn’t initially respond. He thought about the prospect. He was starving–he was always starving. They obviously both had a lot of anger that one lunch couldn’t resolve. Was it really that bad?

“You’re paying?”

“I mean I–yes, I can pay.” 

“Fine, then lunch. I’ll meet you at Retro Bytes at noon this Saturday. Now can you order before you get me in trouble?” 

He perked up after his offer. Thankfully, unlike the other evening, he had been much more agreeable and mostly left him alone. Even if he was better behaved, it hadn’t negated the fact his day had gotten much more complicated. 

“WHY THE [ #$@! ] DID I [ accept terms ] TO THAT??” His fingers laced through his hair allowing him to tug at his scalp. 

He was supposed to be saving but–he couldn’t go in the clothes he owned. He kept all of two outfits and one of them was his fucking work uniform. And the other–he didn’t hate it but–he didn’t want to wear it to meet him. It was old; it was so unlike him and the persona he was trying to pull off. Obviously he was low, but he wanted Tenna to at least think he had his shit together. Maybe he’d hit rock bottom but was bouncing back. Put together enough that it would keep up appearances and he wouldn't need to be ridiculed. 

Spamton winced as he pulled his hand back–fuck–stupid fucking joints and stupid fucking cold! He'd yanked out a few strands of his hair that got caught in his finger and flipped onto his back out of frustration. 

He didn't want to go clothes shopping. On top of that, he didn't want to enter the shopping district for obvious reasons. No, his brothers weren't everywhere, and there were plenty of clothing stores in the city, but even being in the same area as them made him feel uneasy. The last thing he needed was to give them of all people any ammunition. 

His palms pressed into his eyes. His life was just a cycle of constant, self-imposed stress. Whatever. As he was apt to do, he decided that it was a tomorrow problem for a tomorrow him.

Spamton stared at himself in the dressing room mirror. It was–more difficult than he had anticipated. As long as he avoided eye contact he supposed it wasn't too bad. The outfit itself was fine. It was the best he could grab out of the discount section. Turtle neck, a decent pair of jeans that fit just enough he could get away with wearing them. Nothing ever fit right anymore; he took what he could get. The urge to shatter the mirror was overwhelming. 

He didn’t belong here. He never felt like he belonged anywhere, especially now–especially here. In the shopping district, surrounded by them. 

To refrain from shattering the glass, he turned his back to the mirror and pulled off the outfit. He quickly changed back into his previous clothes and exited to pay. He could feel the eyes on him–he always did, anymore. He knew what he was. A puppet full of broken coding. Not exactly something to be desired. 

“Sir?” 

He hadn't noticed his hand glitching as he handed over the clothes. 

“HAEHAEH–SORRY.” 

Damn. While he had always questioned his self worth, it was much more intense than it once had been. He swore he'd never thought that low previously. It hadn't mattered; he paid for his clothes, took the bag, and hurried out of the shop. 

Ugh. He felt the dent that purchase had made in his wallet. At least he had a shift later to make up for it. And he was getting a full meal out of it the proceeding day; not another shitty bagel or half eaten sandwich he could scrounge up. He would force himself to say it was worth the cost. 

“Excuse me–sir!” 

Always someone yelling. Spamton tugged at his sleeve and glanced at his busted watch. He had enough time to at least drop his clothes off in his little hole in the trash zone. It would be safer there than in his dumpster. A hand gripped his shoulder and Spamton instinctively slapped it away. 

“HEY, HANDS OFF THE [ merchandise ]!!” His eyes instinctively flicked to the bag held in his grasp. It tightened protectively. In a flurry of outrage he’d spun on his heels to face his would-be assailant. “I [ pay now ] FOR THESE! WHY DON’T YOU [ mind your manners ] YOUR–MIND–
MIND–”

A yellow face stared down at him. The recognition was plain as day. 

“Spamton?” 

“NO.” He responded too quickly to that to feign ignorance. Shit. “SORRY. DO I [ no ] YOU?”

It looked like, for a brief moment, he may have believed that. His features quickly shifted, and once again, he was reaching a hand out. 

Spamton ran. If he had proven he was good at anything, it was running. That, in addition to the fact he knew damn well his brother was on the clock. Unlike the other night, he'd at least slowed his pace when he exited the shopping district and drew closer to the trash zone. 

“WHY CAN'T [ everybody ] JUST [ leave ] ME [ all alone on a late night ]?” 

Years spent alone; abandoned, recovering from fucking withering away, his joints locking, abandoned by his friends and family, and then in less than a month two encounters? It felt like something bigger than him was mocking him. 

With his experiences, he wouldn't have been surprised. 

At the very least he'd been able to stash his clothes for the following day and hadn't any other unwanted encounters during or after his shift. Sleeping was a different story. He was hungry. He was cold. Usually he could manage when it was one or the other but compounded made even an hour of uninterrupted sleep next to impossible. And maybe some nerves were thrown in the mix, though, he wasn't about to acknowledge that. 

When his alarm went off, he was almost relieved. It meant he could stop tossing and turning, get up, and get ready for the day. 

Similar routine, different day. Wake up, grab his bag, gym, shower. His eyes were fixed on the mirror. More precisely, on the figure staring back. Him. 

His fingers traced the lines on his chin. He worked to slick his hair back; at least he could still do that much, though it was harder to keep up on the dye. Splotches of white appeared every now and again. His eyes were tired. He was tired. 

God. The years had not been kind to him. No, he hadn't been kind to himself. Stupid fucking deal. Stupid fucking Tenna and his stupid fucking contract! 

Again, he showed an unbelievable amount of restraint when his fist hit the glass. Couldn't risk losing his one place to shower. With a sigh, he pulled away, and left the bathroom. He took a quick trip back to his–home–and then he began the walk to the diner. He was going to be early, though not terribly so. Funny, considering he had always made Tenna sweat with his appearances coming so close to show time. He was usually ready, he just liked riling him up a bit every now and again. He would no doubt be surprised to find him already sitting behind a booth once he arrived. 

Spamton pushed open the doors to the diner and stepped in; a glance at his watch told him he was just shy of half an hour early–really, really early by his standards. He planned on approaching the hostess, at least, that was until he caught an arm waving out of the corner of his eye. There was no way–

“Hey, Spamton, over here.”

How early was he?! Then again, he supposed that perfectly tracked from what he remembered of Tenna. Regardless, he’d wandered over and sat in the booth opposite of him. 

“You’re early.” Tenna had the gall to comment. Spamton stared back incredulously; obviously enough so that it caused Tenna to flush. “Hah–I mean, obviously me too but–I was coming from TV World so I–well, you know how traffic can get.”

“YOU DROVE?”

“Well–no–but I just wanted to be safe.” 

“HOW [ limited time ] HAVE YOU BEEN HERE, [ trash heap ]?”

“Not that long.” It was very obvious he was trying to come off as nonchalant. It was not working. “Just–maybe about half an hour?” 

So, a full hour early. Spamton supposed some things just never changed. How nice for him. When the waitress came over, Spamton ordered a coffee of his own, and he picked up the menu in front of him. A hot meal; a hot, fresh meal? Well, fresh as a diner could be. 

“Spamton?” 

Oh. Right. He still had to earn it. The menu covering his face lowered to allow him to steal a glance at Tenna who was very obviously fidgety. He supposed he was putting more stock in this lunch than Spamton was. 

“Hah I–I know I asked you here but I–don’t even know where to start.” 

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO [ order now ]?”

Tenna released a scoff. 

“I’m being serious.”

“ME [ 2 ].” 

“Why are you doing that?” 

Now he fully had his attention. The menu lowered, and Spamton couldn’t help but raise an inquisitive brow. 

“DOING WHAT?”

“That–talking like that. When we spoke at your work you were–”

“NORMAL?” 

He shifted. It was obvious he wasn’t going to use that word, but there was no other one to use. Spamton found his thumb picking at the lamination on the menu. 

“THAT’S NOT NORMAL. THIS IS NORMAL. NOW. AT [ work from home ] I DO IT BECAUSE–BETTER [ tips and tricks ]. LESS–WHATEVER, DOESN’T [ matter-of-fact ].” 

“Oh.”

Spamton’s teeth grinded. 

“NO ONE WANTS [ ad jargon ] YELLED AT THEM WHILE [ fine dining ].” 

“Why?” 

“DO PEOPLE NOT WANT TO BE [ yelling ] AT?”

“No, obviously I know–the speech. What–happened?”

Spamton was silent. He pointedly avoided Tenna's gaze. The waitress returned with his coffee and topped off Tenna's own cup. At the very least, he was happy for the distraction while they ordered. He was less pleased when she departed and left them in silence. Spamton poured a splash of cream into his coffee and busied himself with mixing beyond what was actually called for.

Finally:

“I DON'T KNOW.” It wasn't the entire truth, but it also wasn't entirely a lie. He knew who caused it, not what. Hell, he wouldn't claim to understand the majority of things that happened to him. “IT [ just in time ] HAPPENED. I'VE [ living on a prayer ] WITH IT [ long term ] ENOUGH. IT DOESN'T [ don't bother ] ME.”

Spamton knew that was a lie; Tenna knew that had to be a lie. He had gotten used to it, but that hadn’t meant it never bothered him. Regardless of what he believed, Tenna wasn’t about to call him out on it. Somehow, they both managed to raise their glasses and take a sip of their coffee; Spamton with a bit more care. Awkward. 

“I WOULD ASSUME [ show time ] IS FINE.” 

Even more awkward. 

“It's–yes. Fine.”

That had piqued Spamton’s interest. 

“FINE? [ trash heap ] YOU'RE NOT GOING TO [ fanfare ]?” 

Tenna seemed to pull into himself. Spamton unintentionally touched a nerve. 

“Yes, it's just–fine. Look, it doesn't matter.”

“OH, SO I CAN [ share ] BUT YOU [ no obligation ]?”

“Toriel and Asgore haven't been doing great, alright!? Is that what you want to hear? They're fighting! But the kids are–Kris watches a lot. Asgore runs the TV through the night sometimes so it’s still–it’s just fine, okay?” 

He wasn’t supposed to feel bad about this. If anything, it should have been liberating knowing Tenna wasn’t perfect–that he was hurting. Misery loved company after all, and Spamton could have been the poster boy for it. And yet–he felt his heart tug. The Dreemurrs and the Holidays–hell, the lightners were everything to him. 

“I’m sorry. I haven’t really–I didn’t mean to snap at you, that was inappropriate. I’ve just been–”

“PENT UP.”

“Yes. I’m just trying to keep positive but I guess–it’s hard to be in the middle of the fights. I mean, it’s not like it’s every day but–yea, anyway, things are fine. The show is doing well, otherwise.” 

Ugh, he hated that he felt bad. Not that he could have done anything; it wasn’t like his own circumstances. Regardless, he found some frustration in his suddenly bleeding heart. He raised his cup to his mouth and again, was careful while taking a sip. Not only did he not need to embarrass himself in front of Tenna, but he was not keen on staining his brand new shirt. 

At the very least, the wait for their food hadn’t been a long one. Spamton did his best to act unbothered as the plate was placed before him but, oh, he had been looking forward to this for the past two nights. Spamton was methodical in his attack on the breakfast–or at least, it felt methodical. Maybe he was eating a bit faster than he was used to. His eyes darted upright to catch Tenna staring at him. 

“WHAT?” His brows furrowed. 

Tenna jolted ever so slightly. Hah, apparently he wasn’t called out for it anymore–staring. Spamton could always tell; he maintained that ability. 

“What?”

“DON’T EVEN–YOU WERE [ stare at the sun ] I SAW YOU–WHAT?”

Tenna sighed when his attempt to deflect failed. 

“I just–why didn’t you–I’ve been thinking. About what you said. That I never picked up. I never got any calls from you.”

Now? Now he wanted to talk about this? Right in front of his delicious, half-eaten meal? Spamton groaned, and his attention turned back on his toast he dipped into the yolk of his eggs. 

“DOES IT EVEN [ matter-of-fact ]?” 

“It does to me! Spamton, I would’ve been there for you–even if I was mad.”

Spamton scoffed in response to that. Tenna’s gaze narrowed.

“What?”

“NOTHING.”

“No, that wasn’t nothing.”

“I ALREADY [ tell all ] HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU, [ trash heap ].”

“Please, reiterate.” 

“OKAY. I DON’T THINK YOU [ would ] HAVE. I DID [ call ]. 
AGAIN
AND AGAIN
AND AGAIN
AND NO ONE–
NO ONE EVER–
I WAS [ premium deal ] TO YOU AND IT’S–
[ fine and dandy ].
I THINK, MAY B, YOU WOULD HAVE [ help now ] IF I COULD HAVE PROVIDED BUT–
I HAD [ nothing ].
SO, NO.”

There wasn't an immediate response to that answer. It allowed Spamton to take a bite out of his toast and dip it back into his egg yolk. What he had not expected was the fist that pounded the table. The silverware clattered, and Spamton found himself jumping in response. When his eyes turned up, Tenna’s screen had gone black, save his mouth. It unnerved him. 

“Our relationship isn't–wasn’t transactional, Spamton.” 

Tenna couldn’t decide which reality was worse; the idea that Spamton was purposely trying to upset him or that he genuinely believed the only thing their relationship was built on was favors. The absolute look of earnestness on the man opposite of him answered that question for him. No, that definitely hurt much worse than the former.

“Do you seriously think I only kept you around because of what you could do for me?” 

“WHY ELSE WOULD YOU??” 

Tenna stared. Now that properly enraged him. 

“So you just kept me around because of what I could give you?” 

“NO. WELL, AT [ first come first serve ], AND THEN I WAS HAVING [ big fun ]. IT'S DIFFERENT.”

“DIFFERENT? Really? So you were in it for genuine reasons but me? No, I was using you?”

“I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE SO [ unsatisfied customer ]. I [ knew ] WHAT IT WAS, IT'S [ a-ok ].”

“NO IT ISN'T, SPAMTON!”

“[ trash heap ] PEOPLE ARE [ look now ].”

“I–dammit, you think–God, you telling me to go fuck myself hurt worse than that. You think–that whole time, after everything, you think I didn't love you?” 

“I DIDN'T SAY–”

“Yea, okay, I wanted you to sign a contract, Spamton. Did you forget we were BUSINESS PARTNERS? But I wasn't–God dammit, it wasn't just BUSINESS TO ME!” 

“[ trash heap ].”

“I spent the last half of a decade so ANGRY at you and–UPSET, OKAY? UPSET! I was HEARTBROKEN you left and you–what? Thought I was unbothered?”

“I DIDN’T–”

“I would have helped you. I mean look you’re not even–a waiter? You’re not even trying to sell anymore? I just mean I–I would have been there if you needed–if I knew things were this bad–”

“YOU DON’T KNOW [ sure as rain ] ABOUT ME–YOU DON’T KNOW IF IT’S BAD–HOW BAD–ANYTHING!! I TRIED TO [ tell all ] YOU!” He finally snapped; his hand hit the table. 

“I TRIED!
I TRIED!
I TR–TRIDE! 
YOU NEVER [ answer the question ]! BAD RECEPTION! 
I’VE ALWAYS BEEN [ alone on a late night ]! IT DIDN’T [ matter-of-fact ]! IT DOESN’T [ matter-of-fact ]! I FIGURED IT [ outback ]! WHY DO YOU [ caring ] SO MUCH?! 
JUST–
JUST–
JUST–” 

Colors burst forth, Spamton’s face glitched, splitting into pieces in front of Tenna’s eyes. It was commonplace for him, of course, under normal circumstances. Now? A fist pounded into the back of his head, attempting to correct the issue. When he’d managed to stop the glitch, and his features returned to normal, he could still feel the static in his eyes lingers. He also could feel the horrified gaze burning a hole straight through him. 

He could’ve died from embarrassment on the fucking spot. Everyone was looking; it wasn’t as if they had been whispering, after all. Spamton couldn’t deal with this. His eyes felt wet and he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.

He would have been there–he wanted to be there. If he could have just reached him, he wouldn’t have spent years thinking–

Spamton slid out of the booth, leaving his half eaten plate on the table. His shaking hands slid into his pockets. 

“I’M GOING [ homepage ].” A hand grabbed his arm.

“No, Spamton, I’m sorry, don’t–I didn’t mean–”

“I WANT TO GO [ homepage ].”

“That–are you okay? And you didn’t even–I said I would pay for lunch; you didn’t finish–”

He slid out of his grasp and proceeded towards the door, not even giving him the dignity of a second glance. If he had, he would have seen the few stray tears that hit the ground as he made his escape back to the trash zone. 

What the hell did he know, anyway? He tried to hold on to the anger he found slowly ebbing. Of course he was using him, what the hell else had Spamton to offer? He was new–he had been relevant. Maybe he had his fun with him, they always had fun, but to say it wasn’t transactional? Wasn’t Spamton in it for the views? Could he say he hadn’t thought of the success that came from being intimate with the host of the famous television show? Nevermind they had always been messing around behind the scenes. Nevermind that Tenna had told him he had loved him, multiple times. Nevermind the fact Spamton had, at first, wanted to go back so desperately.

Another tear hit the floor of his little hideaway. 

When he hadn’t answered, when all of his attempts to reach him had gone unanswered, it was easy to be angry. It was easy to assume he had seen Spamton as nothing more than a mark. It was still easier to think that way as the knowledge he would have been there for him, had he been able to reach him, made him sick. 

And the comment of his selling? What did Tenna know? He didn’t know how desperately he’d struggled, how he was taking whatever would fucking stick because beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

How he couldn’t even create a proper popup anymore.

“COME ON, DAMMIT!” 

Squiggles. They were all fucking squiggles, unintelligible junk. Spamton’s fingers laced through his hair as another failed popup stared back at him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been trying to accomplish that for, nor how many he’d left in the alleyway. He knew there had been a reason for his giving up on selling, though he supposed he needed a humility check from time to time. 

A flash of light blinded him. He had to shield his eyes to protect himself. What–

Heaven? 

Heaven. Hah. Concerning himself with the past, with him–he'd forgotten about what really mattered. Heaven. But he didn't know how to reach it. No, of course he did. He always knew. Was it fear that kept him away? Apprehension? 

It hadn't mattered. It meant freedom.

Freedom.

Sometimes, he would still feel the residual strings tied to his limbs, not as often, but they persisted. But if he could reach heaven–if he could reach it? Then he could achieve true, unfettered freedom.

Spamton blinked once–twice. His hands were wet. He glanced down and stared at the blue paint covering his palms. What–? His eyes lifted and he stared silently at the shoddily painted mural before him. The bricks were painted–he painted the bricks blue. Clouds were scattered around the sky. And then one single yellow sun; the paint dripped down the rays. He had–when had he? 

Heaven. 

Spamton left the dealership faster than his brain could begin to process. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him or what–he couldn’t recall when he had begun painting the wall. He had been feverish; it was as if he had been overtaken by something or–

The lid to the dumpster was thrown open and he haphazardly threw himself in. He should have changed out of his new clothes. He should have grabbed a blanket. Hands pressed into his ears and he curled in on himself, his eyes wrenching shut. He just wanted to sleep. If he could fall asleep, he would no doubt feel better in the morning.

Chapter Text

Things had gotten quiet again, which Spamton supposed he was thankful for. Well, aside from the occasional nightmare. It had been a while since he’d had them; honestly, he wasn’t even sure how he was having them considering he barely slept long enough to feel rested. 

Praying seemed to help. He knew it didn't make the prophecy any different, but at least it afforded him choppy sleep devoid of nightmares. The cold was really starting to bother him. It meant another trip to the shops soon to get a coat that actually kept him warm. 

Despite how smooth things had been otherwise, he was having an uncharacteristically bad day. He'd broken a mug, and despite being told it wasn't that big of a deal, he'd had a mini internal freakout over it. He'd dropped a to-go order which, in his defense, had one of his brother's names written on it; thankfully they were above picking anything up themselves and had it delivered. A customer mid-day had been a real bitch and Spamton had repeatedly bit his tongue. He didn't know why, he knew he was getting a shitty tip either way. 

He nearly heaved a sigh of relief when his shift ended and he'd stepped foot outside. It was routine from there; he slipped his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, transferred one to his teeth before returning it. 

A flame danced beside him. His gaze turned to meet with the large hand that carried the lighter. He needn't look any further. Rather than voicing his displeasure, he'd allowed the cigarette to be lit. He took a drag, unable to admit his gratitude.

“I COULD'VE [ act ] MYSELF.” 

Based on his previous encounters, he knew his hands were shaky. Spamton knew his hands were shaky. 

“I know.” Was the idle response from Tenna and, really, it wasn't a lie. He knew Spamton was capable, it would have just taken more effort. 

At the very least, he hadn’t bolted this time. 

“WHY DO YOU [ keep it up ] COMING HERE?”

“Hey, I waited until you finished your shift this time, didn’t I?” 

“OKAY, YOU’RE STILL [ buy here ]. [ answer the phone ] QUESTION.”

Tenna released a lengthy sigh. 

“I–wanted to try again.” Spamton raised an inquisitive brow to that statement, and Tenna could see his head tipped to the side in order to steal a glance at him. “Lunch, I mean. I didn’t mean to chase you off. I should’ve been more level-headed. It’s just–” Just what? Tenna wasn’t even sure where he was going with that comment. His hands dug into his pockets. “I was thinking about–we both tried to reach out, right? That has to mean something.” 

Spamton didn’t initially respond. It was hard when he felt a lump form in his throat. 

“SURE.” It was a weak reply; he was happy he'd been able to get anything out at all. At the very least he could shove a cigarette in his mouth to break up the dead air. 

“So, I want to try again. Please. Lunch. Or dinner. Or–whatever.” 

The ash was flicked from his cigarette. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been discreetly looking for him the last few days during his absence. He would be lying if he said he only wanted to accept the offer for food. 

Fuck. 

“OKAY.”

The antennas on his head perked up. 

“Really?” 

“YEA, DON'T MAKE ME [ no changes ] MY [ mind over matter ].”

Spamton couldn't help but steal a glance at the goofy smile on his face. It had been so many years since he'd seen that. 

“COME ON.”

“Huh? Wh–now?” 

“DINNER. I'M [ hungry ].” Spamton hardly gave him time to process before he was proceeding down the sidewalk.

“Oh–yea! Now works for me.” It took Tenna little time to catch up and fall in line with Spamton’s steps. 

Spamton stopped his stride to stamp out his cigarette. It was second nature to scoop it up–hah. He hadn't done it in a while, not without Ant around to bitch at him for littering. Regardless, he tossed it into the next garbage he saw. 

“YOU DON'T [ smoking hot ] ANYMORE?”

Tenna released a puff of air.

“Trying to quit. Well, I've been trying to quit. Kind of. Elnina has been riding me about it. Actually, she's been watching me like a hawk. She threw a glass of water on me once when she caught me.” 

While the laugh that escaped Spamton usually would have annoyed him, Tenna couldn't help the soft smile that crossed his own lips in response. 

“BUT YOU STILL [ carry-on ] THE LI gHTER?”

“Yea, well, I did say I'm trying.”

“HAEAHEH. GOOD LOGIC.” At the very least, it had been beneficial for Spamton. 

Spamton promptly turned on heel when they’d reached his desired restaurant and he’d yanked the door open for Tenna. It wasn’t anything fancy; he had pasta on his mind, so he’d taken him to a little hole in the wall place. Despite being packed, upon seeing Tenna, of course they just so happened to have a table open. Spamton couldn’t help but snort as they were escorted to a table and the host gushed. 

Tenna watched him with a half amused, half confused grin. 

“What? What was that look for?” He’d questioned when they were finally left to their own devices. 

Spamton scooped up his menu; it gave him something to fiddle with. 

“WHAT?”

“Oh, now you’re deflecting? You can’t take a play out of my book that you saw through and then expect it to work.” 

The smaller man clearly bristled in response to that. He shifted and flipped to the next page of his menu. 

“NOTHING I JUST–HAVEN’T SEEN THAT IN A WHILE.” 

“Seen what?” Tenna was genuinely confused. 

“THAT. SUDDENLY THERE’S A [ table for two ]! IT WAS–NOSTALGIA, THAT’S ALL.”

Tenna felt the weight behind that admission. Although he tried to avoid it, his lips twitched and threatened to pull into a frown. They were both supposed to be big shots. He scooped up his own menu to keep his mind off of that devastating thought. He skimmed through, though his brain was only half paying attention. He kept flicking his gaze down to the smaller man who had already folded his own menu and was patiently waiting for their server. 

It hadn’t taken long for her to show up. They’d placed their orders; if Tenna was being honest, he’d just gotten what Spamton had as he hadn’t particularly read most of the menu items. He had, however, made sure to order a bottle of wine for the table. With the waitress gone he felt the looming awkwardness overtaking them again. 

“So–how was–work?” 

“REALLY?” Spamton raised a brow, though he still seemed mildly amused by the question. 

Tenna couldn’t help but fuss with the tie around his neck. 

“What? I can’t ask about your day?” 

Spamton released an amused puff of air. Alright, he had to give it to him, he was really trying not to scare–or piss–him off again. A soft sigh followed. He supposed he could entertain him. 

“EXHAUSTING.”

That had perked him up. He hadn’t actually expected to receive a response. 

“Really?”

“YES. [ low rate ] CUSTOMERS. [ busy busy busy ]. AND IT’S [ ice cold ] AGAIN.”

“What does that have to do with your work?”

“IT DOSE NT I JUST [ hate ] IT.”

Tenna couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him. He’d never hated the cold before. He couldn’t count how many times one or both of them had snuck out into the snow to steal a quick cigarette break. Or a kiss. Or just five minutes of peace. Of course his appearance had changed, but Tenna couldn’t help but wonder how many other things about him had changed over the past years.

“OK NOW YOU’RE [ window shop ] AGAIN.” 

He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring at him. Tenna flushed; another laugh escaped him as the wine was brought to their table. Spamton seemed particularly pleased with the selection. Tenna wondered when the last time he’d been able to indulge was. 

“STOP [ staring at the sun ]! WHY ARE YOU [ look here ]??”

“You’re sitting across from me, Spamton, where else am I supposed to look?”

“NNOO! NO NO! YOU HAVE A [ look ] A DIFFERENT [ look ]. WHY??”

Dammit. Apparently he could still read him like an open book. 

“I was just–looking. Thinking–you’re just–small.” 

That obviously annoyed him. Spamton was fuming as he took a sip from his own glass. 

“RIGHT. THANKS FOR THE [ reminder ].”

“No! I didn't mean–compared to before you look smaller. I didn't mean for it to come out that way–I’m sorry I don't know why I keep putting my foot in my mouth.” 

Spamton had always been–sensitive about his height. It wasn't something Tenna could ever particularly wrap his head around, being as large as he was. He'd always found Spamton charming. Oftentimes adorable. He did not particularly enjoy that compliment while in public. Or often in private. He'd always needed to catch him in a good mood. Regardless, his upbringing had caused it to be a sore spot, and Tenna typically did his best to avoid upsetting him. 

He just couldn't help it this time. 

“WELL. I AM [ old man ].”

Tenna laughed in response to that–perhaps slightly outraged at the suggestion.

“You’re younger than me!”

“[ God ] PLAYS [ favorite ].” 

“Jeez, come on, Spam, I didn’t say anything about your looks.”

“DO YOU HAVE TO?” 

That did not get the same laugh out of Tenna, which prompted Spamton to take another sip from his glass. 

“I–THERE WAS AN–IT’S A [ long long ] STORY. DON’T [ worry free ] ABOUT IT.” Of course, that made him worry even more, but for fear of scaring him off again, he would drop it. 

Spamton was outpacing him with the wine; he noticed he’d been drinking faster than Tenna, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. He told himself it was the taste, but he knew damn well there were some residual nerves and he wouldn’t even begin to unpack. At the very least, by the time their food came, he was feeling much looser. 

“ALRIGHT, I HAVE TO [ ask ], WHERE DO [ weather channel ] THINK YOU ARE? OR, ANYONE AT THE [ studio audience ]?”

Tenna had paused the twirling of the noodles on his plate and raised his gaze to meet Spamton. 

“Hm? The city.” 

“OKAY, [ wise guy ], WHAT DO THEY THINK YOU’RE [ doing ] IN THE CITY?”

“Well–obviously I–” His fork clattered against the plate. A very soft shade of pink started to take over his screen. “They think I’m–here on business. Um–looking for a place to do photoshoots–brand deals.”

“HAEAHAEHAEHAEA!1 I [ know ] IT.” Obviously satisfied that he’d received an answer, Spamton’s own fork dug into the spaghetti and twirled it around. “YOU’VE BEEN HERE [ a lot ], I KNEW THEY WERE GOING TO [ ask your local gentry ].” 

“Look, it’s not that–”

“NO HARD [ feeling lucky? ].” With that, he’d shoveled his fork into his mouth. 

Tenna didn’t like leaving the conversation there. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed to be seen with him. It was just that–well, hell, he didn’t know how any of these trips would go. That, and perhaps they wouldn’t have been the most supportive of this dinner. They would have actively tried to get him to stay in TV World, and Tenna hadn’t wanted the hassle. 

His attention moved to the amount of care Spamton took in eating. Each bite, each sip of his wine was so incredibly calculated. With his jaw locked the way it was, without any covering, he knew he was using all of his energy to keep himself clean and stain free. That, and he was sure it was a struggle to keep things in his mouth at all.

“EAT YOUR [ code ].”

“Oh, haha, yea, right.” 

Spamton’s eyes rolled, meanwhile he’d moved to fill his glass up for the third time that evening, ultimately finishing the bottle. Not that Tenna had minded; he was happy with his own two glasses. At the very least, the alcohol loosened both of them up. It made the flow of conversation easier, and it eased them into a place where they were much more comfortable than they had been previously. Tenna had discussed the show, truly discussed the show, beyond the fighting he had blown up about days earlier. They’d finished their meals and the waitress brought the check. Spamton had dug an elbow into the table and used it to prop his head up as she returned with Tenna’s card.

“I MISS MY [ cungadero ].” Spamton had lamented; Tenna wasn’t even sure what had brought that on, unless he had been stewing for the past several minutes after he’d mentioned the grand prize during one of his episodes had been an SUV.

“I could always take you for a ride in my car.” 

“DRIVE?”

“You?”

Spamton’s brows quickly furrowed.

“WHAT? YES ME? WHY DID YOU [ say it ain’t so ] IT LIKE THAT??”

Tenna had released an amused hum. 

“Spamton, your driving was–”

“I LET YOU DRIVE MY [ car sale ]!!”

“Yea, and I drove it under the speed limit! And sober.”

“OKAY, IT WAS [ one time only ] GIVE ME A [ breaking ].” Spamton fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. “I MISS THE [ breeze ] IN MY [ hair dye ].” 

“Maybe,” a soft sigh escaped him–a reluctant one, “I will let you. Once. In the future. In the far future.”

“HEY, ALL I HEARD WAS [ maybe some day ]!” 

“Of course you did.” And yet, another laugh escaped him. 

“WELL,” Spamton swung his legs over the side of the chair and promptly slipped from it. “IT’S BEEN [ nothing but fun ], BUT I HAVE [ working overtime? ] IN THE MORNING.” The world spun as he stood–too much wine. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been–

A strong hand on his shoulder stabilized him. When he glanced up, he was met with a soft smile.

“I think you had one too many glasses of wine, Spam. Let me walk you home–”

“NO.” It was an immediate denial. His eyes quickly averted Tenna’s own gaze. “I–THAT’S–I’M FINE. THANK YOU FOR [ fine dining experience ].”

“Spamton, I’m not asking. You shouldn’t be walking home alone when you’re that drunk.”

“OKAY, DON’T BE [ soap opera ], I’M NOT THAT [ drunk tank ].” 

He shirked the hand from his shoulder and proceeded towards the exit. He knew Tenna was going to follow; he also knew he had enough time to allow him to do so. He would let him trail along, thinking he was walking him home and then, as usual, he would bolt. He was faster than Tenna, despite the size disparity, and he knew the city better. Spamton pushed open the doors and grimaced as the wind hit his face. He absentmindedly toyed with the collar of his jacket and he attempted to raise it up to protect his mouth. 

“Spamton–are you really going to be difficult?”

“HALF-WAY?”

“Half-way isn’t home.” 

Just as he’d intended, he began his trip, Tenna following alongside. 

“THREE-QUARTERS OF THE–”

“Spamton, I don’t care where you live, I just want to make sure you get back there in one piece and you don’t pass out in some back alley.” 

“COLD IS [ sobriety pin ].”

“You’re swaying.”

Spamton pshawed, and Tenna found it was one of the few moments he wished he had eyes to roll. 

“YOU DON’T EVEN [ know all ] HOW I WALK ANYMORE.”

“Are you seriously going to stand here and tell me you’ve been swaying the whole time and I’m just noticing now?”

“YES, IF YOU [ subscribe ].” 

Tenna heaved a heavy sigh. At the very least, he was letting him follow. Spamton began fiddling in his pocket. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and, as Tenna had seen him do on numerous occasions, he slipped one between his teeth. He was trembling much more than he had in the restaurant. It was instinctively that Tenna dug into his pocket for his lighter. He flicked open the lid, intent on striking the wheel–

“SPAMTON! GOD DAMMIT!” 

He’d bolted–he’d fucking planned on bolting the entire time. Tenna took off after him; he wasn’t slick, as much as he thought he was. He’d rounded a corner and very quickly tried to slide into a nearby alleyway. It was a good idea, considering he knew the fence had a very distinct Spamton-shaped hole that he definitely hadn’t used in the past. However, when he’d made the sharp turn into the alley, he’d felt something in his ankle pop. 

If he made it to the gate, slowed or not, Tenna wouldn’t have the time to completely round the block and catch up. He would be gone, out of sight, back to his dumpster where he could go to bed, get up, and carry out his normal routine.

“[ #$@! ]!!”

Spamton stumbled. He’d had to brace himself against a nearby wall to prevent himself from toppling over entirely. Stupid fucking cold–stupid fucking ankle– and for the millionth time, stupid fucking joints!

“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!” And there was Tenna, chest heaving, obviously disheveled. Opportunity completely gone. “STOP–RUNNING FROM ME.”

“YEA, YEA, I’M [ satisfied customer ].” 

As quickly as his fury came on, it diminished. Tenna immediately zoned in on Spamton and the fact he was pressing himself against the cool brick of the nearby building, that he had obviously halted his pre-planned escape attempt.

“What happened? You hurt yourself–where?”

“HOLD YOUR [ horsepower ], I’M NOT HURT.” 

“Then why did you stop running? I know damn well you weren’t taking me for a playful sprint.” Tenna approached with little care for his personal space. He crouched down, eyeing Spamton carefully.

“STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!!1!”

Finally, his gaze flicked to the foot held off the ground. His ankle. That ankle.

“That’s still bothering you?” Tenna’s voice was soft. It was almost as if that comment was more so him reminiscing than a genuine question. 

He still remembered when it first gave him trouble; how it had locked up on him on stage. The absolute terror he’d displayed–the unadulterated panic. Tenna had never seen him like that. And then, just like that, it was miraculously fixed. Tenna never knew how he’d done it, he’d never asked, but apparently, just as he’d thought, it still gave him issues. 

“IT–OCCASSIONALLY. WITH IT BEING COLD–”

The cold. He didn’t like the cold anymore. Of course he wouldn’t like the cold with all of his joints being exposed. He hadn’t even considered there had been a concrete reason for his newfound aversion. 

“Do you want me to–”

“NO, I’M FINE, IT’S [ a-okay ] IT WORKS ITSELF [ out of business ] EVENTUALLY.” 

Tenna’s lips tugged into a frown. 

“You shouldn’t be walking on this.”

“SO? I DO ALL OF THE [ limited time offer ].”

“That doesn't make it right, Spamton.”

He released the wall and stood, albeit, awkwardly. 

“I HAVE TO GET [ homepage ]. I'M FINE. I'M [ used car ] TO IT.” 

Despite his dismissiveness, his mind was racing. The cold wasn't going to help, he was going to be stuck in it all night, in the damn trash. He could probably make it to the gym, but his entire commute time was going to be significantly impacted which meant even less sleep than he was usually used to. But the warm water would help loosen it in lieu of any lubricant–

“Spamton?”

“HUH?”

“I said, do you have any oil?”

“I–NO.”

“I mean, I don't work the same way as you, so I don't know what could help–”

“HOT WATER, USUALLY.”

“Oh. Then I'll catch a cab for you. You can take a hot shower when you go home.” 

The silence was deafening. No. He didn't–he had to?

“I DON'T–” Spamton’s shoulders slumped. 

“I DON'T HAVE–
I–
HOT WATER–
ONLY–
DON'T –
D-DD–DDD [ don't miss this deal! ]
D–
H–H-H-[ half off! ]–”

“Spamton, hey, hey, it's alright!” 

He was glitching. While it would always be uncomfortable, more than anything it was just embarrassing. Two strong hands grabbed at his shoulders as his face split and burst into colors. 

“Look, it's fine, I can–why don't you swing by my hotel fast? You can shower there. Then you can take a cab home. Seriously, it's not a big deal, it's alright.”

Slowly, the distortion faded, though his eyes remained filled with static. He had a little fight left in him. 

“I DON'T HAVE [ high end clothing ].”

“We can stop by–”

“NO.” Too strong of a response with too little consideration. It was also too late to cover his tracks. The look he received in response told him Tenna immediately realized his aversion. 

“I can grab something for you while you're showering. I think there's a department store right around where I'm staying.”

There was no worming his way out of this one. 

“OKAY.”

Tenna shrunk down significantly; before long he was about Spamton’s stature. He used the smaller size to wrap Spamton's arm around his shoulder, providing support as they doubled back to the main street. As he'd mentioned, Tenna caught a taxi; there wasn't a world in which he'd allow Spamton to walk the rest of the way to his hotel like this. 

He'd ushered him into the back seat and slipped beside him. With the address given to the driver, they'd begun their short trip back to the room. 

It left Tenna to brood. Not that Spamton was any better. He was deathly silent; this situation was a mess. He didn't need help–no, he didn’t want the help. He especially didn’t want Tenna helping him–didn’t want him seeing him as vulnerable. Hadn’t he started this whole affair out wanting to show him how well-adjusted and fine he was?

“Spamton?” 

He hadn’t noticed the dead-stare he’d had. More than that, he hadn’t noticed his eyes had been completely filled with static. Spamton wasn’t sure how long he had been like that, but his attention, at the very least, was redirected out the window.

“WHAT?”

“You okay?”

“YES.”

“No, I mean–no pain?”

“NO. I TOLD YOU, IT DOESN’T [ ow ow it hurts! ].”

Tenna wasn’t necessarily sure he could trust him, but it wasn’t as if there was much he could do to get the truth out of him. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“WHAT?” 

Tenna’s lips pursed. He wasn’t sure why he felt on edge. 

“That–you were glitching in the alley? That’s what that was? And the diner.”

Spamton himself was quiet. A hand found itself fiddling with the zipper of his jacket again; it was a better outlet than tugging at his hair. 

“YEA. WHY?” 

“I remember you did that when you were sick. But that was a virus. Do you–I mean, are you–”

“NO.” 

Of course, that response brought up even more questions. Spamton had crossed his legs; it allowed a protective hand to hold his locked ankle. The other, however, had begun to rhythmically bounce. 

“IT’S MY [ code name ].” His jaw clenched. “IT IS WHAT IT IS.” 

There was no anti-virus or other means of correcting the issue. He’d asked–he’d tried. Instead, he learned to live with it, just like every other shitty thing in his life. 

They pulled up to the hotel and, after asking him to keep the meter going, Tenna exited the car, intent on rounding it to grab Spamton. It was unsurprising he had left himself and proceeded toward the entrance. Needless to say, with his ankle the way it was, he wasn’t particularly hard to catch up to, nor did he fuss when Tenna once more slipped a hand around his waist and escorted him indoors. 

This hotel was too nice for him. Spamton felt like the walls were caving in the minute they stepped foot inside. He swore he could feel the eyes burning through him, judging him; he was still dressed in his work clothes–no, clothes didn’t matter when he was a busted puppet. The elevator doors opened and he allowed himself to be ushered inside; he thought being away from prying eyes would help. Instead, the four walls of the elevator closed in on him. 

“Hey–Spam, hey–what happened?”

Glitching again. He had to get a damn hold on it. Without a word, a fist rose and pounded into the back of his head, swiftly correcting the issue. A ding resounded, and the doors pulled back. Even Tenna’s room was nice; of course it was nice, he was a damn celebrity. As if he would have settled for anything less. He left his side once they entered the room and, instead, moved to collect the robe tucked in the closet. He hung it in the bathroom, as well as grabbed a fresh towel; Tenna was trying to make his life easier. Instead, it made him burn deeper in his shame. 

“Everything is set for you. If I’m not back by the time you’re done, you can just throw on the robe and wait for me to get back. I’ll try to be as quick as possible.”

“YEA. OKAY, THANKS.” 

Wasting no time, Spamton had trailed into the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him. With a sigh, Tenna turned and proceeded back to the hotel lobby. He returned to the cab and asked that he take him to the shopping district. Sure, he knew Spamton hadn’t wanted to go there, but nothing stopped Tenna. He could only hope there would still be shops that were open. 

When they arrived in the district, Tenna had paid the proper fee and exited the cab. The store looked like it was open. He quickly hurried to the door and read the sign. Shit–really close to closing. He hated to be that guy but, well, he didn't have much of a choice. 

“Good evening! How may I help you?” It was a cheerful greeting, though Tenna couldn’t say if it was necessarily sincere. At the very least, the shopkeeper was a good actor. 

“Hi, sorry for the late visit. I’m not–actually sure what I’m looking for. I’ll make it quick.”

“Oh you–Tenna! Mr. Ant Tenna–from the show!” Tenna released an amused puff; while he wasn’t in the mood of entertaining, a soft smile still met his lips. 

“Hah–it’s so lovely knowing I have so many fans here in the city!” While he was playing nice-TV-host, he had moved to a rack of clothes and shifted through them. 

He was surprised to find orange hands on his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have anything befitting someone of your stature, but I am more than happy to customize anything you like!”

Tenna politely pulled his arm away and turned to meet the man’s gaze. 

“Ah–I appreciate the offer, however, I’m not shopping for myself.” As if his own clothes weren’t custom. “I’ll let you know if I need any other help.”

“Hah–alright. I’ll be behind the counter.”

Tenna watched as the man returned to his place behind the register; he couldn’t help but find his gaze periodically redirected. He looked–uncannily familiar. He looked like–

Addison. This was an Addison. Flashes of Spamton crossed his mind. Perhaps some anger swelled in his chest. Hah–he had to focus; it didn’t serve him to lose it on the tailor he was keeping past hours. He would be sure not to mention this upon his return. 

Sizing was a guess; he used to know Spamton’s measurements but, as mentioned, he looked so much smaller than before. And his style now–well, he’d only seen him once out of uniform. With little time and little knowledge, Tenna grabbed a soft sweater and a pair of corduroy pants. At the very least, it would be comfortable if not in style. Maybe a little big–he’d grabbed the smallest size they offered. It hadn’t mattered; he promptly took it to the orange Addison and paid what he owed. Bag in hand, he exited the shop, and hailed another taxi back to the hotel. 

Upon his return, the bathroom door was ajar; a peek into the bathroom showed the mirror had somewhat cleared, meaning he’d probably finished his shower some time ago. 

“Hey, Spam, I did the best I could with–” Tenna quickly cut himself off when he caught sight of the bed. Or, rather, the man on top of it. 

