Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were perhaps a little too optimistic. No, no, you never considered yourself particularly optimistic. Maybe it was naivety?

Either way, of course this bizarre neon city wouldn't necessarily be any kinder than the world you came from, and now  you’re learning this the hard way. While marveling at the sights as you explored this newly discovered world, you’d very abruptly found yourself defending yourself from being scammed out of your... 'kromer'. Well, scam might be a little generous, considering you're essentially locked in a battle, maneuvering your soul left right back and forth, just barely dodging the barrage of attacks being hurled at you. Simply put, you are fighting for your life right now, and it is not going well. 

Suffice it to say you aren't exactly graceful, and being confined to some thin purple lines on the playing field also does not help.

You'd wandered into a small alley offshooting a main road, having had your fill of the bright lights electrifying the very fabric of the city. The starkly contrasting dimness of the seemingly abandoned corridor was all too appealing in the moment, it never even crossed your mind that maybe , wandering down a dark alleyway alone might be dangerous. And by heaven were you not equipped for danger.

It's not long before this… character , Spamton G. Spamton he called himself, has you down to your last bit of strength. You’re down on the ground, head pounding and muscles weak from overexerting yourself. You screw your eyes shut and await the k.o., hoping that you'll still have all your organs when you wake up, and that ‘kromer’ wasn't actually cyber-speak for kidney . However after several moments of dread filled suspense, no final blow seems to come. Rather, your eyes shoot open at the sound of his unnecessarily loud voice.

Spamton folds his arms and brings a hand to his chin in thought, the glint of his glasses obscuring his eyes. He shakes his head and walks towards you, closing the distance to a few vulnerable feet between you. “YOU. YOU'RE [weak]”

You bark an incredulous laugh. Did he really just stop the fight to insult you before killing you? Not that he was wrong , but still, what the Hell ? He doesn’t seem to pay your disbelief any mind, instead opting to just an accusatory finger in your face. The urge to smack it away is quelled only by the fact that you’re still too debilitated to move. 

“THOSE [silly strings] YOU HAVE THERE. THEY'RE NOT LIKE MINE. NOT EVEN GRABABLE. THAT WON'T DO.”

He continues staring down at you expectantly, but the only reaction you can muster is a baffled glare, not a clue what he’s muttering about. Then again, throughout the entire ordeal Spamton had been ranting and raving in the most  unnatural, disjointed inflections you’d ever heard leave a live person’s mouth, and not a damn bit of anything he had to say then made any sense either. Why should he start making sense now? 

You ignore his gibberish in return, using the time to take in the whole situation while the momentary ceasefire lasts instead. Now that he’s closer and the dust is settled, you get a good look at him. At a glance, he appears MUCH less dangerous than he’d just proved to be. 

He looks more human than most of the creatures you’d seen so far as well, only with some seams and hinges at his few visible joints. Like a puppet. He's kind of short, at least a foot shorter than you, boasting a seemingly permanent smile punctuated by bright red cheeks. The technicolor lights of the city reflect off the greasy sheen of his slicked back hair.  He wears a worn, black blazer, white slacks and shoes, and perhaps the most striking feature of his whole appearance is a pair of two tone glasses which rest on a dangerously pointed nose, shielding his eyes from view. 

Altogether the style has a unique kind of sleaze-bag vibe. From his looks alone, you wouldn't trust him as far as you could punt him (which temptingly , would probably be quite far, you guess). The fact that he’s physically looking down on you, very obviously scanning your battered form with the intention to pass some sort of additional uninvited judgement, fills your stomach with an immediate, impulsive sort of disdain. 

He hums once more in thought before clapping his hands together with some finality. 

“I SEE YOU AREN’T [one for words]. NOT A PROBLEM AT ALL MY [Target audience], YOU’RE OLD PAL SPAMT

SPAMTON HAS JUST THE THING FOR YOU!!! UP, UP!!”

A swift tap atop your head nearly makes you jump out of your skin, and a surge of strength pulses through your body. Turning your hand over, you watch as the scrapes from the concrete fade away, your muscles cease trembling with exhaustion, and you no longer feel on the verge of passing out at any moment. He healed you. As if he weren't confusing enough. 

The hitbox vanishes and your soul retreats back to your chest. 

You collect yourself. The pain may be gone, but the alley grime on the seat of your pants certainly isn’t. You roll your shoulders, hoisting yourself back to your feet with a grunt and straightening out your clothes.  Emboldened by your newfound energy and height over the puppet, you stand your ground. 

“I tried telling you I didn't have any money. What the hell is your problem? What just happened?”

He tsks and wags a dismissive finger. “IT'S NOT ABOUT THE MONEY. IT'S ABOUT THE [deals] THE [[freedom]] THE THE THE 

THE 

[hyperlink blocked]” 

“Ok, sure, sorry . You done trying to kill me now? Am I free to go, or are you gonna attack me again when I turn my back to leave?”

“I WASN'T TRYING TO [killed] YOU MY ESTEEMED CUSTOMER. I’M TRYING TO MAKE A [Hot deals now!!] WITH YOU.”

“You literally beat me within an inch of my life yelling about 'kromer'!?” The urge to fuck all the way off out of this alley is gravely outweighed by your frustration and bewilderment. The adrenaline hasn’t finished waning from your veins, and you desperately want an explanation for his behavior, or anything that just happened really. 

Spamton maintains what you’re quickly  learning to be his standard, and disregards your protests once again in favor of pressing his point. You glower down at him as he prattles on with the fervor of a desperate salesman. 