Out; he was out cold. He’d been watching the news; the volume was blaring. He couldn’t imagine how he’d been able to fall asleep to that. Tenna moved to turn it off, and his gaze returned to Spamton. The robe was far too big on him; it essentially acted as a blanket, wrapped around him as it was. It was obvious he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, considering he was still propped up by pillows against the headboard.  

Tenna bit the inside of his cheek. 

Spamton hadn't wanted to stay the night–Tenna hadn't wanted him to stay the night. At least, that was the story he was going with. They both had work the following day, though, Tenna not until later. He had no clue when Spamton's shift was. But he looked so comfortable–he didn't have the heart to wake him. His compromise was to set an alarm on the bedside clock. He was almost positive the diner didn't open until around 8, so he set the clock for 6 in the morning. That gave him plenty of time to get ready and make the commute. Or, of course, for Tenna to call a cab. Regardless, it meant he hadn't needed to wake him. 

However, it did also mean he had the couch for the night. Which, whatever. It wasn't as if Tenna hadn't spent his fair share of nights on one. After changing into his pajamas, he'd taken the spare blanket from the closet and a pillow from the bed and settled in for the night. He could give Spamton his clothes in the morning. 

Hmm, warm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up feeling so warm. More specifically, comfortably warm. It was so rare he wanted to roll over and snuggle deeper into the mattress; just five more minutes he told himself. 

Mattress? He didn't–

Spamton’s eyes shot open. He was disoriented at first. He'd blinked once, twice, attempting to make sense of his surroundings. It made it harder considering how shitty his vision was, but slowly the night's events returned. 

He'd fallen asleep in bed. Tenna's bed. Waiting for–he glanced around only to find him awkwardly splayed across the couch. His next stop was the clock on the side table. Five. Five!? He'd slept nearly ten uninterrupted hours!? He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept two hours uninterrupted–fuck! 

Spamton choked. The cords around his neck tightened. A familiar wave of fear returned as his gaze turned towards the sofa. 

Sparks flew. Tenna's arms were abandoned on the floor. Spamton pressed his hands together. Panicked whispers escaped his mouth as he wrenched his eyes shut. 

The Angel would protect him–them, the angel could protect them, but especially Tenna. When he stole a hesitant gaze, he'd returned to his previous state. 

Spamton slipped off the side of the bed opposite Tenna. His ankle still felt stiff, but it was moving. He untied the robe and traded it for his work clothes. Without a word he slipped out the door and returned to the streets where he belonged. 

He couldn't do it–he didn't know why he thought that had been a good idea; dinner. Allowing Tenna back in. He was a dead man walking. Any form of relationship with him would only end in tragedy. Cleaved. He would be cleaved. Left for dead. 

He would be cleaved red by blade. 

Cleaved red by blade. 

Cleaved red. 

Cleaved. Cleaved. Cleaved. Cleaved.

By the time he'd recognized what he'd been doing his hands were trembling uncontrollably. He stared at the square he'd drawn on the cardboard–at the line he'd slashed through the middle. He quickly grabbed it from the pile and stomped it beneath his feet.

Spamton wretched near the dumpster afterwards. A shaking hand raised to wipe his mouth and his chest heaved. Some stray tears added to the mud and bile. 

He stumbled away from the mess he'd made–away from the crushed drawing. It was too early to get to work. Regardless, he felt sitting on the curb and waiting for his shift was better than stewing in his insanity. And so, with his new found resolve, he proceeded away from his handiwork.

Chapter Text

“Can we ever have a get together where all of us are on time?” Pink sighed after checking his watch for the third time that evening. 

“I'm sure one of them probably got caught up with a customer. The other probably waited.” Blue’s comment was a gentle one, and unsurprising. 

“A call would still be nice.”

That, Blue couldn't argue with. 

“Hey! Sorry.” Yellow slid into the booth opposite of his two brothers. “Orange got caught up. I was going to wait for him but–well, I'm not going to lie, I'm starving. We should put an appetizer in.”

He noticed the glare he was getting from Pink which caused him to shrink ever so slightly. 

“What?”

“Well, first, can you bother to let me know when you're going to be late? And, second, you seriously can't wait for Orange?” 

“Aw, come on, Pink.” He whined. The man slowly slid his arms across the table, slumping over it. “I'm huuungryy–I worked through my lunch, give me a breaaak.”

“You're sounding like your brother.” 

“Which one?” Yellow smirked, and Pink rolled his eyes. 

Yea, he got him there. 

“Your twin brother.” Was Pink’s annoyed response. Finally, however, he relented with a soft sigh. “Fine. Get what you want. I guess it won't hurt if we order without Orange. It's not like he won't eat whatever we order.”

“Do you care what I get?”

“No. Here, get the first round for us while you’re up there.” Pink slid his card across the table; Yellow was more than happy to accept it and approach the bar. 

“Hey, are you okay?” A soft hand found its way onto Pink’s arm. He could see the worried expression on Blue’s face out of the corner of his eye. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Despite the dismissal, Blue was unmoving. 

Pink was the oldest; he had always been the icy one out of the bunch. Blue assumed it was due to his belief he had to be the leader. Yes, they were all self-sufficient, but that never mattered. He would always fret over the well-being of his younger brothers. He couldn't imagine what set him off. Then again, he supposed he had these off days ever since–

“Well, you're a little pricklier than usual which typically means you've got something on your mind.”

Pink shifted to cross his arms. Blue hadn't missed the way his nails dug into his sleeve, an action he typically undertook while stressed. He also pointedly refused to meet Blue’s gaze. Apparently he'd hit the nail on the head. 

“Okay.” He released a soft sigh. “Yes. I have something on my mind. But it's not my something to divulge, Blue. I apologize if I'm being hasher than usual.”

Blue knew him better than Pink would have preferred. He couldn't help but release an amused puff of air in response to his admission.

“See? I always know when something's off with you.” Blue mused. “You know you can always talk to me–even if you can't share everything.”

Pink remained unmoving. It caused Blue's stomach to clench. Whatever secret he was holding onto was, apparently, quite heavy to affect him in this way. Sure, Pink was rough around the edges, but he wasn't typically this frigid. 

“Hey, sorry.” Orange had finally arrived and had slid into the seat across from Blue and Pink. “I got caught up at work.” 

“Yellow mentioned.” Was Blue’s gentle response; it saved him from Pink’s wrath, at the very least.

“Hey, you made it!” Yellow was happy to see him as he balanced the drinks in his arms. He haphazardly placed them on the table, and dug for Pink’s card. “First round’s on Pink.” He commented as he slid beside the orange Addison and returned the card. 

“You seem to be in a good mood despite staying late.” It was an idle comment from Pink, meanwhile he’d grabbed one of the glasses and took a sip. 

“Well, yea. I mean, granted, I wasn’t exactly happy to see a customer walking in so close to closing, but he bought an outfit, so I can’t particularly complain if he held me up for a few extra minutes.”

The rest of them had grabbed their glasses and drank from them as Orange spoke. When he’d finished, he’d taken a sip of his own. The pensive look on his face told the other three he was far from finished. 

“Hey, so–I wasn’t really sure how to bring this up but–uh, well I’ve been thinking about it since he left.”

“Who’s he?” Yellow interjected. 

“I’m getting there! Just–so–okay, I’m near the end of my shift and the bell rings and I’m pissed because who the hell does that other than some asshole, right? Well, I look over to greet them, as usual, and guess who my customer was.” 

Silence. Not that he expected them to be able to. 

“Tenna!” His glass hit the table, causing the beer inside to splash over the side. “Like, Ant Tenna–like from the show! Anyway, I offered to take his measurements because, obviously, we don’t have anything his size–mind you, I was happy he turned it down, I really didn’t want to do it at that hour–but he wasn’t even there for himself. Obviously I didn’t ask, that’s none of my business. But the clothes–look, alright I might be looking way too much into this but–the clothes were–small. Like, really small. And I thought that was a little amusing given his size but then I–I started thinking about–”

The table fell to silence. Orange had settled on staring at his glass. He was beginning to regret even telling them his theory. 

“I was thinking about–back then. You know they were–they were business partners. Hah maybe I’m–I dunno I was just–thinking about it–him.” 

Orange wasn’t saying anything new or groundbreaking; they were always thinking of him. Spamton was a ghost that haunted every one of their meetups. None of them could escape that unspeakable sin against their brother. Their jealousy consumed them; he was always down on his luck, why had he deserved to shoot to stardom before any of them? He had to have been cheating, he hadn’t deserved it, he didn’t need them anymore. And so, they had abandoned him; they had all made the decision to completely ice their youngest brother out. They had all watched as his sales dropped, and heard whispers about his imminent eviction. 

Blue had been the only one to break. He went to look for him, to offer him a place to stay, but his change of heart had come too late. He was gone by the time he had entered the mansion. He’d looked for him afterward, but his searches always came up empty handed. 

And the rest of them had let the memories of him fade; or at least, they had attempted to. Pretended to. They all collectively left their brother behind them; it only made sense that his presence persisted. 

It became taboo to mention him during their outings–or, rather, they had all been so consumed by their shame, they couldn’t bring themselves to utter his name. Orange was the first to break the silence, even if he hadn’t said the name itself. The intent was there. 

“I’m sorry.” Orange’s voice dropped. “I didn’t mean to–I wasn’t trying to ruin the mood, I just–I think about him and–you all have to think about him too?” 

“I’m sorry.” Another apology came from Yellow.

“Huh? Yellow, what are you sorry for?” Orange glanced over to the other Addison who was running a hand through his hair. 

“Because I–I think I–saw him. The other day and I–”

“You saw him!?” Orange and Blue questioned in unison; Blue had jumped from his position in the booth, causing the table to clatter. 

“Where? Yellow, where was he–what was he–?” Had Yellow not interrupted him, Blue would have continued his onslaught of questions. 

“I was working or–well, I was on break but I saw someone who–I mean it didn’t look like him at first but, when I was really looking I thought–Spamton? I grabbed his arm and he slapped my hand away. I wasn’t sure at first but–the look he gave me. He tried to pretend it wasn’t him but–I don’t know what happened. He looks completely different. He ran off before I could even talk to him.” 

So, all of that was to say they’d learned nothing. Crestfallen, Blue had slumped back into his seat. 

“That was nothing to be sorry for, Yellow.” Blue sounded completely dejected. 

“Yea. Why were you apologizing?” Orange’s question had an edge to it. He knew his brother, and he knew damn well he had something else to tell. Yellow shifted under his gaze. 

“Because I–I maybe told–Pink.”

“What!?” Again, the pair were in unison and all three brothers redirected their gaze onto Pink who, albeit, had been silently sipping his beer the entire time. 

“You told Pink and not me!?” Orange has asked incredulously. 

Blue had followed up with:

“You didn’t tell me Yellow saw Spamton–you knew I had been looking!”

“I told you it wasn’t my business to tell–everyone calm down, you’re making a scene.” 

“This is worth making a scene over!” Orange protested, and it earned him a heated gaze from the eldest. At the very least, it calmed him to some degree–or, well, it shut him up. 

With a sigh, Pink placed his glass back on the table. He gave himself a few moments to gather his thoughts before he continued. 

“Yellow told me about seeing a man in the shopping district. I asked what he was wearing, what he looked like. The uniform sounded familiar. I ordered from a few diners around the city, and asked the driver to keep an eye out for anyone fitting his description.”

“Okay, and?” Orange was impatient; Pink always liked to drag things out. It earned him another glare. 

“I found him.” 

“You found him and didn’t tell us!?” Although Orange was displaying his outrage, Blue wore his hurt silently. He wouldn’t say it, but he certainly displayed it. 

“Look! This isn’t as simple as you think it is! What, you want to walk up to him and act like everything is fine? Go ahead, Orange, see how far that gets you. The only thing that will accomplish is him avoiding us even harder and more hurt feelings.” 

“Okay, but–”

“He’s so angry at us.” Yellow interrupted him. “The way he looked at me–Orange, he was horrified. You know he was always proud. He's not–he’s never going to ask us for help. If any of us approach him as things are, he'll just fight harder.” 

Silence fell among them. They hadn't spoken about him outwardly since they had betrayed him. Even upon his fall, they hadn't mentioned their brother. The more time passed, the more it seemed like it was too late to make a move. 

“Why even bother tracking him down, then?” Orange's tone was understandably heated. “It was a monumental waste of time.”

“Not necessarily.” Was Pink’s idle response. “I like keeping tabs on you all. However, I believe we can still try to offer an olive branch.” 

“How?” 

It was then Pink’s gaze turned to Blue. When he realized, he immediately perked up. 

“Huh!? What–why me?!”

“Oh, don't play dumb, Blue, you know Spamton was always closest to you.” 

“I'm not–I mean, sure, I guess but–I also stopped talking to him. He's going to be equally as mad at me!” 

“But he will also be most willing to listen to you.”

Blue's lips pursed. He didn't like it; he didn't care for this entire situation. He didn't care for the idea that he was searching him out with a motive. He didn't like the thought of forcing them on him at all. 

“I–don’t know just–let me think about it.”

“Blue, seriously?”

“Okay. It's been half a decade. We're not in a rush.”

“Pink!”

“It's his decision, Orange. I'm sure his reasoning is valid. Leave it be for now.”

While the twins obviously weren't thrilled with the idea, they at least respected Pink’s command. After all, there wasn't much else they could do. The appetizers had been brought to the table after the conclusion of that conversation, and Pink skillfully began a new topic of discussion. 

Blue was thankful. At the very least, it afforded him some time to think. 

He wasn't doing this with any expectations or motives. He just wanted to talk to him–to make sure he was okay. This was the mantra Blue kept in his head on repeat as he wandered from diner to diner. Sure, he could have asked Pink for the place but–he didn't want to approach Spamton with any influence from his brothers. That wasn't fair to either of them. And maybe it wasn't fair he was going off on his own to look for him but–well, they were free to do the same if they so chose. Aside from Blue, they had chosen not to until now, so he hadn't exactly expected them to change. 

Maybe he also felt a little spurned himself. It was Yellow’s business, fine, but Pink knew damn well Blue had actively looked for Spamton, that he always kept an eye out. But still, he could have given him something. Of course he would prioritize his own knowledge over Blue’s concern. 

Well, that was fine. He had enough information to figure this out himself. Granted, asking Pink would have been faster, but he wasn't giving him the satisfaction. And so, that was what led to him calling off and spending the day hopping from diner to diner. He wasn't sure when Spamton's shift was; based on what Yellow had said, he wasn't even sure if he would recognize him, but he wasn't going to be dissuaded. He was persistent, and he would find him. 

At the very least, he had a general description; small, presumably still black hair; he doubted he would allow the dye to fade. Other than that–

Shit. Trying was still better than nothing, he supposed. Even if he'd spent a day bopping from place to place. Then another. Then another. He was resolute, if not a bit discouraged. He knew it was starting to show in his interactions with his brothers. Unlike the other three, he had always been the least competent when it came to hiding his emotions. 

Another day passed and he was once again on his final stop; it was a hole in the wall place, surrounded by larger restaurants. He'd eaten there once or twice; decent food, nothing to rave about. Blue paused to stare in through the large window, tired eyes surveying the handful of customers inside. He spotted a waiter, a small guy, carrying an order to a family. Blue’s muscles tensed. 

Black hair, small stature. But it didn't look–it wouldn't look like him. Blue squinted; he couldn't catch the name on his tag. Dammit! He moved from the window and, instead, chose to stand along the side alleyway. 

If it was Spamton, he didn't want to trap him at work. He was already mad at him, he didn't need to give him another reason. The man was smaller than Spamton. At a glance, he didn't look like him but–with what Yellow had said–and that he was working at a diner? 

Again: DAMMIT. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place; he wasn't even sure if waiting around would be worth it because, at the end of the day, he didn't even know if it was Spamton. He figured it was best to cut his losses and turn up at a different time, ask around about him. He still was too proud to ask Pink, so he didn't mind doing some leg work. He couldn't exactly take any more days; he tried to spread them out, but he didn't want his brothers worrying. So he would go to work, swing by and ask about Spamton, then go from there depending on the answer. 

It was funny. Despite formulating that entire plan, he'd wound up just waiting outside the diner. Blue couldn't convince his legs to move. He waited, his heart thrumming against his chest. He wasn't sure how long he stood in the alley but eventually the door swung open and the small waiter appeared. He'd stopped on the sidewalk and fumbled with his lighter; when he'd struck it, he lit the cigarette held between his teeth and began to walk. 

He didn't know what he was doing. Blue wasn't a damn spy; he couldn't be tailing someone who very well was a stranger to him. And yet, he did exactly that, keeping an eye on the head of black hair as he weaved through the crowd. If he could get a look at his face–just one good look, then he could be certain. 

The man rounded a corner. After a few moments, Blue followed. His brows furrowed when he’d taken a few steps forward. This was a dead end, and yet–

“ALRIGHT, [ fun for the whole family ], I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU [ look ] FOR, BUT YOU ARE [ messy ] WITH THE WRONG [ salesman ].”

The voice came from behind him. Again, familiar but so different. Blue turned; the man was clutching something in his hand–a blue something it–no. It wasn’t–

“Spamton?” 

Pipis. Only an Addison knew how to summon them. Only Spamton ever did. And just as Yellow had said, when he finally saw who his faux assailant was, the look in his eye–he was mortified. The pipis quickly disappeared, and Spamton turned his back to Blue. Without another word, he proceeded back into the busy street. 

“Sp–hey, wait, hold on!” 

“I DON’’T WANT TO [ speak now ].”

“Just–wait a minute!”

A hand grabbed his sleeve. Surprisingly, he didn’t shake him off. 

“I SHOULD HAVE [ know ]. WHAT, DID [ pink panther ] SEND YOU HERE? HE [ order now ] A WHILE AGO, WERE YOU [ follow for more ] ME?”

“No, Spamton it isn’t–no one knows I was looking for you! I found you on my own! I mean–okay, that isn’t the entire story but it’s the truth.”

“OKAY, GOOD FOR YOU. WHY WOULD I WANT TO [ talk about it ] YOU?” 

“I know–look I get it I–I just–wanted to see you.” 

“YEA WELL, YOU [ see ] ME, BYE.”

The grip on his sleeve tightened and Spamton finally moved to try and swat him away. Blue refused to let go–not this time. 

“Please. Just–just come over to my house–just–for coffee or something. I won’t tell the others I found you–they really don’t know I’m here.” 

Spamton was quiet, he refused to meet Blue’s gaze. Dammit; he’d turned Tenna away quicker than this and his betrayal hadn’t even been as monumental–or, well, he supposed that wasn’t true. At the very least it made it easier when the anger went both ways. But seeing Blue in front of him–his eyes glassy–

“FINE. I WANT [ TV dinner ] TOO.” 

“I–yea! Yes, of course I–I’ll cook I–I didn’t eat yet anyway I um–I walked so–let’s go.” 

Blue truly couldn’t believe that worked. Then again, knowing Spamton, he supposed it wasn’t unlike him to accept if it meant he got a meal out of it. Though, that wasn’t exactly heartening either. He’d stopped speed walking, though, Blue couldn’t help but want to keep a hand on him; of course he resisted. He did, however, walk side by side, his eyes fixated on his smaller frame. He looked thinner–much thinner than he remembered. Much thinner than the pictures from his time spent on TV he kept in his bedroom. Of course, that went without mentioning everything else about him. 

The walk was silent; painful. He was thankful when they’d arrived at his house. Blue retrieved his keys from his pocket and quickly unlocked the door, allowing him to usher Spamton inside. 

“Um–not much has changed so–make yourself comfortable.” Despite his comment, he noticed how he stood awkwardly at the door while Blue removed his jacket. “You can just hang that on the rack–or in the closet–”

“I’M FINE.”

His hands remained firmly tucked in his pockets and Blue remembered the way his hands trembled. Was he still cold? 

“I’m going to put a pot of coffee on–do you want a cup?”

“SURE.” 

With the confirmation, he proceeded towards the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he was going to make for dinner–he was supposed to meet his other brothers later–or–shit, Blue didn’t even know the time. He stole a glance at his watch–scratch that, he was meant to be meeting with them in the next twenty odd minutes. It meant he had nothing prepped. 

“Hey, how do you feel about Spaghetti code?” He’d called into the parlor. 

“THAT’S FINE.”

Blue swore he felt his soul leave his body when the voice came from behind him. Spamton moved to steal a seat at the island; at the very least, he’d chosen to hang out in the same room as him. He supposed that was some sort of improvement. Blue put a pot of water on the stove to boil and moved to make that coffee he’d promised. Silence held, allowing him to scoop the proper amount of grounds, as well as fill the reservoir. 

“ARE YOU REALLY [ telling ] ME PINK DIDN’T [ send email ] YOU AFTER [ me me ]?”

“Yes–or, no. I mean–okay, I said there was more to it.” 

With a soft sigh, Blue had closed the top of the coffee maker. He turned it on, and afterwards, turned to face Spamton while learning against the cool tile behind him. 

“You ran into Yellow, right? A while back?”

Spamton shifted. 

“BRIEFLY.” 

“Right. Well, he told Pink. And then I guess Pink was looking for you. He found you–a lot faster than I did, obviously. But to be fair, I never ran into you.” And there was a hint of something in that tone that Spamton did not miss. “Anyway, he went off of what Yellow told him, I guess. Hence the–”

“THE [ order up ]!”

“Yea.” Blue shifted himself. He didn’t like this next part; it was why he busied himself with retrieving the pasta from his pantry. “So, after he found you um–he wanted, or, they wanted me to–go see you. At work.” He swore he could feel Spamton’s gaze narrowing.

“SO–”

“Wait, I’m not done! I swear, I didn’t–I told them I didn’t want to because–that wasn’t fair to you. I mean I wouldn’t want to be cornered at work. And–I didn’t want to meet you with–with any preconceived notions or–I don’t–I don’t know.”

“I [ think again ] YOU DO.”

His grip on the pasta box tightened. 

“Hah–yea maybe. I just don’t–”

“HEY, I’M STILL [ fuming ] I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR [ trash talk ], PLEASE.”

The box hit the counter. 

“Okay, maybe I was–well, I wasn’t sure at first, I thought I was just upset because–I’ve been looking. This whole time Spamton I–I swear I was looking, always keeping an eye out and listening and then–Yellow ran into you. And yea, maybe I’m pissed that all of the sudden they care and they throw it onto me.” Because they were still manipulating him. Because they were using Blue to get their way. 

Silence fell. He’d said too much.

“I–Spamton, I'm sorry. I didn’t say it early but I’m so–so sorry. I wanted to–I wasn’t there when things were good but I really wanted to be there when it was bad and I just–missed you. I don’t know how late I was but–I’m sorry. For everything.” 

Spamton didn’t respond; he didn’t expect a response. Hell, he didn’t expect him to accept; he just needed him to know how sorry he was. He would undoubtedly repeat it during the duration of his stay. 

“YOU SHOULD BE.”

His heart clenched–yea. He deserved that.

“I’m also–I’m really grateful that you’re giving me the opportunity to apologize so–thank you. For coming here.”

“I’M NOT GOING TO TURN DOWN A [ homemade cooking ].”

“Hah–hardly homemade. I didn’t plan on um–I was going to order out, so boxed pasta and jarred sauce is the best I can do on short notice. Oh, actually, I might have some meatballs in the freezer–” 

Thankfully, because it hadn’t been any extravagant meal, it hadn’t taken too long of a time to make, and Spamton had his coffee to sip on in the meantime. The pasta was placed on the dining table as well as the meatballs and sauce. Spamton joined him, happy to dish a heaping portion. He may have cared how he was perceived by Tenna; the emotion did not carry over to his brother. He was content in greedily downing the meal while Blue picked at his own. 

“Spamton–what–what happened? I mean–I’m sorry but I’m not going to act like you don’t–you’re completely different and I–was it the acid?” 

His eyes went blank with static and Blue found himself minorly surprised. How did he even know about that–what was he supposed to say? The acid fucking ruined him? The full story? His complete spiral into insanity before the end? None of the above; before he could even begin to formulate a response, he had begun glitching. 

“Spam!” 

“[ #$@! ]!” His fork clattered against his plate allowing him to claw at his hair. 

It was fast, at least. Though, the duration hadn't mattered to Blue who stared on in horror. 

“Spam–”

“IT'S FINE.”

“That's not–”

“I SAID IT'S FINE.”

“Have you gotten that checked out? I can–if you need an antivirus–”

“I SAID IT'S FF[ fifty percent off ]!
II
FFFIII–[ insane deals ]
II–IIINN–”

Again–he’d triggered another one in his panic. Glitching was always an odd experience. He was, of course, still coherent, but his surroundings felt–fuzzy. Unstable. It was obvious, however, when arms wrapped around him. He could feel himself being maneuvered out of his chair and, instead, his head was pressed firmly against something, or rather, someone else; he could tell despite the splitting of his features and flashes of color.

Blue hadn't said a word. He just held him. For some reason, it only increased the violence of the glitch. He should have dropped him; busted coding was a death sentence to cyber denizens and yet–his grip tightened. He held onto him that much tighter. Even after the glitching had ceased; he silently held him, stroking a hand through his hair. 

He didn't know why a tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. Spamton couldn't move to wipe them from his face. Perhaps it reminded him of the past; when times were simpler. When he was younger and was sick or upset and they were beside themselves. When he lost job after job and Blue would hold him like this, or Pink would bake something for him to cheer him up, or the twins would take him out. Or, maybe, it reminded him how truly fucked his life was. 

“It's your code, huh?” 

Spamton did not immediately respond. He didn't want him to pull away; as angry as he still was–or wanted to be. In the moment, the compassion showed to him by his brother–if felt like things were okay between them. There were very few people in the city who would have done the same. This was a kindness he was very rarely afforded anymore.

“YEA. IT–[ damaged goods ].”

“It's not–”

“NO. JUST–HAEHAEH–DISRUPTIVE.”

The embrace tightened once more. Spamton saw a few tears splash against his sleeve. 

“I'm sorry, Spam. I'm sorry–I’m so sorry.”

“EH. I'M [ used car sale ] TO IT.”

“No, you–you shouldn't have to be.”

Blue felt a tug on the back of his shirt as Spamton’s fingers dug into the material. 

“You couldn't have done anything.” He was quite obviously jarred by his abrupt change of speaking. Regardless, Spamton continued. “I know you're thinking about it. It wasn't anything that you could have done.” 

A few more tears fell from Blue’s eyes. Of course he had been thinking it, how could he not have? 

“The acid–”

“Yea. At least some of it. I can't–
I–
I–
I C–cCcc–”

“Don't–it’s okay I don't need to know.” 

He wasn't pulling away. Blue knew he'd wanted this for so long, but actually having him here? 

“You know if you ever need anything you can always come here, right? Or my work. Or call me.”

“OKAY, DON'T [ push back ].”

“I'm serious. Listen to me. I don't care how proud you are and I don't care if you're still mad just–please. If you need anything I'm here.” 

“YEA, OKAY [ blueberry ]. NOW [ let go ] MY [ TV dinner ] IS GETTING COLD.”

“Alright, sorry.” 

He released him, and Spamton returned to his dinner, or rather, continued to demolish his plate and scoop a second one. He was starving. That, and he hadn't known when he'd get another good meal. 

He didn't linger long afterwards. Before he could leave, Blue had shoved a key into his hand. 

“If you need it.” 

Spamton had made a show of it, swatting him away, though he still pocketed it. Before he could leave, he'd been pulled into another tight hug. Spamton allowed it, though for a much shorter duration than the last one, before he shoved him away and wished him a good night. 

Not the night he'd expected but–well, maybe making some connections wasn't the worst thing he could do.

Chapter Text

His hands were getting worse. It could have been the cold; it was beginning to properly feel like winter and it was doing no good on his aching joints. Needless to say it was taking a lot more effort to ensure he wasn't shattering platters while working. Lighting his cigarettes was becoming more and more of a struggle as his joints locked and he trembled in the cold.

Tenna hadn't visited. Not that he could blame him, especially after how he'd left things. Perhaps he'd finally digested just what had become of his business partner and decided he was uninterested. That, or he was mad again. Either way, both explanations made sense. He couldn't particularly say he'd want to put up with someone like himself if the roles were reversed. At least he was self aware. 

The visions were back, so sleeping hadn't exactly been peaceful. Flashes of light; the mansion. Sometimes Tenna. They were starting to bleed together; the mansion, Tenna–the machine. The more he prayed the more he saw it in his dreams. He would say it was prophetic if he hadn't already been fed pieces of the actual prophecy. The more likely reasoning was that his busted code was making him lose his damn mind. 

When it became near impossible to sleep at night, he'd splurged on a blanket that did little to alleviate the bitter chill that seemed to never leave his body. He was always cold; always shaking. At the very least, he swore he was close to being able to put a deposit on a new apartment. A shitty apartment in a shitty part of the city, but heating would make the world of a difference. 

Spamton found himself tempted more and more to use Blue’s house key. He wouldn't have said anything if he crashed on his couch but he was: a, still too proud and b, he didn't trust Blue not to tell the others he was there. Even if Spamton stayed away, Blue had not. He'd shown up to his work a few times with a hot meal for him. Spamton hadn't told him anything, of course, and yet he still seemed to know he was down on his luck. Again. He supposed it wasn't too hard to tell considering he'd spent most of his life being on the downward spiral and they hadn't stuck around to see him on the up and up. Either way, he wasn't about to turn down a free meal. 

After another shitty day, he followed his typical routine. Leave work, fumble with his lighter, swear at himself in garbled ad-speak. He struck the lighter again and again, and the damn thing refused to light. 

“Ffff–[ #$@! ]!!” The lighter was spiked at the ground, meanwhile, he used his free hand to rub his aching fingers. He hadn’t felt that type of pain in a while; he stared intently at his hand, specifically, at the green chords around his fingers. 

“OH, [ #$@! ] OFF.” He also hadn’t seen those in a while; they had been severed a long time ago.

Spamton found himself stumbling forward, the strings dug into his raw arms. The city faded away; he wasn’t sure where he was but it was dark–damp. The smell of mildew was pervasive. No, he knew this place; he had only seen it while sleeping, but he was sure this was the mansion–the basement. 

NEO. That was the machine’s name. NEO. Grand and intimidating. And it sat, left to rot in the confines of that mansion. Spamton stared on in silent wonder when suddenly–he fell backwards. His strings–his strings were–gone. Freedom?

“Spamton!” 

He blinked. A soft glow encompassed his face. Tenna’s screen was directly in front of him. Meanwhile he was–on the ground? 

“Are you alright? I meant to catch you outside the diner but I was running late. I saw you wandering and you just–fell. It looked like you hit your head pretty hard.” 

Now that he mentioned hit, he could feel where he'd hit the ground. His pride hurt worse than the throbbing on the back of his head. 

“Is it your ankle?”

Spamton shot upright before Tenna could reach his foot. 

“I'M FINE–I [ slip and slide ] .” He waved him away. Regardless, he still felt a hand pressed into his lower back as he stood. He wouldn't admit the world felt like it was on a tilt as he got back onto his feet. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go get some drinks but it looks like you've already had one too many.” 

“NONO, THE [ limited time offer ] IS OUT, NO [ take backs ].”

“Are you sure you're not concussed?”

“MY [ brain power ] COULDN'T GET ANY MORE [ scrambled egg ]. THAT PROBABLY FIXED SOMETHING.”

Tenna knew not to entertain him, and yet, he couldn't wipe the amused grin off of his face. 

“Alright, slow down. Why don't you get changed first?”  Spamton flustered. Yea, Tenna remembered exactly how this went down last time; he wasn't stupid. “I drove here, so I'd like to drop my car off at the hotel.”

“I DON'T HAVE–”

“That was my next point; if you'll recall, I went out to get you a change of clothes. Clothes that you left in my room when you snuck out on me. I have them for you, so, you'll have to swing by either way.”

Spamton wasn't stupid either; he saw right through this act. Maybe he didn't know how bad things were, but to offer to bring him back to his hotel to change? Not forcing the issue? 

“FINE. LET’S [ go go go ].”

“I’m parked a few blocks opposite of the diner–parking is a nightmare.” 

“HAEAH, WALKING IS ALWAYS [ act fast ].”

Thankfully, Spamton hadn’t gotten too far during his–episode. It hadn’t taken them too long to make the short trip to where Tenna had parked. It wasn’t hard to pick out Tenna’s car based on the size alone, however, the TV World cars were also a very different style compared to the Cyber City ones. He fished his keys out as they approached and Spamton climbed into the passenger seat. It was hard not to feel a pang of envy. He missed this–he missed his car. 

“I wanted to apologize, by the way.” 

This apology confused him. Spamton turned to face him, his bewilderment obvious. 

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Ah–I was–for staying away. I mean, not that I was staying away, but–you know how it gets around the winter. Less to do, more TV specials, so I’ve been busy. I also didn’t really have a way to tell you that so–I’m sorry if it seemed like I disappeared on you.”

Hah. Hah. Spamton’s gaze turned to the window to avoid meeting with Tenna; to avoid having Tenna see his own reaction to that comment. It very well could have been a dig, but it was also clear to Spamton he wasn’t at all angry in that comment. No, he meant it because he knew the feeling of being abandoned without a word.

“I KNOW YOUR [ busy busy busy ], [ trash heap ]. YOU HAVE MORE [ very important ] THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT THAN [ little old me ].”

“I didn’t say more important. Just busy in general. I really wanted to be here.” 

A puff of air escaped Spamton. 

“What? What was that about?” 

“[ x to doubt ].”

“I’m here right now, am I not?” 

“I JUST [ Control F ] THAT HARD TO [ make believe ].” 

Tenna’s grip on the wheel tightened. He seriously didn’t know when Spamton’s self-esteem had plummeted so incredibly low–or if it always had been and he had just been good at hiding it. Regardless, the attitude infuriated him. 

“I hate that, just so you’re aware. You have a very grim image of me and my motives in your head that, I have to say, is an insult to my actual character.” 

Spamton bristled in response to that remark. 

“THAT WASN’T AGAINST YOU.”

“Okay, but it still circles around to me being awful.” 

Spamton had begun to pick at the fabric of his pants; at the very least, it gave him an outlet for his nerves. Tenna heaved a sigh.

“I want to be here, Spamton. I want to spend time with you. I want to make up for the years we lost. I like having you around, genuinely, otherwise I would stay in TV World. I’m happy just having you around. And I know things are different, and I’m willing to be okay with that as long as you are. I just–like being with you. In whatever capacity you’re comfortable with.” 

He liked having him around? Of course Spamton wanted Tenna around–he had never wanted to leave. But for Tenna to say that? He shrunk into his chair; he still couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. 

“HAEHAEH. [ trash heap ], YOU DON’T EVEN [ click to know more ] ME ANYMORE.” 

“I’m trying. If you’re willing to let me.”

Spamton’s arms crossed; his fingers gripped the material of his jacket so tightly he swore he’d rip it from his sleeves. 

“I DON’T THINK YOU’LL [ like and subscribe ] WHAT YOU [ learn more ].” 

“Give me the chance to decide that.” 

Dammit! He supposed there was a reason Ant was so popular. He’d nearly forgotten why he’d fallen so hard once. He always knew exactly what to say and when. Spamton’s teeth grinded. 

“OK, [ trash heap ], BUT DON’T SAY I DIDN’T [ read all warning labels ] YOU.”

Spamton had turned on the radio to fill the dead space after that conversation. Tenna had, also, brought him back to the same hotel as last time. Spamton felt sinful even entertaining the idea of walking through the lobby, and yet, he had done exactly that once more while Tenna directed him up to his room. 

“I’m going to freshen up, myself. I left your clothes on the bed so they didn’t wrinkle. I’ll be out in a few.” Tenna disappeared behind the bathroom door and it left Spamton to approach the outfit. 

Spamton grimaced at the outfit–Tenna had to be fucking with him. A black sweater paired with a pair of dark green corduroy pants. Not only was the combination horrific but the style was unlike him. If he recalled correctly, when he’d bought them, he supposed it was with the intention of making him comfortable. And considering he’d never exactly known him during his Addison era, he wouldn’t have known how much he hated the look. Hell, he had never particularly opened up about his all-consuming need to distinguish himself from his brothers. Without any options, all he could do was heave a sigh and slip out of his work clothes. The new outfit had surprisingly fit–or, well, mostly fit. It had always been a struggle to find pants that didn’t hit the floor. He made his way over to the mirror and stared at himself. 

It didn’t look terrible; there was only so much he could do with the way he looked now. He ran a hand through his hair in some feeble attempt to slick back the pieces that always gave him trouble. Ant wasn’t hanging around him for his looks, that much was for certain. And, maybe, he fumed a bit before pulling away because the green didn’t look terrible. It would take him a bit to get used to the lower neckline; he was accustomed to switching between his turtlenecks and button down for work. 

The bathroom door opened and Spamton was relieved to find Tenna had also dressed down–moreso than he was accustomed to. Surprisingly, he wore a turtleneck paired with some khakis. He’d gotten so used to the suit, he couldn’t help but stare. Usually he would have made a remark but that had been ages ago. Now it would have felt like it was in poor taste.

“Hey, it fits! And it looks nice on you!”

“DID YOU NOT [ think about it ] IT WOULD??”

“I mean, I was hoping.” 

“RIGHT.” Spamton’s gaze narrowed, and Tenna could only laugh. 

“Hey, I said it looked good, I don’t know why you’re upset. If you’re ready, let’s get going.” 

“MY WORK CLOTHES?”

“Just leave them, you can grab them after. I don’t plan on driving if we’re going for drinks.” 

Which, he supposed, was fair enough. At the very least, he’d left them in a neatly folded pile before they exited the room and made their way back to the streets.

Spamton hated to admit it, but being out with Ant was–it brought about a mixed bag of emotions. He was still a star; it was only natural he was recognized. It caused some envy to bubble to the surface. And Spamton was, understandably, disgusted by it–by himself. It was his fault he'd fallen from that same level of stardom, not Tenna's, and yet, it still stung. It also made him that much more aware of his own appearance. 

Tenna hated it. He hated how Spamton was constantly on guard. He missed the confidence he once exuded, illegitimate or not. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about his insecurities and it tore him apart. 

At the very least, he seemed to settle whenever they earned a modicum of privacy, just as the bar had afforded. They'd stolen a booth in the corner, and Tenna had left to order their first round. 

“First round’s on me.” He'd happily claimed as he returned to the table. He was prepared to pay for all of their rounds, but of course, he wouldn't openly admit to it. 

“THANKS.” 

Spamton accepted the drink and wasted little time stealing a sip. Tenna immediately watched him shiver and his face briefly glitched in response. 

“[ surefire savings ]!” Tenna couldn't stop the laugh that escaped him as Spamton recomposed himself. “I HAVEN'T HAD ANYTHING THAT [ strong ] IN A [ long-term care ].”

“Obviously!” Tenna echoed before stealing a drink from his own glass. His face scrunched in response and it was Spamton’s turn to echo the laughter. 

“HAEAHEHAHEAH!! YOU'RE ONE TO [ talk about it ]!” 

“Okay–” he wheezed. “Stronger than I expected but–at least I'm getting my money's worth.” 

While he continued to laugh, Spamton couldn't deny that sentiment. After his second sip, he was certainly much more composed. 

“DID THE CHRISTMAS [ specil offer ] START YET?”

“Hah. Earlier and earlier every year. We've already started decorating the studio. I saw some decorations in the city, too.” 

“WELL, YEA, CHRISTMAS SELLS.”

Tenna didn’t exactly like that sentiment, but he also couldn’t argue with him. Spamton would know sales more than he would, and even then, with all the advertisements he’d had surrounding Christmas, he knew it was true. 

“HOW HAVE–THINGS BEEN, BY THE WAY?”

“Hm?”

“THE [ family of four ].”

“Oh.” He momentarily fell silent and, instead, sipped on his drink. “It’s–it depends on the day. A little better, though, I think a lot of that has to do with Christmas coming up.” 

He wanted to be optimistic and say that it looked like things were on an upward swing, but he knew better. He knew the holidays played a large role in the change–and, of course, the Holidays themselves. 

“What about you? I know the cold isn’t exactly your favorite.” 

“EH.” Spamton’s shoulders rose and fell. “NOTHING I CAN [ do now ] ABOUT IT.” 

“You can stay warm.”

“YEA, WELL.” And that was it; that was all Tenna received before he was taking another sip of his drink. 

“I OWE YOU FOR THE [ premium clothing ], BY THE WAY.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“I’LL GET YOU BACK.”

“I don’t want anything back, Spamton, don’t worry about it. They look nice on you. While I’m, obviously, partial to red, I think green is your color.” Tenna was surprised by the way his nose scrunched in response to that comment. Needless to say, he had no idea where that came from; he meant what he said about the outfit. He certainly wouldn’t have let him go out if he thought it looked bad. “What?”

“NOTHING.”

“No, you clearly made a face–why did you make a face?”

“IT–GREEN, [ trash heap ]?”

“What! What’s wrong with green!?”

“HAVE YOU SEEN MY [ brotherly love ]?? GREEN???”

Tenna wracked his brain for what on earth that could have meant. He tried to remember the Addison he’d had a run in with, anything that could have possibly been of note about him. He had been well dressed; black turtle neck, blazer on top, along with a pair of green–pants. 

“Oh my God I dressed you like an Addison.” 

“YOU”RE JUST NOW [ notice board ]?!1?”

“YES! I mean I–I DIDN’T KNOW YOU THEN? I just met one of the Addisons for the first time–I’m sure I’ve seen them in passing but I didn’t–I wasn’t even thinking! I swear it was an accident!”

“[ pretty in pink ] COINCIDENTAL [ accidents happen ].”

“IT IS! IT–YOU–you’re messing with me.”

“HAEHAEHAEH! ME?? NEVER.”

“Seriously, NOW of all times you’re going to rile me up?” “OK, I WASN’T [ liar liar ] I REALLY HATE THE [ combo deal ].” 

“I’ve seen you wear green!”

“SHIRTS! SHIRTS! NOT [ uglier than sin ] PANTS!!”

“Okay, okay, noted, green pants are off limits!” And yet, a soft laugh managed to escape him with the confirmation because it was just–so silly. And he supposed he could find comfort in the silly sentiment. It meant he was more relaxed, and the conversation quickly followed suit. One drink turned to two, turned to Spamton disappearing to use the restroom and coming back with shots that he knew he didn’t need nor could he afford and he knew Tenna would complain but he hadn’t mattered.

It was the first night in years he had felt some semblance of normalcy and he intended to capitalize on it knowing damn well it could have been years until he felt it again. It was needless to say that the two of them left stumbling out of the bar, full of laughter. A hand had found itself on the small of Spamton’s back–despite the years, it was a familiar gesture. He should have said something or shoved him off and yet–he would attribute his silence to his drunken state of mind. 

“I HAVEN’T BEEN TO THAT [ bar code ] IN YEARS. NOT SINCE–HAEHAE. WELL, YEARS.” 

“Since?” Tenna regretted asking the moment it left his mouth. 

Deja vu hit him like a ton of bricks. Memories of him and Spamton stumbling back to his apartment under similar circumstances; the night he’d opened up about the Addisons. The last time he’d been there was with his brothers. 

“Nevermind. Always a good time to make new memories, right?”

“HAEAH. SURE. I [ like and subscribe] THE [ sound the alarms ] OF THAT.”

Regardless of the minor blunder, they were generally in good spirits as they stumbled back to Tenna's hotel room. 

“I think you should sober up a bit before you walk back home.” Tenna had mused as he trailed further into the room; eventually, he settled on collapsing on the sofa. 

“WHY?”

“You're already concussed; I doubt the alcohol is going to help any.”

“HAEHAEH! YEA. MAYBE A [ little ].” With that admission, he'd joined Ant on the couch. “I GUESS ANOTHER [ one hour left ] WON'T [ killing ] ME.”

“Hah yea–wait what? Spamton, did you actually hit your head that hard?”

“I DUNNO.” He sunk into the couch, his head propped up by the armrest. “THAT WAS HOUR–R-RSS AGO.”

“Okay, that doesn't change anything! A head injury's a head injury!” 

It was funny how quickly he could sober up with the thought of Spamton being actually injured. Spamton whined when Tenna pried him away from the arm and, instead, sat him upright against the back cushion. A hand pushed his head forward, allowing his fingers to become entangled in his hair as they traced over his scalp. A soft hum escaped him, and Tenna's hand momentarily froze. 

Hah. It was good to know there were some constants in life. He'd always loved that; Tenna running his fingers through his hair. Had he not been pumped full of alcohol, he most likely would not have allowed his pleasure to be known. Tenna struggled himself to keep his screen from turning a soft shade of pink as his hand once more moved through his scalp. Spamton physically jolted when his fingers hit a lump. 

“OW!!”

“Spam–dammit, you probably are concussed! You shouldn't have been out at all let alone drinking–”

“[ YOLO ].”

“What?"

“YOU [ one time only ] LIVE [ once in a lifetime ].” Spamton was surprised when Tenna’s face found itself so close to his own. “HAH–WHAT ARE YOU–”

“I want to see your eyes, specifically your pupils. Though, the alcohol is going to mess with that. Can you–”

Spamton couldn't hear him; he was drowned out by the thrumming of his heart and the buzzing of his ears. He was close–too close. It was too much like back then; it came too naturally. Flashes of the past filled his thoughts; how simple it had been back then for them to hold a gaze. How simple it had been to press a kiss to his lips. A heat washed over him. Of course he didn’t still think that way–didn’t want exactly that. He was far too busy with his own shit to get involved. Spamton was–he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to him–to himself–

Spamton’s heart hammered rapidly against his chest. His head had been overtaken by a distinct ringing. He couldn’t do this–he couldn’t–

“Hey, Spam, hey!” 

Hands held either side of his face as he glitched. 

“I’M–
I–I-I–IIII
I’M SO–RR–S—[ super sale ]–SORRR-YYY”

Spamton’s hands clawed at Tenna’s own; when that failed, he moved to Tenna’s screen, attempting to push him away as pixels obscured his vision and broke his face in pieces. Somehow he’d managed to force him away; Spamton hit the ground, his shaking arms holding him upright. 

“I–C-CA-[ cash back guarantee ]–CAN’T–
I HAVE TO–
TO–
TO–
G-G–GO–[ go go go! ]–
[ buy now ]!” 

Two arms worked their way around his midsection. Before he knew it, he was being pulled from the ground and, instead, his back was pressed against Tenna’s chest. He’d knelt on the ground at some point in Spamton’s frantic scramble to leave; the grip around him was tight. As his body continued to break into pixels and glitch, he couldn’t help but find the action grounding. 

Tenna was saying something; he couldn’t entirely comprehend it in his still panicked state. He kept his grip firm around him; slowly, the glitching calmed, and once the bulk of it had ended, he was bombarded with words he had heard many, many times before. 

“Please don’t. Please. Please don’t leave–just stay–please–stay for a little while. I don't–I don’t know when I’ll see you again and I don’t–just–just stay.” 

His brain felt numb. How many times had he diffused, or failed to diffuse, this exact situation? Over the years apart, he had fallen out of practice. Nobody wanted him to stay; he never gave anyone the opportunity. Yet, here he was, Tenna holding him in a death grip, blubbering over this scam artist. Spamton watched as tear drops hit the floor. 

“Spamton–I can’t–you disappear and I don’t–you were gone for so long–”

“Okay, okay, calm down. You’re crushing me.” 

Tenna fell silent, though the tears continued to soar past him and hit the ground; he was going to flood the damn place. He sniffed, loudly, and Spamton felt his screen hit the top of his head. 

“Your–speech.”

“Yea, it got you to calm down, didn’t it?” 

Again, he sniffed. He refused to let him go. 

“Does it–speaking like that? Speaking like–before. Why don’t you–”

“It’s hard.” It was a moment of genuine honesty. Tenna didn't know how lucky he was. “I have to really concentrate. And it–makes me glitch more.” He could physically feel Tenna jolt behind him. 

“Then stop doing it! I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“It doesn't hurt, it's just exhausting.”

“And you're already concussed!”

“Okay, we don't know I'm concussed.” Spamton grumbled. 

“You're most likely concussed.” 

They both knew he most likely would never confirm that. At the very least, Tenna had loosened his grip, granting Spamton autonomy once more. When he hit the ground, he moved back towards the couch; Tenna followed close behind. 

“Spamton with everything in the city is there not–I mean, considering how much trouble this job is giving you–”

“IT’S WHAT I HAVE, [ trash heap ], IT’S THE [ best in show ] I CAN DO.” 

Tenna released a soft sigh; at least he’d tried. 

“Are you doing anything for Christmas?”

“HAEAHEH.” He wouldn’t lie; the laugh was like a knife to his heart. “I THINK YOU CAN [ guess now ] THE ANSWER TO THAT. I KNOW YOU’LL BE [ busy busy ].” 

Tenna was always busy on Christmas, of course he was. The Dreemurrs left the TV running practically from sunrise to bed time. Even earlier if the kids got ahold of him first. While Tenna himself would be preoccupied, he hated the thought that Spamton would be alone. 

“HEY, KNOCK IT [ offline ]. IF YOU KEEP [ window shop ] ME LIKE THAT I’LL GO [ homepage ]. DON’T ASK [ questionaire ] ABOUT THINGS YOU KNOW ARE [ bad news ] TO YOU.”

“Okay–okay, I’m sorry, just please don’t–”

“I’M NOT. YET.”

“Okay.”

Spamton wasn’t going to lie; he was exhausted after everything that had happened in the last few minutes. That, accompanied by hitting his head and drinking when he knew better? Just as he had started out, Spamton sunk back into the arm of the couch, meanwhile, his arms crossed over his chest.

“SO, YOU MET [ orangeade ]?” 

“Huh?”

“MY [ brotherly love ].”

“Oh–yes, I mean, so briefly. He recognized me and said he’d take my measurements, but that was about it. He gave me a funny look while I was checking out but that was about it.”

“HMM.” Spamton’s eyes closed as he thought. 

“What?”

“YOU DON’T EVEN [ knowing ] WHAT YOU [ startup ].”

“What do you mean?” 

“YOU [ get them before they’re gone ] MY [ brotherly love ] ON ME.”

“What? Really? I–I’m sorry, Spamton I–well how the hell was I supposed to know they would come sniffing around just because I bought clothes that weren’t my size? They’re not even YOUR size–I’m sorry that was–”

“HAEHAEH! NO, YOU’RE [ right as rain ]. IT WASN’T JUST THAT, BUT APPARENTLY [ orangeade ] STARTED THE [ hot topic ].” 

“Have they come to see you?”

Spamton was mostly still. His foot bounced slightly as he put together his thoughts. 

“ONE.” 

“What did you do?”

“YELLED. TALKED. [ complex ].”

“Well, if they bother you–”

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?”

“Hah–I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to say.” 

Silence fell. Spamton was struggling to stay awake.

“[ trash heap ]?”

“Yea?”

“DO YOU [ recall ] THAT ONE SPECIL–THE ONE WITH THE [ kiddy toys ] AND THE PARENTS–”

“Of course I remember! Spam, you loved Home Alone, how would I forget that?” 

Spamton shifted. For some reason, he felt his chest clench. 

“WOULD YOU–COULD YOU–”

He hadn't even needed to ask. He couldn't help but briefly open his eyes to catch a glance at the screen. He'd already begun playing it. His expression softened as his eyes closed, and he found himself drifting off to the movie.

Chapter Text

He felt bad sneaking out on him but, after the freak out Ant had displayed the night before, he knew leaving while he was awake wasn't an option. He had, at the very least, thrown him a bone. He'd scribbled a number down and left the note on his bed with the asterisk: not always here. It was something, at least, that would comfort him. 

Anyway, Spamton hadn't the time to screw around. His days off were few and far between and he had important things he needed to get done. Cue his walk to the edge of the city. 

Spamton knew returning to the Queen’s mansion was a gamble–and he certainly never claimed to be any good at it. Still, there was something pulling him here, something beyond himself–something far, far bigger than him, hidden away in the basement of the mansion. It was down there. He knew it was down there. But getting to it–that was a whole other story. 

He knew damn well he was told not to come back. He also knew he'd had a decent relationship with Swatch who, in turn, was a decent guy. If he played his cards right–

“Spamton. You know you're not supposed to be in here.” Cordial as ever. It was notable he hadn't made a move towards him; instead, he remained seated behind the counter. 

Spamton monopolized on his lack of action. 

“COME ON, [ swatch ], I SWEAR I JUST–WANTED TO SEE A [ friendly face ].” Spamton held his hands up as a sign of good faith. 

He was proud, but in that moment? Maybe he was trying to look pathetic. Swatch stared him down, Spamton returning the gaze. He forced a puff of air. 

“You know you can get me in trouble being in here, right?” 

“I KNOW.” 

When Swatch hadn’t made a move to eject Spamton himself, he proceeded forward and sat himself down at the counter. Swatch stared at him, briefly taking in his appearance; hell, Spamton was surprised he’d even recognized him. 

“Are you going to be a problem?”

“I HADN’T [ plan your trip now ] ON IT.”

Swatch released a gentle sigh before he turned his back on him. 

“Fine. If you behave yourself–then I suppose you were never here.” 

He felt bad for him. While he normally would have resented the pity, he knew he could prey on it. 

“THANK YOU. IT’S AT LEAST–[ warm up ] IN HERE.” 

Swatch had always been hard to read; always professional. Regardless, he saw the slight reaction he’d had to his comment; the same Tenna would have had–did have, when he mentioned he had no hot water. Perfect. 

“ALSO–THANK YOU. FOR NOT LEAVING [ me me ] IN A [ back to school ] ALLEY. AFTER–A-AFTER–”

“It would have been wrong of me to allow anything else.” He placed a cup before Spamton, of which he’d promptly filled with coffee. “Do you still take it with cream?”

“HAEHAEH–DON’T DRINK TOO MUCH OF IT ANYMORE, BUT YES.”

Maybe he felt a little bad about the fact he was using him, considering he was being so kind. It was kindness he was not typically afforded by others. At the end of the day, however, he’d still allowed him to be strong armed. He’d left him in a shitty motel, covered in burns. He stood between him and freedom. 

“What have you been up to, businessman?”

“HAH–NOT MUCH [ business offer ] ANYMORE. BUT–I’M [ getting tired of the ads? ] BY.” Spamton accepted the coffee, sipped on it and, genuinely, relishing the warmth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an actual good cup of coffee. 

“Even though you were never here,” Swatch flashed a look from the corner of his eye; it was him silently communicating with Spamton he wouldn’t tell a soul this had happened, “I am glad to see you’re alright.” 

Spamton snorted in response. 

“YOU [ call the hotline ] THIS ALRIGHT?” His tone caught Swatch’s attention. “I’M [ surprise gift ] YOU EVEN RECOGNIZED ME. I MEAN–[ look now ] AT ME. I [ press X to doubt ] YOU SEE TOO MANY [ #1 rated salesman ] [ fall from grace ] LIKE ME. I WAS [ big shot ], NOW I CAN'T EVEN WALK INSIDE MY OLD [ home sweet home ] WITHOUT [ ew ew ]! EVEN MY HANDS–!”

He'd knocked the cup off the counter. Spamton jolted when it shattered. He very quickly removed himself from the stool he'd been situated on and rounded to the mess on the floor. 

“I'M SORRY–I’M SORRY I–I HADN'T–I DIDN'T MEAN–”

“Spamton, it's alright. It was an accident.”

“[ #$@! ] I DO THAT MORE OFTEN THAN NOT ANYMORE.”

Swatch had knelt beside him. He felt his hand pressed against his back. Spamton’s eyes flicked up, searching. His vest, his pockets, his belt loop–hah. 

“It's alright. I'll get it. Take a seat.”

“HAH. HAH. [ Swatch ]. YOU'RE TOO [ nice guys finish last ].” Spamton hunched over, his hands were pressed to his chest. 

“Please. It's my job to be hospitable.”

“EVEN SO. I'M SORRY.”

“I told you you don't have to worry about it.”

“NO, I'M SORRY FOR THIS.”

“What?” 

Spamton chucked something at the ground; it was a blue blur before an explosion followed. Hands found themselves clawing at his waist as Swatch hacked. He found himself shoved to the ground; while, typically speaking, Spamton would not have posed even a minimal problem, in the confusion, Swatch had found himself defenseless against the shove, meanwhile small footsteps trailed toward the exit. 

Shit–shit! 

“FIRST FLOOR–THE SALESMAN IS BACK!” 

Spamton was fast; he had proven that much years prior–well, up until he'd ended his pursuit at the acid lake, a mistake he would not make twice. He could hear the thundering footsteps behind him–he just barely dodged a broom directed at his face. He reached the path to the basement only to find it–locked. Blocked by a firewall. The Swatchlings fell in line behind him. Wasn't this reminiscent of the past?

Hah. But Spamton had expected this. 

He hadn't expected the Swatchlings to be particularly kind to him, especially after tossing what was essentially a bomb into their cafe and at their boss. Maybe he felt a twinge of guilt for that; Swatch was a good guy. Though, it wasn't as if he hadn't been repaid for his actions. Multiple brooms had come his way; considering he was cornered, quite a few hit their mark. It wasn’t that he’d just taken it, of course not, Spamton had always been a fighter; he’d kicked up a fuss–he was sure he’d landed a few bites, considering he had spit out quite a few feathers. He’d chucked another pipis to the ground; the smoke gave him enough time to get back to the main hall before he was grabbed and unceremoniously thrown, literally thrown, out the front doors. It was slammed behind him and, if he hadn’t had a concussion before, he certainly did after that. 

Spamton rubbed his aching head as he pulled himself back onto his feet. The world shifted, and he stumbled briefly. With a deep breath, he pushed forward, intent on putting as much distance between him and the mansion as possible. Under normal circumstances, a display such as that may have bruised his ego; that is, of course, if he hadn’t gotten exactly what he’d wanted. His fingers toyed with the key in his jacket pocket; turned it over, brushing the cool metal. So what if he took a little bit of a beating; at the very least, it threw them off his scent. For the time being, anyway. He knew Swatch would realize the key was missing and he would then know exactly what that display was. He had also exhausted his one freebie; in the future, he would need to be craftier to get inside and to the door. 

His brows furrowed–his mouth was freezing. He’d removed his hand from his pocket, carefully zipping it afterward, and pressed his fingers to his teeth. When he pulled it away, he stared at the black liquid glaring back at him. Ah. They’d broken his nose, apparently. His gaze soon turned to his jacket, stained by the same liquid.

“HAH–HAEHAEH–HUH.”

He hadn’t considered the fact bleeding was even possible anymore. He was a puppet; a shadow of his former self. And yet, it seemed that even now he could still bleed. And he had done so directly onto his clothes. Great. It was the one thing he had to keep him warm and he hadn’t planned on finding a laundromat. His vision blurred, and Spamton had to halt his walk. 

Okay. Definitely concussed–really concussed. His hands rose, shaking fingers traced his crooked nose. He unceremoniously popped it back into place. He sputtered, a few curses escaped him but, hey, problem solved. The next issue was his stained clothes. He wasn’t scheduled until the proceeding afternoon but–dammit. He wasn’t even sure if they’d let him into the gym looking the way–he didn’t know what he looked like. 

Had to keep walking–he forced his legs to move once more as he considered his next steps. 

While he hadn’t expected to take him up on his offer–well, Spamton supposed there was a first time for everything. Tired eyes stared silently at the closed door. Blue had given him a key in case he ever needed it. Well, he needed it now more than ever. The lights were off; if Spamton had to guess, he was working which, honestly, was preferable. He would have liked to have gotten a shower in before running into his tightly wound brother. 

Spamton unlocked the door and hesitantly stepped inside. He waited a few moments, expecting Blue to round the corner. When he hadn't, Spamton made his way to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. 

To say the shower was a luxury was an understatement. Tenna’s hotel and the gym were fine but, at the end of the day, they were still commercial. Blue’s apartment granted him strong water pressure, a consistent warm stream of water, high-end shampoo and soap. He watched his blood stain the water black as it rolled off him; granted, it also could have been the shitty dye he put together for his hair. Regardless, he stood underneath the stream and waited for the water at his feet to turn clear. He may or may not have shampooed twice; he relished the smell, the way his hair actually felt soft. When he finally shut off the faucet, he was also spoiled with a soft bath towel. He dried his hair and wrapped it around his waist before finally glancing in the direction of the mirror. 

As much as he didn’t want to look–he heaved a sigh and wiped the steam from the mirror, revealing his reflection. Even with his reduced vision, he supposed it wasn’t that bad. He’d cleaned up well; aside from the throbbing in his face and head, he would say he got off relatively unscathed–physically speaking. Internally, he didn’t really care, so long as he could act unaffected. 

With that squared away, he dug into his bag and got dressed. He liked Tenna's outfit but–like hell was he giving Blue any ammunition in those colors. He scooped up his bag and, with the towel in hand, wandered back into the apartment. He grumbled to himself; if he remembered correctly–he pulled open the closet doors and was relieved he'd at least remembered where the washing machine was. He figured if he was here, he might as well. He threw his clothes in and prayed his blood wouldn't stain his jacket as he turned on the machine. 

Well, he had about two hours to kill. He wandered over to the sofa and plopped down. It was absentmindedly that he turned on the television and scrolled through the channels. 

The light hurt his eyes. Hell, the images themselves were blurry but the voice–Spamton released a sigh as he pushed back into the couch. Maybe he couldn't see what he was doing, but having Tenna's voice in the background was calming–hah. He hated that; that he still found him calming was a sore point in his head. He knew what would happen to him; he knew getting attached again was stupid–implying he wasn’t still attached to him. Spamton draped an arm over his eyes and grumbled to himself; stupid television. 

“Funny, I thought the same about you. Well, stupid mailman.” 

Spamton jolted. His arm fell, and he found himself sitting upright. Tenna sat in front of him, his hands resting on his thighs. Spamton blinked once–twice. This couldn’t be–

“YOU’RE NOT [ click here ].”

“You’re not here, either. Or, there. I suppose you are here.” 

His brow furrowed. Hah–he supposed he wasn’t wrong. More and more he found his mind going somewhere else–somewhere distant and twisted. Like now, he supposed. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

“You’re leading me on. I mean, a phone number, Spamton, really? When you know what will happen?” 

“I’M NOT–THAT ISN’T–I’M [ tryhard ] TO [ fixer-upper ] IT.” 

“For you.”

“FOR US! WHAT DO YOU [ think about it ] I WAS [ doing ] TODAY?? YOU THINK I [ like and subscribe ] [ premium grade beef ]? I GOT THE KEYGEN–I’M NOT ALLOWED [ inside ] I CAN’T JUST [ stroll in the park ] BACK IN.” 

“Maybe not. But, come on, mail man. You were clever enough to swindle me, I’m sure you can figure out a way inside.” 

“I DIDN’T–AT LEAST I DIDN’T MEAN TO.” 

“Spamton, you know I would still do whatever you asked.”

“WHAT–WHAT ARE YOU–NO! NO, I WON’T–NOT AT HIS EXPENSE.” 

“Okay, then next idea.” 

“IF [ swatch ] SEES ME I’M [ out of business ]. [ birds ] ALSO KNOW I’M [ access denied ]. BUT IF I DIDN’T LOOK LIKE–”

“Plan B.” 

“WHERE WILL I–”

“What is more important? An apartment, or freedom?”

That was right. He supposed he had that money stashed away. He could use it to buy some new clothes. It was worth a shot. 

“By the way; trash heap. What a funny name. It’s on the nose, isn’t it?”

“WHAT? I DIDN’T–IT’S BECAUSE I CAN’T–”

“Afterall, that’s where I’m heading. Eventually.” 

His vision blurred. It was a sight he had grown accustomed to; Tenna, splayed before him, wires sparking, his arms spread out beside him. He dawned a cracked screen, of which was completely lifeless. He was never sure what part he found most horrific; the sight of him or, at some point, this hallucination had stopped making his stomach churn as violently as it once had. Spamton stood from the couch and wandered off into the kitchen. 

He sipped on the glass of water he’d filled in the sink, his head throbbing. Robot. Freedom. Mansion. He absentmindedly played with the key in his pocket. Fuck the prophecy. If it was known, it could be broken. He could reach heaven–the angel wouldn’t want the slaughtering of an innocent man. He could break the cycle, so long as he had direction. And was that not what these visions were? Direction? 

“Spamton?” 

He jolted. He was–laying. On the couch. He sat upright too quickly, his head protested, and he couldn’t help but press a hand against it. He glanced behind him; the dryer was running. When had he–?

A hand cupped his face, bringing his attention back to his brother currently looking him over. 

“Are you alright? What happened?"

“WHAT?”

“Spamton, please don't treat me like I'm stupid, your face is bruised.” 

Wasn’t that just fantastic. Obviously it had taken a little bit for it to form.

“I BROKE MY [ mother knows best ].” 

How? He didn't know; his brain wasn't working at full capacity. Usually he was better at coming up with a cover story. 

“God–Spam–what happened?”

He couldn't tell him the truth, he couldn't tell him what he was up to, he wouldn't understand, he would try to dissuade him–

Spamton raised a hand and scratched at the side of his head. 

“I HAD–[ glitching ]. I FELL–[ bloody mess ] ON MY JACKET. I FIGURED I COULD [ baby shower ] AND WASH MY CLOTHES.” 

He could see the concern in his eyes, hell, written on every inch of his face. That would be twice today he used his pitiful state to get his way. At least he knew he was still a good manipulator. 

“Of course, that's why I gave you a key. How hard did you hit your head?” His fingers brushed over his hair; hah, wasn't this deja vu? 

Spamton grabbed his wrist before he could hit the lump. 

“IT'S FINE. I JUST WANTED A PLACE TO [ freshen up ].”

Hah, finally his mixed up brain betrayed him. It was a slow realization, but one nonetheless: he had just admitted he hadn’t anywhere else to go. If he had a home, why would he not be there showering and running laundry? He realized his mistake as Blue’s own expression shifted, however briefly. His mind suddenly went blank; he could hear a vague ringing in his ears. 

“You can stay for the night if you want.” 

Spamton knew he was stuck. Not that he didn’t want to stay; it was warm. He may have been able to get more than an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep. He could wake up, have a cup of coffee, figure out his bruise situation. At the same time, he wasn't oblivious to his self-destructive tendencies and he knew he wanted to run out of principle. Now Blue knew too much; he couldn’t allow himself to stay here, to be pitied. The positives heavily outweighed his stupid pride. The final tipping point, undoubtedly, was the soreness that began to settle in from the various broom strikes he’d received early. 

“I MIGHT [ accept ] THAT [ limited time offer ].”

As reluctant about it as Spamton may have been, Blue seemed genuinely pleased–or, perhaps that was relief. 

“I don’t mind giving up my bed for the night if you would prefer–”

“NO, NO, I’M FINE WITH THE [ couch surfing ]. I LIKE THE [ TV Noise ], ANYWAY.” At the very least, he was glad he was able to hide how he felt after making a comment like that. He assumed he, along with his other brothers, knew of their partnership; a statement like that was most likely nothing of interest to him. Without the deeper context–well, he would consider himself lucky. 

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.” Blue had moved away with that comment to collect the items. He wasn’t gone long before he returned and placed them in a neat pile beside Spamton. 

“I, uh, was supposed to have plans tonight. If you give me a minute to call, I’m going to–”

“DON’T [ cancel subscription ].” 

“Spamton, I’d much rather be here with you. Especially if you’re hurt–”

“NO, NO, DON’T [ skip the ads ] BECAUSE OF ME. I’LL BE HERE WHEN YOU GET BACK. AND I WON’T [ run run run ] IN THE MORNING. I WANT [ cup of joe ].” 

Blue’s lips pursed.

“Are you sure?”

“[ sure as rain ].” 

He released a soft sigh in response. He knew Spamton hated it, but he pressed a hand into the top of his head and mussed his hair. 

“Okay. I won’t be gone long. You know where everything is.” 

“YEP. C YOU.” 

Blue had stuck around for a short time longer; he freshened up, or at least Spamton assumed that was what he had done before he left him alone in the apartment again. He was exhausted–thoroughly exhausted. His head was thrumming; he was sore. He begrudgingly pulled himself from the couch to flip off the lights. It helped alleviate the pain a small degree. Tenna’s show had ended some time prior (it was frightening he had lost so much time) and some reruns had begun to play. He didn't have the energy to change the channel. Instead, he laid down on the sofa, and squirmed a bit to get comfortable. The blanket soon draped over him, and Spamton released a lengthy sigh. 

He would get into that damn basement. But first he needed some well-deserved recovery time. That also included getting some well-deserved sleep. Or, well, as much of it as he could get, anyway. 

He had definitely fallen asleep, though, he couldn’t be certain for how long. He’d been woken by arguing just outside the apartment. 

“You followed me HOME?”

That was undoubtedly Blue. 

“Move.”

Fuzzy. Familiar but–he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“No I’m not–dammit, it’s my house, go home, Pink!” 

Pink–ugh. Pink. Out of all of his brothers, definitely the one he would want to deal with the least. Wait–wait. Pink. SHIT. The doorknob jingled and Spamton quickly sat himself upright–bad idea. His stomach lurched, and it reminded him how fucking badly his head hurt. He couldn’t stop his palms from pressing into his eyes. He could very clearly hear the door open; Spamton forced himself up; his legs felt unsteady. He grabbed the pillow and blanket he’d been given and trailed off into the bathroom; he didn’t close the door entirely, no, he at least was smart enough to know he would go searching. He settled on tossing the pillow into the tub and throwing himself in there soon after. The shower curtain was pulled across, and hell, he topped it off by covering himself with the blanket. Ironically, not the worst place he’d slept, though he’d hoped Pink would kindly fuck off soon enough and he could return to the much more comfortable sofa. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Blue demanded; they were obviously inside now. 

“You know what I’m doing, Blue, where is he?” 

“Where is who?”

“Blue–you wouldn’t have brought up you were worried if he wasn’t here–or was here.”

“Were you not the one who said forcing yourself on him would just end in a fight?” 

They were closer; probably in the living room. Spamton realized he’d left the television on–was that completely out of the possibility Blue had done it? No, never zero. Maybe it was a little suspicious. He sunk further into the pillow–dammit, the porcelain was cold. 

“I want to see my brother, Blue. Orange and Yellow will be offended by it. I don't care. He has every right to be mad at me. I just want to see him.” 

“Pink he isn't–remember what Yellow said–”

Blue screwed up. Pink was like a fucking bloodhound. That one little slip; he isn't. Present tense. Their arguing was quickly drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Blue betrayed him, whether willingly or not, he'd given enough information Pink had been able to figure out he'd found him. He hadn't wanted to deal with him on a good day, let alone now. He could only hope the eldest would give up and leave. 

Of course he knew better. That much was confirmed when the shower curtain was unceremoniously pulled back and a fierce set of red eyes glared down at him. 

“DO YOU [ mind your manners ]?” 

Sure, it had been years since he had any interaction with Pink, but Spamton still felt he knew him fairly well. He was waiting to be yelled at; to be grabbed and yanked from the tub for–anything. Instead, he stared, silently, seething. Then he crouched. Hands reached out to cup either side of Spamton’s face. He tried to jerk away, but it only made Pink’s grip that much stronger. 

“Who.”

“WHAT?”

“Who did this?” 

“[ like and subscribe] YOU [ care to elaborate ].”

Spamton felt the grip on his face tighten. 

“ME! ME! STOP [ squeeze me ]!” It was obvious he hadn’t believed him considering the look he received. “I [ fallen and I can’t get up ] AND HIT MY [ head and shoulders ]!”

“He was glitching.” A hand rose and pressed against Blue’s mouth after blurting out that information–that private information.

“BLUE.”

“You’re glitching?” The anger had quickly turned to concern. “Spamton, you realize that means there’s something wrong with your code? That you could be dying?”

“YOU–YOU!”

“I’m sorry!” Blue sputtered. “He wasn’t going to believe you just fell, Spamton!”

“YOU [ tell all ] I WAS [ here and now ]!”

“No, I didn’t, I swear!”

“He didn’t.” Pink confirmed. “I just assumed. He made an offhanded remark and I knew he wouldn’t have said anything if he hadn’t seen you.” 

“YOU STILL [ tattletale ]!”

“Spamton.” Pink’s voice was firm; as if his stern voice did anything to him anymore.

“WHAT?”

He was unexpectedly pulled from the tub. Spamton fought back as Pink pulled him in; he wasn’t entirely sure what his aim was, though he certainly hadn’t expected the hug he was pulled into. Spamton tried to push him away, though, Pink had always been much stronger than him–they all were. When he realized his struggling was useless, he fell limp, and resigned himself to the embrace. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I [ decline terms and services ].”

“I know.”

He had mixed feelings in regard to both the apology and the previous comment. Regardless of his feelings towards him, Pink was always conscientious of those around him. If he was wrong, he would say he was wrong. Blue was kind, but Pink followed a moral code that was unlike his other brothers; personally, not business related, of course. They were all willing to do whatever it took to sell to a customer. Regardless, if Pink was wrong, an apology was sure to follow. He supposed that had been what truly bred his hatred for the eldest. Yellow and Orange’s betrayal weren’t as surprising–especially Orange. He’d always run hot and him being jealous was hardly anything new. Blue gutted him; he had always been closer to him than the others. But Pink? Pink had been a different kind of pain knowing he always did what was right for them. For him to cosign on the complete disownment of his brother, let alone participate in it? 

Yes, he was angry at all of them, but he had found a special type of loathing for the man currently holding him as if he would disappear if given an inch. 

And then he said he knows. He didn't know shit about him anymore. To imply he did was either disingenuous or delusional. 

“I'm also sorry that I came here. I know you didn't want to see me or the other two but–I wanted to see you.”

Spamton scoffed. Considering Pink hadn’t commented, he knew he deserved that. Slowly, his grip loosened, though, it soon shifted to his hands pressing into Spamton’s shoulders. 

“Let us help you if you need it.”

“I DON'T.”

“Okay, let me correct my previous statement, let us help you. I know you need it. Spamton, just stay with one of us. I would prefer that to–”

“NO THANK YOU. I'M [ smooth sailing ] ON MY OWN.” 

“Spamton, you're homeless!” 

It was with that statement that he grabbed at Pink’s wrists, intent on forcing him away. Again, Blue betrayed him. 

“[ Incorrect ]. I HAVE A [ homepage ], YOU DON'T [ need to have it ]!” 

“I’m not going to allow you to live on the streets, Spamton! None of us are! I don't want to do this, Spamton, but I will go above you if you don't swallow your pride and accept some help.”

Above him? Above him? Who the hell did he know that was above him? His manager? His fucking boss? The hell would they do with information like that? He doubted he wanted him to lose his damn job. So, who the fuck would he possibly–? 

Spamton’s nails dug into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I DON'T [ no ] WHO [ u ] ARE [ talk talk talk ] ABB OUT.”

 “I know more about you than you think.” 

“YOU DON'T KNOW [ anything goes ]!”

“He went to Orange’s shop for you, Spamton, even Orange was able to figure that much out.” 

“[ #$@! ] YOU! FFFFfffFF[ fifty percent off ]! YOU DON'T [ no ] SHHHhH[ share ] ABOUT ME! 
YOU
YOU
YOU WOULD [ no ] [ more savings ahead ] ABOUT HIM. 
ALL OF YOU–
ALL OF YOU–
JUST LEFT ME. 
BUT YOU? 
YOU WERE ALL RIGHT [ @&#$?&! ] [ here and now ]! 
I DON'T WANT YOUR [ press F1 for help ] I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY. TAKE YOUR [ @&#$?&! ] GUILTY GESTURES AND [ gift wrapping ] THEM TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!”

He shoved Pink, hard enough that he'd fallen back and landed against the tile with some force. Blue had tried to grab him, but Spamton promptly slapped his hand away. He stormed off, slamming the front door behind him on the way out. 

“Really nice.” Blue pushed past Pink. “Dammit–he has nowhere else to go, Pink! I–I’m going to try to catch up to him. Just–go home.” Blue did as he’d said; he followed behind, and the door slammed shut behind him. 

Pink knew that could have gone better–that it should have gone better. He didn’t know why the hell he couldn’t keep his temper under control but–the point stood. He didn’t want to see him suffering any more than he already had thanks to their negligence. Pink pulled himself off the ground and dusted his pants off. 

He didn’t care if Spamton hated him so long as it meant he got off the damn streets.

Chapter Text

Things had become quiet–uncomfortably quiet. No Addisons. No Tenna. Just his normal routine. Which, truly, had been becoming increasingly more difficult. He was always cold. He was messing up more at work. The glitches were intense; he’d messed up a few orders. Not that it mattered; he had more important things to focus on, anyway. 

In light of their recent argument, Spamton hadn’t particularly cared about burning bridges. Rather than buying an overpriced outfit, he’d helped himself to some of the fabrics in Orange’s shop–after hours. And after breaking in. To be fair, unless they caught him, he doubted they could prove it was him. Afterall, they hadn’t any reason to suspect Spamton of all people would steal fabric. 

He spent more time at the dealership; it felt safer than hanging around the city or in any of his dumpsters. Besides, he needed a flat surface to work, and his hands were shaky enough as it stood without adding debris to the mix. It also provided him with some quiet he was not typically afforded. Well, save the phone he still kept in the building. 

Honestly, Spamton had never thought much regarding his tailoring ability; Orange had taught him how to sew ages ago, though it wasn’t as if he ever put it to use. He would fix something small on the odd occasion, though, that was more so during his time spent in TV World. He’d lost a button on his jacket once and had been able to quickly sew it back on. Tenna had raved over that minimal fix. He’d gotten even more praise when he had been able to quickly fix a torn seam in Tenna’s suitcoat while they were attending an event together. He’d quickly stitched the split while Tenna wailed that he would make himself look foolish and that it was inappropriate to show up to an event like this without a jacket. It was haphazardly that Spamton had tossed it back to him and tucked the sewing kit he kept in his car back into his glove compartment. That had earned him a bouquet of roses nearly as big as himself. 

The memory made his chest ache. He quickly shoved it to the back of his head and proceeded with his sewing. 

It was hardly of Orange's caliber, but Spamton was proud of his handiwork, especially considering his hands were hardly as steady as they once were. He grabbed his creation and carefully eyed it. Slowly, he slipped the blazer over his arms. Little big, but he supposed it would do. 

Spamton adjusted the glasses on his face; they had been a bit harder to find, but hell, if he wasn't proud of himself for it. He made his way over to the cracked mirror he'd grabbed from the dumpster. 

Hah. He looked good. He felt good. It had been a while since he'd worn something this sharp. There was nothing he could do about–well, himself, but the clothes? A new white turtleneck, new white slacks, new white shoes, and a new blazer? He understood why Swatch was so highly looked upon. He would never be identical, of course, but it was close enough. 

He wasn't allowed in the mansion, but if he were to blend in?

It was a good plan. At least, he'd told himself that much. Spamton moved towards his jacket and retrieved the keygen he'd previously swiped. He opened the blazer and tucked it away where it would be hidden and safe. 

The phone rang. Spamton released a heavy sigh; it did that a lot anymore. It was why he, mostly, avoided the dealership unless it was absolutely necessary. It still bothered him outside, though, at the very least, it was easier to dismiss knowing there was no actual phone around. Here? It was much, much harder to ignore. Especially when it wouldn’t stop. It rang, and rang, and rang until he finally lost his temper and stormed over to it. It couldn’t have been him, he had severed their connection; his freedom for–for this fucking mess he was left with. 

It stopped. Spamton glared for a moment. Just as he was ready to turn back around, it began to ring again. Frustration outweighed fear when he clutched the receiver and shoved it to his ear.

“WHAT?”

“Spamton?”

He fell to silence. Red-hot embarrassment washed over him. 

“[ trash heap ]?”

How was he–oh. Right. He’d given him the number hadn’t he? Hah–

“Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

There was a certain–tone he had while addressing him. Surprise? Based on what he had said previously, he supposed it wasn’t shocking. The last time he had supposedly called him, Spamton, in his eyes, had ignored him. Talk about a leap of faith. 

“NO, NOPE, [ free as a bird ]. WHAT’S UP?” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to swing by–week before Christmas and all but–are you working Christmas day?”

He already saw where this was going. No, he wasn’t working. Tenna would ask him to spend the day together–or to do something together. No, he wasn’t working, but he would certainly be busy. 

“SORRY, [ trash heap ], I’M [ busy as a bee ] ON KRISMAS.” 

Although he couldn’t see him, he just knew what he looked like with that admission; antennas drooping, his size decreased. 

“Oh.” That silent acknowledgement confirmed his previous thoughts. “Okay that’s–okay. Of course you are. I was going to ask–I mean, it would have been silly, anyway, I’m going to be busy all day but–”

“HEY, WE CAN [ configuration settings ] OUT ANOTHER [ day to day ] TO MEET UP, [ trash heap ], NO NEED TO [ cry baby ].”

“I’m not–yes, alright. That will work. The day after?” 

“LET ME GET [ back to black ] TO YOU.”

“Okay. I'll give you another call on the 26th, how about that?” 

“SURE, [ trash heap ], I'LL TALK TO YOU THEN.”

“Alright. I'll talk to you then.” 

Spamton knew when he hung up the call that wouldn't be the case if he had a say in it. Or, well, he wouldn't be seeing him as he was now. At the very least, it seemed Pink’s threat had been a bluff. If Tenna had even caught word of him being homeless, he would've already approached him. Or, he did tell him, and Tenna didn't care as much as he thought. It took more mental gymnastics to convince himself of the ladder, which also frustrated him. 

Eyes on the prize. He had something bigger than either he or Tenna to accomplish. 

His heart was hammering against his chest. This was going well–too well. It unnerved him how easily he had managed to break his way into the mansion. Even that was exaggerating; Spamton had strolled in. Living in the mansion previously, he knew where he could slip in through the back entranceways without potentially drawing the attention of anyone higher up; like hell would Queen ever be prowling around the kitchen. Swatch himself was most likely busy overseeing Christmas festivities. 

Of course, a few Swatchlings had given him a sideways glance, but he had accounted for that. He hadn’t intended on blending in seamlessly, but it was enough so that he had been delegated tasks and was, mostly, passed without question. Taking advantage of the commotion was working; this was working. Every step was one closer to the basement–closer to the NEO. Closer to freedom. 

When he’d passed the entry way, he found his pace quickened. It was a straight shot to the basement–well, it typically was, when the pathway wasn’t blocked. He supposed that only made sense after his last attempt. As if that was going to dissuade him. He knew this mansion, he knew how to get to the basement, he’d done it before, he could do it now. They thought shutting the way down would stop him? That locking down the hidden room was enough to prevent his ascension? 

Hah! It took little time for him to work his way through the hallways, avoiding Swatchlings when he could and appearing busy when he couldn’t. There was no hiding the entryway from him; he knew where the switch was. And it was truly foolish of them to seemingly hide it; it made getting to him that much more difficult, blocking off the path from the main hall as they had. Spamton strolled through the door, his hands dug in his pockets. He would retrieve the key once he was met with the lock itself–

“Spamton. Not a single step further.” 

How? How had he–? Spamton’s hands balled into fists in his pockets. His mouth twitched. 

“HAEHAEH–SHOULDN’T YOU BE [ master of the house ] SOMEWHERE–”

“Yes. And you’re disrupting my very busy schedule. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” 

Spamton’s teeth grinded. 

“IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE [ difficulty settings ].”

“Walk away.” 

It was there–it was right there. The lock. If he was fast enough–

“Don’t try it, Spamton, I promise it will not end favorably for you.” 

He gripped the pipis in his pocket. If he was fast enough, if he made a big enough ruckus, he could slip right past. Spamton swallowed the lump in his throat. In a rapid motion, his hand rose, pipis gripped in his palm–his hand was forced down. Hell, his entire body jerked forward; he found himself pulled into the ground. He bit his tongue in the process and he wanted to scream out of frustration. The strings–the strings were–no. A whip. His gaze trailed up to meet with Tasque Manager. 

“I don’t think so, little man. Come on, now. Let’s not ruin a holiday, hmm?” 

Think, think, he had to think; he could hear footsteps, no doubt Swatchlings, Swatch was approaching him, as was Tasque Manager–

“SPAMTON!” 

A shaking hand rose. He made–a popup. Well, it was a bastardized version of what was once a pop up; the words were a jumbled mess and the wall was very clearly unstable. Regardless, it had given himself enough time to free himself from the whip and bolt towards the wall once more. He reached a shaking hand into his blazer, frantic for the keygen–his foot was swept out from under him and again he hit the ground. This time, he had been dragged back towards Tasque Manger, who was now joined by Swatch and his Swatchlings. His eyes darted over to the abandoned pipis from early–

“DON’T–”

A fist rammed into the egg. The explosion he’d originally intended on using as a diversion to use the keygen had quickly become one to escape. Spamton was fast, but Swatch was equally as clever. He had to give credit where it was due; a fight had not been the original intention. It was Swatch attempting to retrieve the Keygen that made it a fight. He swung, bit, screamed, absolutely refused to let them get their hands on his blazer. 

He hadn’t been thrown out on his ass this time, though it hadn’t meant he left unscathed. In fact, this time had been arguably worse than the previous. The previous events had been what led to him stumbling back to the trash zone and left him laid out in his dumpster. He didn’t know the extent of the beating he’d taken. He didn’t care to see it. His nose was broken–again. That was his fault; biting when he was held that high up wasn’t the smartest decision and he paid for it. It hurt–his everything hurt. And it was fucking cold. Each breath burned his artificial lungs; he had taken to watching the smoke billow from his mouth with each exhale. It was at least some distraction from the complete and utter despair he felt. 

Palms pressed into his eyes and he could no longer hold back the scream that had been threatening to escape him. He didn’t get it–he didn’t get how nothing could ever seem to improve for him. Five fucking years and it seemed he just kept digging himself into a deeper hole. Every time he thought he hit rock bottom he somehow managed to go deeper. 

“DAMMIT!” He’d rolled over to throw a punch into the side of the dumpster. “[ #$@! ]!” 

Of course he'd instantly regret it; he rolled back over and pitifully clutched his hand to his chest as the pain rocketed through his joints. That would have hurt on a good day, let alone when his joints already ached and he'd thrown recent punches. But he was just–frustrated. He was so completely dejected and alone. Interacting with his brothers–with Tenna–it made his life worse. He had five years to get used to being alone, completely alone, and then they just fucking come back? Not consistently, no, just enough to remind him what it was like to be cared for. Just enough to get him addicted to the feeling only to leave him rotting in a dumpster. The only difference is that this time around, he knew better than to scream for help. 

Spamton knew he was being delusional. He knew damn well he'd stormed out on his brothers–still, that felt justified. Even if they wanted to help, they'd done enough damage. 

But Tenna–Spamton knew he was pushing him away. He was a dead man walking; Spamton didn't know when it would happen, nor who would do it, but it was inevitable. He told himself it wasn't worth getting involved, that it would just end up biting him in the end. So why did he want him there so desperately? 

He wanted to spend Christmas with him for Angel's sake. He kept coming by, spending money on hotel rooms–he wanted Spamton around. He wanted to get to know him again. He wanted him. 

If he wanted to keep Tenna around, it made getting the NEO all the more pressing. If he could get his hands on it–what prophecy could stand against a machine that stood for freedom? 

The phone was ringing again. This time, it was hard to ignore. He had walked over and picked it up, pressing the shaking receiver to his ear. 

HEAVEN. 

But he couldn't get there on his own. Swatch was always keeping an eye out, as were his underlings. Spamton doubted he would ever be able to step foot inside that mansion again. 

HELP. 

No one here was going to help him. No one could even begin to comprehend the matter at hand nor the enormity of this situation. 

HELP. 

There was no one. 

LORD OF SCREENS. 

Spamton dropped the receiver and listened to the sound of the dial tone. There was no one on the other end. He blinked, slowly. His gaze lifted to the bleeding sun. When had he–he hadn't slept here. He didn't know when he'd gotten here. He pulled back his watch and glanced at the time. 

Hours. He'd lost hours. He didn't even know what he'd been doing in that time. He didn't even know if he'd slept. He had work today. He picked up the phone and dialed the diner. He'd told them he was sick; it wasn't entirely a lie. The receiver was placed back with a bit too much force, meanwhile Spamton had wandered out of the dealership. 

He needed to clean himself up, but like hell would he go to Blue's again. He was probably working, but he wouldn't take that gamble. He’d managed to retrieve his things he’d washed without incident; he wasn’t about to test his horrific luck. There was the gym; he doubted it was too packed the day after Christmas. He couldn't convince himself to go. 

Instead, he'd somehow wound up in one of the old rundown cars outside of his shitty, run down shop. At the very least, he'd grabbed his blanket from his dumpster and basically cocooned himself as he laid in the back seat. The car provided zero warmth, but it gave him some form of comfort, even with the ache of nostalgia. 

It hurt. His body. His heart. He was tired. This had to be rock bottom. For a brief moment in the past, he'd wished the acid had killed him. In his foolishness, he'd quickly regretted that sentiment. Now? He was back to the former. If he'd had the good sense to die back then, he wouldn't have been here. He was slowly losing his grip on reality and he didn't even know if there was anything worth doing about it. 

He thought more and more about Heaven, about freedom. He kept seeing glimpses of light so bright it was blinding. He kept seeing Tenna. Freedom meant freeing him, too; the broken part of his brain constantly reiterated that point. And when he would break back into clarity he would be left with the cracked, broken version of him that was inevitable. A threat? Or perhaps just a gentle reminder of his own failure. 

His palms pressed into his eyes again. Definitely didn't sleep the night before; he must've been manic. The cold was keeping him from actually drifting off; at least some of his heat was being trapped in the blanket. 

The car door clicked; every muscle in his body tensed. What the hell–no one ever came down this way, who would be prowling around the damn trash zone of all places? 

“Spamton?” 

No. Hah. No. He was hallucinating again. He pulled back the blanket and was met with a soft glow filling the inside of the car. He didn't initially respond, hoping that his mind may show some mercy on him. Instead, it seemed that was an invitation for the man to enter beside him. He'd had to shrink down somewhat, something his hallucinations typically did not do. Once inside, Spamton had to pull his legs closer to his chest to keep them from being crushed under him. The car whined with the added weight. 

Hallucination Tenna always felt real, but he was certain he'd never actually been able to interact with his surroundings. A heat washed over him as he pulled himself upright, blanket still wrapped around his head, obscuring his face from Tenna's vision. The door shut, and the two of them were left sitting in silence. 

“HOW–” Spamton paused. “WHY ARE YOU [ here and now ]?” 

“It's the 26th. I called you. I called you quite a few times and you didn't answer.”

There was a twinge of annoyance in his voice, which, fair enough. Spamton had completely forgotten about that. He sunk deeper into the seat. 

“BUT WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“In the city or–oh. I could ask the same thing to you. The number you gave me, I recognized it. It may be five years later, but I called the dealership enough times in the past to remember it. I went to the diner first. When you weren't there I figured I may as well look. Didn't expect it to be–this.” 

“TRASH?” 

“Yea."

Tenna's hands had looped together. Spamton attempted to peek past his blanket and managed to catch his thumbs twiddling. He appreciated that over him bouncing his leg; the whole car would be shaking. 

“Your turn.” 

“NOSTALGIA.”

Which wasn't an outright lie. He'd sometimes crawl inside one of the cars to just–escape. Less frequent now that they were really showing their years of abuse in the elements, but often enough. 

“Spamton, it's freezing out here. Surely there's better places to go?” 

“[ no comment ].”

“I can barely hear you. Could you just–” 

A hand wrapped around his blanket and his heart began hammering. 

No. No. No. 

“DON'T–HEY! PAWS [ off the merchandise ]!!”

It made no difference. Tenna recoiled when he caught sight of his face. There was no hiding from him, not even in the dark. He shrunk under the scrutinizing glow of his screen. 

“Spamton what–” 

He was by no means giant at the moment, he couldn't be if he wanted to fit in the car with him. Regardless, his hand was still much larger than his face and it required some care as he cupped his chin and tipped it up towards him, allowing him to get a better look at the damage. 

“What–who did this?” 

If Spamton had expected any reaction out of him, it would have been disgust. That he was filthy and beaten, sitting in an old filthy car. What he had not expected was the absolute fury that dripped from his words. Hah. He had to stop getting into these situations–or, well, he needed to stop getting caught. It inconvenienced everyone around him. 

“YOU SHOULD [ pay to see ] THE OTHER [ guys and dolls ].”

“Spamton.” His tone was stern. He could feel the hand on his face growing in size; Tenna was soon hunched against the roof of the car. 

“HEY, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, CALM DOWN [ big guy ].” Spamton worked his own hands around Tenna’s arm. “DON'T [ you break it you buy it ] THE ROOF–OR ME.” Because it was hard to neglect the grip tightening on his face. 

“NAMES.”

“IT WAS MY [ at fault ]!
LOOK–
LOOK–
I WAS [ wrong place wrong time ] I WAS [ no trespassing ].”

“All of this because you were trespassing?” 

“WELL–MAYBE I–
I MAY HAVE–
INSTIGATED.”

Tenna was silent. There was nothing Spamton could say that would calm his unbridled rage regarding the situation. 

“When did this happen?” 

“YESTERDAY.”

He was still fuming. Despite his anger, a thumb gently brushed his face. 

“You have blood dried to your face. Have you not been home?” 

Spamton shifted under his grasp. 

“NO.” 

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“NO.”

Tenna was trying not to get frustrated with him. He wasn't sure why he was so opposed to Tenna seeing his home, though, he was beginning to have a few theories swirling around. 

“Do you want to come back to my apartment?” 

Silence. That was better than an immediate no. Spamton supposed he couldn't necessarily see the harm in it, other than the old memories. 

“OKAY.” 

“Really?” 

That should not have been his response; Tenna knew damn well that should not have been his response, but he was genuinely floored he’d gotten him to agree so easily. He’d been anticipating a much harder battle than that–an immediate okay. Not that he should question it; he was learning he had to accept anything he could get with Spamton anymore. The door to the car popped open and Spamton slid out, leaving the blanket in place. Tenna followed on his own side, rounding the front to meet Spamton. 

“Whoa–new outfit?” 

“YEA.” 

“It’s sharp–aside from the stains on the–” Blood. That was also his blood. 

“I’LL [ we’ll be right back! ] [ don’t touch that dial! ].” 

Oh God. What the fuck. Spamton wanted to kick his own ass for that one–the garbled speech was always annoying, but when shit like that came out of him? 

“Did you–”

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I’LL–[ stay right there ]!
[ in and out ]!
D–DON’’T–[ look into it ]!” Spamton frantically searched for his keys as he continued sputtering. He shoved the key into the door, of which was promptly opened and slammed behind him. 

Of course, Tenna found that slip amusing at first. Then, as he was left to sit with it–maybe the nostalgia burned. Every memory stung to some extent. Seeing where he was now–wondering if he couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. He knew he had to take things easy with him, and it meant respecting his boundaries. And maybe pushing a little bit; if he didn’t push at all, Tenna was sure he would isolate. The state he found him in confirmed that. Otherwise, he knew to respect his wishes. 

Well, to the best of his abilities. 

“I [ thoughts are prayers ] I SAID TO [ stay put ]!” 

“Spamton–what–” Spamton all but shoved him out the door, but Tenna had seen it; the wall. The crude paintings. 

In the time he’d known him, Spamton had always been artistically inclined. He had never shied away from sketching ideas he’d had for the show, blueprints, costume designs. He’d caught him sketching himself once; it had been one of the rare times Tenna had attempted to wrench the tablet from his hands, Spamton screeching all the while. What he’d seen in that shop–that wasn’t Spamton. That wasn’t the work of his Spamton. Then again, he supposed this wasn’t his Spamton–not anymore. 

“VANDALS.” The door slammed behind them, and he locked it. Tenna watched the key dance around the lock before he managed to slip it in. Right. He supposed he couldn’t exactly muster up that level of finesse nowadays even if he tried. Spamton didn’t address it again, and neither would Tenna. Instead, he proceeded towards the exit and Tenna followed behind.

Chapter Text

The walk to Tenna's car had been quiet. The ride itself was equally as quiet–unbearably quiet, and yet, Tenna didn’t know how to break the silence. He supposed he was thankful Spamton was there.

“HEY, DO YOU [ thinking out loud ] YOU CAN GET [ blood bank ] OUT OF [ premium clothing ]?”

“I think I’ve gotten worse out of my clothes before. Or, well, my crew did. But I can figure it out. Hey–you’ve gotten blood on your shirts before.” 

“HAVE I?” 

The question was completely innocent; or, at least, Tenna thought it sounded innocent. He side eyed him just to ensure he wasn't messing with him. 

“Yes. Don't you remember when we were in the city together? God this was years and years ago, we just started working together–or, well, I guess it had been a little bit. We were getting into the swing of things. Anyway, you got into a bar fight and–”

“AH! AH! YES! THAT [ low life ] SAID SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR [ clothing sale ]!”

“Was that it?” Tenna released a breathy laugh. “No, no, didn't he make a comment about me? Something about being outdated or–”

“YES! AND I [ knock out ]!”

“You wish. He knocked your lights out.”

“NOOO!!”

“Okay, he punched you in the mouth. You're lucky you didn't lose a tooth.”

“YOU ARE [ underselling ] ME, T–TttTTT–TENNN–[ 10% off ]!” His face pulled into a grimace. He tried there–he really tried. Regardless, he wouldn't let his failure sour the mood. “I GOT A FEW GOOD [ hit me with your best shot ] IN.”

“You bit him.”

“HEY, I [ feeling ] LIKE YOU AREN'T [ respectable ] THE FACT I DEFENDED YOUR [ all discounts honored ]!”

Tenna couldn't hold it back anymore; he released the laugh he'd been fighting. A hand rose to wipe the tear that formed in the corner of his eye. 

“Okay, okay, I know. You scared the hell out of me; I was freaking out when I saw that blood. But I also remember being really–flattered. I mean, no one ever swung on someone because of me. Then again, I never really got myself into that situation before. It meant a lot.” 

Which was funny; he usually wasn't one to condone violence. Then again, every time he glanced over at the dried blood beneath his nose he found a newfound rage burn within him. He supposed he could understand how Spamton could go after someone over a comment. 

“It was also really attractive.” 

Spamton tensed. He swore he hadn't heard that right; with his volatile mind, it was very possible he just made shit up or imagined it. While he hadn't looked at him straight on, he did steal a glance out of the corner of his eye. Tenna's screen was a soft pink and a goofy smile had taken hold of his lips. No, he had heard him right and he was 100% serious. 

What the hell? 

There had been a place and a time for a comment like that–like back then. When he didn't look like this. When he wasn't beaten to high hell and, frankly, embarrassed. Yet he still flustered at the thought of Spamton knocking someone's lights out. 

What a fucking weirdo. 

“I’m also a little thankful you didn't give me a name.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I'm not sure what I would do myself if we happened to cross paths.”

Spamton found a heat rise through his face in response to that comment. 

Hoochie mama. It was hard not to picture Tenna socking the Swatchlings, knocking them flat on their asses. Yeah, he couldn't lie and say that wouldn't have been attractive.

They were both fucking weirdos. 

Silence fell once more, however this time it felt less suffocating. 

Upon parking the car, Tenna had gently called for Spamton's attention; he'd dozed off at some point in the trip. Or at least, that looked to be the case. He was mildly surprised with how quickly Spamton came to and hopped from the car. Spamton had always been difficult to rouse in his time knowing him. Regardless, the way to his apartment was familiar; Spamton had spent enough nights there to know his way. Tenna unlocked the door, allowing him in. Once inside, he hung around in the entranceway. It tugged at his heart a bit. 

“You know where everything is. Make yourself at home.”

Of course he knew his way around, that had been the cause of the hesitation. Everything was the same except him. With the prompting, he'd mumbled a soft acknowledgement before he trailed off towards the bathroom. 

The lock clicked behind him, and Spamton released a shaky breath. He remembered his first time here, how nervous he'd been. How big everything was compared to him. Eventually, he'd gotten used to the size disparity. Now, with his even smaller stature? Once again this place felt monumentally large. Regardless, he would manage; he would force himself to manage because, really, he hadn't anywhere else to go and now he was quite a distance from home. 

It was by no means easy getting the faucet turned on, but at the very least, he had his own products to use. A far cry from Blue’s spread, but it did the job. It was hard to ignore the blue splotches that peppered his body as he scrubbed himself down, washing the dried blood from his face, grumbling at the pain that flared around his nose. He stood for some time under the water, watching it swirl around the drain. He relished every ounce of warmth he could get anymore. 

He didn't know what his next steps were, if he was being entirely honest with himself. Work more. He probably had himself in hot water for calling off with such short notice. At the very least, he kept some of his savings through his–thrifting of the fabric. 

A fist pounded into the back of his head when he began glitching and he stifled a yelp–right into a sore spot. At the very least, it had knocked some sense into him; the water was lukewarm. He lost track of how long he'd been standing in the shower, but apparently, long enough for Tenna to begin knocking. 

“Hey, everything alright?” 

“YEA, FINE.” He promptly turned the faucet off and slipped out. 

“I put a towel out here. I'm sure you're already dripping water all over the floor.” 

“HAEHAEH.” 

That confirmed Tenna's suspicion. Spamton waited until he heard him leave before approaching the door and grabbing said towel. It was his size. He hadn't stayed here in half a decade, and yet, the towel was his size. He decided to ignore it as he dried himself off and got dressed. 

For as much of a fit as he'd put up about the colors, he slipped back into the outfit Tenna got him. It was not only the most comfortable outfit he owned, but the cleanest. He had only worn it once during their–time out together (not a date). It was clean and reasonably put together to be hanging around TV World. He supposed it was time to actually see the full extent of the damage; he’d climbed up onto the sink, allowing him to stare at his hazy reflection. 

“YEESH.” Two black eyes this time. One of them definitely wasn’t due to the broken nose; his already blurry vision was worse out of his left eye. He hadn’t even known that was still a possibility; he supposed if it came to suffering, it was never off the table. A hand ran through his hair, pushing back his bangs. He'd skipped the hair gel for the time being, considering it was already late, it wasn't worth the effort getting his hair to comply just to sleep on it. He hadn’t noticed how long he’d let it get. Not much he could do about it, anyway, if he didn’t want a hair style that was uneven. He trusted himself to concentrate long enough to sew, he would not go anywhere near his head with blades. 

At the very least, the rest of the bruising was hidden under his clothes. He carefully slipped off the counter and cursed at himself when he landed–it was hard on his already sore knees. The cold was doing him absolutely no favors. He reemerged from the bathroom and threw his duffle bag by the sofa, presumably his bed for the night. It was then he wandered off to find Tenna, stained turtleneck in hand. 

He found him in the kitchen, hovering over the stove. Whatever he was cooking, it smelled great. 

“Oh, hey. I didn't eat yet–I assume you haven't either. I'm not making anything crazy, just some chicken. Ah, turtleneck, right–you know where the machine is.” 

“I'M THINKING I NEED [ peroxide ].” 

“I think you're better just buying a new one, Spam.” Spamton pulled a face in response to that. “Where did you get it from?” 

“I DIDN'T.”

“Huh?”

“I [ made with love ] IT.” 

He headed back towards the bathroom with that comment, leaving Tenna staring. He glanced over his shoulder at the stove, then back to Spamton. It would be fine unsupervised for a minute, Tenna decided, and he quickly trailed behind him. The sink began to run; when he turned into the door, Spamton had sat himself on the counter and was soaking the shirt under the water. 

“Wait, wait, hold on–you made it?” 

“YEA?” 

“ALL of it–I mean, that whole outfit?” 

“YEA, YEA, SO??”

“So!?? Spamton that's–you made that! That's incredible!” 

“AW, GEEZ, COME ON [ trash heap ], YOU USED TO [ ooh and aww ] OVER ME [ I'm in stitches ]. REMEMBER THE [ coat ]?” 

“I–well–I’m impressed. Not everyone can just make a blazer. It's a skill I don't have. It's impressive.”

“HAH. IF YOU THINK THIS IS [ wow! ] YOU SHOULD SEE [ orangeade ]. OR, WELL, YOU'RE [ look! ] AT IT.” 

“You’ve developed a real problem with accepting compliments, you know that? It's almost worse than you puffing your chest out and bragging.”

Because he didn't deserve them. Not then, but at least he seemed like he did. It was easier to boast; it was expected of him. But now? Not only did he not deserve them, he just never got them. Why would he? 

Spamton's shoulders rose and fell dejectedly. Quite frankly, he had nothing to say, a feat in and of itself. 

“YOUR [ chicken ] IS [ ow stop help me it burns ]!” 

Tenna stared; Spamton could feel his gaze burning into him. 

“Shit.” Finally he pulled away and hurried back into the kitchen. 

No, he couldn't say he'd spent an extended amount of time with Spamton, but he felt like he had spent enough time to know that vocal tick was–different. The manner in which he'd said it, and the way he pointedly avoided making eye contact with Tenna afterwards? It made his stomach sink. He didn't know what happened to him and he wasn't sure if he ever would. Whatever it was, it was awful and it left a deep mark on his psyche. 

Before long, he'd heard the washing machine going, so at the very least it seemed he'd gotten the stain out–or he'd given up. He assumed he would see which outcome that was soon enough. 

Tenna put two plates together with Spamton's taking a bit more time than his own because–well, God, it was so much smaller. He knew they went out to eat together but Tenna wasn’t usually–well he wasn’t fifteen feet tall when they were in public, and he was served portions that were small for a ten foot man, but now, in his home, looking at his giant plate with his typical serving on it? Yea, it was a little hard to judge. Spamton was usually the one cooking anyway. With a defeated sigh, he’d trailed off to the dining table and placed the plates down. 

“SMELLS [ good good ]!”

Tenna jumped–Christ he was still quiet. 

“It’s nothing too fancy. If I knew I was going to be coming back here I would’ve gotten steak.” 

“YOU KNOW I’M [ happy customer ] WITH ANYTHING YOU [ cookies ].” 

They took their respective seats; Tenna had been waiting for a jab about the portion sizes; when none came, he released the metaphorical breath he had been holding. This time, Spamton was much less careful in his pacing; he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care if he scarfed it down, if he ate more than he should because he just didn’t have the energy to particularly fret over how Tenna perceived him. Regardless of what he said, he was still hyper aware of the gaze burning into him. He watched him; every bite, every sip of his water. Spamton tried to ignore it, but it was pretty damn hard when he was being monitored. 

Tenna just couldn’t get over how adorable he was. Yes, he had made the comment previously, he was so small, but he had forgotten how small he was compared to his home. Then there was his hair; he was always neurotic about his hair. It always had to look perfect, he was always fussing with it because the gel could never keep it properly slicked back. He couldn’t remember a time he had seen him without some sort of product in his hair. Now his bangs hung over his face, much longer than he'd ever seen them. On occasion, he'd raise his hands to brush them from his eyes, now hidden behind frames. Despite the colored lenses, he could see the bruising behind them. That was less adorable, but it was undoubtedly trumped by the rest of his appearance.

“WHAT! WHAT! WHY ARE YOU [ stare at the sun ]!?”

“Huh!”

“STOP [ look! ] AT ME–WHAT? SAY IT!”

“Spamton, say what?” 

“YOU'RE [ stare at the sun ] AT ME [ 4 ] SUM REASON, WHA>T??”

Tenna raised a hand to conceal his smile. 

“I don't think you would be pleased to know why.” 

Now he thoroughly managed to ruffle his feathers. Apparently, whatever he thought had been on his mind, that response was not what he had expected. 

“WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” 

“Nothing important, really. Geez, Spam, I didn’t know you were so defensive." 

Two could play this game. Tenna moved his hand to grab his glass of water and take a smug sip. Spamton was left, understandably, fuming. 

“YOU CAN’T–[ trash heap ]–WHAT–
WAS IT–
IS IT–”

Okay, as quickly as it became entertaining, it turned to guilt. This wasn’t fun for Spamton, he was stressing–really stressing about what Tenna thought regarding his appearance. It wasn’t like before. He had to keep convincing himself this wasn’t the same Spamton. He felt really, really low about himself; that much Tenna was coming to see plainly. 

“I was just thinking how different you look with your hair down like that.” 

Based on his reaction, it all but confirmed Spamton had assumed he was thinking something negative. Honestly, Tenna was impressed he’d come up with a response like that; he was sure it would go over better than saying he was adorable. Spamton took a moment to process before his vision narrowed. 

“IS THAT [ bad news bears ]?”

“No–jeez, Spamton, okay, I was staring because I thought it was CUTE, alright?” 

Now that seemed to break him even more than the previous comment. And yet, for some reason, that seemed to be the one he actually believed. For the first time, Tenna watched him go red in the face. 

“T–I’M A [ home grown ] [ assessment ] MAN, [ trash heap ]!1!
HOW MANY [ times tables ] HAVE I TOLD YOU I’M NOT [ cute singles in your area ]!??!”

Tenna laughed–he belly laughed. He couldn’t stop himself from hunching over; tears slipped down his screen. 

“STOP! HEY–DON’T [ lol ] AT THIS–[ ante ]!”

“I’m sorry!” He managed to choke between laughs. “I just–your reaction–it’s even more adorable.” 

“AUUGHH!” 

His head hit the table, causing the plates and silverware to clatter. Amid his laughter, Tenna managed to reach out a hand. 

“C-come on, don't hurt yourself–”

“CAN'T BE ANY WORSE THAN I ALREADY AM.” 

“Aw, geez, I'm sorry, Spam, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.”

“SHUT UP–YOU DIDN'T [ ow ow stop it hurts ] MY FEELINGS! I'M A MAN!”

Tenna snorted and bravely fought off another flurry of laughter. 

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm done, I swear, I'm done.” 

Not fully trusting himself, he stood from the table and, instead, hovered over Spamton’s plate. 

“Do you want more? I'm sorry, I didn't know much you'd want.”

“SURE. NOT MUCH.”

Getting him a second helping gave him time to compose himself. When he'd returned, he'd been able to put on a straight face and at least eat more of his own plate. With the occasional glance. 

“[ trash heap ].” 

“It's long.” 

Spamton blinked in response. He absentmindedly brushed his bangs from his face. 

“I mean–I never saw you with it that long.” 

He was not initially given a response. Spamton pushed the vegetables around on his plate, his eyes glued to it. 

“HAEHAEH. WELL. I DON'T EXACTLY HAVE–I’M ON A [ money tight? ] SO–HAEH. A [ barbershop quartet ] WASN'T EXACTLY A [ top priority ].”

“Oh, you don't like it? Why don't you trim it?”

Again, he did not immediately receive an answer. Instead, Spamton’s hands moved under the table where he nervously pressed them together. 

“I DON'T PARTICULARLY [ trust fund ] MYSELF WITH [ scissors ] AROUND MY [ Facebook ].”

Tenna could have figured that out. He felt like a monumental asshole for asking. The amount of times he'd offered to light his cigarette because of his shaking hands–shit. 

“It looks nice on you.” 

“HAEHAEH. YOU DON'T HAVE TO [ liar liar ].”

“I'm not lying. I wouldn't have pointed it out initially if I didn't think it looked nice.”

He knew he wouldn't believe him, but he meant what he said. And he'd majorly put his foot in his mouth. Needless to say, the rest of their dinner was quiet. Spamton had attempted to help clean up, but Tenna had shooed him off into the living room–though, not before he'd thrown his wash into the dryer. By the time Tenna had returned with a blanket and a pillow, Spamton was dozing off. He hated how tired he always was. He could only imagine the cause. Working too much? Or, rather, at the forefront of his mind, he had nowhere to actually sleep. 

He was constantly dodging his offers to take him home–hell, he found him laying down in an old run down car in a fucking dump. It was looking more and more likely that he was homeless, but like hell would he ever admit to it. Regardless, that being the case, of course he was exhausted. It was the middle of winter, the cold hurt his joints, and he had to be constantly aware of his surroundings. Tenna was tired just thinking about it. 

“Hey, why don't you take the bed? You know I never minded the couch.”

“I'M NOT [ take it away ] YOUR BED.”

It was worth a shot. With a sigh, he placed the pillow in Spamton’s lap which had been enough to rouse him, meanwhile, the blanket was placed beside him. 

“I'm going to head to bed. I was up all day yesterday and today. I think I need a good night's rest.” It was an excuse to let Spamton rest. If he had at all insinuated he wanted to let him sleep, he would have fought back. “It would be nice if–you were here when I woke up this time.”

Spamton sniffed as he undid the blanket and threw it over himself. He'd slipped his glasses off and placed them on the coffee table, meanwhile, he pressed his face into the pillow. 

“WE'LL [ see you soon ].” 

With another sigh of defeat, Tenna headed back towards his bedroom. 

“Goodnight, Spam.”

“G’NIGHT.”

The irony of that statement was not lost on him; he never had any good nights anymore. He finally found himself inside, somewhere safe, and so it stood to reason he, first, couldn't fall asleep. He tossed and turned. He nearly screamed into the pillow. After a while of mounting frustration, he'd gotten himself a glass of water and resigned himself to wandering around the apartment. Then it was back to his couch, praying he could drift off, that he could get any ounce of sleep. 

When he finally was able to fall asleep, second came the nightmares. It had been some time since he'd felt the pull of his previously severed strings. Tenna was becoming much more commonplace; he was surprised it held any weight anymore with its frequency. Funny as it was, it was his average run of the mill nightmares; enough to make sleeping uneasy but not enough to kick up a fuss. 

At first. 

Usually, it was Tenna being sliced, his arms falling to his sides, sparks soaring. This time he was staring silently at Spamton, still whole. It was a pleasant surprise. 

Curious. 

It was a familiar voice. Spamton’s heart thrummed against his chest. 

He plans to defy fate itself? 

“Oh, fuck off, genuinely. The last five years may have been hell, but at least they've been quiet.” 

Hm. Even more curious. I wonder what he thinks will happen. What will he do if he succeeds? 

“Shut up! God damn, don't you have better things to do? You've done enough here.”

Hm. This? 

The typical image of Tenna, cleaved, before him. 

Or–?

Or. Or? 

A blade came from the darkness, heading directly towards him, towards his face–

Spamton awoke in a panic. He gasped for air; his lungs burned. A hand had absentmindedly trailed down the length of his face looking for–for what? A wound? His throat felt raw–he wasn't sure what that was about. He'd quickly sat upright upon waking, and soon he found himself hunched over, his fingers tangled in his hair. He tugged, relishing the soft sting as his chest heaved and he attempted to catch his breath. The panic attack triggered a glitch, and a nasty one. It was violent; a good portion of his body became distorted in the mess. 

Light flooded his clouded vision. He’d woken Tenna–he really hadn’t meant to. With the distortion from the glitch and his abysmal vision, he couldn’t make out his surroundings; he had to rely on his already dulled senses. Large hands wrapped around his wrists and carefully pulled his hands away from his head. After that, he was lifted; his face was pressed against his chest, meanwhile, a hand pressed against the back of his head, the other was on his lower back. Spamton’s fingers clawed into the fabric of Tenna’s shirt–it was his life line. The hand pressed against the back of his head pushed him closer.

“T–TT–TTTT–EE–ENNN–”

His voice sounded distorted. Fingers gently brushed his scalp. 

“Hey–it’s alright–it’s okay. I–I've got you, Spam, I’ve got you.” 

He got him. He got him. 

It had taken some time; even after his breathing slowed, bits of color continued to fall from him.  Spamton couldn't remember ever having one so violent. They usually didn't hurt anymore. He supposed there were always exceptions. Even after it mostly ended, Tenna continued to hold him, his fingers working through his hair. A few stray tears slipped down his face, and Spamton chose to ignore them. He didn't say anything for some time, instead, he sat in his embarrassment–that, and perhaps some lingering fear. His heart was still hammering away in his chest. 

“I'M SORRY I [ rise and shine ].”

“Don't be. It's okay.” 

“NO, IT'S NOT.” 

“Spam, it's fine.” 

The grip he had on his shirt tightened. Spamton pressed his forehead into Tenna’s chest.

“I'm so tired.” 

“Spam–that isn't helping–”

“Can I sleep with you?” 

Tenna was completely taken back. By the way Spamton’s grip on him released near instantly after, it appeared he was also shocked by his own question. Before Tenna could respond, he immediately went into damage control. 

“HAH I–I DON'T [ no ] Y I–NEVERMIND, I'M JUST SO [ tired ] I–”

“Stop.”

“I DON'T–JUST LET ME [ go go go ].” He pressed his hands into Tenna's chest. Tenna's grip on him tightened.

“No. Spamton–no, hey. I want you to sleep with me.” At the very least, he'd quit fighting him. “Hah I–I hate sleeping alone. I've hated it every day for the past five years. I especially hated it tonight knowing you were right here–that you were a room away from me. So I–I would like that, actually.”

They sat there in the dark, Tenna refusing to release Spamton. He didn't wait for permission, instead, he moved to place a hand under him before he stood and carried him back to his bedroom. He hadn't given Spamton any room to leave. Instead, he'd carefully laid himself down, maneuvering Spamton as he went. When he'd finally settled his head against the pillow and adjusted the blanket, Spamton’s arms wrapped around Tenna–to the best of his ability. 

Warm. He was so warm. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed him until he had another taste of what he'd lost. 

“I missed you so much.”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE [ mad man ].” 

“I was.” His fingers drew circles in Spamton’s back. “And it made me even more angry that I missed you. Despite everything.” 

Spamton's eyes stung. 

“I [ don't miss out ] YOU TOO.”

A soft laugh escaped Tenna. 

“My turn: I thought you were mad?” 

Spamton squirmed beneath him; Tenna adjusted his hold. 

“I STILL HAVE–ONE OF YOUR [ flyers ]. I COULDN'T CONVINCE MYSELF TO–HAEAH. SOMETIMES IT WOULD [ piss me off ] BUT–I COULDN'T.”

Tenna moved. Spamton reached out for him, the primal part of his brain desperate to hold on as he slipped out of the bed. Or, no, he hadn't entirely. Instead, he sat on the edge and tugged open his nightstand drawer. He rummaged through it before turning and offering something to Spamton. Spamton accepted it, meanwhile, Tenna leaned over to provide some light. 

His heart skipped a beat. Hah–he remembered this. He remembered when he gave this to him. Both of them were smiling, arms slunk around each other. Spamton’s thumb brushed the signature he'd left for Tenna. The frame was missing. It was also hard to miss the slight tear at the top of the picture; he'd tried, and failed, to rip it in half. Spamton was more successful with his own flyer. If he had to guess, they were trying to get rid of the same person. 

He couldn't tear his eyes from his own smiling face. Even he had the urge to rip him out of the picture. Dumbass. Arrogant. He was envious of him. He had everything and he took it for granted. 

“Spamton?” 

“HUH?”

“Are you alright?”

“YEA.” 

They both knew that was a lie. Neither of them would address it. Instead, he slipped the picture back into Tenna's hand, who carefully tucked it away. He returned to Spamton's side and eagerly intertwined them again. 

“You'll be here when I get up?” 

“[ trash heap ], I DON'T THINK I CAN [ exit ] WITH YOU [ holding on ].” 

It was absentmindedly that Tenna’s grip tightened. Somehow, that was a comforting response.

“Why don't you let me cut your hair tomorrow? If it's bothering you–I don't mind.” 

Spamton released a gentle sigh as he closed his eyes and pressed further into Tenna. 

“YEA. I WOULD [ like and subscribe ].” 

Fingers laced through Spamton's hair, gently massaging his scalp. 

“Good.” 

For some reason, they both found it much easier to drift off to sleep. 

Spamton woke up exceptionally groggy. He'd slowly sat upright and attempted to rub the drowsiness from his eyes. It was then he'd realized he had been able to sit upright. Flashes from the night before flooded his mind and he turned to face the empty space beside him. 

Shit. He crawled over to Tenna's side of the bed, then to the night table. He snatched the alarm clock and held it closer to his squinted gaze. 

Christ. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so long–hah, not since the last time he'd been with Tenna. Additionally, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept that hard. He was so used to the smallest sound waking him anymore, and yet, Tenna had managed to completely leave the room without even stirring him. Not that it wasn't needed. The full extent he'd been pushing his body was finally weighing on him. He was sore; he was still tired. 

“OH, [ #$@! ]!” 

His head fell into his hands–he had work right now. Oh well. No way in hell was he making it. Quite frankly, he didn't even want to go. Yea, he needed the job but–fuck. He was a mess and he knew it. Regardless, he slid off the bed and headed off into the main area of the apartment in search of Tenna. 

He found him sitting on the sofa, book in hand. When he'd noticed Spamton, it was quickly placed on the coffee table.

“Hey, good morning! You were out like a light. I figured you needed it.”

“HOW [ long term savings ] HAVE YOU BEEN [ up and at ‘em ]?”

“Not that long.” 

Spamton stared, his eyes squinting. Tenna squirmed. 

“Only an hour or two. I'm on a sleep schedule; I'm used to getting up early. I made coffee, do you want a cup?”

“IS THAT EVEN A [ 20 questions ]?”

With a soft laugh, Tenna stood and moved to the kitchen. Spamton sat down on the sofa and waited for his return. He still remembered how he took his coffee, unsurprising, considering Spamton had retained that same information. When he returned, it was with a normal sized cup. Spamton couldn't help the amused hum that escaped him as he accepted it. 

“What?” Tenna questioned as he stole the seat beside him. 

“YOU KEPT EVERYTHING.” 

Tenna released a puff of air as he picked up his own mug. 

“Yea. I just couldn't convince myself to toss it.” 

Spamton raised the cup to his mouth and carefully took a sip. 

“I'M GRATEFUL.” 

“What? You didn't want to drink your coffee from a straw?” 

They shared an amused laugh with that comment. Once again he was humming; he couldn't remember the last time he had an actual good cup of coffee–and made to his liking, nonetheless. 

“By the way, I meant what I said. I'm still willing to give you a trim–if you want.”

“HAH. I NEED A LOT [ more offers ahead ] THAN A [ trim off the top ].” 

“You want it back to your old length?” 

“PREFERABLY. DO YOU KNOW HOW [ much to do ] GEL I HAVE TO [ used car ] TO GET IT [ law in order ]?” 

“Well, when I'm done, I think we can cut that in half.” 

Tenna stood after that and he preoccupied himself with grabbing a pair of scissors, a towel, and a kitchen chair which he'd set up in the middle of the space. While he busied himself with that, Spamton went and wet his hair in anticipation for the cut. Once they were both ready, Spamton climbed up and sat himself down on the retrieved chair, allowing Tenna to drape the towel around his shoulders. 

“TRY NOT TO [ cut those prices in half ] ANYTHING OTHER THAN [ hairy situation ].” 

“Hey, have some faith in me. I know what I'm doing.”

“YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE [ hair products ]!”

“That's a good point. I guess we'll find out if I know what I'm doing.”

“WAIT
WAIT 
WAIT–”

A strong hand pressed into Spamton’s shoulders. 

“Relax. I'm just teasing. You'll be fine.” And, with that, fingers slid through his hair and Spamton listened as the scissors snipped. 

Spamton found himself slightly on edge, especially after his nightmare. Blades that close to his head after one nearly sliced him clean in half? Not the best way to spend his morning, but it was maintenance that was very, very overdo. 

“Your hair is a mess.” 

“YEA, WELL. LIKE I [ say it with him, folks ], NOT A LOT TO SPEND–”

“No, I mean it's–I don't know. It feels different. What have you been putting in it?” 

“HAEH–GEL.” 

“I doubt gel did this, it didn't used to feel like this.” 

“WELL I ALSO HAD–THERE WAS–[ workplace accident ].”

“What does that mean? How is that going to change your hair?” 

“I–” His fingers laced together. “REMEMBER YOU SAID–I’M–[ miniaturized ].”

“I recall.” 

His bangs were next; his fingers ran through them, holding them still as he snipped. Spamton held his breath. 

“HAH–
WELL I–
FELL. 
I FELL IN–
THERE WAS–
[ ow ow help it burns ]–”

A hand pressed firmly into his shoulder.

“Deep breaths for me. You're starting to glitch and I just said I wasn't going to cut you.” 

“[ battery acid ].” He'd managed to squeak out and prevent himself from losing it. 

It made Tenna sick. It made him even more sick to know that was where that line came from. He doubted he had any say in when it slipped out. It was Tenna now having to take in some stabilizing breaths. 

“T–TTT–T–[ 10% off ] 
[ cathode ]?”

“Sorry.” With one final sharp inhale and a lengthy exhale, he combed through Spamton's bangs and began snipping. 

“ANYWAY. THAT COULD BE THE [ cause and effect ].”

“Maybe.” He paused momentarily. “Would that also be the reason your roots are white?” 

“WHAT?” 

His jerking this time was not caused by a glitch, though Tenna pressed a hand to his shoulder all the same. 

“JEEZ, Spam, calm down! What's wrong?”

“WHITE? WHITE? I [ literally ] JUST–
DAMMIT!” 

“What's gotten into you! You–you–” Tenna adjusted the scissors, meanwhile he combed through his hair. His roots were white. “Oh my God, Spam, you're frying it with hair dye, aren't you.”

“NO! NO!”

“Is your hair white?” 

“NO! NOOO–
OOOOO-
–OO–
IT-
IT ISN'T–
WHITE STUPID WHITE!!”

“That's why you don't look like an Addison, isn't it?” 

“I'M NOT–I’M NOT LIKE THEM. I DIDN’T WANT TO–I–I DIDN'T WANT TO BE ANYTHING LIKE THEM.”

They both fell silent. He figured this would've been funny but–he’d poked an unintentional nerve. 

“I can't even imagine you with white hair, honestly. The black is just–you.” 

“HAH. I HEARD THE [ opposite day ] FROM THEM.”

“Do you care what they think?” 

“NO.”

“Then there you have it.” Tenna went back to work, though, it wasn't long before he was pausing once more. “Do you care what I think?” 

This time, the response was not immediate. 

“YES.”

“I think black suits you. And I also think white would, if that was what you wanted. More than anything, I think that, whatever you're dying it with, you need to stop because it's frying your hair.” 

“YEA, YEA, OKAY.” 

With a soft smile, Tenna finished up his handiwork. Once finished, he stepped back to admire his work; he felt his heart skip a beat, funny as that was. Something so small made his old Spam come back. It made him nostalgic; whether good or bad, he wouldn't comment further. 

“I've got to say, I think I have a talent for this.” 

“ALRIGHT, LET ME [ c ].” 

Spamton slipped from the chair and trailed off towards the bathroom. Tenna followed behind as he climbed up onto the sink and stared at his reflection. 

“WOW.”

“See, I told you I knew what I was doing.” 

A hand ran through the substantially shorter locks. It was just about where it had been before–everything. Before he left. The last stretch of good they had. 

“I bet it's also going to be a lot easier to style now.” 

“THANK YOU.”

“Of course. It's not like it was anything–”

“T–TtTt–T-
[ cathode ]. 
THANK YOU.
I–[ indebted ].”

Tenna knew he was being brazen. He approached Spamton, stood behind him. He moved before he had time to regret it–he placed a hand on his head and tipped it back, allowing him to press a kiss against his forehead. 

Colors burst forth; Tenna moved quickly, just nearly stopping him from hitting the floor. He knelt down, Spamton in his arms. He carefully maneuvered his feet back onto the ground.

“Spamton–God, I'm sorry!” 

A hand reached out; Spamton balled the material of Tenna’s shirt into his fist. 

“D-D-DDDD–OOON’T—”

“I keep making you do that I–”

“NO–NO–SHUT–SHH–[ sugar honey iced tea ]!
WAIT–
WAIT–”

A fist slammed into the back of his head, causing everything to correct itself. 

“SORRY.”

“Why are you sorry? I shouldn't have–I know we're not–’

“NO. NO. I–AUGH!” He released his shirt, in fact, he removed himself from his grip entirely. It let him breathe. “I CAN'T–I CAN'T DO–THAT.”

“What?”

“THAT–THAT! [ kiss me I'm Irish ]! I'M NOT–I DON'T EVEN HAVE [ lipstick ]! I'M NOT HIM ANYMORE. I'M NOT–” Good enough. 

He didn't need to finish that sentence. Tenna's hands placed themselves on either side of his hips, pulling him closer. 

“You're freaking out because you don't–or can't reciprocate?” 

“I can't.” His voice was quiet; Tenna could have missed it. “I'm not what you need–what you want.” 

“How the hell do you know what I want?” 

“YOU DON’T [ no ] ME! I WAS–I’M NOT [ guess who ] I WAS OR–EVER WAS I–[ #$@! ], [ cathode ], LOOK AT ME.” 

Tenna was silent. His hand slipped from Spamton’s waist and, instead, rose to gently cup his chin. 

“I see my mailman.” 

Spamton had no reply–how could he have expected–alright, maybe he should have expected him to say something as corny as that. Regardless, he was speechless. Flustered, he supposed, was more like it because he just–didn’t get it. He didn’t get him. After everything–hell, he didn’t even know everything, and yet he still wanted to make this work. 

Tenna was a fucking enigma. Maybe that was why Spamton loved him so much. 

“And I’m not delusional, Spam. I understand things are different. I know we aren’t where we were and we never will be what we were but that’s–okay. I just want you. No pretenses, no fanfare or anything else you might think I’m expecting. You.” 

“I–” What? He what? Because never would he have thought Tenna would willingly want to get involved, not like this. And yet, he leaned in close again, and Spamton could feel his heart hammering away. 

“I’m going to–if it’s okay. I want to–kiss you.”

“BUT I CAN’T–
I CAN’T–
I CAN’T–”

“Spamton, it’s been half a decade and you’ve dodged me twice now. So help me God I’m going to kiss you and you’re going to let me figure it out without running away or glitching.” 

Ah, forceful Tenna. He knew that got Spamton bent out of shape in the best way.

“OKAY.” He finally relented, and Tenna flashed a wry smile. 

Slowly, he leaned forward, and Spamton forced his eyes shut; he knew, picture of romance. But it made it easier to keep his nerves calm so that he wouldn’t do the one thing Tenna had told him not to. His lips pressed against his mouth; Spamton felt a heat shoot through his body. A soft laugh followed, meanwhile, Tenna’s hand shifted from his chin to cup his cheek.

“Was that so bad?” 

“HAHEAH.” Spamton’s own hand rose to wrap around Tenna’s own.

He was going to die. He was going to die. He couldn’t do this again–he couldn’t get attached–

His eyes closed again, and he released a lengthy sigh. When they opened, he flashed a playful look. 

“I DON’T [ no ]. I THINK I MAY NEED [ one more ] TO MAKE A [ important decision ].”

Without hesitation, Tenna leaned in and pressed another kiss against his mouth–then another, just in the corner. Then he swept him up and Spamton found his entire face was now being assaulted by kisses. 

“OKAY, OKAY! [ cathode ]!” And yet, the flurry of laughter that followed did not help. 

“I waited five years to do that–deal with it.” 

“YOU WERE [ angry customer ] FOR [ 5 ] YEARS!”

Tenna shut him up with another kiss, and Spamton grabbed either side of his screen. 

“That’s much better, by the way.” Tenna commented when he’d finally given Spamton a reprieve from his onslaught. 

“HUH?”

“Cathode. Much better than the alternative.” 

Spamton released a soft puff of air. 

“I’M [ working hard ] WITH WHAT I’VE [ got ].”

“I appreciate it.” 

Tenna’s thumb brushed his cheek. Spamton couldn’t help but lean into his touch. 

“I want to make this work, Spamton. I always have. I just–need you to stop running from me.” 

He couldn't do this to him. He knew he was going to run away again, it was written in his fucking code. He was a scammer. He would do whatever he could to get the NEO–if he did maybe–maybe he could–

He was already warned once. At least now he had the full story. And a shitty half-organized plan. 

“Spamton?” 

“OKAY.” 

“Okay?”

“I'M GOING TO–I’LL TRY. TO STOP–[ run fast ].”

“Please don't–don’t make a promise you don't intend to keep.” 

“I SAID TRY. [ cathode ] I STILL CAN'T–
THERE ARE THINGS THAT I HAVE TO DO. 
AND I CAN'T 
I CAN'T 
I CAN'T 
I CCcccC–”

“It's okay. You'll tell me when you can. I'm just asking that you try.”

“OKAY.” 

Again, his thumb gently brushed his cheek. 

“WHAT [ time to say goodbye ] IS YOUR [ showtime ] TODAY?” 

Tenna froze with that question. It caused Spamton to raise an inquisitive brow. 

“I–aha. I was actually um–well, with you being here I asked the weather to cover for me.”

“WHAT? [ cathode ], I'M [ all grown up ] I CAN ENTERTAIN MYSELF FOR A [ limited time ].”

“Well I didn't know if I'd be needing to give you a ride home or–how things were going to go!” 

“GO TO WORK. I'LL BE [ fine and dandy ].”

Tenna's face fell. 

“If I leave you're going to run out on me.” 

“I TOLD YOU I WON'T!”

He was very obviously conflicted. Spamton had said he wouldn't, but compared to his past actions, it held little weight. Tenna released a reluctant sigh. This wasn't going to work if he didn't trust him. 

“Okay. You're right. I have to call them and let them know I'm coming–I can get ready at the studio.” Spamton was placed down, allowing Tenna to stalk off to grab his things. “You know where everything is.” Tenna called, and Spamton moved to meet him as he checked his pockets. 

He'd pulled out his wallet and flashed his debit card. 

“I'm going to leave this for you. I know you'll complain but–if you want to go out and grab something to eat or–anything. Use it. Maybe get a new outfit if your turtleneck is stained. I'll be back before it's too late.” 

“[ cathode ], I'LL BE FINE.” 

Now that he was more brazen, Tenna kissed his forehead before he was rushing out the door. 

“I'll be back–and I'm expecting you!”

“YEA, YEA, YOU'LL SEE ME.”

And with that, the door clicked shut.

Chapter Text

Tenna knew he should've just stayed home with him. He was spending the entire day fretting. Though, was he really to be blamed? It had been half a decade since they'd parted; five years filled with mutual brooding and building resentment, and now he was sitting in his apartment. With absolutely no supervision. Meaning he could leave and Tenna would have to go searching again. 

Of course he didn't have to, but he wouldn't even pretend that isn't what he would do. He already lost him once and he'd been through unimaginable strife. He wasn't allowing that to happen again. 

He knew he was being spacey; at the very least, he hoped his staff would just write it off as him being in one of his moods. He wouldn't pretend like he didn't know he was a lot to handle at times. He just had to make it through the show, then he could politely excuse himself and rush back home. 

“Hey, got the good stuff stocked up again, boss.”

“Huh?” Tenna took a moment to process the voice–ah, Ramb. “Oh. Good stuff?”

“Yea! With the laptop being back, I was able t’order spirits from the city. Stocked up a bit, too, never know when it'll be gone and for how long.” 

That made Tenna's heart leap into his chest. Not that he wasn't thinking about them returning the laptop; he just tried to shove the thoughts down for as long of a time as he could manage. 

“Right–yes. Good. The laptop being back seems to be doing everyone some good.” 

Ramb seemed to give him a sideways glance with that comment. If he was thinking something, he didn't say it outright. 

“You plan on mingling after the show?” 

“Not today, unfortunately. I have some plans afterwards. But the rest of you should enjoy!” 

“Oooh, plans?” 

It seemed what he had ignored previously he was now more than eager to address. 

“Nothing like that, Ramb.”

“No?” 

“No! It's just–plans–I don't have to explain myself to you.” 

Ramb released an amused puff of air; his shoulders rose and fell. 

“Hey, no one said you did. Sorry, boss, I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm not–” oh, was he really this easy to wind up? “I won't be here. I do hope you all have a great night! I have to go get ready for the show!” 

“Alright. See you around.” 

Ramb hummed to himself as he cleaned a glass. He waited patiently for Tenna to leave the green room. Once departed, his attention turned to Battat who had been sipping on a drink at the bar. 

“Two hundred points says he's shagging the mailman.”

The Pippins choked on his drink. 

“What?” 

“You heard me; two hundred points says he's shagging the mailman. Aren't you supposed to ante up?” 

“Wh–there’s no fucking way he's fucking Spamton. He isn't even–it’s been five years! Do you know who's had to listen to him bitch the most over the last half a decade? He hates his guts!” 

“The trips to the city, the hotel rooms, his plans tonight? Yea, they're fucking. Could be someone else, but I doubt it.” 

“I–okay, it's not out of the question but–SPAMTON?”

“Five hundred points. That's how sure I am.”

“Oh, you're fucking on, I'm in.”

“Hah. I knew you would be. If you want Mike or any of his associates in on it, feel free, just keep it away from their weather channel. They'll flip their lids.” 

“Yea yea, I know how these deals go, Ramb, you don't have to remind me.”

“Speaking of ‘im, shouldn't Mike be in the sound booth?”

“Yea, I'm going.” He chugged the rest of his drink before slipping off the barstool. “Five hundred points–you’re going to eat your words, Ramb.” 

“Hah. I guess we'll see.”

Tenna's mechanical heart was hammering as he approached his apartment. When he'd pushed open the door, he was met with a pleasant smell; Spamton was cooking. That one simple smell had completely eased his nerves. The door was gently clicked shut behind him, and he rounded the corner to steal a glance into the kitchen.

There he was; he'd pressed a chair up against the counter to comfortably reach everything. He was standing over the stove, in the process of flipping a steak as Tenna peaked around. 

“Hey, that smells great.” 

“IT [ better than ever ]. IT'S A [ pain in the neck ] COOKING IN HERE.”

“Hey, you always manage.” 

Tenna stalked off with that comment, intent on changing out of his suit. He swung by the bathroom and it was hard to miss the box thrown in the trash. A puff of air escaped him as he returned to the kitchen, box in hand. 

“So, let me get this straight; I tell you to lay off the hair dye so you go out and get more?” 

Spamton glanced over his shoulder at the box held in Tenna's grasp. Without a reply, he turned back around and continued making their plates. 

“ACTUALLY–YOU SAID TO [ stop please don't– ]” The fork in his hand dropped, and he had, instead, moved to grab his jaw. His fingers quickly worked their way beneath it and slammed it shut with enough force that Tenna had heard an audible clack. Absolutely not. Not that. After a breath, he released his chin and continued. “USING WHAT I WAS. THIS IS [ different option ].”

Tenna tried to quickly recover from that display. Even if he hadn't, he knew damn well Spamton wasn't going to comment.

“You knew what I meant.” Tenna's tone was playful as he attempted to diffuse the situation; he'd tossed the box into the garbage, meanwhile, he'd made his way behind Spamton to peer over his shoulder. 

“YEA, WELL, IT [ look! ] [ better than ever ].” 

Which, Tenna couldn't deny. He'd properly styled it now; it was essentially back to the way he'd liked it. He wouldn't lie; he could see it looked more maintained now that there was less hair to work around. 

“Alright–but you seriously should let it go.”

“THERE ISN'T A [ shot in the dark ] THAT I [ ever after ] LET IT [ growing ] OUT WHITE.” 

“Okay, this is an argument I'm obviously not winning.” And with that, he's released a defeated laugh. “Can I help you carry anything?” 

Spamton didn't want the help. Of course he didn't, he never did; it had always been a matter of pride. And yet, he'd passed a silent glance down to his shaking hand. That was getting worse. Sure, he could do it, but it would take longer than if Tenna just–

He'd taken too long to respond. Tenna took it upon himself to scoop up the two plates. He carried them to the dining table. 

“Grab the silverware.” 

Spamton could've kicked up a fuss, insisted he could have done it himself and been indignant, just as he would have in the past but–he didn't have the energy, he supposed. He did as was asked and met Tenna at the table. 

“This looks delicious, Spam.”

Spamton had been eager to do something nice for him especially after–everything. Even if he'd been the one paying for it. And it really wasn't anything too crazy; Spamton hadn't wanted to charge too much to his card. Steak, potatoes, vegetables. It was hardly an all day affair, but he knew it would be enough to mean something to Tenna. 

“I TOLD YOU [ IOU ].”

“And I told you you didn't. Oh–hold on. I have a bottle of wine we should open.” 

Tenna got up and, as he'd said, returned with the bottle and two glasses, of which were poured out for both of them. Tenna raised his, prompting Spamton to do the same. 

“To a fresh start?” 

Spamton was hesitant. He knew himself. He knew where this would inevitably end. And yet, he raised his glass to that sentiment. 

He'd committed himself to one normal evening. If he could do it at work, he could do it here. No thought of the prophecy. He would do his best to keep his glitching at a minimum (which was, truly, mostly out of his control). After this he had to go back. He had to work his ass off to make up for the bullshit he'd pulled over the past two days. He had to come up with an entirely new plan to get into the mansion. 

A bite of steak slipped behind his teeth and Spamton released a soft hum. Back of his mind; filed away. For the time being, he allowed himself to be present with Tenna. 

He'd asked about the show; about the weather, Ramb, and Mike. The pair of them cleaned up after dinner. They ended up on the couch, each with their glasses of wine. Tenna had suddenly sat himself upright, and his glass had been placed on the coffee table. Well, briefly. It was very quickly moved to a coaster.

“Hey, that reminds me–stay put.” 

He'd gotten up and wandered off into his bedroom, leaving Spamton to sip on his wine. When he came back, it was with a small, wrapped present that he placed in his lap. He slipped back beside him on the couch and leaned against the arm. 

“[ cathode ]. I DIDN'T–”

“It's small, really, just open it.” 

With a soft sigh, Spamton peeled back the paper. He pulled open the box and stared silently. His fingers curled around the lighter inside and pulled it out. 

“It's–I know how much trouble you've been having with your lighter so–that one should be easier. You don't have to strike it. It's also flameless. I don't really claim to know how it works but–I figured you might like it.” 

Spamton didn't say anything; instead, he held the lighter in his hand, observing it. He pressed the button on the side, and watched the current flow. Tenna squirmed. 

“If–if you don't like it, you don't have to use it! I know you were always–particular about, well–things.”

He placed the lighter on the table and Spamton made his way over to Tenna while he blabbered on. He pulled himself up, allowing him to kneel on his legs. His hands pressed into his chest, and at this point, Tenna’s screen had turned a deep shade of pink. 

“[ cathode ].” 

“Hah–yes?” Spamton pointed at his mouth. “You don't have to tell me twice.” With that, he leaned in and kissed him. 

“I [ you're gonna love ] IT. REALLY. IT WILL MAKE MY [ lifelong ] THAT MUCH [ easy mode ].” 

“That's what I was hoping for.” 

Spamton was staring. Again, he had Tenna squirming. 

“What?” 

Spamton was usually smiling anymore. However, the one on his face was particularly devious. His hands moved from his chest to the buttons of his shirt. It was silently that he worked to methodically undo them. 

“Spamton?”

“LET ME WORK.” 

“What are you doing?” By the deep red of Tenna’s screen, he already knew the answer. 

With his shirt open, Spamton’s hands could trail over the exposed casing of his chest. His fingers toyed with the panel on his abdomen. Once beneath, he peeled it open, revealing the wiring inside. Spamton’s gaze flicked up to meet Tenna’s avoidant one. 

“I WON'T. UNLESS YOU WANT IT.”

“Hah–I just–it’s been a while–”

Spamton pulled back. His hand brushed the opened plate before a strong hand grabbed his wrist. 

“Hold on–I didn't say no.”

There was that devious look again. His hands reached into his innards; his fingers traced one of the wires and Tenna squirmed slightly. It felt different; his hands were thinner, less soft. Not bad just–different. 

“EENIE MEENIE MINY–” 

His finger looped around a wire and tugged. Tenna’s back arched and he released a pleasured gasp. 

“HAEHAEH. MY [ brainiac ] MAY BE A LITTLE [ scrambled ], BUT IT'S GOOD TO [ no ] I REMEMBER THE [ important information ].” 

While keeping the wire in one hand, his second reached in; he used his finger tip to trail over another; Tenna released a nervous laugh. It was then a second was looped, though, this time he had pulled it out much slower than the last; he was methodical as he raised it to his teeth. 

Tenna reached out. 

“D-Don’t–I don't want you to electro–HA–HAAH–” 

Just as he was told not to, Spamton bit and yanked the captive wire; the source of Tenna’s pleasured cry. 

“SPAMTON.” 

“HEY, HEY, I [ no ] WHAT I'M DOING.” 

The wires in his grasp were released, and carefully moved out of the way before his hand dug between the mess of his innards. 

“HAH–WHAT ARE YOU–” 

He’d managed to work his hand to the center of his core, causing him to writhe beneath him. Spamton seemed all too pleased with himself as he very slowly slid it back out, tapping each wire as he went. 

“NOW WHAT ABOUT–”

“OKAY!!” This time, Tenna grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from him. “HAH–I think–after five years that–my heart can't take much more of that.” 

Spamton stared up at him looking completely–Tenna couldn't place the look. It almost seemed like he was a kid who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It was then he looped one final finger through a wire and tugged. Tenna’s back arched–Spamton erupted into a fit of laughter. Finally, Tenna slammed his plate shut and loomed over the smaller man. 

Without warning, he'd swept Spamton from his spot perched on his legs. He cradled him in his arms, his face just inches from Spamton’s own. 

“BEHAVE YOURSELF.” 

A flurry of laughter escaped Spamton. 

“COME ON, [ cathode ], YOU [ no ] WHO YOU'RE [ business deal ] WITH.”

“Unfortunately, you're correct.” 

Despite his perceived fury, he pressed a kiss against Spamton's forehead. 

“APPARENTLY A [ business man ] CAN'T SHOW SOME [ appreciation ].” 

“Yea, well, you showed enough. I feel very appreciated.” 

“NOW [ IOU ] AGAIN.”

“Spamton–” Tenna released a soft sigh. “You know I like buying you things. It was a lighter. I don't need you to match everything I do for you.” 

With no response, Tenna kept him cradled in his arms as he stood. Spamton whined for, ironically, his unfinished glass of wine, but his protest went unnoticed as he was carried into the bedroom. Tenna dropped him on the bed and heard the springs whine as he bounced against them. Tenna, meanwhile, moved to his closet. 

“I wish you'd brought pajamas. I can't imagine it's comfortable sleeping in street clothes.”

Hah. If only he knew. 

“EH. YOU [ no ] I NEVER REALLY [ sleep well ] IN PAJAMAS, ANYWAY.”

“But you didn't usually sleep in slacks.” Tenna released a soft sigh. 

Spamton swore he could have seen an actual lightbulb above his head the way he suddenly straightened out. Without a word, he slipped off his shirt, tossing it aside. He dug into one of his drawers and pulled out a pajama set; specifically, a red TV Time pajama set. Spamton snorted as Tenna slipped the shirt over his arms. He fiddled with his belt and swapped out his pants for the pajama bottoms. 

He turned to face Spamton after that, beaming. 

“STILL [ wear and tear ] YOUR OWN [ merchandise ]?”

“Not me.” 

And then he began to shrink; down, and down, until he was roughly Spamton’s size. So, too, were the pajamas. Now he got the picture as Tenna’s pleased grin somehow grew even larger. 

“Tada.”

“YOU JUST WANT TO [ watch now ] ME IN YOUR [ merchandise ].”

“No, I want you to be comfortable–and, alright, maybe that's a perk.” 

“AH, [ geez Louise ], COME ON [ 10% off ].”

His antennas drooped. Spamton watched him lose another few inches before he slid off the bed and approached; his hands gripped the now smaller shoulders.

“OKAY OKAY OKAY! I'LL [ wear and tear ] THEM!” 

With a sniff, Tenna glanced up at him. 

“You will?” 

“YES! YES! JUST STOP BEING A [ cry baby ].”

Tenna flashed a wry grin before he gained the few inches he'd lost, putting him back at Spamton’s height. With that, he'd shed the pajamas and folded them over Spamton’s arm. Before he returned to his proper size, he held Spamton's face in his hands.

“WHAT NOW?”

“Nothing. I just don't get to do this very often.”

Spamton flushed.

“OFTEN? YEARS.”

“Yeah, so entertain me.” 

“I'M ALREADY [ let me entertain you ] WITH THESE!”

Tenna finally released an amused puff of air and released Spamton.

“Okay, you're right. I'm sorry.” 

He turned back to his own dresser and pulled out a t-shirt, along with pants to match Spamton’s own. Curiosity got the better of him as he pulled on his pants. He turned slightly, allowing him to catch a glimpse at Spamton. He'd turned his back to him. It felt like an invasion of his privacy staring at him without his explicit permission; though, he supposed if he was entirely against it, he would have left the room. 

Spamton was thin. He was so much thinner than he remembered; that went without mentioning the bruises that peppered his body. He could see every joint, every division between his parts; his chest, his stomach, his limbs. Before he had been so–human. Now he looked like–well, he looked like a doll. 

“TAKE A [ picture perfect ] IT WILL LAST [ lifetime ].”

Tenna flushed, and his gaze turned back to his T-shirt. 

“I'm sorry.” 

“WHY? THAT'S WHAT I [ look! ] [ like and subscribe ].” 

When Tenna turned back around, Spamton had also turned to face him. He fought with the buttons of the shirt–Tenna didn't know why he thought giving him a button down was a good idea. He was trying to be cute. Instead, he was an idiot. Spamton never broke his gaze. 

“DO YOU [ control f ] IT THAT [ bad news ]?” 

He knew what he was doing here. He wasn't going to project his disgust onto him. 

“No. It's still you. It doesn't make any difference to me.” 

Spamton released a puff, and Tenna moved towards him. He knelt down; he swore his own hands were shaking as he moved his aside and reached for the unreasonably small buttons. He carefully began looping them closed. 

“You know, I prefer when you at least pretended to be cocky.” 

“PRETEND?”

“I'm not stupid, Spam, you were always putting up a big man act. Well, not always I guess, but a lot.” 

He could tell he'd touched a nerve. 

“I WASN'T–
THAT ISN'T–”

Tenna pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“I know you think I'm flattering you; best case scenario you believe my compliments, or go back to pretending to believe them. But you're not going to drag me into your self deprecation.” 

“DON'’T [ act ] [ like and subscribe ] U–”

“I may not know your full story, Spamton, but I know how you act.” After pressing a hand into his head he moved to his side of the bed and pulled back the covers. “Are you coming?” 

Although he was left fuming, Spamton reluctantly climbed up onto his side of the bed and laid down beside Tenna who was far too smug for Spamton’s liking. 

Arms slithered around his midsection. Spamton knew what came next. Tenna pulled him in, holding him tighter than Spamton would have preferred. 

“I'm sorry.”

“AW, [ cathode ], DON'T START.”

“No that was–I didn't mean to–”

“IT'S FINE.”

“I meant what I said, it doesn't–”

“I KNOW.”

“Please don't leave.”

“I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.” A small hand tapped his arm as some vague level of reassurance. 

Regardless of his words, the grip tightened. Spamton’s heart rate increased. 

“[ cathode ]. 
YOU'RE–
T–TTOO–T–”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.” His grip loosened. 

While Spamton’s heart still raced, at the very least he could breathe again. Spamton allowed his eyes to close, and he focused on slowing his thrumming heart, along with steadying his breath. 

“Spam?”

“HM?”

“Thank you. For staying the night.”

Spamton released an amused puff. 

“YEA.” He didn't want to leave it there–he felt like an asshole leaving it there. He shifted beneath his grip. “THANK YOU.”

“Huh?”

“JUST–
THANK YOU.”

Tenna’s acknowledgement was a soft hum. With that, the two of them drifted off.

Chapter Text

Tenna awoke to an empty space beside him; it kicked him awake much faster than he was used to. As his screen hummed to life, he propped himself up using an arm. Once booted up, he stared at the sheets. He turned to the edge of the bed to find his shrunk pajamas carefully folded and left for him. Next, he rolled over to glance at the alarm clock. 

Five? He'd snuck out that early? It was rare Spamton would even be up before the sun had risen, now he was sneaking out before Tenna would even wake up? Then again, he supposed that was the point. He quickly pulled himself out of bed, some hope still left in his chest as he pushed open the door and made his way into the living room. 

And there he was, shoving his clothes into his duffle bag, a mug half-filled with coffee placed on the table. 

“Spam.”

He jumped at the call. He'd turned himself around to meet Tenna’s gaze. 

“OH. GOOD MORNING–”

“The sun isn't even up yet–you’re running out again–”

“[ cathode ], I CAN'T [ stay put ] FOREVER, I HAVE [ work ].”

“You could.”

“[ cathode ].”

Tenna released a sigh. 

“At least let me drive you home.”

“I'M FINE TAKING THE [ train of thought ].”

“Don't be ridiculous. Why waste money on a ticket?”

“IT'S FINE.”

“Spamton, are you living at the dealership?” 

He swore every inch of him tensed at the question. Spamton knew better than to miss a single beat. 

“NO–OF [ stay on course ] NOT.”

“So, you have an apartment?”

“YES.”

“I don't believe you.” 

In his frustration, the zipper on his bag caught. Spamton fought with it as he fumed.

“OK? THEN [ don't do it ]. I DON'T [ no ] WHAT U WANT ME [ 2 ] SAY.”

“I want you to tell me the truth, Spamton! If you’re homeless–God, I’m right here. You can live with me or–look, I’m still bringing in good money I could pay–”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” 

“WHY!”

“BECAUSE I’M NOT [ @&#$?&! ] [ gone home ] AND I DON’T NEED [ press F1 for help ]!”

“Then let me take you home. If I can take you to your apartment, I will happily eat my words.” 

Spamton gave up on the broken zipper. He slung the bag over his shoulder and quickly pushed towards the door. 

“Spamton! Don’t walk out on me again, dammit!” 

Tenna was hot on his trail; he grabbed his shoulder, and Spamton attempted to shove him away. 

“LET IT GO!”

“No! Spamton, I don’t want you sleeping out in the fucking cold! Could you please just swallow your pride and–”

“I’M NOT [ gone home ]!
I’M NOT [ gone home ]!
I’M NOT [ gone home ]!’
I’M NOT [ gone home ]!”

“Spamton–”

“I DON’’T WAAANT [ u ] [ 2 ] [ go go go ]!
IT ISN’T
IT ISN’T
IT IISSSNN’’TT–”

He felt Tenna attempting to pull him in; Spamton fought back. At the very least, it wasn’t the same violent glitch he’d seen two nights prior. Spamton rammed a fist into the back of his head; Tenna hated it when he did that. It made his stomach churn every time he saw it. When the colors died down and his face returned whole, Tenna still held tightly onto his shoulder. 

“Spamton–”

“LET ME [ go now ].” Spamton attempted to pull Tenna’s hand from his shoulder; he was unmoving. 

“No. Not again.” Slowly, Spamton’s grip relented, and his hands fell to his side. Tenna released a sigh; at the very least, it gave him a second to compose his thoughts. “The last thing I want to see is you suffering, Spam. But I also can’t force you to share with me. And I don’t–I don’t want to keep ending our time together like this.” 

Spamton shifted himself. Tenna wasn’t wrong; he didn’t particularly like his constant running around and their blow ups. 

“Will you please just let me drive you back? I don’t need to take you home, I can even take you back to the dealership but I just–want to take you back.” 

Maybe it hadn’t been his initial plan, but Spamton couldn’t find the harm in it. He’d already been caught, afterall, and riding in his car was much better than public transit. Above all else, it pacified Tenna. And maybe the ride back with him was pleasant enough to prepare him for the shitshow of a day that laid ahead. He’d dropped him near the dealership; thankfully, with him behind the wheel, he hadn’t needed to force his way out of a relentless hug. It gave him enough time to show up to his shift and, hopefully, plead his way out of another lost position. 

There was no amount of begging that could have kept him employed there, and some small part of him knew that would be the case. He’d kicked the garbage can around the corner on his way out and then promptly bolted. It wasn’t even as if he could blame them. He knew he’d been flakey; hell, he hated it, but it hadn’t changed the fact that he still needed the money. 

If he had been desperate before, he didn’t even know what he would consider his current situation. Hopeless? It certainly fucking felt like it. Two nights of distraction; but once he’d been thrust permanently back into the cold, it felt as though it never happened. 

Cold. Homeless. Jobless. All of those meant nothing when he considered how simultaneously close and far he was from NEO. But hey, at least he’d been able to do some laundry. And he got a haircut. 

Rock. Fucking. Bottom. It had to be; he had already thought he’d hit it too many times in this past but this–laid flat in a dumpster, wrapping his blanket around himself as many times as he could manage, having no fucking clue what he was going to do for money–this had to actually be it. He hated that he was like this, that he couldn’t ask for help.

He didn’t know how much time Tenna had left, just that it was limited. Accepting help from him felt disgusting–he would be disgusting allowing himself to live with him, to be cared for when he knew damn well the clock was ticking down to his demise. It would make him sick. 

Of course there were his brothers. His reason for denying their help was not guilt, but rather, pride. Pride, and perhaps, he still felt the residual sting of betrayal. They had destroyed him in his prime. Maybe he had boasted but, dammit, he didn't deserve to be cut off entirely. Part of him craved the contact, but the louder half of his brain refused it; told him he didn't need them, that he could figure his own shit out. He started out as their baby brother who needed help. Now he was right back, and without the smooth talking or good looks. Square fucking one. No, even beneath that. 

Spamton curled further into himself, trying to conserve heat. 

New plan; he'd find a new job the following day. He would scour every inch of the city for any opportunity he could find. He would save up. He would get himself out of the dump and put himself together. Then he could–if he wanted invited to the mansion–if–if–

His fingers laced through his hair and tugged. Dammit, why couldn't he think of a better plan!? Probably because he was using all of his energy trying not to freeze to death! Fuck! 

Footsteps. Spamton froze. Not that it was uncommon; every so often someone came to dump some odd or end. He listened intently. They stopped in front of him. Ah God, no, he just bought this blanket, he didn't need someone dumping anything on top of it. Maybe they'd leave it alongside him, maybe it was some boxes. The lid was pulled open–dammit! He waited patiently to be pelted by something, anything–

The blanket was pulled back. Spamton met with a pair of soft yellow eyes. Son of a bitch. 

“Spamton?” 

“SORRY, DON'T [ no ] WHO THAT IS.” He had wrenched the blanket from his hands and promptly covered his face again. 

He could feel Yellow’s grip once more, though Spamton fought him from opening it again. 

“Dammit–I’m not stupid, Spamton–don’t be–you’re sleeping in a fucking dumpster!?”

“[ u ] DON'T GET AN [ thoughts/opinions ] ON MY [ life time guarantee ]. GO AWAY.” 

The hands released him, but he knew better than to assume he was giving up. Regardless of remaining on guard, he still found himself stiffening when he felt arms wrap around him–well, him and the blanket. He was hoisted out of the dumpster and held bridal style. 

“I don't know why you thought I needed you to actually comply.”

Okay. This was going to hurt. At the very least, he could mentally prepare himself for it. He rolled; the blanket unfurled and Spamton hit the ground. At least it was his back; his face couldn't take another impact. It did, however, knock the wind out of him. He had a split second to make a decision: run back towards the dealership, or make a break for it into the city. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to get his keys out in time to unlock and subsequently lock the door behind him. Additionally, it would have meant fighting past Yellow who was substantially larger than himself. 

Towards the city it was. As Yellow attempted to toss the comforter aside, Spamton bolted in the opposite direction. He knew if he could get to the main streets, there was an alley with a broken fence; hell, it was probable he could lose him before they even hit the alley, but either way, that was his fallback. 

“SPAMTON!” 

He had always been fast–he was tricky. He had to be to survive in the streets. It was something his brothers could learn a thing or two–

He was lucky he hadn’t had his arm yanked out of its socket. He felt someone grip his forearm; his own momentum forced him back and caused a gasp to escape him because, OW, that fucking hurt. His head whipped around, fury blatant behind his dual colored glasses.

“WHAT’S THE BIG [ deal of a lifetime ]!?”

Once again, Spamton bristled. 

“Spamton, you’re four years younger than us, we know your tricks by now.” 

Orange. Spamton dug his nails into his wrist, attempting to pry his hand from his arm. 

“Ow! Spam–knock it off! God damn!” 

“LET ME GGG–OOOOO!” 

“Cut it out!” 

An arm wrapped around his neck, an action he was all too familiar with from their younger years. He knew what came next; he was slipped into a head lock as they hit the ground. 

“AUGH–”

“Stop squirming!”

“LET–L-LLLL-LEEEE–TT–”

Tight; too tight. The strings were back; they were suffocating him. He was sent back, way back, to then–to the phone; his ears were ringing.

“Orange, the hell is wrong with you, let him go!” 

“I didn’t–shit!” 

Of course, as soon as yellow had approached, Spamton had begun violently glitching. Orange had released his grip, and Spamton hit the ground; he hadn’t the wherewithal to catch himself. Yellow had quickly knelt down beside the pair. 

“What did you do–why is he–”

“Blue said his code’s broken, didn’t he?” 

“Yea, but he didn't say he was glitching!” 

Their hands lingered over him–a virus was nothing to fuck around with. Broken code was even worse. While it wasn’t always a death sentence, it still held a stigma. It wasn't as if they dealt with this sort of thing on the regular; most glitching denizens tended to keep to themselves–outcasted. Neither of them knew how to handle this. 

“God dammit–I’m just as bad as I was then.” 

Yellow was the first to react; he grabbed Spamton, who had balled a fist around the material of his shirt. He adjusted his head to rest in his lap as the glitch continued to take hold. A hand pressed to his forehead, and carefully brushed his hair back from his face. Yellow could see his own hand splitting in the mess that was Spamton; despite the guttural fear, he refused to withdraw. “Hey–Spam, I’m so sorry–actually–you apologize, asshole, you did this!” 

“What!? I didn’t do that!”

“You put him in a fucking headlock, what the fuck else did you expect!?” 

Orange fell silent for a brief moment; Yellow quickly turned his glare back to Spamton, and his expression softened. 

“Hey Spam I don’t–I’m sorry, I don’t know how to handle this.” 

Orange finally made a move; his hand wrapped around Spamton’s free one. The grip threatened to break his damn hand. Once the glitching subsided, it revealed his labored breathing and panicked expression. Yellow’s eyes had slightly widened. Shit–he was having a panic attack. That, at the very least, he could tackle. 

“Hey–hey alright. Spam–deep breaths with me. In and out, like this, alright?” He modeled his breathing as he’d said; reluctantly, Spamton had complied. 

Although his heart continued to rhythmically pound against his chest, once his breath had been put in check, he slowly sat himself upright and yanked his hand away from Orange’s. 

“WHAT THE [ fifty percent off ] IS WRO>NG WITH [ u ]!?”

Orange bristled.

“What’s wrong with me? You made a run for it!”

“YOU PUT [ me me me ] IN A [ @&#$?&! ] HEADLOCK! WE’RE [ all grown up ] MEN! YOU HAVEN’T [ see ] ME IN [ five dollars off ] YEARS!” 

“Okay well you were–you fucking bolted–”

“Knock it off! Both of you just–shut up!” Surprisingly, they actually listened to Yellow. Doubly as surprising, Spamton had yet to try and run again. “I’m sorry, Spamton, but I just–you can’t sleep in a dumpster. It’s freezing out here, and you have four of us who are willing and want to take you in.” 

“WHAT, [ pink panther ] SENT THE [ jerky ] SQUAD AFTER [ little ol’ me ]?” 

“We’ve all been looking for you.” Orange answered before Yellow could. “All of us. Yellow and I were just lucky enough to actually find you.” 

Spamton fell silent. His brow furrowed. 

“WHY?”

“What?” The twins echoed. 

“WHY–WHY NOW? WHY–AFTER FIVE [ yearly ]–
I DON'T WANT YOUR [ press F1 for help ] NOW.”

“Spamton–” 

He refused to let Yellow get a word in. 

“I DON'T WANT IT NOW!
I DON'T WANT IT NOW!
I DON'T WANT IT NOW!”

He steadied himself, refusing to glitch again. 

“[ u ] [ no ] WHEN I WANTED YOU [ around town ]? WHEN YOU ALL [ abandoned for the slime you are ] ME! WHEN I GOT [ eviction notice ]. [ too little too late ] NOW!” 

They sat in silence. Everything he said–of course it rang true. Orange had raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Yellow found it hard to maintain eye contact with Spamton in his shame, but he forced himself to. 

“I'm sorry, Spamton.” Yellow began. “We were–I was so fucking jealous and selfish. And I should have been there. But I want to be here now just please–please let us be here for you. It makes me sick knowing you're on the streets.”

“You have four places to pick from, Spam. All of us are happy to have you.” 

Spamton did not initially respond; instead, he allowed the prospect to simmer. No job. He didn't want to bring Tenna into this. He glanced down at his trembling hands. He was slowly forming an idea. 

“I DON'T WANT TO [ stay put ] WITH EITHER OF YOU.”

While it was obvious that stung Yellow, he quickly recovered.

“That's okay. There's still Pink and Blue.”

“Listen, Yellow put it nicely; you're picking one of us. I won't let you get back into that dumpster.”

With a huff, Spamton pulled himself back to his feet. Rather than run, he began a slow stroll back towards the main street. 

“Spamton, what are you–”

“YOU SAID [ pick me ]. WELL, I'M PICKING.”

The twins shared a stunned glance. In all the scenarios they'd run through their heads in none of them did he comply with this level of ease.

“We should–”

“Follow him, yea.” Orange agreed. 

“There's no way he actually goes to one of our places without an escort.” And with that, Yellow pulled himself back onto his feet. He briskly trotted behind, Orange at his heels. 

Pink had made himself comfortable for the evening; his hair had been let down and he found solace in a new pair of pajamas he'd purchased from Orange. He blew on the steaming tea he'd prepared for himself and sat down to enjoy one of his favorite soap operas. 

He figured he would at least try to relax, if only for a short while. He was not typically one that was willing to get his hands dirty. Yes, he was a skilled salesman; when working with clients, he knew what to say in order to seal a deal. He’d had years of practice to hone his skills, and in that case, he was willing to do what it took. Outside of work? Pink had connections. He knew who to talk to, for what, and when to keep his hands clean. But with Spamton? 

He knew he wouldn’t want to see him–hell, he knew threatening to tell on him was a low blow, but Pink had hoped it would sway him to swallow his pride and ask for help. Not even ask, as it had readily been offered, but accept the help that they were offering. While he would never show it, the knowledge he was out there in the freezing cold, that he had been alone on Christmas, that he was out there because of them–it made him physically ill. 

Pink was the eldest; he was typically stoic, resigned to his role as caretaker. Less so now that they were on their own, but the feeling never went away; he would always see the twins and Spamton as his baby brothers; even Blue to some extent, despite the barely two year difference between them. He’d failed him miserably and he wanted to get him off the streets, even if it meant hogtieing him and strapping him to a bed. It had been at the urging of Blue that he’d finally taken a night off; Yellow swore up and down that he and Orange would take a look around the city for him. While he may have been somewhat skeptical, he’d finally relented and decided to spend the night in. 

The teacup rose to his lips; after a gentle blow, he took a sip of his tea and a soft hum escaped him. Pink relished the flavor, along with the quiet hum on the television. If he could take his mind off his stress, just for a few short hours–

A knock on his door managed to cause a very rare occurrence; his eyes cracked open in annoyance, allowing him to glare in the general direction of the sound. With a huff, he placed his cup on its designated coaster and proceeded towards the door. The lock clicked, and he pulled it back with a bit of frustration. 

“Do you know what time–” He quickly fell silent when his gaze tipped down to his visitor. “Spamton.” 

“YEA.” 

Spamton. In his building. After nights of looking he just shows up at his door–his door. Pink wasn’t delusional. He knew he was never Spamton’s favorite, he wasn’t anyone's favorite, and that was fine. He was willing to accept that reality knowing that he had been the one to keep them all in line and ensure their success. But Spamton, since the betrayal, seemed to hold a particular disdain for him. If he had to pick a home, Pink undoubtedly was last on that list. And yet, here he was. 

Pink pulled back the door and moved aside. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

While he did not give a verbal response, Spamton did step inside the apartment. Pink clicked the door shut behind him, along with the lock. 

“You know your way around–make yourself at home. I just sat down to watch television. Do you want a cup of tea?”

“SURE.”

“Flavor?”

“DOESN’T [ matter of fact ].” 

With that, Pink moved to the kitchen, and Spamton situated himself on the sofa. It was hard to ignore the increased pounding of his heart against his chest. He was nervous; not that he would ever show it. He poured another glass for Spamton and set the strainer aside before returning to the living room. Another coaster was set out for him, and the cup was placed in front of him. 

“YOU STILL [ view now ] THESE CHEESY [ soap box ]?”

Pink released a puff as he returned to his own seat on the couch. He brushed some of his hair from his shoulder; nerves. 

“Yes. And it’s one that I like; you know that.” 

“NO. NO WAY.”

Spamton squinted at the screen. It was obvious he was listening intently for a few moments before he erupted in laughter. 

“IT'S THE [ same or equal value ] SHOW!?”

“Yes.” He'd forgotten how skilled Spamton was at pushing his buttons. “When shows are good they stay on air, Spamton.”

“HAEHAEHAEH! YEA, [ good job ]!” Spamton leaned forward to accept the tea. He blew on it, meanwhile, Pink’s gaze remained firm. 

“Can you not see it?”

“HUH??”

“The television. It's the same actors. Can you not see them?” 

Spamton shifted in place; his legs crossed and he carefully sipped on his tea. 

“NO. NOT [ well done ].” 

“You should get a pair of glasses. Straining like that is just going to make it worse.”

“YEA, I [ no ].”

Pink tensed. 

“I'm sorry. I don't know how to not parent you. I know I don't have any right to but I can't help it.” 

Spamton’s thumb grazed the rim of his tea cup. Pink was very much unlike Blue; he was logical. He was straightforward. 

“Why did you come here?” 

“YELLOW AND [ orangeade ].”

Ah. So they found him. Still. 

“Okay. Why here? I would assume you'd prefer Blue to me.”

Spamton attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“BLUE IS–I–NEEDED–[ u ].”

Pink was visibly taken back by that admission. 

“You don't usually come to me when you need something–not since you were younger. Though, I tend to doubt Orange was bullying you again.”

Spamton scoffed and Pink’s brow furrowed. That simple action–oh, he'd kill him when he got his hands on him. 

“I [ lost and found ] MY JOB.” Spamton paused and took another sip of his tea to dull his own nerves. “I [ help wanted ] [ u ] BECUZ–[ ur ] OBJECTIVE.” 

Okay; that at least steered him in the correct direction. Of course, Pink hadn’t missed his absence from the diner; it had always been a stop during his searches. He also hadn’t neglected to notice the fresh black eyes. But he wanted objectiveness. He could do that much. 

“Okay. What are you looking for?” 

“CAN I–WORK. WITH [ u ]? OR COULD YOU AT LEAST–[ press F1 for help ] ME FIND SOMETHING–ANYTHING?”

Spamton had always been prideful to a fault. Perhaps, in his earlier years, he had been eager to ask Pink for help selling. He was their eldest brother, after all, and he had been in the game longer than any of them. Spamton asking him for help in his youth had caused his heart to swell. Now? He couldn’t help but feel the guilt eating away at him. 

“I can find something for you, Spamton. That’s not a problem. I could always use help in the shop. It won’t be anything glamorous, of course, but it will pay.” 

“ANYTHING IS BETTER THAN [ nothing off limits ].” 

Pink acknowledged his desperation if he came here of all places–if he was asking for a job. Despite his cool exterior, it completely ate him up inside. 

“YOU [ ow ow stop it hurts ] THE WORST.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I [ expected time of arrival ] IT FROM THE TWINS. [ blueberry ] HURT, BUT YOU KNOW HE IS [ impression ]. BUT [ u ]??”

Pink couldn’t even bring himself to look at him. He wouldn’t have guessed Spamton saw him in that light; then again, he supposed he never really thought too much about how any of them perceived him. 

“I CAUGHT A [ virus ] AFTER [ u ] ALL–
I [ remember ] WHEN I WAS YOUNGER.
AND [ u ]–
I WAS [ stuck ] AT THE STUDIO.
AND THEN, WHEN I WAS [ move ]
I HAD [ zero ] HELP.
AND I KEPT [ think fast ], [ u ] SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE.” 

Pink’s hand rose to wipe at his wet eyes. Spamton was right; he should have been there. He practically raised him. It was his job to be there for him and he, instead, allowed his jealousy to fester and bubble until all four of them had made possibly the worst decision of their lives. 

“You’re right. I should have been there.” Despite the tears falling from his eyes, he still did not falter; his voice remained steady. “I’m sorry, Spamton. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me then. But I am here now.” He knew it would take some time for forgiveness to be earned, but Pink couldn’t help but feel this was a good start. He was reaching out; that was all he could ask for. “I’ll get something together for you tomorrow during my shift. How does that sound?” 

Spamton leaned forward to place his tea cup on the coaster. His hands absent mindedly wrapped around his ankle.

“YEA. THAT SOUNDS [ good news ].” 

“Good.” Pink copied the action and placed his own cup down; he then stood from the couch. “I’ll get the pull out set up for you–you are staying the night, I would presume?” Spamton nodded in confirmation; with that, Pink continued towards his office. “Orange–what did he do?” 

“HE PUT ME IN A [ @&#$?&! ] HEADLOCK!”

“Right. I’ll take care of that, too.” With that, he carried off into the guest room. 

Once out of sight, Spamton pressed into the back of the couch. He couldn’t exactly say he liked asking Pink for help, nor could he say all of his vulnerability had been an act. Regardless, he’d secured himself a job; a respectable job, with an Addison who was highly respected himself. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as his eyes pulled shut. This could end up working in his favor; all he had to do was bide his time.

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was horrible to say, but Tenna was surprised when he'd gotten a call from Spamton. He'd confirmed he'd wanted to try and make this work as well but–well, Tenna supposed it would take some time for his past wounds to heal. Even then; Tenna knew himself, and he wasn't entirely sure if he would ever fully be able to trust he wouldn't run without a word of notice. 

Well, regardless of his surprise, Spamton had called, and frequently. Tenna, however, had not been able to return the courtesy. He wasn't sure where he was calling from, but it wasn't the dealership as, any time he tried to give him a ring, he would not receive an answer. Annoying as it was, he supposed he couldn't complain, as he was getting to speak with him. 

Finally, after patiently waiting, it came:

“I WAS WONDERING IF YOU'D WANT TO–”

Tenna hadn't even let him finish his question; it was a yes before the words finished leaving Spamton’s mouth. 

“I can pick you up after work.” Tenna offered. 

Spamton confirmed, however, he'd corrected him. Apparently he was no longer at the diner. Instead, he'd gotten a new job working for a tea dispensary. At least, that was how Tenna understood it. 

Either way, he had a date and it was agony waiting for their date to roll around. 

He'd had to park on one of the side roads; the shop was in the middle of a busy center, meaning Tenna had needed to walk the rest of the way. After some confused wandering, he'd caught sight of the store and, subsequently, Spamton, who had been waiting patiently out front. By the time Spamton had actually been able to make out it was Tenna approaching him, it was too late. Arms wrapped around him and unceremoniously swept him off his feet.

“[ trash heap ]–
OKAY! 
OKAY!
ENOUGH!”

Ah, so he still didn’t like that. While they had been together, this was their first time being together in public–in a together capacity. It was dawning on him he didn’t even know how to describe their relationship. Regardless, he carefully placed Spamton back on his feet.

“I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t–”

“[ 1 ] PASS.” A finger jabbed in Tenna’s direction; at the very least, it was enough to get a small smirk out of him. 

Usually he would have chewed him out for embarrassing him. Apparently Spamton was granting him some grace as well. 

“Did you want to get dinner here? Or TV World?”

They'd decided to take it easy; watch a movie together. Spamton hardly had the drive to party as he once did and, well, he was more keen on taking it slow. Not that they hadn't already shared a bed, but the point stood. 

He felt they were in a weird limbo; stuck between what they once had and what they had lost. That, and of course, Spamton’s ever present battle against keeping Tenna at arm's length. 

“I MADE [ make your reservations now ]. NOTHING TOO [ fancy ] DON'T GET YOUR HOPES [ on the up and up ].” 

A firm hand placed itself against Spamton’s back; he supposed he could live with that. 

“I'm good with anything, you know that.” 

“Spamton!” 

“OH GOOD–”

While Spamton hadn't turned, Tenna certainly had. An Addison approached them, a Pink one. He hadn't even acknowledged Tenna as he approached. 

“WHAT?” 

“Forgetting something?” 

“NO?” 

Pink glared. He pulled a case out of his pocket and thrust it in Spamton’s direction. 

“[ #$@! ] PINK, DON’T–”

“Put them on.” 

A glaring match ensued. Somehow, Tenna managed to get in on it. No, he didn’t know him, but having been the one left to pick up the pieces all those years ago? He didn’t like them. Spamton, thankfully, cut the silence with a growl. He opened the case and revealed a pair of circular lensed glasses, different from the two-toned ones he had started wearing. He swapped them out and snapped the case shut, allowing him to throw it in his bag.

“THERE!
THERE!
NOW [ go go go ] AWAY!!”

Pink released a soft sigh before he turned back towards the shop. 

“I'll see you later.” He paused; finally, his gaze turned to Tenna. “Mr. Tenna.” 

And just as quickly as he'd caught up to them, he disappeared behind the shop doors. Tenna’s attention turned back to Spamton who was still fuming. At the very least, in his frustration, a small hand wrapped around Tenna's while Spamton led him away. 

That brought up–a lot of questions.

“Spamton?”

One look at Spamton told him he knew what was to follow–or at least, he had some idea of the various questions that were going to be asked. 

“Are you working for your brother?” 

Spamton grumbled in response to that. He could feel Tenna's gaze burning through him. 

“I MEAN–IT ISN'T–IT’S SORT OF–YEA.”

Tenna's brow furrowed. 

“Really? I mean–obviously that isn't–” 

Tenna paused. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say because, well, he was fuming, if ever so slightly. He wasn't sure what happened or why he'd switched, but what Tenna did know is that he was pissed at his brothers. For him to go crawling back? 

He didn't want to think anything about the situation was weird. However, he had also been woken up to Spamton's tricks. It was either that, or his situation had genuinely gotten that dire which, in that case, why hadn't he come to Tenna? He knew he didn't have a reason to be upset over that but his brothers? His brothers who abandoned him over Tenna? 

“I'm just surprised. I mean, after everything that happened.”

Spamton raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“YEA, WELL–WITH–EVERYTHING.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “IT'S [ better than ever ] THE DINER.” 

“Well, if it makes you happy.” 

“YEA. [ happy days ].” Spamton had meant to be earnest, and yet, the reply dripped with sarcasm. 

“He said he'd see you later. Are you–”

“UGH. AT–THEY’RE GETTING TOGETHER TONIGHT.” It was a quick lie; even Spamton was impressed with how quickly he'd covered for himself. 

Tenna's hand squeezed his own, though it was not reassuring. Instead it was calming his own building rage. 

“Oh, they decided you can finally rejoin them?” 

“ALRIGHT, [ easy breezy ], [ cathode ].”

“I'm sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry. What, you're welcome back now that they're no longer jealous? You can work for them when you're not a threat?” 

Spamton released a lengthy sigh; this was exactly what he was trying to avoid. 

“IT'S NOT [ like and subscribe ] THAT. [ look! ], I'LL EXPLAIN [ click for more info ] AT DINNER, OKAY?” 

While he hasn't wanted to leave it there, Tenna would hold him to it. He released a soft sight, and this time, the squeeze was reassuring. Afterwards, Spamton could feel Tenna's gaze glued to him yet again. He had a good idea what the next question was and his face burned in anticipation.

“WHAT?”

“Glasses?” 

“YEA, YEA, GLASSES, SO WHAT!”

“Geez, Spammy, getting defensive. I'm only asking.”

“NO YOU HAVE A [ ringtone ]. GLASSES?” 

“How bad is your vision that you're getting chased down and forced to wear them?” 

Spamton’s teeth grinded; that told Tenna this was incredibly annoying for him. 

“BAD, OKAY? [ 0 out of 5 stars ], [ would not recommend ].” 

“You recognize me?” 

“YOU'RE A [ giant ]! EVEN NOW! AND YOU [ glow in the dark ]! YOU–YOU’RE PROBABLY [ parts ] OF THE REASON I WENT [ blinded by the light ]! YOU AND YOUR [ screentime ]!”

Tenna couldn't help the amused laugh that escaped him. 

“Me? I didn't make you go–you’re not blind! Let me see.” 

Tenna outstretched an expectant hand. The glasses were soon slid into his palm and he held them up to his screen. 

“Holy shit, Spamton, how were you living like this?”

“JUST [ fine and dandy ] ACTUALLY!”

“Put these back on. I don't even think you should legally be walking without them on.” 

Now that was more teasing than anything. Regardless, Spamton had snatched them from his hand and slid them back onto his face. Thankfully, he’d been able to escape any more grilling when they had reached the restaurant. Spamton tugged open the door and, despite the residual embarrassment, held it open for Tenna; old habits. 

Tenna was more aware now that he was with him; he was aware of the sideways glance he got when giving his reservation; of the subtle hesitation until the host had recognized Tenna was with him. Maybe he was in a mood today; everything seemed to be setting him off. He supposed he was more cognizant of it now that he wasn’t stressing as much about a reunion–and pissing Spamton off. The ladder could still very well be a possibility, but at the very least, Tenna felt equipped to better handle a meltdown, especially being in the head frame he was. He didn’t like how he was treated; he may not have entirely understood the hierarchy of the city, but he was still a fucking person. That, and he didn’t exactly like the thought of Spamton just–relenting. Of him going back to his brothers after everything. They hadn’t been there for the fall out, Tenna had. And after everything, after his fall from grace, five years later, they decide it’s the time to make their reappearance? And Spamton just lets them? 

Perhaps it was jealousy that made him feel this way. While his rage had been misplaced, Spamton had still been angry with Tenna, after all. Maybe their reunion softened him. Regardless, it still left him fuming. Their betrayal had been genuine; no misunderstandings like his own case. And yet, Spamton would crawl back to them before asking Ant for help? 

“[ cathode ], YOUR [ steaming hot ].”

“Huh!” He took a moment to process what was said; his screen turned a soft shade of pink. “What prompted that?” 

“NO, YOU’RE [ physical challenge ] [ hot and steamy ].” 

It was only then that it clicked; he had worked himself up to the point he had steam coming from his vents. It only caused his screen to turn a darker shade of pink. 

“Oh. Hah I–guess I am.” 

Spamton heaved a sigh. He placed his menu down and leaned his face into the palm of his hand. 

“OKAY. WHAT’S [ no bother at all ] YOU?” 

“I'm sorry. I was trying to let it go until you mentioned it but–Spamton, working for your brothers?”

Another sigh escaped him, however, this time Spamton moved to push into the back of his chair. 

“LOOK, I [ no ] IT ISN'T EXACTLY [ best case scenario ]–”

“Isn't that an understatement?”

“[ cathode ].”

“Spamton, I'm sorry I just–you didn't have to go back to them if you needed a new job! I want to help you and–”

“WHOA! OKAY, THIS ISN'T [ roundabout ] YOU.”

“I KNOW! I–I know–I’m sorry.” 

He pressed back into the wooden seat beneath him and adjusted his height; growing a foot in a restaurant was not only disruptive, but not great for the chairs meant for customers much smaller than himself. A hand brushed back his antennas in some attempt to compose himself. 

“I just–worry about you, Spamton. Frequently.” Even that was understating it. “Are you–do you even actually want to be there?” 

“I WENT TO [ pretty in pink ].” Kind of. “HE–I WAS [ fired ] [ cathode ]. 
AGAIN.
AND AGAIN. 
AND AGAIN.
YOU [ say it again ] YOURSELF. I CAN'T [ sell sell sell ]. [ u ] C HOW PEOPLE [ look! ] AT ME. IT ISN'T [ easy breezy ] GETTING A JOB WITH BROKEN [ code ]. 
THEY FEEL [ bad ]. THEY WON'T [ you're fired! ] ME BECAUSE OF IT.”

Ah. Ah. Now he got it. The residual steam slowly disappeared. Spamton had complained about the diner, that it was difficult to keep his speech in check. He knew he struggled with the glitching. Not only did they understand Spamton’s–issues–more so than Tenna, they felt bad. He still didn't trust them, but he saw the angle. They weren't going to fire him out of guilt. 

The waitress came, creating a break in the conversation while, at the same time, allowing Tenna to completely cool down. After taking their order, he took a deep breath and continued. 

“So they invited you back to their get togethers?” 

Ah, this would be tricker to talk his way out of. 

“YEA. WELL, [ tonight only ] WAS THE [ first in line ]. OBVIOUSLY, [ click here ] I AM.”

Not that Tenna could blame him. Spamton didn't want to go; he knew he would need to, that it was the next step but–well, it was a lie to say he wasn't apprehensive. He would act tough; say it didn't still bother him. He didn't want to be burned again. 

“If they are ever becoming an issue just let me know.” 

Spamton released an amused puff. 

“YOU KEEP [ advertising ] THAT. WHAT ARE U GOING 2 [ do it ]?” 

“I won't know until I'm there.” 

Spamton choked on his water. The cup was placed down and he allowed himself to process that. He couldn't lie, that was fucking hot and he hated that. 

“So, Pink–he’s the one you work for?” 

“YEA. HE’S–WELL, THEY'RE ALL MY [ elderly ] BROTHERS. HE'S THE OLDEST.”

“He seems like a prick.”

Spamton was thankful he was not drinking this time, as he was certain he would have sprayed Tenna; his laughter was hysterical. Not only did Tenna rarely use language like that, but him using it referring to Pink? He was inconsolable. Not only that, but contagious; Tenna could quell the soft laughter that escaped him as well. 

The second Spamton started to glitch had immediately wiped the smile from his face. Despite the glitches and the slight distortion of his voice, he could still make out his laughter. While he forced a soft smile, Tenna couldn't help but feel a tug at his heart. It seemed that any strong emotions were affected. 

As his laughter died, so too did the glitch, and Spamton was left wiping a tear from his eye. 

“It wasn't that funny, Spam.” 

“HAH–HAEHAEH! U HAVE [ no ] IDEA!” 

Spamton knew he was going to get an earful when he showed up for his shift; not that he deserved it. He was a grown ass man; he didn't have to inform Pink of his comings and goings. Still–he knew it would have been the kind option to let him know where he would be. Or, at the very least, that he wouldn't be home for the night. 

Oh well. Maybe he liked the idea of them having to squirm. It was something in his control. 

Tenna was not at all pleased when the check came and Spamton slipped his card into the book and promptly handed it back to the waitress. He received an expected glare, and Tenna could tell he was oh-so-pleased with himself. More than anything, he was stressing him out. 

“Spamton–”

“WHAT?”

“You know what.” 

Yea, he knew exactly what he was upset about, but he still refused to admit the reality of his financial situation. It was a far cry from where they once were; Spamton liked being able to spoil Tenna, even if he had money himself. He liked being able to pay the bill and riling him up in the process. He liked splurging on gifts. It was the only person he liked spoiling and he couldn’t even do that anymore. 

Well, he could do this. One dinner wouldn’t break the bank.

“[ pay now ] ME BACK WITH A PACK OF [ ciggys ].” 

“Oh–you don’t have any?”

Spamton grumbled. 

“I’VE BEEN [ savings ] AND THEY WERE AN ‘UNECESSARY EXPENSE’.” He used air quotes to really accentuate that last point. 

Tenna responded with a laugh. 

“Your brother?”

“BROTHER(s).”

“Yea, well, my reasoning is that it’s a ‘nasty habit’ and ‘bad for my health’.” He mimicked Spamton’s previous air quotes which earned him a laugh. 

With his card back and the check signed, they decided their next stop was a convenience store where, as mentioned, Tenna bought them a pack. Once on the streets, Tenna ripped open the wrapping and slipped a cigarette to Spamton who, proudly, pulled out his new lighter. Tenna smiled to himself as he held out his own and allowed Spamton to light it. It was funny; he hadn’t thought something so small would make him feel good. He didn’t question his mobility issues, didn’t think too deeply about them because, really, it just reminded him of the reality he’d created for himself. 

“Are you alright?”

Spamton flicked some ash from his cigarette and smoke slipped past his teeth. 

“HUH?”

“You’re limping.” 

Fuck. He supposed that was the consequence of not addressing his issues. 

“YEA.” He shrugged. 

“Your ankle?” 

“YEA. [ stiff ].” 

“Do you want to stop for a bit?”

“NO. I [ tell ] YOU, I’M [ used clothing sale ] TO IT. IT WILL EITHER [ unstick ] OR [ lock your doors ]. I JUST [ go with the flow ].” 

Tenna frowned. He hated that for him. 

“I’m sorry.”

Spamton released an amused puff of air. 

“WHY?”

“I shouldn’t have–when it first locked. I should’ve stayed and helped you work it out.” 

Spamton scoffed and his eyes rolled. 

“I [ instructions included ] YOU TO [ go go go ]. I DID THIS.” 

“What did you do, anyway?”

Spamton felt a heat rise through his face. He was going to get yelled at. 

“I [ work hard, play hard ] IT [ get out ].”

For not having eyes, Spamton could still feel Tenna’s gaze narrow. 

“Which means?” 

Spamton flicked his cigarette again. 

“I–STOMPED ON IT.
AND IT–
POPPED.” 

And there was the horror that was expected. 

“SPAMTON.” 

“WHAT! IT WORKED, DIDN’T IT!”

“And it left you with chronic pain!” 

“MEH.”

“NO! It’s NOT MEH! You being in PAIN isn’t nothing!” 

“THERE’S [ nothing ] I CAN DO ABOUT IT, [ cathode ]. I’M NOT GOING TO [ feeling stressed ] ABOUT SOMETHING I CAN’T [ losing control? ].” 

He hadn’t a response to that. Or well, he hadn’t a reasonable response. Although he wasn’t upfront about it, Tenna was a worrier. He would ruminate on everything all of the time. It didn’t take long knowing him to discover that fact. So, while maybe there wasn't anything that could be done, it was hard to imagine he could just–let it go. 

But that was Spamton. He very quickly changed the subject and made both the walk back to the car and the ride back to his apartment more enjoyable. Tenna was coming to learn that he'd had years of experience training him to do exactly that. 

He couldn't help but wonder how much of his time was spent blocking out the nightmares. 

“HEY, WHAT ARE WE [ watch now ]?” Was Spamton’s question upon entering the apartment. 

More comfortable this time around, Spamton happily wandered in, threw his bag by the sofa, and happily sat down. At the very least, that lightened his heart ever so slightly. 

“Hmm. I don't have anything particular in mind. Think about it while I get changed.” With that comment, Tenna disappeared into his bedroom.

“YOU [ think fast ] ABOUT IT, IT'S YOUR [ screen time ].” Spamton called back and released a soft puff of air. 

He figured in Tenna's absence, he would remove his jacket. Once removed he tossed it onto his bag. He knew there was probably somewhere in the home Tenna would have him hang ,it but he didn't particularly care to find it, especially considering he would be heading out in the morning. Throwing it over his bag meant an easier escape in the morning. 

When Tenna returned, it was at his full height once more. He sat opposite of Spamton and angled himself to face him. 

“Any preferences?” 

“HOW ABOUT THE [ one and only ], IT'S [ old timer ], ABOUT THE [ law and order ]?”

“Oh! To Kill a Mockingbird!”

“YEA, YOU LIKE THAT [ 1 ], [ right ]?” 

“Yes! So does Toriel! It's a little too advanced for the kids–or Asriel just doesn't care for it.” 

Tenna adjusted himself on the couch, tucking a leg beneath himself. Spamton did the same; his back pressed against the arm of the sofa, and he slowly slid down. He grabbed one of the throw pillows and tucked it under his neck, properly angling himself to stare up at the screen. Tenna leaned forward as the movie began; it was hard for Spamton to miss the obvious tells of excitement. 

The first twenty or so minutes of the film were uneventful. Truth be told, Spamton himself was drifting off; even in Pink’s house he wasn't getting the best sleep. It was two hands wrapping around his leg that brought him back to attention. 

“WHAT–”

“Shh.” 

“WH–DON’T SHUSH ME.”

Tenna pulled his leg to rest on his own. It allowed his fingers to glide over his ankle and pinch it lightly. He moved his foot, feeling for where it was catching. Definitely something dented or broken; it wasn't sticky like his own joints. He wasn't sure how much good oil could do. The movie paused and he stood up from the couch; he wandered into the bathroom soon after. 

“[ cathode ]? HEELLOO??” 

When he returned, it was with a towel. He resumed his previous position with Spamton’s leg propped up. Once situated, he carefully worked the warm compress around the area. Spamton found his face burning. 

“Does this feel alright?” 

Spamton wouldn't lie; it felt nice. It relieved some of the pain he refused to acknowledge. And maybe–it made him feel some sort of way knowing Ant cared enough to worry about something so miniscule. 

“YEA. YEA IT FEELS–NICE.”

Content with his actions, Tenna's features disappeared and the movie resumed where it had left off. When the warmth began to dwindle (something he was apparently monitoring), he slipped the towel from his ankle and, instead, he gently massaged the area. Spamton couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him. 

The corners of his mouth twitched. 

“[ cathode ].” 

“I'm sorry–does that hurt?” 

Spamton couldn't hold back; a soft laugh escaped him. 

“U R [ hyperlink blocked ] THE [ featured presentation ].” 

It was only then did Tenna realize his wide grin and nose had cut through the center of the picture. 

“Ah! Hah–oops.” 

Tenna himself was obviously tired; after some time, he'd ended up leaned over, his head resting in Spamton’s lap, the movie flicking in and out. Eventually, it went out altogether, and Spamton was left in darkness. He released a soft laugh, and tipped his head up towards the ceiling. He was glad he hadn't needed to go anywhere any time soon, as Tenna had him properly pinned. He was surprised, honestly, because there was no way in hell he was comfortable on his stomach like that. 

Oh well. Spamton sure as hell wasn't waking him. He closed his own eyes, listening to the soft whirring of Tenna’s parts. It was typically inaudible; it was only in moments of silence could Spamton hear it. It was–comforting. Despite the fate that weighed heavily on his shoulders, it reminded Spamton that he was alive. That he was still here–crushing him or not. 

“[ Christmas ], [ ant trap ].” 

Spamton’s brow furrowed; he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light. He had no damn concept of dimming sometimes. 

“Oh, there you are.” 

“What, were you lookin’ for me?” 

Spamton’s eyes snapped open. He squinted at the light; his glasses had become skewed on his face. A hand rose to straighten them, meanwhile he stared at the screen. 

“You disappeared on me. I thought you were supposed to have my back, partner.” 

A laugh followed. The much smaller man flashed a wry look. 

“Hey, hey, you can handle yourself, big shot. I needed a smoke break.” 

Spamton could feel his heart pounding against his casing. It was him; the old him. Him through Tenna’s eyes. The screen panned down as Tenna pulled out a cigarette of his own; he held it up to Spamton, awaiting a light. 

“Sheesh, need me to do everything for ya, Tens?”

He dug for his lighter, swiftly struck it and raised it to the tip of Tenna’s cigarette; it was then that Tenna raised it to his lips. 

“Well, you could go back in there and keep shmoozing for one.” 

Spamton’s look became a bit sharper with that comment. It hardly lasted for more than a beat. 

“Eh, I’m tired of talking to sponsors. I’ve actually got my eye on someone I’m interested in talking up.” 

He couldn’t see his response–he hadn’t needed to see his response. He knew exactly what Tenna would have looked like in that moment. 

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yea. Real looker, too. I mean, 10 out of 10. Probably why he has it in his name.” 

Tenna laughed; a hearty, genuine laugh. 

“God, Spam, come on–that was corny even by my standards.” 

“Shut me up, then.” 

He knew he was smiling. He’d taken a drag from his cigarette. He leaned down and kissed him. The smoke billowed from Spamton’s pursed lips. 

“Wanna do something fun before we have to go back?” 

“What did you have in mind?” Tenna questioned, meanwhile his back straightened.

“Well, I was thinking–” His expression shifted. Spamton knew that fucking expression; he felt the same gutteral panic he’d had back then too. 

“Spam? You alright?”

Tenna reached a hand out only for Spamton to push it away. 

“I forgot I gotta–I have to make a call. I–I’ll see you back at the party.” His cigarette was flicked, stomped out, and Spamton was hurrying off back inside. 

“Spam, hold on! What–” 

He pushed against the couch, desperate to get away from him. What was he thinking–what the fuck was he thinking? He couldn’t do this–he couldn’t do this to him. That was the Spamton he loved; the smooth talking big shot so full of himself he couldn’t fucking see he was standing on the edge of a cliff. But at least he was something to look at; at least he had a mouth on him. Now what was he? A broken doll; he knew what he was–he was a fucking scam. He had always been a fucking scam, but he no longer had the pretty face to back it up. 

Tenna’s hands grabbed him as he tried to escape. He pulled him beneath him, leaving Spamton’s face in the crook of his neck.

“Don’t go. Please don’t go–please.” 

His screen was still showing hazy memories. He wasn’t even conscious. 

“[ cathode ].” He couldn’t even get an arm free to grab him. 

“I’m sorry–I’m sorry–”

“TtT–TTT–[ trash heap ].”

The arms around him tightened; it wasn’t at a degree it would hurt, but he was about to breach dangerous territory. He couldn’t breathe.

“TENNA!” 

His screen went black. After a few moments, his typical shade of white returned, and he stared hazily at the sofa. 

“Uggh–ow–my back.” 

“LET [ go go go ] OF ME!” 

“Huh? Spam–oh, God, I’m so sorry!” As requested–or rather, demanded, he sat up, leaving Spamton to drop to the cushions. “I was probably crushing you! Why didn’t you wake me up sooner–jeez, no seriously, that was not comfortable.”

His heart was still thrumming; mentally, he was fighting a war to keep himself from slipping into a panic attack or glitching. It meant staring silently back up at Tenna as he focused on his breathing. Understandably, Tenna was concerned by the lack of response. The hand that had been rubbing his lower back moved to brush the hair from Spamton’s face. 

“Hey, are you alright?” 

Spamton’s teeth grinded; he knew that gave his current mental state away. 

“YEA. BAD DREAM.” 

“Oh. Hah. Funny enough, same. Kind of.” His hand pressed into the cushion beside him. “Let’s go to bed, in bed, huh?”

Slowly, his heart rate returned to normal, though the ache persisted. 

“YEA. OK.” 

Spamton couldn't tell him; he didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want him to know it cut him deeply. Not that his insecurities needed mentioning, but he hadn't wanted Tenna to know he'd inadvertently fed directly into them. 

When they'd entered the bedroom, Spamton stared at the pajamas laid on the bed. The same ones he'd worn last time. Still his size. 

“I doubted you'd want to sleep in jeans.” 

Usually, he would have just stripped down and crawled into bed. Now? The pajamas were folded over his arm. 

“CAN YOU [ set ‘em up ] THE [ alarm ] FOR [ 5 ]? I'M GOING TO GO [ change ].” 

He was grabbed again, this time, under his arms. Tenna hoisted him off the ground before he could respond. He was sat on the bed, his confusion obvious. 

“WHAT–” 

“You can change in here.” 

Perhaps he was dead set on giving him a heart attack. 

“HAH–[ cathode ]–”

Tenna's hands, despite their size, took care as his fingers looped beneath Spamton’s turtleneck and began pulling it up and over his head. He resisted, minorly, though after a moment, he relented. 

He felt exposed. Every inch of plastic, every joint was left on full display under Tenna’s careful gaze. His hands slid under his arms again and he pushed him further up the bed; Tenna joined him, pressing a knee beside him to steady himself. 

His gaze was soft; Spamton couldn't meet it. His head had turned to meet the wall. Fingers grabbed his chin and carefully turned his gaze to meet with Tenna’s own. 

“I meant what I said. I don't care what you look like. I care that it's still you, Spamton.”

“OKAY, OKAY, I GET IT.” He relented because, really, the self consciousness was killing him. 

He was very quickly snapped out of any bashfulness as a finger trailed along his chest. 

“Hey, what's this?” 

On his chest, off to the side, was a previously hidden panel. In a rare display, a singular claw extended from his pointer finger, allowing him to scoop underneath the panel and pry it from his chest. 

Spamton’s hands immediately slammed it shut. It was a rare moment his face burned red. 

“OKAY
OKAY
OKAY
OKAY
NOO NEED TO [ pry ].”

Tenna was not at all amused. 

“Spamton, you were arm deep in my wires the other night. You're seriously not going to let me open up this new and exciting little panel?” 

“I'M NOT EXACTLY [ new and used ] TO BEING [ open up ], [ cathode ].”

He supposed he had to give him that much. He wasn't sure how long Spamton had been like–this. More artificial. More like Tenna. Regardless, he doubted it was easy adjusting to such wild changes. 

“Okay. I get it.” 

Tenna's screen went dark again as a claw lifted. 

“But that never stopped you before.” 

“WAIT
WAIT
WAIT
WAIT–”

Tenna clawed the panel open while his other hand worked to pin Spamton to the bed; a simple procedure, really, given their size disparity. 

“Now, let's see–”

His fingers brushed the inside of his chest plate; Spamton’s breath caught in his throat. Tenna's smirk very quickly fell. 

“Spamton, is this–” 

Tenna was careful, he was so unbelievably careful when he realized what was hidden behind that panel. 

“YEA. IT'S MY [ heart shaped object ]. I DUNNO WHAT [ idiot ] THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A [ genius idea ] TO MAKE IT SO [ accessibility ] BUT [ click here ] WE ARE.” 

He couldn't find his voice for a moment; Tenna was enamored. He watched the subtle beat, stared at the faint blue glow. 

“Spamton. There's some cracks in it.”

“YEA.”

“Does it–it doesn't hurt, does it?” 

Spamton was avoiding his gaze again. His shoulders rose and fell. 

“NOT REALLY.” 

“Can I hold it?” 

“REALLY?” 

“Please?” 

He made the stupid mistake of glancing over at him; he looked like a damn puppy. Spamton groaned, and his eyes flicked up to the ceiling.

“FINE! JUST–[ handle with care ].” 

As instructed, Tenna worked carefully in scooping a hand beneath it. He gently pulled it out, his own artificial heart hammering. It was so small compared to him, and yet, it was quite possibly one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He ignored the way the beating increased as his fingers slipped around it, so too did he ignore the utter embarrassment written on every inch of Spamton’s body. 

He didn't know what compelled him; his lips pressed against the small heart. That sent it into an absolute frenzy. 

“OKAY! OKAY!
[ times up ]!
[ webpage expired ]!! 
[ that's all she wrote ]!!!”

“Hey, hey, it likes me!” 

“GIVE IT BACK! BACKKC GGG-GggIII–”

“Okay, Spam, okay, here.” 

A hand pressed against Spamton's shoulder, meanwhile, Tenna carefully slipped the heart back into its home and pressed the panel shut. Spamton was still visibly fuming when he'd finished, and Tenna could only stare at him with fondness. 

“WHAT?” 

A kiss was pressed against his cheek. Spamton blinked. 

“Thank you. That meant a lot to me.”

“YEA. WHATEVER.”

“Spamton.”

“WHAT??” 

“You're more like me now.” 

His brain felt like it stalled. He supposed he hadn't exactly thought of it that way. More like Tenna. In the worst ways, maybe. He wore the artificial look well. Spamton wasn't built for it. And yet–more like Tenna. 

“Are you going to get changed?” Tenna asked as he finally grabbed the alarm clock and set it.

Spamton considered. Well, he'd already seen this much of him. But his lower half–he’d settled on at least swapping his pants for the pajama bottoms. His chest, however, he decided to leave exposed. When he crawled back onto his side, he was immediately pulled in by Tenna. 

“I'll drive you back tomorrow?” 

Spamton could argue. Instead, he released a soft sigh and closed his eyes, content to pull closer into Tenna. 

“SURE. Y NOT.”

Chapter Text

“STOP. [ stare at the sun ].” Spamton lost track of the amount of times he'd scolded Tenna at this point. “WATCH THE DAMN [ road rage ].”

“I can't help it. You hate that. I know you hate that.” 

“I COULD HAVE TAKEN THE [ crazy train ]!!”

“I'm sorry. It's just, after our conversation–I can't forget about how much you hate looking like that.” 

He wouldn't have time to change before work. It meant stepping out of Tenna’s bathroom in his uniform, or rather, his old uniform. Black turtleneck over a similar blazer. Bright green pants. Shoes to match. When Tenna had caught sight of him he'd thought it was a joke at first, especially considering Spamton had grilled him for dressing him similarly and unknowingly. But, no, he was serious, and Spamton was left fuming. 

“I DON'T HAVE A [ choose your character ].”

“I know.” 

Silence fell for a brief moment; Spamton picked at the ugly pants. 

“BETTER THAN THE [ fine dining ] UNIFORM.”

In lieu of a response, Tenna had given the best side eye he could muster without actually having eyes. Spamton heaved a sigh. 

“YEA, I KNOW.” 

When the car was shifted into park, Tenna half turned to face Spamton. 

“Call soon?” 

“[ you got it ].” The door popped open, and Spamton carefully climbed down the side of the car. 

“Spamton–”

“YEA?” 

“Remember. Any issues–”

“HAEHAEH. YEA. I'VE GOT YOUR [ number ].” 

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and shut the door behind him. Spamton knew he should have shown some trepidation as he approached the store. And yet, he really couldn't muster the ability to care. 

Well maybe he did a little once he actually arrived. 

“WHERE WERE YOU!?”

He had expected Pink to be angry; he could deal with anger. This level of concern had not been his ideal. Spamton was surprised he hadn't jumped over the damn counter with the speed in which he'd approached him. When he'd gotten close enough, he'd grabbed Spamton by the shoulders, inspecting him. 

“You said you were grabbing dinner–Spamton, I thought you glitched out in a back alley somewhere!” 

This was–uncharacteristic of Pink. Now that he looked at him, it was clear he hadn't slept. Shit. 

“WHY WOULD YOU NOT [ don't make assumptions ] I WAS WITH–[ you know who ]?”

His gaze narrowed. 

“I hoped. But with you I can never be certain.”

Ugh. He hadn't wanted to feel bad for this, and yet, it was hard to ignore the slight twinge of guilt brewing in his core. 

“SORRY.”

He didn't know why he was apologizing; they didn't deserve that from him. But the look on his face? Knowing he'd likely been out looking for him? Dammit. He tried not to care, really, he did. It was painful knowing Spamton still held affection for his backstabbing brothers, especially considering he was using them for a greater cause. 

“Can you at least humor me with a call if you're going to be away?” Pink’s grip relented, and he stood upright once more. 

Spamton released an inaudible grumble, meanwhile, he'd moved to scratch at the back of his neck to alleviate the build up of nerves. 

“YEA, YEA, I [ guess who ].” With his non-committal answer, Spamton brushed past him to swing around the counter. “BUT I AM HERE [ bright and early ].” 

“That doesn't mean anything and you know it. Also you're on time, not early.”

“R YOU [ questioning ] MY [ superb work ethic ]?” 

“Spamton, wild as you are, you always worked hard. I can count on one hand the amount of times you were late–at least with us. So, no, try something else.” 

Spamton was left silently fuming. Pink wasn't wrong, he was always a hard worker. Even in his Big Shot years; even if he was given a helping hand, Spamton worked his ass off. It was cheating, but he would never claim he coasted the entire way to the top. 

“You spent the night in TV World, then?” 

It was not a question asked in earnest. Spamton easily caught on to the playful tilt in Pink’s tone; a genuine rarity saved for moments like this, to completely embarrass his younger brothers. 

“I'M GOING TO [ take one ] [ inventory ]!” 

And with that, Spamton disappeared into the back, leaving Pink smirking behind him. 

He honestly didn't hate working in the tea shop; he hadn't back then, either, when he was a young Addison. Perhaps when he got a bit more headstrong he had clashed with Pink, but he wasn't impossible to work with. Yes, he was a perfectionist, but Spamton knew how to handle him. Hell, it was through his dealing with Pink that he'd learned how to handle some particularly annoying bigwigs. It also helped that Pink still felt guilty for his actions and was much more lenient of Spamton’s behavior. 

That, and he understood his struggles and that he was genuinely trying his best. His accidents weren't malicious; they were exactly that. Accidents. It was–refreshing, honestly, as much as he hated to admit it. Being handled with some common fucking decency after years of insults and swift job losses as soon as they discovered he was broken. 

Of course, he wasn’t selling, that was Pink’s job. Spamton wasn’t delusional, he knew he no longer had the ability to be the face of a business, but he could still work behind the counter. Customers were more willing to converse with him when Pink was around, not that he particularly cared to socialize if he wasn’t selling, anyway. 

While lunches were typically frowned upon (why would anyone take time away from sales), Spamton still managed to sneak into the back for a short while every so many days. It gave him time to think–to pray. It felt like beautiful fate  when, during one of these breaks, Spamton picked up on the conversation happening in the front of the building. 

“Pink! You never called me back last night.” He recognized the voice; Orange. If anyone was going to take a break, it was him. 

“Sorry. I got caught up with something.” 

“You look like shit.”

Spamton was tempted to steal a glance at Pink with that comment; he knew he had to be seething. 

“Did you come here just to insult me?” 

“No, no, sorry. It’s your turn to pick where we meet, I have to know what to tell everyone.”

“My turn already? I didn’t think about it. I don’t particularly care. Do majority rules–or you pick, it doesn’t matter.” 

“You’ve done that the last, like, three times, Pink. As fun as it is getting double picks, even I’m getting tired of my go to.”

“CAN I BE [ add to cart ] TO THE ROTATION?”

Orange jolted at the voice, moreso, when Spamton had appeared from the back room. Pink himself appeared a bit surprised, though he hid it extremely well. Spamton would attribute his minor display of emotion to his lack of sleep.

“Spamton what–why are you here?” Orange asked incredulously. 

“WHY ARE U HERE?”

Orange’s brows furrowed. 

“You overheard our conversation, Spam, you just interjected. Are you making Pink babysit you?” Alright, they were not at all on good enough terms for him to be teasing like he once would. 

“He works here.” 

“What?” Orange’s mouth hung slightly agape. 

His gaze turned from Spamton to Pink. He knew he’d wanted to go to Pink’s house after they had found him, but never in a million years would he have assumed Spamton wanted to work with him. After receiving no answer, it went back to Spamton. 

“You would rather work here than in the clothing store with me?”

“I’M [ click here ] AM I NOT?”

“You were always great with making clothes! You liked it!” 

“NO.” 

“Spamton, don’t act like I don’t know where that fabric went–”

“Okay, enough!” Both of their attention was brought back onto Pink. “Spamton, you want to join us?”

Spamton wouldn’t lie and say asking hurt–no, it fucking ached. And it wasn’t just the past trauma that was prodded with the question; more than anything, it was his pride that took the hardest hit. It wasn’t their first night out and, granted, Pink had asked, though he had done it in the Pink way meaning it was completely off-handed and he would not push. Usually, he would have made them put in a lot more effort than what had already been seen. In this case, he saw his opening and he sure as hell was going to take it. He could only hope pieces would fall in his favor. 

“YEA. IT BEATS B-ING [ all alone on a late night ].”

“Obviously you can come, Spam.” Orange was matter-of-fact in his statement. 

Spamton's gaze narrowed.

“IS IT?”

“Huh?” 

“OBVIOUS. THAT I'M [ all are welcome ]?” 

Silence fell. Pink couldn't even hide the look of utter shame that came with that comment. He'd meant to behave; the anger briefly overtook him. 

“Orange, I take back my previous offer. Spamton, you can have my pick.” 

The offer greatly diffused the tension. Spamton struggled to conceal a genuine smile on his ever-grinning face. 

“HAEAEH–REALLY? YOU’LL MAKE ME FEEL LIKE [ VIP ].”

“You’ve missed enough meet-ups. It’s only fair you get to pick.” 

“HMM. OKAY. WELL–WHY NOT THE [ color coded ] CAFE?”

“The mansion?” Pink questioned.

“I thought you weren’t allowed back there?”

He could feel their gazes burning through him; things were going too well, he couldn’t back down now. 

“NO–BUT–I WANT TO [ hockey stick ] IT TO THEM!! THEY [ knock knock ] ME [ sales gone down the drain ] BUT I’M NOT [ out of stock ].” 

“That doesn’t change the fact they’re going to escort you out the second we bring you in there–you’re lucky if you don’t get us kicked out and banned as well.” 

“I THOUGHT–MAYBE–IF I WAS [ with or without ]–ALL OF U–THEN MAYBE THEY WOULD–”

“I’ll vouch for you.” Again, Orange found himself shocked with Pink’s conviction. “I would like to see them try and lay a hand on you.”

“Pink–”

“Tell Blue and Yellow the Color Cafe at seven. There’s no harm in trying. I’m also sure we all will be willing to tell Swatch Spamton is with us, correct, Orange?” 

Pink glared–he really glared. That was a glare reserved for telling him he’d fucked up and needed to atone. Ah, the headlock. 

“Yea, of course. I’ll head out and make some calls. I’ll see you both then.” As he said, Orange pivoted and left the shop. 

It was only then did Pink’s stern gaze turn back onto Spamton. 

“The Color Cafe?”

“YES.”

“Do you want to stir up trouble?”

“HAEHAEH! [ lil ol’ me ]?” 

Pink released a lengthy sigh. 

“Spamton, I’m serious. I will do my best to speak for you, but you have to swear to me you are going to be on your best behavior. I can respect a peaceful revenge act, but anything more than that? You are not going to embarrass me.”

“OKAY, [ pretty in pink ], I JUST WANT TO [ gloat ] A LITTLE.”

While he maintained the glare for a few more moments, he finally relented and released a soft sigh. 

“Alright. We’ll head over after we close up, then. I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you.”

Oh, Spamton knew there was one person who would be positively giddy at the sight of him. 

“Where are they?” 

“Yellow, it's not even seven yet, they still have–”

“Four minutes.” 

The twins slowly stole a glance at Blue. Unlike Pink, Blue did not inherit the cool older brother demeanor; his anticipation was written all over him. He had been routinely checking his watch for the past ten odd minutes. 

“I really like the Color Cafe.” Orange mused. “I'm really hoping we don't get our asses kicked to the curb when we–”

“Orange.” Blue's tone was eerily calm. 

“What? Do you not like it?” 

“I don't give a shit if I like it or not, Orange, I care about the fact Spamton’s going out with us after we fucking abandoned him five years ago!” Blue didn't yell; he wasn't confrontational. And yet, he moved to get into Orange’s face. “I don't care if I get kicked out of every bar in this city, if Spamton keeps coming out with us, then I'll be happy sitting in my fucking living room! What is wrong with you? You're a grown man with horrible priorities! If that's how you feel, then go home.”

Orange shoved him hard enough to cause Blue to stumble. 

“Oh, don't get on your high horse with me, Blue. What, you think you're all high and mighty because he chose to go to your house? We all care about him, Christ, I'm just trying to lighten the mood!” 

“Bullshit, Orange! And it's not my fault I actually gave enough of a damn to look for him! You can’t say the same, can you?” 

“Knock it off!” Yellow grabbed either of their shoulders. “Come on, at this rate you're going to be the ones that get us banned!” 

“Apparently you still need supervision even at your grown ages.” Pink sounded exhausted as he approached, Spamton trailing alongside him. They were exhausting.

“Pink!” It was said in unison as the three of them turned to face him. 

“Behave yourselves. We're at the Queen’s mansion for God's sake. Act like civilized people.”

“But he–” 

Orange was quickly interrupted as Blue pulled away from Yellow and approached Pink. No, the man beside him. 

“Spam!” A hand pressed into his shoulder; he was grateful he wasn't slapped away. “I'm happy to see you.” 

“ARE YOU?” 

Blue didn't immediately respond; he knew he deserved that. He also knew Spamton was most likely still cross with him from their last encounter. He wouldn't lie and say it didn't sting knowing he had been staying with Pink over him. 

“Walk with me?” 

Although he'd grumbled to himself, with a sigh, Spamton relented. 

“ALRIGHT.” 

Pink kept his careful gaze on Orange as they walked, meanwhile Blue and Spamton remained a few paces behind. His heart was racing as they approached; this was it. Last chance–or, at least, for now. He'd put too much stock in this to fail again. He knew he wouldn't be denied entry with his brothers, or at least, he hoped and prayed. They were upstanding; while they were by no means of the status Spamton had been, their word held weight when they were absolutely averse to embarrassing themselves. Their name and image meant everything to them; they weren't about to risk it on someone like Spamton. 

Or well, he supposed they were, but he wouldn’t question it considering it was working in his favor. 

“Spam?”

“HUH?”

“I said I'm sorry about the last time we saw each other. I didn't–I swear I really didn't tell anyone you were with me. Yellow and Orange didn't know until after the fact and I basically followed Pink back to my house. I didn't mean for things to spiral like that.”

“IT'S FINE.” 

“Well, you made it a point to sneak back in to get your stuff to avoid me, so, it didn't feel fine.” 

Alright, he'd been pissed. Then, after the anger had dissipated, he had come to the realization Blue hadn't outed him and he was being dramatic. At that point, he'd had his mind made up on his next crusade to enter the basement and hadn't the time to deal with the aftermath. That, and his pride forbade it. 

“IT'S FINE. [ real genuine leather ]LY. I GOT [ all caught up ] WITH OTHER THINGS. WE’RE FINE.” 

While it was hard to believe they were totally square, Blue knew there was no pushing the point. 

“I just want you to know that my door is still open to you. If you ever need somewhere to go, even if you don’t want to talk, you can stop by.” 

His mind may have been focused on their rapid approach to the mansion, but still Spamton acknowledged the way that comment made him feel. Knowing that, even after his fit, after storming out and avoiding him, he still wanted Spamton around–no, it didn’t matter, trivial things. It was all trivial compared to what stood beneath their feet. 

Spamton would have liked to have said he wasn’t nervous, that his heart wasn’t still rhythmically thrumming against his chest as they entered the cafe. The room was filled with chatter and soft music as they moved to what had once been their typical table. Unsurprisingly, Swatch had very quickly spotted the group and approached. 

“Ah! The Addisons. It’s been some time since you’ve all been here. Might I ask the occasion–” And, just as quickly as his expression had softened, it quickly fell as his gaze laser focused on the youngest. “Spamton. Now you know full well–”

“He’s with us.” With Pink’s comment came Blue stepping protectively in front of him, ultimately breaking the line of sight between himself and Swatch. 

Swatch seemed minorly miffed with their defense. 

“I beg your pardon, but Spamton has been banned from the mansion. I had extended a one time offer and he has completely nullified it through his past behavior.” 

“Swatch, will you really judge a man’s actions during a time of crisis?” Surprisingly, it was Orange who spoke up and, also, took a step in front of Spamton. 

Swatch’s gaze only narrowed further. 

“Are you aware of the havoc he’s caused here?”

“I apologize on his behalf.” Pink was always so slick; Spamton supposed that was why he was so effortlessly successful. “We’re only looking to spend time together after work, Swatch, just as we always have. Spamton is working for me; he’s been working for me. I assure you, anything he has done in the past was done under duress. We’re all here to keep an eye on him.” 

Swatch’s gaze narrowed. He knew damn well the mess Spamton caused–he knew what he was after, he knew he still had his Keygen–and yet all four of them, glaring daggers, protectively surrounded him. He would call Spamton’s bluff. 

“Fine.” He finally relented. “He’s to remain here, in the cafe, and then in the parlor on his way out and nowhere else. If the Swatchlings or I catch him even looking anywhere that isn’t here or there–”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Swatch. We all will.” With a firm hand, Pink guided Spamton to their table–not without Spamton flashing a shit eating grin in Swatch’s direction. 

Nails dug into his shoulder and Spamton released a whine. 

“Obviously you were up to more than you let on, Spamton.” While his tone was steady, Spamton knew he was going to get an earful.

“YEA, MAYBE, BUT LIKE U SAID I WAS [ under duress ].” 

“Actually, I said that.” Orange corrected as he slid into his chair. 

“WELL, IT WAS [ true or false ].”

“I would assume the black eyes were related?” 

That he was not as keen on answering and, instead, he slid into his own seat. His silence, however, told Pink exactly what he needed to know. 

“Best behavior, Spamton, do you hear me?”

“YES, YES, JEEZ, I’M NOT [ kiddy meal ].”

“Alright, enough of that, we made it, who’s got the first round?” Yellow was more than happy to interrupt the bickering. 

“I got it last time.” Blue was quick to answer; he knew he would be guilted into it otherwise. “It’s Orange’s turn.”

Orange released a whine; it was obvious he was hoping everyone would forget. 

“Ok, sure, buuut it was technically Pink’s pick soo I think he would want to cover?” Despite the puppy dog eyes, Pink had stared blanky in response. 

With a frustrated huff, Orange stood from his chair and approached the bar where Swatch was posted, glaring daggers in their direction. 

“It’s nice to see you back in uniform, Spam.” Yellow commented. 

It took everything within Spamton not to cringe in response to that. 

“YEA, WELL, IT TOOK SOME GETTING [ new or used ] [ 2 ].” That was the nicest thing he could say without admitting how much he hated it. If he had time to change, he would have. 

Spamton hadn’t any real expectations for how this get together would go over, outside of being beyond unfathomably awkward. They were always a little off around him now, what with the mix of guilt and unfamiliarity. When Orange returned, he distributed their drinks and sipped on his own. At first it was, as he had expected, weird. They made small talk, discussed the weather, how sales were after Christmas, all stuff Spamton tuned out as he began planning; he had to pick the best time to slip away–would probably need to use one of them as an escort. Blue seemed like the most likely target–

“Alright, Spam, I have to ask,” Orange pulled him out of his head with that comment, “you and Tenna–what was going on there?”

“ORANGE! Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?!” He received a swift punch from Yellow. 

“WHAT!? OH, give me a BREAK as if you weren’t all THINKING IT!” 

“WE WERE [ business partners ] WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO [ say it ain’t so! ]?”

“Spamton, he came into my store and bought clothes for you.” 

“U DON’T NO THAT.” 

“Well, he was like ten feet tall and the clothes he bought just so happened to be you sized.” 

“What was it like working with him? In the studio? I’d imagine it’s a lot different than just running an ad.” At least Blue had been the one to make the question more palatable. 

“SURE. DIFFERENT.
BUT IT WAS–
IT WAS A LOT OF [ fun and games ].”

“What about Tenna?” Yellow pressed. 

“HE’S–A REALLY GOOD GUY. [ drama ], BUT GOOD.” 

Spamton noticed the somberness that clung to that response, though it seemed his brothers didn’t. In fact, it only seemed to ignite the conversation. The awkward question seemed to be exactly what they needed to get the night going. Any lingering tension seemed to dissipate as the conversation (and drinks) flowed. Even Spamton found himself caught up in the atmosphere. 

Perhaps he was a bit ashamed in acknowledging it; because, really, how could he allow himself to get caught up in the conversation? In the atmosphere? In the nostalgia? They treated him like their equal again. They laughed with him, not at him. For once, he didn't feel shame or pity; he was sharing drinks with his brothers. It was a rare moment he felt normal. 

But he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. His goal was ever present in the back of his mind.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I already said it but–Spam, Pink. You wanted to work in the tea shop of all places?” 

“I'm sitting right here, Orange.”

“Okay, and I said it with you standing there. You had such a talent for tailoring.”

Without a word, Spamton raised his hands, displaying the visible tremble. Orange quickly shrunk into his chair. 

“Okay, well, the shoe store was still open.”

“AUGH, [ blueberry ].”

“What! Hey, it wasn't that bad–” 

“Hey, jewelry is also on the table.” Yellow hummed, and Spamton’s nose scrunched. 

“YEA, I DON'T THINK [ anybody ] WANTS ME TO [ sales pitch ]. AND IF I DON'T HAVE THE [ steady hands ] FOR [ tailor ], I DEFINITELY DON'T HAVE THEM FOR [ costume jewelry ].”

“Hey, hold on, if you're using your shaky hands as an excuse, what was the fabric for?”

Spamton’s gaze turned up towards the ceiling, meanwhile, his shoulders rose and fell. 

“I DON'T NO WHAT YOU ARE [ talking ] ABOUT.”

“Oh, bullshit, don't start with–”

“Glass is empty, Orange.” With the announcement, Yellow placed it before his twin. 

“What do you want me to do about it? It's not my round.” 

Yellow retrieved his debit card and I gleefully placed it in front of him. 

“Get another round for everyone?”

“Why do I have to do it?” 

“You're closest to the bar.”

“Yeah, maybe by like a foot.”

Despite his protests, all four brothers stared expectedly. After swiping the card, Orange stood from his seat and grumbled his way from the table. 

“Geez, Spam, I wish we would've had you sooner. I usually can't get away with that shit. Must be you.” Yellow mused. 

Spamton released a puff of air. 

“I DOUBT IT.” 

“I don't. Orange would sooner tell us to go shove it where the sun doesn't shine.” Blue couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped him after. 

“Awww maybe you're melting his icy heart, Spammy.”

Yellow attempted to grab at his hands, to which Spamton promptly pulled away. 

“OKAY, OKAY, KNOCK IT OFF.”

“I'd be more inclined to believe he finally found someone.” Pink commented idly. 

“PINK?” Yellow couldn't hold back his laughter.

“What? It's going to be a lover before any of us make him act like an adult.”

“Heeeey Spammy.” 

Speaking of which–Spamton cringed at that nickname. There was only one person who had ever been allowed to call him that and it sure as hell wasn't Orange. 

Two arms wrapped around him, and before long, their cheeks were pressed together. Spamton writhed under his grip, meanwhile Orange was overcome with laughter. 

“Alright, Orange, let him go.” Pink reprimanded. While he had let him go, it was only to lean on his chair and show off the bowtie on proud display around his neck. 

“I'm sorry, I was just overwhelmed with the power of my big shot bowtie.” 

“UGGHHH DON'T–” 

Spamton’s brain sputtered. Big Shot Bowtie? His brow furrowed. 

“GIVE THAT [ 2 ] ME.”

“Huh?” It was obvious he was taken back by his reaction. He'd expected annoyance, not–whatever this was. 

“I SAID GIVE IT [ 2 ] ME! 
GIVE!
GIVE!
GIVE!!”

Spamton lunged for him, which led to his wrestling the bowtie around his neck while attempting to balance on his chair. 

“Spamton, please be careful–” Blue was quickly cut off by Pink’s scolding and Orange's complaints as Spamton slipped the now untied bowtie from his neck. 

“Damn, Spam, I was just teasing you–”

“WHAT–WHAT THE [ #$@! ]!? THIS IS MY [ merchandise ]!”

The four stared at him, confusion obvious on their faces. 

“THIS IS MINE–MINE! I SOLD THIS! YOU–” His head snapped to the bar, specifically, to Swatch. He moved faster than his brothers could react; he charged the bar, the silk firm in his grasp. “YOU–YOU–YOU SCAM ARTIST!” 

“Oh, please, salesman, like you're in a position to accost me.”

“I AM! I AM NOW! YOU–YOU TOOK–ALL OF MY [ personal belongings ], YOU THEW ME OUT AFTER [ ow ow help it burns! ] AND YOU [ stolen ] MY [ merchandise ]?”

“It became our property when you were evicted.”

“THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS YOU–YOU–”

“I believe it's time for you to leave.” 

“YEA, YEA, I'LL [ leave now ] ALRIGHT.” 

“SPAMTON, DO NOT–”

He was getting into the habit of throwing them–the pipis, that was. This time it was much more personal; he supposed that played into the destruction, as well as his subsequent escape. He knew he wouldn't get far, not after the Swatchlings were already on guard. It didn't mean he wasn't willing to fight. A hand grabbed his arm and Spamton’s first instinct was to bite. 

“OW–SPAMTON!”

His heart dropped. Another hand grabbed the back of his blazer and quite literally dragged his ass out of the mansion. His feet stumbled beneath him as he attempted to keep up. He was thrown to his knees when they exited. Spamton managed to catch himself, though his gaze stayed fixed on the ground. 

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” 

Pink rarely yelled. It meant he was beyond pissed. 

“HE [ stolen ] MY [ merchandise ]!” Spamton’s head defiantly lifted to meet Pink’s gaze. 

“That doesn't mean you destroy the place–I vouched for you, Spamton, we all did! You've made us look like IDIOTS!” 

“HOW WOULD U FEEL!”

“IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW I FEEL! HOW I’M PERCEIVED DOES!” 

“U DON'T GET IT–U’LL N-NNN-NnNEVVERR GET IT!” 

“You BIT Blue, Spamton! He's bleeding!”

“No I–scared him. That was–”

“Stop fucking covering for him!” 

“I'm not covering for him, Pink, I'm being honest!” 

Spamton halted the bickering when a small, bug sized Spamton had flown between them. A miniscule hand patted Blue’s own, and within a moment, the wound healed. He stared silently. 

“Spamton, you know healing magic!? Why didn't you–”

“DOESN'T MATTER. WE'RE [ even numbers ].” 

After cutting off Blue, Spamton picked himself off and dusted his knees. 

“Where are you going?” 

“NONE OF YOUR [ business proposal ].” 

“Spamton!” While the others also attempted to follow, Pink motioned that they stay. Instead, he followed behind and grabbed at his shoulder. “I'm mad at you, Spamton, but that doesn't mean I'm kicking you out or firing you. Don't walk away from us.”

Spamton grabbed his hand and threw it back at him. 

“OH, ISN'T THAT SO [ rags to riches ] COMING FROM YOU??” 

“I thought–”

“NO, YOU DIDN'T THINK–
YOU DON'T GET IT! 
THIS WAS A MISTAKE. 
[ coming ] TO YOU WAS A MISTAKE. 
EVERYTHING–COMPLETE [ wasted ]!

“Spam–”

“JUST LEAVE ME [ all alone on a late night? ]! IT SHOULDN'T BE THAT [ hard mode ] YOU ALL HAVE YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.”

Pink recognized it was best to let him go. He was angry, far beyond what he had originally thought. He knew any further confrontation was either going to end in a complete severance between them or physical violence (most likely from Spamton himself). When he had relented, it led to Blue rapidly approaching him and grabbing at his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” He asked in an obvious state of building panic. “Why are you letting him go? He has nowhere else to go, Pink!”

“He's mad. He's beyond angry right now. We just need to give him time to cool off and he'll come back.” 

“Pink–”

“Blue, you didn't hear what he just said. Just let it be for right now. We can find him later if he doesn't come back.”

While he wasn't a fan of that plan, he supposed there was nothing else he could do aside from wait. He was living with Pink after all, and he had extended his own offer. All they could really do was hope he calmed down and came back to at least one of them.

Chapter Text

“You're sure that delivery was fine?” Tenna’s thumb nervously rubbed against his glass. “I felt like I was stumbling over my words that whole interview.”

“Tenna, for the last time, it was fine.” 

He was hard to deal with when he got something in his head; he would ruminate until everyone was sick of hearing about it. With a soft sigh, he lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip. Lanino huffed, meanwhile he raised a hand and patted his back. 

“It was a good show! You should be proud.”

“The ratings would suggest otherwise.” Tenna mumbled. 

“What are you talking about? We had better ratings tonight than we've had in a while.”

“So we went from bad to slightly less bad.”

Tenna sighed. He supposed Lanino had a point. After all, it had been a rare night where the family had actually gathered around the television–the entire family. That meant more to Tenna than anything. 

“I'm sorry. You're right. It was a good night.” A soft smile crossed his lips. “I guess I've just been getting into my head a lot lately. Little victories, right?”

Despite his words, and despite the fact it looked like Lanino believed his improved mood, Tenna couldn't quell the ever-present dread that had made its home in his chest. What if? It was a question that became a fixture within his mind. What if they decided they didn't need TV anymore? What if they decided they wanted something new? What if they decided he was irrelevant?

Tenna knocked back the rest of his drink. 

“I'll be back. Chin up, though, yea?” 

“Yea, thanks, Lanino.” 

Tenna watched as he left and, once out of sight, slumped over the bar. 

“I feel there's more on your mind than views, boss.” It was an offhanded comment by Ramb which was reinforced as Tenna glanced up to find him preoccupied with cleaning the bar.

“Hah–what is that supposed to mean?” 

Ramb shrugged. 

“Exactly what I said. Just a hunch, is all. Somethin’ else weighin’ on you?”

Tenna's lips pursed. 

“Maybe. It's–complicated.”

“I'm usually quite good with complicated.”

Again, Tenna sighed. He hadn’t been keen on openly airing all of his grievances; he was carefully deciding how he would approach this matter without outwardly giving up too much information–identifying ones included. 

“Okay. I ran into an–old friend a little while ago. He hasn't been doing particularly well, but he won't accept any help–he won't even admit to needing any. I know he isn’t doing great–he has to know I know and I’m just–worried about him. With that and the family, I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” 

“Do you want advice or just a sounding board?” The question was necessary; while Ramb wouldn’t always ask it, he hadn’t wanted to deal with an irate Tenna. That, or an emotional wreck. 

“No, please, I feel like I’m at wits end, here.”

Okay, well, it sounds like you’re taking shots at his pride, luv.”

“I know!” Tenna’s exclamation was one riddled with exasperation. Spamton’s pride would be the fucking death of him. Though, with the time they were spending together since their reunion, he felt the underpinnings of something else in the mix. “I think also, maybe he–I don’t know, I may be off the mark but–I think maybe he–hah. Maybe he feels like he doesn’t deserve my help.” 

A glass of water was placed before Tenna. He hadn’t ordered it, though both he and Ramb knew it was needed. He still had a walk home, after all. After a quiet thank you, he lifted the glass to his lips and stole a sip. 

“He started working at an old job recently,” Tenna continued, “and it’s so unlike him. I know it’s not my place to say anything but–I’m not wrong worrying about an old friend, right? I mean, I haven’t been trying to intervene but, this isn’t crazy, right?”

Tenna stared, expectantly. He hated the way Ramb smirked back at him. 

“Nah, Ant, you're not crazy. You just care a lot. It’s why you get hurt so easily.”

“I knew I wasn't crazy!” Tenna paused. “You're not just saying that?” 

Ramb released a breathy laugh. 

“No, Tenna, I'm not just saying it. You care a lot and it sounds like you don't want t’step on his boundaries. Just let ‘im know you're there for him if he needs you.”

Tenna did not seem particularly pleased with that advice. He hated not being able to control this; he hated leaving the ball in Spamton’s court. It was one of the few people he hadn’t been able to keep on a short leash–and yes, he recognized that was not a healthy way of viewing others, but hell, he would tackle one bad situation at a time. 

“Right, but he'll never admit to needing me.” Tenna pressed a palm into his cheek and leaned against the bar. 

“It's ok to not be needed, boss.” 

“I know.” Tenna heaved yet another sigh and sipped his water. “Thank you, Ramb. This isn't really something I want to share with anyone else.”

Ramb couldn't hide the smile that crossed his lips with that confession. 

“Not to be too forward, but can I ask who this old friend is?” 

Tenna's nose scrunched. 

“No one you would know.”

“Ah. Could I ask the weather if they know?”

Tenna's glare was deadly–well, perhaps to anyone other than Ramb, who just flashed a shit-eating grin in response. 

“Did you actually want to be helpful or was there some hidden agenda here?” 

“No, Ant, really I was lookin’ to help. I hate seeing ya down, we all do. I was just a bit curious on top of that.” 

The glare persisted. After a moment or so, he released a puff of air and took another drink from his glass. If Ramb knew or suspected anything, he didn’t make it known more than that previous comment.

“Right. Well, either way, let's keep this between us, please.” There was a suspicious tilt in Tenna’s voice; Ramb never faltered.

“You got it, boss.” 

With that, Tenna had slid from his stool. 

“Well, it's about time for me to head home. You're okay closing up?”

“Yea, Mike’s still hangin’ around somewhere, as well. We've got it.”

“Alright. I'm going to go grab the weather. I'll see you tomorrow, Ramb.”

“Ta, Tenna.” 

Upon finding the weather, he had been met with a cascade of apologies coming from Lanino who, apparently, had gotten caught up with Elnina and another conversation. Tenna had insisted it was fine; after all, it hadn’t been like they had left altogether. As was typical for them, Tenna walked the pair to their car and was surprised to find snow covering the ground–around an inch or so, most likely more. While Tenna had been keen on providing a list of alternatives, they assured him they would be careful on their drive home, which led to Tenna’s own chilled walk back to his apartment. 

While he found the snow to be beautiful, especially this late at night when the walk home was practically devoid of life, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering to the city. He wondered if it was as cold there, more importantly, he wondered if it was snowing. He worried about him; he constantly worried about him. If the snow hadn’t already swept over the streets, he very likely could have made a trip there to try and find him. He knew that he was being overbearing but he felt it was justified, especially with his suspicions of Spamton being homeless. It made him sick to think he was braving the winter while outdoors–that he had been doing exactly that for potentially years. Honestly, he didn’t know what was worse; if this was his first time, or if he was experienced.

It was hard to miss the person-shaped lump that sat in front of his apartment complex. Tenna couldn’t help the soft sigh that had escaped him. Tenna figured he’d gotten into a fight with his significant other, perhaps was booted outside. He couldn’t have lived there, otherwise he would have known the code to the entryway. Poor bastard; of all the nights to be stranded outside, this one of hell of one. Tenna’s feet suddenly refused to work as he approached the entrance to his apartment. What had once been a person-sized lump had very quickly become more defined. He bumped the brightness up on his screen and swore he felt his throat constrict.

“Spamton!?”

Snow kicked behind him as he sprinted the last few yards to his complex. With the distance between them removed, he crouched down, and was able to confirm that the poor bastard was, in fact, Spamton, who had turned his face up to meet with Tenna’s own gaze. From the looks of him, he had been outdoors for some time; snow had accumulated on both his hair and the shoulders of his jacket. Tenna imagined he had to be soaking wet if he had been out of here for that long of a time; it was hard to miss the violent tremble in his body.

“HEY, T-T–[ cathode ].” 

It figured he would be so nonchalant in his greeting. Unlike Tenna, Spamton was unbothered as he stood and dusted the snow from his shoulders; his teeth were clattering. 

“I D-DIDN’T KNOW WHEN U W-WOULD BE [ back in action ], SO I J-J-JU–[ just in time ]–WAITED.”

“Why didn’t you come by the studio–you could have called, I would have come back to at least let you in!” 

Spamton’s shoulders rose and fell. 

“YOU W-WERE [ busy ].” 

Tenna frowned–deeply. He stood and placed a firm hand against Spamton’s back which allowed him to direct him into the apartment complex; Spamton did not resist. As they walked, Tenna could feel the dampness of Spamton’s jacket even through his gloves. Tenna resisted the urge to grimace as the moisture dampened the material and ultimately chilled his hand. He had thought the tremble was hard to watch, however, it was worse now that he could feel him physically shaking beneath his touch. It was also hard to miss his uneven gate. 

“I’m going to turn the heater on in the bathroom, Spamton, you should shower.”

“DO I S-S-MMMELL THAT [ bad news ]?”

“No, it will help you warm up.” 

Tenna slipped off his jacket and hung it on the nearby coat rack; his movements were quick and deliberate as he rushed towards the bathroom. The heater whined as it kicked on, underutilized as it was. It wasn’t as though Tenna often used the thing; he was a walking heater, himself. The heating of the building was typically sufficient. He moved to retrieve the pajamas he kept for Spamton; it was at least something dry he could put on. The pajamas, along with a fresh towel, were left in the bathroom, meanwhile he’d gone to collect Spamton himself. He hadn’t moved from the door; he assumed he hadn’t wanted to get the furniture wet. At the very least, he’d kicked off his shoes and left them by Tenna’s own. 

“I have everything in the bathroom for you. If you leave your clothes outside the door I can throw them in the dryer.” 

Rather than head towards the bathroom, Spamton approached Tenna. A hand wrapped around the fabric of his pants, though his gaze remained cast downward. Tenna’s brow furrowed. 

“Spam?” 

He bent down at the waist–was he hurt? He’d approached him; while he did have a limp, it didn’t look like his ankle was locked entirely. Something else? 

A hand wrapped around his tie, causing Tenna to jump slightly in surprise. His grip was firm; he slowly twisted the material to wrap around his hand. It was then his gaze lifted; it was hard to describe the look in his eyes, but it was enough to cause Tenna to fluster. 

“COME WITH ME.” 

“What?” 

“[ shower with affection ] WITH ME.”

Tenna's screen quickly found itself taking on a deep shade of pink. 

“Haahh–haha–where is–this–coming from?” 

The last time he stayed over he hadn't even wanted Tenna to see him without his shirt on. Now he was asking Tenna to join him in the shower? The leap left his head spinning. He wasn't sure where this new found confidence came from, but he also couldn't say he wasn't a fan of it. It was bravado he had not seen in him since their reunion–since before that final call. 

Although he hadn't answered, Spamton had already begun leading him towards the bathroom, using his tie as a makeshift leash. Once there, he used his foot to kick the door shut, and it was only then that he released the fabric from around his hand. It quickly moved to press into Tenna’s leg, guiding him to sit on the toilet seat. With shaking hands, he began working at the buttons on Tenna’s shirt. Neither their size disparity nor the aggressive trembling of his hands would dissuade him from at least trying to undress him.

“Spamton, are you sure about this?” 

“I [ take the lead ] YOU IN [ click here ] DID I NOT?” 

With that confirmation, Tenna had gently brushed Spamton’s hands away in order to finish was he had started. As Tenna pulled the tie from around his neck, Spamton began running the water; he was drawing a bath as opposed to a shower. Apparently he was full of surprises. As Tenna slid out of his button down, Spamton pulled his turtleneck over his head. Tenna could see the hesitation clearly on his face; yes, he had been the one to ask, but he still fought with himself internally. Finally, his hands looped around his belt and, after a moment of fumbling, it was loosened. Rather than removing it, he simply undid his pants and slipped them off. 

Tenna tried not to stare; he knew Spamton was already putting himself in enough mental anguish–not that he hadn’t seen it all before. Of course he recognized that this was different; his legs were equally as segmented as his arms. He couldn’t claim to understand why he had been so averse to Tenna seeing all of him; perhaps at first it had been a surprise, though it wasn’t like it was entirely unexpected. It was different, but it was nothing that caused Tenna to completely be taken aback. The new appearance had been an adjustment, but it was nothing Tenna couldn’t handle. Ironically, it wasn’t the segmented limbs that took him most by surprise but, rather, how thin he was now that he was entirely exposed. 

After placing both his glasses and watch on the sink, Spamton had been the first to slip into the water, humming as the warmth enveloped him. 

“Don’t let it get too high, Spam, you’ll be completely submerged.” Tenna mused as he removed his own belt and slipped out of his pants. 

“AT LEAST I’LL B [ warm and fuzzy ].” Spamton mused, scooching closer to the faucet as Tenna approached–a real struggle considering the massive size of the tub. 

It had been a while since he’d taken a bath himself, however, Tenna knew that he would displace a lot of the water; another reason he had warned Spamton. Tenna stepped into the tub and maneuvered himself around Spamton, slipping down the cool porcelain into the warm water. He allowed the faucet to continue running while simultaneously keeping an eye on the level as compared to Spamton. He knew that he would be much less submerged, but that was simply an inevitability given the size disparity. Once the water raised to the bottom on Spamton’s chest, he leaned forward and turned the faucet off. 

“Lean back.” Tenna used his hand to guide Spamton down, meanwhile, his other worked to gently pour water over his hair. “Is there a reason you showed up on my doorstep unannounced?” 

Slowly, Spamton sat upright. He ran his fingers through his hair, slicking his bangs out of his eyes. 

“WHAT? YOU DON'T LIKE [ surprise sales ]?”

Tenna released an amused puff of air. Spamton had leaned back against him; he could feel his heart hammering in response. 

“Spamton, you were sitting out there so long you were covered in snow. Yes, I'm happy you're here, but I'm not particularly thrilled with the circumstances surrounding it.”

In the silence that followed, Tenna reached for the small bottle of shampoo left for Spamton. He had to use extreme caution not to squirt the remaining product onto Spamton’s head. 

“I–” His teeth pressed together. “I REALLY JUST [ want more ] [ 2 ] C U.” 

Fingers began to lather the shampoo into his hair; Spamton leaned further back in response. A breathy laugh escaped Tenna.

“Spam–come on, I can't get the back of your head like that.” He used his free hand to push him up, allowing him to scratch the back of his head; he knew he loved that. 

“You wanted to see me so bad you were willing to sit outside during a snow storm?” 

“I NEEDED [ 2 ] C U.”

Steam poured from the sides of his head. Spamton tipped his head back, to which Tenna promptly redirected his gaze to the wall in front of him. 

“What happened?” 

A soft sigh escaped Spamton. Tenna tipped his head back again, intent on rinsing the shampoo from his hair. He loved getting to do this; he loved being able to take care of him. It wasn’t often Spamton would allow him to do these small things for him in the past. Now? Tenna took in every moment of it. After scooping up a handful of water, he carefully poured it over Spamton’s hair and watched as bubbles surrounded him.

“I GOT [ into the unknown ] IT WITH MY [ brotherly love ] A FEW [ all in a days work ] AGO. I JUST–NEEDED TO GET [ out and about ] OF THE CITY.”

“Work related, or?”

“NO. UNRELATED. [ like and subscribe ] I SAID, LONG–OW!” 

Spamton’s head tipped forward; there was a gentle splash as his hand rose to rub at his eye. Tenna had tried to be careful; even so, he had managed to drip some shampoo into his eye. 

“Oh–jeez, Spam, sorry!” 

Without warning, he'd taken a deep breath and dipped back into the water. He relished the way the warmth enveloped him. Spamton released the breath he'd been holding, allowing the bubbles to float to the surface. Hands worked through his hair, rinsing out the shampoo. It was rather abruptly that his skin began to crawl, causing his brow furrowed. He remembered this feeling–five years prior. Instinctively, his eyes snapped open and he was surrounded by a deep, lethal green. It burned–his skin burned–his lungs burned. Far–he’d fallen too far–he couldn’t find the surface–oh God–oh God he would die here–

Spamton emerged with a desperate gasp for air. He hacked; some water dribbled from the sides of his mouth. With ragged breaths, he had quickly attempted to stand and claw his way out of the bath. Tenna jolted; he wasn’t sure what the hell had happened, but it was clear Spamton had been sent into a panicked frenzy.

“Spam, hey, it's okay! You're with me!” 

Tenna pressed a firm hand against his chest, allowing him to maneuver Spamton back down and hold him against his abdomen. His free hand worked to once again brush his wet bangs from his face. 

“Deep breaths–in and out.”

“HAH–HAAH–” While his breaths were still unsteady, at the very least, he'd eased into Tenna's grip. 

He wasn’t back there in the mansion–he wasn’t even in the city. He really had to think shit like that through. He had enough shit thrown at him by everyone around him, he hadn't needed to be a source of distress for himself. 

“Are you okay?” 

Now that the panic wore off, embarrassment had replaced it; it was written in the tensed muscles in his shoulders. 

“YEA. SORRY.”

Tenna hadn't missed a beat. Instead, he moved to hold the terribly small wash cloth between his fingers as lathered it with soap. It was pressed to Spamton’s back and he began to methodically glide it along his body. 

“You don't have to apologize for things like that, Spam. You're just reacting.”

“INAPPROPRIATELY.”

Tenna's nose scrunched. 

“There's no appropriate reaction to trauma.”

That time Spamton’s nose scrunched into a grimace. It wasn't as though Tenna was wrong, he was very obviously affected by his past and what had happened to him. However, traumatized just wasn't a word he particularly cared for. His silence told Tenna that much; it was for that reason he had promptly changed the subject. 

“Did you eat before you came here? I probably have something I can make fast.”

“NOT [ hungry for more ].”

He supposed he had to take his word for it. Though, regarding food, Spamton had never shied away from his offers previously. Tenna's hands wrapped around him to wash his chest. 

“Alright. You know my kitchen's open if you change your mind.” 

A small hand wrapped around his own. Spamton held him there for a moment; neither of them spoke, instead, they simply appreciated each other’s company. And then he released him, and Tenna continued his scrubbing. When he'd finished, he turned the washcloth to himself which, unlike Spamton, he had completed much faster. He hadn't needed the same level of care nor maintenance that Spamton did. After he was satisfied, he dipped the cloth into the water, thoroughly washing out the suds so he could use it to rinse off Spamton. Like hell was he about to ask him to dip back under for obvious reasons. 

The wash cloth was carefully hung over the faucet and it allowed Tenna to pull Spamton into himself. Spamton did not fuss, instead, he was content to drape his own arms over Tenna's. 

“I'm happy you're here. Not that you had to sit in the cold, but glad you're here now.”

“I'M–[ happy customer ] I'M [ click here ] [ 2 ].” 

After a final squeeze, Tenna released Spamton. 

“Alright. Water’s getting cold.” 

Tenna stood first; he grabbed his towel and quickly dried himself off before stepping out and retrieving Spamton’s. He handed it to him, and once he'd wrapped it around himself, Tenna pulled him out of the water, allowing him to then move towards the drain. 

Spamton dried himself off, and the towel eventually found itself wrapped on his head. No complaints were given as Spamton changed into the pajamas; he recognized he hadn’t any other options given the circumstances. Mirroring Spamton, Tenna had slipped into his own pajamas. Upon dressing, he couldn't help himself; he scooped Spamton off his feet and led him back to the bedroom. 

He was surprised with his compliance this evening. Usually he would've put up some sort of fight; he’d always hated when Tenna threw him around–his words, of course. He had even scolded him for scooping him up back in the city. Tonight, however, he allowed himself to be maneuvered onto the bed; he allowed Tenna to wrap his arms around him and pull him in tight. Tenna knew that would most likely be his breaking point and waited for him to squirm. When he inevitably had, he reluctantly released him. What he had not expected was for Spamton to sit up. Kneeling on his legs, Spamton rested his hands on Tenna’s waist and encouraged him to roll onto his back. This time, Tenna allowed himself to be maneuvered, though it wasn’t without flashing a confused look in Spamton’s direction.

“Hah, what are you doing?” 

His question was half answered when Spamton swung himself on top of him. It was hard to completely straddle his hips at full size, though Spamton sure as hell tried. His hands slid under his shirt and slowly trailed up his abdomen. Tenna could feel the steam building in his screen. 

“S-Spam! What–” 

Spamton rolled his shirt up as he went. He flashed Tenna a wry look as he pulled open his abdominal panel. He knew what came next. He looped a finger around one of his wires and ran it down the length of it. Tenna writhed beneath his gaze. 

“HAH–HA! WHERE–” 

He hadn't given him time to respond; a swift tug followed and Tenna back arched. 

There was something in Tenna’s brain that recognized this was wrong–that something was wrong with Spamton. While it may have been years, Tenna still recognized this behavior. Whenever something serious was bothering Spamton, he would always go quiet. Intimacy was his escape; it was a nice distraction from whatever bullshit was weighing heavily on his mind. Normally, Tenna would shut him down because, really, he didn’t want to partake in anything intimate while Spamton was clearly troubled. Tenna knew it was wrong to indulge in this but after five years? 

Wire after wire he worked; fingers tips dragging down the casing, tugging, twisting, all culminating in a wire ending up between his teeth. Guilt intermingled with pleasure and was eventually silenced by unadulterated bliss. Tenna grabbed Spamton by his chest and pressed him into the bed. He kissed him; his mouth, his neck, he pulled open his shirt to press kisses against his chest. 

“[ bite the bullet ] ME.”

“Are you sure?” Tenna had asked, just inches from his face. 

“YES! YES! BITE!” 

Distraction–this was him avoiding something, the small voice in Tenna’s head was screaming. He knew shouldn’t indulge him–

Fangs sunk into his shoulder, fuck, nearly his entire left side and Spamton writhed in complete pleasure beneath Tenna's grasp. Purple bruises stained his neck; the outline of teeth marks painted his shoulder. He had wound up pressed against Tenna's chest, their limbs intertwined. Tenna's fingers laced through his hair, massaging his scalp. 

“Goodnight, Spammy.”

“NIGHT, [ cathode ].” 

Spamton had waited for him to fall asleep; he knew he wouldn't be doing much of it–hadn’t done much of it in the last few days since leaving the mansion. Instead, he was content to watch Tenna sleep, to drink in every ounce of him he could because he had no clue how much time they had left together. 

He was a dead man walking and there was nothing he could fucking do about it. He'd blown it, and for what, pride? Because his stupid merchandise from years prior had been stolen? He ruined his one chance at freedom, at being more than a fucking popup for lightners to interact with, at potentially saving Tenna from his fate. Even this–he had ruined this five years prior when he'd walked out the door. 

He wanted to take in every inch of his face so he never forgot it; every quirk, every mechanical whir because, in the end, he had to rely on his shitty, failing memory. That thought alone terrified him. All that would be left of Tenna was whatever his brain could hold onto. If he were being entirely honest with himself, Spamton did not trust himself to remember Tenna’s face.

A tear ran down his nose; multiple had already stained his pillow. It was carefully that Spamton tried to slip out of his grasp. Tenna’s grip tightened in response, and Spamton froze, his heart pounding; he may have been emotional, but he'd had to sneak out of this exact situation many times before. He allowed Tenna to shift and, after remaining unmoving himself, the grip loosened. He resumed his escape attempt, and this time, had better luck. He managed to crawl under Tenna’s arms and slid himself to the edge of the bed. He forced a steadying breath, meanwhile a hand wiped at his eyes. 

It wasn’t fair–nothing in his life was fucking fair. He told himself that, had he known prior to their partnership what Tenna’s fate entailed, then he wouldn’t have gotten as enmeshed in his life as he had. Spamton knew that was a lie. He had never intended on falling for him because, after all, he was meant to be another rung in his climb to success. But Tenna was just–so easy to fall for. At first, he had assumed his kindness was false, that it was an act because that’s what he had been used to, that’s how the business world worked. By the time he realized he was genuine, it was already too late. And here he was now, still enamored, still crawling back for attention. 

It wasn’t fair. Anyone but Tenna, anyone other than Tenna deserved this. 

Spamton jolted when a strong grip wrapped around his arm. He fought the urge to sniff, along with wiping his face again; he knew there was no slipping away now. He could see the faint glow of Tenna’s screen illuminated behind him. 

“Spam?” 

“COULDN’T [ sleep tight ].” He tried to force steadiness; he was not as skilled as his brother. 

He could hear Tenna shift behind him; he felt his weight as he sat up in the bed. In an odd turn of events, Tenna’s grip on his arm loosened and, instead, he moved to brush his fingers through his hair. Dammit. Dammit. A sob took hold of him, causing his shoulders to shake. Considering there was nothing left to hide, he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He wanted to say that, back in the day, he was much more emotionally stable than he tended to be anymore. Tenna had maybe seen him like this on one occasion ever and now–he couldn’t stop himself. Tenna knew better than to intervene when he got like this, rare as it was. He hated crying; he hated being vulnerable, but with the weight of the prophecy on his shoulders, it became really fucking hard to compose himself. 

As he had expected, his waiting paid off, and Spamton eventually turned and threw himself at Tenna. He was desperate; he clawed at the fabric of his shirt, holding him tightly. Tenna returned the embrace, a hand pressing into the back of Spamton’s head. He sobbed violently, and he had to give credit where it was due, Tenna remained relatively unfazed considering it came out of nowhere. He simply held him, whispering gentle reassurances. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay–I’m here.”

“FOR NOW.”

He glitched minorly after that response; he assumed that was his one and only warning. No sharing the burden of knowledge. He was surprised he had even been allowed to make a comment such as that. Usually any talk of the prophecy had come out in blocked links or he glitched so bad it left him physically exhausted. 

If Tenna had heard what he'd said, he hadn't acknowledged it, at least, not immediately. Instead, he continued with his affirmations, with the soft scratching of his head until the brunt of his meltdown had subsided. It was only then did he address it–him. 

“Spamton?” He had cut through the silence–silence aside from Spamton’s sniffling and occasional gasp for air. “You know I'm not going anywhere, right? I just got you back. I don't plan on making any grand exits.”

If only he knew. His grip on Tenna tightened. 

“YEA. I NO.”

“No, Spamton, listen to me. I'm here, no matter how bad it gets.” 

Spamton released a shaky breath. He just kept twisting the knife. He didn't respond to that, instead, he finally pulled away, mainly, to lay back down. Tenna followed and quickly resumed contact, pulling Spamton into his embrace. He unconsciously pushed closer. 

“I WENT [ out and about ] WITH MY [ brotherly love ].”

“You mentioned earlier.” 

“I [ help wanted ] TO GO TO THE [ mansion ]. I WASN’T GOING TO BE [ access granted ] OTHERWISE.” 

“Ah.” The pieces were beginning to fit together.

He didn’t continue immediately after that soft acknowledgement; instead, he shifted beneath Tenna’s hold. 

“THEY STOLE MY [ merchandise ].” 

“What?”

“[ butler ]. OR [ Queen ]. THEY TORE OFF MY [ guess the logo ]. [ sold out ] IT AS THEIR OWN.” 

“What?” Tenna repeated, though this time, his confusion was exchanged for outrage. “They can’t–Spamton, they can’t just take your product and repurpose it–they owe you for that!”

“YEA, I WAS [ lesser or equal value ] AS [ outrageous discounts ]. I GOT A ONE WAY [ eviction notice ] OUT.” 

“Weren’t your brothers there?” 

Spantom snorted. 

“[ 2 ] B [ fair prices ], I DID [ cause and effect ] A SCENE.” 

“A reasonable one.” Which didn’t mean much coming from Tenna; the man crashed out at the smallest inconveniences. He wasn’t exactly a model of emotional control. 

“ANYWAY, WE [ all or nothing ] GOT [ kicked to the curb ]. THEY WERE–ARE–MAD.” 

“They should be mad at them, not at you.” 

“HAH. YEA, [ well well well ].” He was silent for a moment. “AS AN ADDISON–ALL U [ gotta have it ] IS YOUR [ appearance ]. I [ pinky swear ] I WOULDN’T [ Jeopardy ] THAT. HAEH–I DON’T NO WH>Y THEY [ Believe It Or Not! ] ME.”

It was Tenna’s turn to release a soft sigh. His fingers toyed with Spamton’s hair. 

“Hey, you don’t have to answer this but–the first time you came here–or, well, when I found you at the dealership–were you like that–you were trying to get into the mansion again?” 

Spamton’s silence always spoke volumes. 

“YEA.” 

Okay; that was less reluctance than he had been expecting. 

“What were you hoping to achieve? I mean–okay, that came out wrong–why were you going back?”

Spamton could feel the gears in his head turning. No this was–it would be so wrong. 

“I [ only 1 left ] SOMETHING THERE. IN THE BASEMENT. I’M NOT [ permission granted ]. THEY DIDN’T LET ME [ take it away ] ANYTHING BEFORE I WAS [ ow ow stop it burns ]. [ for sale ] EVERYTHING–[ no exceptions ] THAT.” 

Tenna’s brow furrowed. 

“They won’t even let you get your own things? They beat you because of that?”

“WELL, OK, I DID [ antagonist ]. BUT, NO. I CAN>T GET [ so close but so far ] TO GET IT. I STILL CARRY MY KEY, [ 2 ].” 

Tenna’s grip tightened ever so slightly. Spamton could feel his heart fluttering. 

“T–TT-tTtTT–[ cathode ]?”

“Mhm?”

“DO YOU THINK–WOULD YOU WANT TO [ Press F1 for Help ] A POOR [ Big Shot ] IN NEED?”

Chapter Text

The more Spamton explained his plan, the less certain Tenna felt about his involvement. He wanted to help him, to trust him, but something just felt–wrong. 

“[ look! ] IT’S [ simple as pie ].” Spamton had explained, his energy much higher than Tenna had seen in years. “THERE’S A DOOR ON THE [ you’re grounded! ] FLOOR, YOU R [ going going gone ] [ 2 ] USE THIS KEY TO [ open for business ] IT. [ go go go ] TO THE BASEMENT. THERE WILL BE A MACHINE–I NE eD YOU [ 2 ] GET THE DISK. GET THE DISK. BRING IT BACK [ click here ].” 

“A disk?”

“YES! A DISK!
A DISK!
YOU NEED TO GET THE DISK!
BRING IT [ click here ]!”

“Okay, Spamton, okay, I get it!” Tenna had to pry his hands from the lapels of his jacket in order to calm his frenzy. 

Without Spamton, and being a man of his status, entering the mansion had been easy. Very few questioned his presence and, if they did, little thought was given to it. Getting to the basement had been equally as easy; the tallest hurdle had been actually navigating the hallways. It hadn’t taken long until he found himself standing before the giant machine. That thing–he was trying to trust him, really, because he hadn’t seen any reason for Spamton to lie to him, but after staring at that old, dusty robot–

Tenna sighed and tugged at the collar of his coat. It was then his hand slipped back into his pocket and his fingers brushed the disk. He couldn’t claim to understand what it was, nor why Spamton needed it, but he also didn’t understand most of the new-fangled technology that was found within the city. Moreover, he didn’t like this new behavior surrounding his retrieval of it. Spamton seemed wild–manic. There was a look in his eye that Tenna had not seen previously. He was acting differently; erratically. Tenna didn’t know what the purpose of the disk was, and he supposed it hadn’t mattered. What did matter was that it would be returned to its supposed owner in a short while.

When he’d returned to his hotel room, Spamton had near instantly swarmed him. 

“WELL?
WELL?
HOW DID IT [ go go go ]?
DID YOU–
DID THEY–
[ catch and release ]?
[ cathode ]
YOU’RE [ kill ] ME!”

Tenna was, perhaps, feeling a bit coy. He stepped past Spamton, his expression neutral. Spamton, meanwhile, trailed expectantly behind him; he swore he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He took his sweet time unzipping his winter coat and hanging it over the desk chair. 

“[ cathode ]
HELLOO??” Fingers dug into the material of his pants; Spamton was like a damn dog. 

Tenna’s own hands slipped under either of Spamton’s arms. He hoisted him from the ground and, instead, moved to lay him on the bed. Spamton was clearly taken back by the action; that previously wild look dissipated. Even Spamton would admit the shock of the action had been sobering. One of Tenna’s hands moved to press against Spamton’s chest, holding him to the bed, meanwhile, the other dug in his pocket, allowing him to present the disk with a flourish. 

Spamton lit up; it wasn’t the same energy as before. This time, it seemed he held genuine excitement. 

“[ cathode ]! I COULD [ kiss ] YOU!” 

“Could?” 

Tenna leaned down and pressed a kiss against Spamton’s mouth. As he went to pull away, Spamton’s hands wrapped around his screen and pulled him back in. He quickly adjusted and pressed his hand into the bed as opposed to crushing Spamton. The disk fell to the side as his now free hand moved to cup Spamton’s face. A smaller hand found itself on Tenna’s own, prompting him to push deeper into the kiss. When he finally pulled away, Spamton was left gasping for air. Tenna pressed another soft kiss against his forehead. 

“I would say that was a good way to pay me back.” Tenna mused, Meanwhile, he’d pulled away from Spamton and trailed to the other side of the bed where he promptly sat down to slip out of his loafers. 

“HAEHAEH! THAT [ 3 easy payments of 4.99 ]??"

“I can raise the price if you'd prefer.” 

“I [ guess who ] I WOULD JUST HAVE TO [ live ] WITH IT.”

Tenna released an amused puff of air and shifted to sit in bed, leaning back against the headboard. Spamton had already moved to do the same, however, he had also taken the disk and was carefully looking it over. 

“Are you going to tell me what the purpose of that is?” 

He paused his scrutinizing of the disk once the question had been posed. Tenna could see Spamton's eyes flick over towards him then quickly back to the disk in his hands. Spamton rolled over, and crawled towards Tenna. Unlike the previous night, it was much easier to straddle his thighs when he was a more manageable eight feet tall. Spamton wrapped a hand around one of Tenna's and pulled it towards him; it allowed him to press the disk into it. 

“I WILL. BUT I CAN'T [ right as rain ] NOW. 
I [ just in time ] NEED U [ 2 ] [ hold it right there ] ONTO IT FOR NOW.” 

“Me? Why?” 

“BECAUSE I NEED U [ 2 ] TAKE IT [ back to black ].”

“What? Spamton, you're not making any sense.” Tenna had tried to sit upright, but a hand urged him back against his pillows. 

“DON'’T [ worry less ] ABOUT IT. I'LL [ tell all ] YOU TOMORROW. “

While Tenna wasn't exactly satisfied with that answer, Spamton had slid from his lap and returned back to his side of the bed. Tenna took the opportunity to swing back over his side of the bed to dig through his bag, leaving the disk on the nearby dresser. 

“I assume you're staying the night?” 

“I SUPPOSE.” Spamton responded slyly. 

At least he'd given up on his refusal to stay–or faux refusal, anyway. He was also glad he hadn't needed to leave the room to change any longer. He stripped down, swapping his suit coat for a t-shirt and his slacks for pajama pants; after changing, he pulled the blankets up and slipped under them. 

Spamton finally moved himself; his shirt and pants were tugged off. Although Tenna felt it was a minor win, he very quickly threw the covers over himself. Tenna hadn't given him long to adjust; an arm very quickly wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him close. 

“Spamton?” 

“MMHM?”

His fingers traced small shapes into Spamton’s arm. 

“I want to ask you something again. Consider your answer a down payment for whatever it is you're about to make me do tomorrow.” 

Spamton heaved a sigh; he shifted so that he could free his arm pressed against Tenna. It moved to rest against his chest. 

“ALRIGHT, I GUESS THAT”S [ fair and square ].”

Tenna took a moment to compose himself; he knew his question very well may have reawakened Spamton’s indignation, but all things considered, he had to ask.

“Spamton–are you homeless?”

Dammit, he just wouldn’t fucking let that go. Spamton’s hand dug into the blanket, his fingers tightly twisted the fabric around themselves. He’d fought tooth and nail to show he was well adjusted, that he could take care of himself–fruitlessly, he knew. Tenna saw right through him. Everyone saw right through him. But now that he was so close to his goals, did it even matter? 

“KIND OF.”

Tenna frowned. He knew the answer, and yet, despite that knowledge, hearing his response did not make it any easier.

“What does kind of mean, Spamton?”

“IT MEANS KIND OF. I HAVE [ somehow somewhere ] I GO. AND [ 2 ] OF MY [ brotherly love ] GAVE ME KEYS, SO, [ technical support ] I CAN GO TO THEM. IT HASN’T BEEN THAT [ long long time ago ], ONLY [ like and subscribe ] A FEW MONTHS.”

When he did not immediately receive an answer, he suddenly felt suffocated. 

“IT’S REALLY NOT–HEY, [ look! ] AT ME, I”M [ fine and dandy ].” 

“Spamton, it’s freezing out.” Tenna’s voice sounded small. 

“I WAS [ stay right there ] WITH [ pink panther ] FOR A WHILE; I HAVE THAT THICK BLANKET [ 2 ].” 

Again with the silence; it was killing him. Then he heard it. A soft hiccup. Spamton rolled over onto Ant’s chest to see his screen had gone dark and large tears rolled down either side of his screen.

“AH, [ anthill ] COME ON.”

Before he knew it, Tenna’s grip was shifting in order to hold him in an embrace. The strength in which he squeezed him took away all of the air in his artificial lungs, but if it made him feel better, he wouldn’t complain. 

“GEEZ–OKAY, OKAY, IT WASN’T THAT [ bad news bears ]!”

“Where HAVE you been staying, Spamton?” He somehow managed to choke out between sobs. 

“I THINK THE [ answer ] TO THAT WILL ONLY MAKE THINGS [ worse ].”

And yet, that answer also caused another sob to escape him. 

“[ cathode ], YOU’RE GOING TO [ freshly squeezed ] ME TO [ die ]!”

“Live with me. Or your brothers. Or let me rent a place for you until you get back on your feet and can pay me back–I don’t expect you to but I know how you are–just please–please, Spamton, please lean on us.”

“CAN WE PLEASE REVISIT THIS [ tomorrow only ]? AFTER WE’RE DONE.” Because he knew damn well what that entailed–he knew he would be able to get out of this conversation. 

Tenna didn’t initially respond; instead, he kept his grip firm on Spamton while tears continued to fall down either side of his face. 

“Okay. But I want a plan by then. I’m not leaving the city until I know you have somewhere to stay with heating and warm, running water.” 

“OKAY, [ cathode ], I’LL LET YOU KNOW.” 

Spamton attempted to slip from his hold, but Tenna was intent on keeping him in place.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, AT LEAST LET ME GET [ Comfort Inn ].”

Although he hesitated, his grip loosened just enough to allow Spamton to shift his position on his chest and ultimately rest in a more comfortable one. Tenna's hand shifted to press against his neck; his fingers toyed with his hair. 

“Spamton?” 

“WHAT?” 

“I'm–I care a lot about you. You know that's why I–I just want you to be safe.”

Hah. Tenna had no clue how deeply that sentiment was shared. Spamton heaved a lengthy sigh, meanwhile, he shifted slightly beneath his hold. 

“YEA, I KNOW, [ cathode ]. I KNOW.”

The weight on his chest was gone. When Tenna's screen kicked on, he lazily gazed to his side. While panic had been his initial instinct, logic surprisingly outweighed it. Spamton had no reason to run; in fact, it would have been uncharacteristic, considering his pushiness surrounding this disk. Slowly, Tenna sat upright, and he nearly heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Spamton sitting on the couch. He supposed that, at this point, he couldn't say it was rare for Spamton to wake up before himself anymore, though, it was still a change that was taking some getting used to. He couldn’t be sure how long he had been awake, however, he had gotten dressed during that time. He also had retrieved the disk, and he sat holding the thing between his fingers; he turned it over again and again. Tenna couldn't quite make out the look on his face–or rather, he didn't know what it meant. He wouldn't lie and say it didn't unnerve him to some degree. 

“Spam?”

“[ cathode ]!” 

Rather than surprise, Spamton seemed absolutely delighted that Tenna was awake. He placed the disk down and rushed over to the bed. 

“I DIDN'T WANT TO [ rise and shine ] YOU. NOW THAT YOU'RE [ up and at ‘em ] LET'S GET [ go go going ] THIS IS A [ big ] DAY.”

“Okay, Spam, give me a minute to wake up and get some coffee in me.”

While he didn't seem particularly thrilled, Spamton sighed and flopped against his pillows.

“YEA, ALRIGHT, I CAN [ get it before it's gone ] FOR A COFFEE.”

“We should go for breakfast. What time is it, anyway?” 

Tenna leaned over to steal a glance at the clock–seven twenty. By no means early for him, but for Spamton? 

“NOT [ hungry hungry hippos ].”

The sinking feeling in his stomach just kept getting heavier and heavier. Spamton, turning down a warm meal? This was wrong. Something was wrong. And yet, Tenna kept telling himself he had to trust him; he wouldn’t give himself time to unpack that delusion.

“I would like you to at least eat something, Spam.” Tenna commented as he rolled out of bed and headed towards his bag. 

Spamton’s teeth grinded. It didn't matter. He couldn't tell him it didn't matter and he could clearly see this was a fight Tenna was willing to pick. It took everything in him not to release a frustrated groan. 

“ALRIGHT.” 

Spamton just had to bide his time here. Play nice. Tenna had already agreed to help him, and he knew he needed to choose what fights he himself was going to pick. While he had relented, it did not mean he was happy about it. Tenna could easily see he was on edge for the duration of the morning; constantly tapping a foot or drumming his fingers against his leg. Despite his impatience, Tenna was methodical in his morning routine. He'd gotten dressed while Spamton stared him down. He strolled into the breakfast nook, Spamton twitching the entire way. He slowly picked at his breakfast while Spamton had quickly downed his own, leaving him to grip his coffee cup and stare expectantly at the man across from him. 

Tenna couldn't find an excuse for his stalling other than the sinking feeling that remained deep in his core. When they had returned to the room, after Tenna's painfully slow walk, Spamton had sprung into action. The disk was quickly shoved in Tenna's direction, who stared at it with a furrowed brow. 

“OK–LISTEN. HARD PART’S [ over and done with ] LAST [ stepper ].”

“Spamton–”

“I NEED U [ 2 ] PUT THIS [ back in action ] WHERE YOU [ lost and found ] IT.”

“Why–”

“OK, I NO YOU ArEN”T GOING [ 2 ] [ like and subscribe ] THIS PART BUT [ listen carefully ]: U R [ items going fast ] [ 2 ] UPLOAD MY CODE ONTO THIS–”

“WHOA–WHOA, Spamton, WHAT?” 

Finally, Tenna had grabbed his wrist, forcing his hand that waved around that disk down from his face. His speech was getting worse–the look in his eye was concerning. It wasn’t him.

“Spamton, you said that was yours, so I got it for you. I don’t understand what this is accomplishing–can you please just–I don’t know. I feel like you’re trickle truthing me here.” 

Spamton stared, his expression unwavering. He wouldn’t lie and say it hadn’t unnerved him. After a few seconds, Spamton’s face showed a rare display of control as it softened. 

“[ cathode ]. THIS–THIS GOES [ way way ] BACK. THIS–” He paused, as though trying to find the correct words. “I NEED THIS–I NEED THIS TO FINALLY PUT THE [ phone ] TO AN END.” 

Tenna felt his chest tighten. That phone–that God damn phone that caused all of this. He attempted to swallow the lump in his throat as he considered his next course of action. Despite his reluctance, if there was a chance he could free Spamton from some layer of torment? 

“PLEASE–JUST–TRUST ME. A [ little ] LONGER.”

“Okay, Spam. I’m going to trust you. I just–hope you’re being forthcoming with me.” 

Spamton’s hand moved to press on top of Tenna’s own, giving it a firm squeeze. With that, he released his wrist, and Spamton jumped back into action. He turned around, and a hand gently pushed up his hair, revealing a covered slot at the base of his neck. 

“YOU’RE [ items going fast ] [ 2 ] PUT IT RIGHT [ click here! ].” He gently tapped a finger beside the slot. “THEN TAKE THE DISC AND PUT IT [ back in action ] WHERE YOU [ found ] I>T.”

“What is that going to do? I mean are you–are you going to be on the disk?”

He could see the slight stiffening of Spamton’s arms. 

“YES. ESSENTIALLY.” 

Tenna recoiled, his nose scrunching in response. Oh, he hated the thought of that and he was not shy about voicing it. 

“What? So you–what about you, Spamton? Your body?” 

“IT’S [ fine and dandy ], [ cathode ], U R THINKING [ 2 ] MUCH ABOUT IT.” 

“That didn’t answer my question.” 

“UGH.” Tenna did not care for the attitude. “IT WILL BE [ click here! ]. I JUST WON'T BE [ in ] IT.”

“What if something goes wrong? Are you going to just be stuck in there?”

“NOTHING IS GOING [ 2 ] GO [ wrong way ]! UGH! IF IT DOSE JUST PUT ME [ back to black ] IN [ click here! ] I'LL BE REUPLOADED. [ easy peasy ].”

Maybe for someone who understood all of this technological junk, not for Tenna who didn't get how code worked, or Spamton’s body, or this disk. But if what Spamton said was correct, he could figure out how to insert and eject a disk. 

“Okay.” Finally he relented. “Okay. I can figure this out.” 

Somehow, Spamton’s smile grew as he turned once more and displayed the slot. Although hesitant, Tenna carefully inserted the disk. He waited, patiently. Then impatiently. 

“Spamton, is something supposed to–WHOA!”

Spamton’s legs had buckled and Tenna had quickly moved to grab his arms, stopping him from faceplanting. The disk popped out from the slot and, after grabbing it, he carefully brought Spamton’s now limp body to the floor. His lips pursed and he quickly moved to scoop him up and lay him on the bed. It was then his gaze turned to that disk. 

“Alright, Spam. I really hope you don't burn me again.”

The walk back to the mansion had Tenna on edge. His fingers toyed with the disk slipped inside of his pocket. It was funny; before he hadn't cared much for it outside of it being something Spamton supposedly owned and yet now–needless to say he felt protective over it. 

Tenna could only hope this trip went as smoothly as the last. His presence wasn't exactly questioned in the mansion; while they didn't deal with each other regularly, Queen had always been cordial with Tenna, if not amicable. The Swatchlings were generally receptive of him, if they acknowledge his presence at all; they were typically busy with something or another. 

His heart raced as he grew closer to the small room just off of the basement; Spamton told him where the hidden switch was. Tenna told himself that provided some credibility to his story, along with owning the key that had opened the path. He entered what was essentially the storage space, his gaze trailing over the various objects. 

“Mr. Tenna.”

He swore his heart had leapt into his throat; he was lucky he hadn't physically jolted with that scare. While he had tried not to react, his upright antennas betrayed him. A hand brushed back said stiffened antennas, and Tenna turned on his heel to see who it was that had addressed him. His vision narrowed when he locked eyes–or well, gaze, with the head of the house. 

Tenna couldn't say he had any conversations of particular relevance with Swatch. He really had only had one or two run-ins with him previously. However, after learning he had been selling Spamton’s merchandise, removing his name from it entirely, it was safe to say that Tenna was not particularly thrilled to see him. Regardless of his feelings, he knew it would be in his best interest to play nice.

“Ah, Swatch. Haha–sorry, I didn't hear you.”

“Are you looking for something Mr. Tenna? Queen, perhaps? The dining area?”

“No, I was just–wandering, I suppose, hah. Taking a walk to clear my head.”

Swatch stared on with a faint smile. 

“You're looking for the basement, are you not?”

Tenna bristled. How the hell would he know that–why would he assume that? 

“The basement?” Tenna questioned, completely innocent in tone. He was a performer, after all.

Swatch’s smile slipped. It seemed he wasn't interested in upholding the facade. 

“He’s been trying to get down there for ages, you know. I’m not sure what he wants with the machine–I do know he has no right taking it. Quite frankly, he shouldn’t have it.” 

Tenna’s mouth twitched. He didn’t particularly care to be lectured by Swatch of all people. While he had desperately wanted to clutch the disk in his pocket–Spamton–he refrained. He hadn’t needed to give anything more away. 

“Forgive my crudeness, Swatch, but I can’t say I particularly trust someone who is willing to steal from those down on their luck.” In lieu of fiddling in his pocket, Tenna had, instead, settled on adjusting his tie. 

“I can’t deny that. I do as I am told, Mr. Tenna, as is my role in this estate. Likewise, I am to keep him away from the machine. I’m not exactly sure what he has told you, but I’m sure he was willing to say whatever he needed to get his hands on it.”

He didn’t want to believe Swatch over Spamton. He had been forthcoming up to this point–mostly. And–well, as far as Tenna knew. He had told him he trusted him. Spamton had shown genuine vulnerability with him. His lips pursed. 

“What did you mean when you said he shouldn’t have it?”

“It was a lightner’s dream.” There was an unmistakable hint of fondness in Swatch’s tone. “It was meant to be a beacon of hope–they created something unmistakably powerful. I can’t claim to know what plans that salesman has for it, but I doubt they are admirable. Hah, he should have never even learned of its existence. It’s been rotting in the basement with the rest of the corrupt data for years.” 

Tenna felt like his head was buzzing. That machine was–a lightner had? Powerful? He had seen that wicked look in Spamton’s eye, but never would he have thought–

“I do apologize.” Apparently, Tenna’s internal struggle had been displayed plainly, as Swatch once more spoke. “My goal wasn’t to upset you, but rather, ensure you had all the facts, of which I had assumed were withheld from you. Ultimately, this is your decision. I would prefer not to clean up a mess, but you now have the truth.”

Truth, huh? Ultimately, Swatch had no reason to lie to him. After all, Spamton had already admitted he had been kicked out on numerous occasions in his attempt to take–no, steal the robot. He wouldn’t tell him why he needed it, what he planned on doing. Tenna released a soft sigh, and his gaze turned back to that hidden switch. 

“Thank you, Swatch. I appreciate your candidness. I suppose I do have a decision to make.” 

It took a short while for him to reboot. For a moment, a brief, blissful moment, all of the pain he’d become accustomed to had been absent. It hadn’t taken too long for the ache in his jaw to return, nor the stiffness in his fingers. As his vision kicked back on, he realized he was face down, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. His brow furrowed, meanwhile, his hands pressed down beneath him, allowing him to push himself away from the–bed? His gaze glanced over to his hands–his hands.

“WHAT?” 

He finally pulled himself back onto his knees and glanced around the room. Had it not worked? Had Tenna been kicked out? His gaze locked onto said man currently sat upon the sofa. He was upright–perfect posture. Every wire seemed tense. Shit.

“[ cathode ]?”

“You lied to me.”

“WHAT?”

“You LIED to me, Spamton, you LIED. AGAIN.”

Spamton tensed himself. Based on that reaction, he hadn’t been kicked out, he’d been intercepted. But, of course, he could have figured that much out based on his posture alone. Tenna had always been abysmal with hiding his anger.

“OK, [ listen up ].”

“No, YOU listen, Spamton. This whole time I've been trying–really trying to show you that I care about you–because I fucking CARE about you!  And you're still just you–you USED me AGAIN!”

“OKAY! YEA! I [ did ]!”

Tenna was floored. He hadn't expected him to actually admit it. 

“I [ used car ] YOU BECAUSE I WAS [ desperate ], IS THAT WHAT YOU [ help wanted ] [ 2 ] HEAR?”

“You know what? Yes, actually, it is. Because now at least I can stop being delusional and pretending you give a single shit about me.”

“OH, ANGE>L, ALWAYS WITH THE [ melodrama ], [ trash heap ]. WELL, LET ME [ tell all ] U SOMETHING, YOU HAVE NO [ bright ideas ] WHAT U R TALKING ABOUT.” 

“If I'm wrong, PLEASE, ENLIGHTEN ME.”

Spamton slid from the bed, his feet hit the ground with a soft click. He approached Tenna with a venomous gaze. 

“U NO WHAT UR [ no problems ] IS, [ trash heap ]? U ALWAYS [ have ] [ 2 ] BE IN [ cruise control ] ALL THE [ Hoover dam ] TIME. OK, U WANT TO NO Y I [ help wanted ] THE ROBOT? BECAUSE I [ wanted ad ] SOMETHING [ better ] THAN THI>S–THISSS-TH I SSS–[ shiny ], [ useless ] [ bullspit ]–[ #$@! ]!” Spamton had gestured wildly at himself, frustrated with his inability to get the words out. He glitched mildly, and yet, he persisted. “U HAVE A [ intended purpose ]! U NO WHAT I AM?? A SCAM–A FRAUD! LIGHT NERS DON'T [ help wanted ] ME–I DON’’T HAVE–I'M ALWAYS [ 1 ] [ click here ] AWAY FROM BEING ERASED. OH, BUT U NO HOW THAT [ feels ], DON'T U [ cathode ]? HOW R THINGS WITH THE [ family entertainment center ]? NOT WELL, CONSIDERING U R [ click here ], HUH? [ one and only ] HAVE TIME FOR SPAMTON G. SPAMTON WHEN THE FAMILY IS BORED OF U, RIGHT?”

“Shut up, Spamton.” Spamton could see Tenna’s claws digging into the fabric of the sofa. It hadn’t halted Spamton’s tirade. No, instead, it emboldened him to approach further. 

“WHAT? CAN'T HANDLE THE [ true or false ]? I NO U BECAUSE I AM U! U R JUST AS DESPERATE AS I WAS!! AM!! U ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!”

“I’m NOTHING like you, Spamton!”

“OHH!
OHHH! NO??!
HOW ABOUT WE RECALL–
[ 5 ] YEARS AGO? 
WHEN I RAN–
I–
I–
SAW YOU. 
I WAS SO [ @&#$?&! ] SCARED!
I [ love ] YOU SPAMTON, I WANT TO BE YOUR [ business partner ] SPAMTON!”

As Spamton mocked him, Tenna glared back in silence. 

“WHAT? NO [ response ]?
OKAY!
OKAY!
YOU WANT ME [ 2 ] SAY IT?? 
FINE!
YOU LOVED ME SO [ @&#$?&! ] MUCH THAT YOU CHOSE–
Y–YOU–YOU–
CHOSE THE [ telephone ]!!
YOU CHOSE THE [ telephone ]!!
YOU CHOSE THE FUCKING PHONE OVER ME!!”

A hand collided with his face–hell, with most of Spamton’s face and upper body as he was slammed into the ground. Fingers quickly moved to wrap around him, squeezing his neck. 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!” 

Tenna leered over him, fangs bared. Black blood gushed down Spamton’s face, staining his teeth. Tenna was squeezing the air out of him; Spamton could feel the claws digging into his chest, and yet, a wheezy laugh still managed to escape him. 

“HAEH–HA–T–TOUCHED A–NNN[ nervous ]–Y SO [ defense ], [ cathode ]?” 

“I said SHUT UP! You're just TRYING to piss me off!”

“THE [ truth or dare ] [ @&#$?&! ] [ ow ow stop me it hurts ] DOESN'T IT!?”

“OH! I SHOULD HAVE SAVED MYSELF ALL THIS TROUBLE AND CRUSHED YOU WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!”

“OKAY1! OKAY! THEN [ @&#$?&! ] DO IT! NO [ 1 ] WILL [ care ] ANYWAY! AT LEAST THROW ME A FEW [ kromer ] FOR THE EXPERIENCE!”

Tenna’s grip tightened, and Spamton gasped in pain.

“YOU INSUFFERABLE, LYING LITTLE–” 

It was only then did he register what Spamton had said–what he was doing. God he was–fuck, he made him bleed. In his horror, his grip slipped, and he saw the faint tears in his shirt caused by his nails; the soft stains of black. 

“WHAT, DON’T HAVE THE [ guts and glory ]?”

“I didn’t mean to do that.” 

He hadn’t realized how big he got, how angry he was, how much force he’d used on a man that was fundamentally broken. Even in his prime, Spamton wouldn’t have stood a chance against Tenna’s wrath. Spamton, meanwhile, sniffed; the back of his hand wiped away some of the blood beneath his nose as he sat upright. 

“GIVE ME THE DISK.”

“No.” 

“[ #$@! ]! JUST GIVE ME THE [ @&#$?&! ] DISK!”

“No.”

Finally, Spamton screamed. His palms dug into his eyes and his head tipped back. Colors burst forth, though, it wasn’t enough to stop him from charging the door.

“Spamton–”

“GO [ homepage ], [ trash heap ], JUST GO [ @&#$?&! ] [ homepage ]! U DON’T [ belongingness ] [ click here! ]. GO [ homepage ] AND LEAVE ME [ all alone on a late night ]. REGRETFULLY, THERE’S NO [ telephone ] [ 4 ] U [ 2 ] TURN TO THIS TIME!” The door slammed shut behind him. 

Fine. That was fine. He didn’t need him anyway. He didn’t need to associate with a liar and a scam artist. He couldn’t deny his life was undoubtedly easier without having to juggle Spamton and the trips to and from the city.

LIGHT NERS DON'T [ help wanted ] ME.

Understandably. Tenna still didn’t know his secret, probably would never know his secret considering the man wouldn’t know honesty if it hit him in the face. Just like Tenna had. He’d made him fucking bleed. 

But calling Tenna melodramatic–after all he’d done for him? After how many times he’d told him he loved him? Tenna knew the weight he placed on the lightners attention, on receiving attention of his family, but to say he’d never been loved, even if not by lightners? Had he really felt that way? He’d stated as much upon their reunion.

YOU CHOSE THE FUCKING PHONE OVER ME!!

“Oh God.”

Tenna couldn’t argue that one; he had done exactly that. That final call–he had seen the unmistakable fear written on every inch of Spamton. He had watched him run, very well could have followed him and stopped him but what had Tenna done? He had seen the hanging receiver. He had been desperate to know Spamton’s secret–and he’d chosen the phone. He chose the fucking phone over the man he supposedly loved. He’d folded in on himself; his hands wrapped around his antennas and yanked as hard as it had taken until he felt physical pain–then he pulled harder.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean–it wasn’t–please–not again–I can’t–” Slowly, the room around him grew. “Spamton–I can’t–not again–I’m sorry–I’m sorry.”

Tenna was left a twelve inch mess upon the ground, surrounded by a pool of his own tears.

Chapter Text

“They broke up, didn’t they?” The question was one laced in pure exhaustion. Battat could barely keep his eyes open as he sat at the bar; he had propped his head up on his hand some time ago, and more than once he had dipped dangerously close to the counter. 

Ramb released a rather lengthy sigh in response. 

“If I had to guess, that’s at the top of my list.”

“He hasn’t been this bad in a while.” Battat lamented, meanwhile, he swirled his drink. “We’re barely getting a second to breathe unless he’s having a meltdown.”

“Who’s on ‘im now?”

“Jongler’s watching him. He’s been playing it off as the family fighting, but I really think Elnina is starting to question. Yea, he gets angry but this is something different altogether. She’s started breathing down my neck. And the hell am I supposed to say? It’s not like he’s ever going to tell me shit–and he hasn’t told Mike anything. I have no clue how the hell you got him to tell you of all people.”

“Hey, watch it. Green is a bad color on you.”

“I AM green!”

Ramb flashed a shit eating grin, prompting Battat to run his hands down the length of his face. 

“UGH! Forget it! Talking to you is infuriating!” 

“Look, mate, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can really say. If he doesn’t want to talk to anyone, you can’t make him talk.” 

Battat sighed, and once more he found his palm pressed into his cheek. 

“Yea, yea, I know. I’m sorry.” 

The stool beside him creaked, and Battat’s tired eyes turned to meet–

“Jongler?! You’re supposed to be with the boss!”

“He didn’t want me dere.” 

“What do you mean he didn’t want you there? You're the one he usually likes to see before a show!” 

Jongler slipped the hat from his head and placed it on the bar; it allowed him to scratch his head. 

“Yea, I know, but he said I could go. He’s really not doin’ great, is ’e? Last time ‘e was like dis was–”

“Yea, I remember!” Battat quickly silenced him. He loved Jongler, truly, but the poor guy didn't know when not to talk. Or, rather, what not to say. “I think we've gotta just let him come around on his own. Not much we could do other than sit back and wait.” 

Despite their worries, Tenna was really, really trying to prevent them from doing exactly that. It was why he hadn't told them he was with Spamton, after all. THere had always been the slightest bit of recognition in his head that told him things could never work out between them. No amount of mental gymnastics could take away the ache in his chest. 

For years he'd told himself he wanted closure. That, had Spamton told him to go fuck himself and that they were done, it would have stung so much less than the questioning; why, what happened, where was he? And yet, now he had told him to fuck off, to go home and leave him alone, it stung equally as bad. Perhaps worse, given the sentiment Spamton had left him with. 

He was terrified of dying; it was a reality Tenna himself grappled with. Becoming obsolete; being thrown in the trash. He was sure his busted code didn't help that fear. Fuck! Tenna had been given a second opportunity and he'd let him slip through his fingers again. 

Hah, worst of all, he'd thrown his past transgression in his face. It was always a nagging thought in the back of his head; was there something Tenna could have done to prevent his current circumstances? Spamton being unaware of his brief slip had at least made the weight lighter. And now he explicitly told him he knew–that in his panicked state he'd seen Tenna choose success over him. It made him physically ill. 

He tried to convince himself that it wasn't entirely his fault; Spamton still lied to him, after all. He did not need to be handed something like that robot, and he couldn't help but feel he still didn't have the full story. He'd mentioned his benefactor, about escaping him, and he had no idea how much of that was true. He also couldn’t exactly tell if any of it was a lie–ugh. It all made his head hurt and his heart ache. 

Tenna released a lengthy sigh; his hands trailed down the length of his face. He had a show–or, well, he usually had a show. It was up in the air anymore if the family would actually gather to watch. Either way, he supposed he had to be ready. At the very least, he had practice holding it together. No matter the emotional turmoil going on in his head, he’d never let it show on stage. Hosting a gameshow that evening also aided in his masquerade; the smiles, laughter, and light-hearted atmosphere made it easier to pretend.

Backstage proved a bit more difficult. After the performance concluded, he somehow managed to pull some semblance of himself together. He hadn't any other choice; there was only so many times he could dodge their post-show get-togethers before he was truly hounded. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t want to get into it. While he was sure they would never say it, he knew the weather would think it. They told him so. They had told him so, numerous times, at that. He couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he had been told he was too good for him anyway; that Spamton had always been beneath him, that he would get over him. He had purposely hidden the fact he had gone back because he knew what he would hear–if he did hear it. He hadn’t needed to–he knew that, even if Elnina and Lanino forced a smile and told him they were happy, they would be thinking about his questionable decisions. 

“Hey, it’s going to be alright, Tenna.” A hand had been placed on his large arm and a squeeze followed. 

Tenna felt his heart skip a beat as he turned to look at Lanino. That felt unprompted–no, rather, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was referring to. Tenna knew he got spacey during times like this. He was prone to getting lost in his own head, leaving his nerves to be released in other ways; leg bouncing, finger tapping. It seemed he had been partaking in the former before Lanino had interrupted. 

“Hah–sorry–what?” 

“Come on, Tenna, we can all see you’re out of it. Was the family bad again?” 

Oh–oh! The family–of course the–God damn, of course the family. It took quite the amount of restraint to keep Tenna from sighing in relief. 

“Oh.” Was, instead, the soft exclamation he had allowed himself; it was then his drink lifted to meet his lips. “Asgore and Asriel were watching. Toriel took Kris with her–I’m not sure where they headed off to.” 

“Hey! At least Asgore and Asriel were there, right?” 

Tenna allowed a soft smile to cross his lips; he knew he cared about him, but the sting would always remain. It was meant to be all four of them; the completed family. None of them were interchangeable to Tenna. And yet, he wasn’t particularly keen on getting into that discussion. 

“Of course. Every viewer is appreciated.” 

“We should plan another trip now that the holidays are over.” Lanino mused, meanwhile, he brought his own glass up to drink.

Tenna hummed in response; the last place he wanted to be was in the city. He wasn’t sure why they kept the laptop; perhaps the excitement of knowing they had something they weren’t supposed to. That or, more likely, Asriel had forgotten where it was tucked away and, thus, the semi-permanent connection. 

“Mr. Tenna?” 

It was a small voice that pulled him from his thoughts–a pippins. They were always buzzing around, bothering him for some reason or another. Tenna, for the time being, ignored it and hoped maybe they would go away. 

“You know I always enjoy going out with you and Elnina. Maybe we should grab dinner some time this week; I could use the distraction.”

“Mr. Tenna?”

“Dinner sounds great! I think there’s a newer place in town; they plan their menu daily. I’ve heard good things.” 

“Mr. Tenna!”

“WHAT, Pippins, WHAT could you possibly need that desperately?” Tenna had bent at the hip, his annoyance more than obvious as he got dangerously close to the poor man’s face.

“There’s–"

Before he could finish that sentence, a faint bang could be heard toward the studio’s entrance. With the soft chatter and music, it hadn’t seemed like anything terribly concerning. Regardless, his brow furrowed, and he’d turned towards the sound. 

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“There's a guy out front, he’s pretty insistent on getting in to see you.” 

Tenna’s brow furrowed. For a moment, a stupid, fleeting moment, he briefly thought–but no, of course that made no sense. He had his number, after all. If he had decided to reach out, he wouldn’t have shown up here of all places.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly in the mood to entertain fans tonight. He can wait after the show like everyone else.” 

“Ok, I’ll let the Zapper up front know.” With that, he had turned and retreated towards the exit. 

“Jeez.” Tenna sighed, and a hand slicked back his antennas. 

“Hah, hey, you should take that as a compliment!” A gentle fist prodded Tenna’s arm. “Still have adoring fans waiting outside the studio for you!”

Tenna released a soft puff of air; he concealed that soft grin by lifting his glass once more. 

“I suppose you have a point. It would be more concerning if I wasn’t recognized.” 

“That’s what I’m saying! You remember what happened in the city! We had to practically–”

The doors leading to the green room swung open with enough force they banged against the wall. Naturally, the various cast and crew in the room turned their attention to the commotion, or more importantly, the source of it. The man’s chest heaved; he very clearly had outran the Zapper–most likely multiple on his trip here. He gripped something tightly in his palm–blue, with  a soft shine. Tenna’s gaze narrowed–was that–? He very quickly directed his attention to the intruder’s face. 

Another Addison; a blue one this time. He looked exhausted–desperate. When he locked eyes with Tenna, he immediately pushed his way towards him, despite triggering practically everyone in that room to prepare themselves for a fight. 

“Mr. Tenna! I’m sorry I was waiting but I–please, please I just need–I just need to talk to you, I won’t take too much of your time but–is Spamton here?” 

Needless to say, that got every damn person in the room perked up. Tenna wasted little time grabbing the man by his arm and dragging him out of the room. He could hear them calling for him, namely Elnina, but he hadn’t cared, his goal had been on removing himself and, more importantly, the Addison, to a more private area. Once he’d reached his office, he had released the poor man and carefully closed the door behind them, clicking the lock. With a deep inhale, he had trailed over to his desk; if he didn’t treat this like a business meeting, he was going to lose his shit. The poor Addison stared at him half dazed; he was lucky he hadn’t pulled his arm out of its socket. Tenna gestured to the chair before him; although hesitant, the man slowly trailed over and sat down before him. 

He was clearly nervous; in a similar fashion to Tenna, his leg bounced slightly, meanwhile his hands had tightly gripped his knees. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was softer than before. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene, I just–I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Okay. First, you can introduce yourself.”

“Oh I’m–I’m so sorry. My name is Blue. I'm one of Spamton’s brothers–I know you met Orange and–I think Pink in passing so I just–shit, I’m all over the place.”

“Blue. Mr. Ant Tenna.” Tenna extended a hand over his desk. 

Blue stared silently before a small hand accepted and they shook. It was all he could think to do to calm him down; the man had been a wreck when he’d come in. And, perhaps, he wouldn’t admit he was attempting to calm himself down; his artificial heart was threatening to beat clean through his plating.

“Would you mind telling me why you came here of all places? I’m sure you are aware that Spamton lives in Cyber City.” 

Blue awkwardly cleared his throat. 

“Mr. Tenna–I’m sure you are aware people talk. Um–my older brother mentioned–I mean he spent the night with you so–”

“Okay!” So, he was more caught up then Tenna had anticipated. “Try to tell me what is going on with some semblance of control.” 

With the prompting, Blue had taken a deep breath. He raised a hand to brush his hair from his face, and Tenna couldn’t help but feel a twang in his chest. Just like him. 

“I would assume you know we were–well, that we’ve been trying to reconnect.”

“I’m aware.” Tenna couldn’t hide the slight twinge of disdain. Blue sunk into the chair. 

“Right. Um–I don’t know if he would have told you this because, generally, he doesn’t really like to–he really likes to tell half-stories if they make him look bad. Um–anyway, I’m not sure if he told you about the mansion?”

Probably more than what he had told his brothers. That was, if he had gotten the actual story from Spamton that night. With a sigh, Tenna had brushed back his Antennas. 

“I want to believe he told me everything. That you all went there; he found out his merchandise was stolen and caused a scene. He said you got into a fight.” 

Blue’s lips pursed. 

“Sort of. It was more–ugh, I don’t mean to throw my brother under the bus but–it was more Pink and Spamton shouting at each other than anything else. Anyway, he just left after that.”

He supposed Blue’s instincts hadn’t been entirely off considering Spamton had come to Tenna after their argument. Though, that had been some time ago. It seemed that bad timing was a curse to this family.

“He stayed with me a night or two–then he was living with our older brother. Then he just–vanished. We wanted to give him time to cool off and come back but he just–didn’t. We all started poking around for him and–and we–Mr. Tenna he isn’t–he isn’t well.”

Tenna gripped the arms of his chair. Wasn’t well–what the hell was that supposed to mean? Had he caught another virus? Was his glitching worse? Was it something Tenna had done?

“He isn’t in his right mind he–I mean him being angry isn’t anything out of the ordinary but–he just had this look. I’m sure you noticed his speech but it was even worse. I can’t explain it but it just–it isn’t him.” Blue had raised a hand to rub at his neck, likely to relieve any nerves. “We still haven’t been able to find out where he’s staying. We thought the old dealership but it’s always locked–unless he’s locking himself in. I was really hoping that he would have come here because–I’m sorry, my brother may seem prickly, but he really loves gossip and–as I said beforel he and Orange may have mentioned you so–and no one else was going to come here so I just–I just–want him to be safe.”

A look–Tenna had seen that look; when he spoke of that robot it had shown through. He wasn’t himself; he’d been manic. And now he was left to his own devices–homeless. God knows how much money he had left. But he hadn’t wanted Tenna there; it was clear he didn’t want to be found, he had enough wherewithal to decide that much. 

“I’m sorry, Blue, he isn’t here. He hasn’t been to the studio for about five years now.”

He supposed he was no better than Spamton; denying they had spent multiple nights together–but it wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? He hadn’t been to the studio in years. Nowhere in there had he asked about TV World.

“We also had an–argument. I don’t particularly think he cares to see me either right now.” 

Tenna hadn’t thought it possible for Blue’s shoulders to sink any further, and yet, he somehow had managed it. He quickly picked himself back up, and his hands knotted together in his lap. 

“He always spoke very highly of you.” 

He couldn't hide his surprise with that admission. Despite trying to remain expressionless, his antennas had shot upright. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Spamton’s worked with a lot of people, especially when he just started making it big. He told us about a lot of the deals he made; he especially liked ranting about the schmucks he made them with–um, in his own words of course. At first, we had assumed you were just another deal for him but–he spoke differently about you. And, after Pink saw you together I just thought–or, I suppose I assumed–I’m sorry. I've inconvenienced you enough tonight as is.” 

He pushed the chair back and stood after that final apology. 

“If um–if you do hear anything or if he shows up could you–do you have something I can leave my number with you?” 

Tenna pulled open his desk and provided a post it note and a pen. Blue scribbled his number down–paused–then quickly added another number before sliding it back to him. 

“The top one is my cell; the bottom is my work number. Thank you, Mr. Tenna, really. And I'm um–sorry for the ah–damage. I don't know if Spamton ever–he’s usually the only one using pipis, they're rather crude, so–” 

Blue saw him visibly twitch at the mention of the pipis. He wasn't sure what he'd said that touched a nerve, but he was rather skilled at reading the room and he promptly shut his mouth. 

“Anyway! Hah if you hear anything–thank you in advance.” 

“Let me walk you out.” Tenna stood, himself. “It can get confusing.” 

With that, he'd done as he said, and he led Blue back through the green room, not without receiving numerous stares. Hoping to avoid a confrontation for a little while longer, he'd decided to fully escort Blue back to the entrance where he saw said damage. He didn't know they could do that. 

“Hah–sorry. Again.”

“Don't worry about it. I'll give you a call if I hear anything.”

“Thank you–again.”

“Of course. Have a safe trip back.” 

With that, Blue had taken his leave, and Tenna felt his shoulders tense. He could, quite honestly, just leave now. He would take the long way to the parking lot, take the night to mull his story over. 

“Don't even LOOK at the door, Ant Tenna.” 

Ah, there went that idea. With a sigh, Tenna turned on heel and proceeded back towards Elnina, standing with her arms defiantly crossed by the door. 

“So many questions. The most important ones; who was that, and why would they come to you asking about the mailman?” 

Tenna's hand rose to adjust his tie. 

“That was one of his brothers. And it's not exactly a secret that we were business partners.”

“Ant. Five years later?”