“YOU ARE A LIGHT NEr. YOU HAVE THE [[Freedom]] ALREADY. YOU CAN GO [leave[esc4pe]] WHENEVER YOUR SILLY LITTLE H3ART DESIRES. YOU HAVE THE MAKINGS TO BE A BIG SHOT.” He lets out a string of giddy laughter again, apparently finding his own words absolutely hilarious. “THAT'S WHY I NEED A LITTLE [genorosity] FROM YOU. BUT YOU NEED TO BE STRONGER FIRST. SO LETS MAKE A DEAL.”

He extends a small hand toward you, inviting a handshake. His glasses glint mischievously.  You eye him. 

“Stronger? You know, if you just don’t attack people, then that wouldn’t really matter, would it?” 

“THAT’s NOT THE POINT YOU LITTLE [Sponge]!! DON’T YOU WANT TO BE A BIG SHOT? TRUST ME, JUST TAKE THE DEAL.” He impatiently wags his outstretched hand, smile becoming more strained by the second. 

You realize if you wait for him to say something that makes the slightest sense, you might be there forever. Suddenly you’ve had enough of this adventure for the day. Not entirely convinced this whole cyber world isn't some sort of vivid dream, you glance back towards the neon signs illuminating the road behind you. The way in is presumably the way out, right? Maybe if you walk into traffic and get hit by a car or something you’ll wake up.

“Mmmm, no. I’m not in the business for whatever it is you're selling.” You shake your head. “This has been fun. By fun I mean utterly horrifying. Bye.” You turn on your heels and head back in the direction you came.

“WAIT. YOU NEVER TOOK THE [Deals Deals Deals!]. TAKE IT. TAKE THE DEAL. PL3ASE!!”

You don't stop walking.

“H-HEY NOW YOU WOULDN'T JUST LEAVE YOUR OLD [[slime]] SPAMTON IN THE DUST LIKE THAT WOULD YOU?”

The desperation in his voice is palpable. You don't stop walking.

“DON'T YOU WANT [answers] LIGHTNER? DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHERE Y0U ARE? [Why] YOU GOT HERE? TAKE THE DEAL, Y/N!!!!”

You stop walking.

“How the Hell do you know my name?” You whip your head around. His grin is ominous, knowing . The unease from the beginning of this whole encounter comes barrelling back, hitting you ten times stronger than before. You do your best to maintain an air of nonchalance. This creep cannot know he’s getting to you. Your voice catches in your throat anyway. “Wh-what deal?? Can you please say ONE damned thing that makes any sense??”

The only thing keeping your feet tethered to the ground in the moment is your dread-fueled curiosity. You would like an explanation as to exactly how you went from the storage closet at the public library to... here. And you weren't exactly sure you knew how to leave wherever here was. 

And how does he know your name?  

“A DEAL SO GOOD ILL [@#$%] MYSELF.” He erupts into sputtering mechanical laughter, his small frame jerking unnaturally. His hand reaches out for you, but freezes half way. 

“I WANT

I WANT

I I WA4A4ANT”

He seems frozen in time, stuttering the phrase ad infinitum. The garish pink and yellow lenses of his glasses are devoid of color, replaced with TV static instead. Your throat is too dry to choke out another word.

No. Nope. No. You can figure everything out from someone else. Anyone else. 

You hightail it out of there, leaving Spamton glitching in the dark alley behind you.

Chapter Text

After escaping that alley, you manage to learn a bit about your situation from some less viscerally unsettling locals; the nature of Dark Worlds, dark fountains, lightners and darkners, and a bunch of other jargon your overwhelmed mind can’t quite keep up with. Apparently, you'd stumbled into a very weak dark fountain, a blip compared to 'the real deal', but still enough to sustain this world and hurtle you straight into it. 

You’re also made aware that this world has a Queen, and that she’d recently become rather keen on finding lightners to enact some sort of grand tyrannical plan regarding dark fountains. Several darkners graciously advised you to avoid her at all costs. You could manage that. If there's one thing you're good at, it's avoiding people. Usually. 

That is, hopefully you would be just as capable of avoiding that Spamton fellow in the future. At least you could take solace in knowing that this city was literally the internet breathed to life- any darkner could find your name so long as the info was online. The idea was still unnerving in other ways, but it did quash the anxiety induced by your vague assumption that Spamton was omniscient, somehow. 

In addition to all of that information, you were able to confirm that the way you came in was in fact your way out as well. 

When you return to the trickling spout of darkness you’re overtaken by the same whirling sensation as before, and in the blink of an eye you find yourself stumbling out of the storage closet straight back into the local library. 

You glance back into the closet and are met with the same impossible darkness that beckoned you inside in the first place. The impulse to reach out and jump back in tempts you, just to confirm that what just happened was even real, but you suppress the urge. You can return tomorrow for that- right now sleep is the priority. You are exhausted. 

You shut the closet door and head home.

--

Your stomach is wrought with so many butterflies you can barely contain your composure as you walk down the street. Everything seems so normal , as if not a single other soul in town is aware that an entire alternate reality has spontaneously manifested in the janitor’s closet of the computer lab. The disconnect between your experience the previous night and the blissfully unaware people in your current surroundings is agonizing. 

Even the library itself appears painfully mundane when you arrive. Not one patron bats an eye as you make your way through the building, but it does nothing to calm the feeling that you’re doing something highly forbidden somehow. As if entering janitor closets to retrieve some towels for a spilled coffee will earn you a prison life sentence. That is all you were trying to do in the first place after all. You rest your hand on the closet’s handle, mind swimming and nerves on fire.

With a twist of the door knob, the door creaks open and the closet greets you with that same impossible, pulsating darkness. You exhale harshly.

You take one single, strained step forward. 

As  you fall, the dazzling, dream-like world comes to life around you. 

Once again, you find yourself surrounded by neon lights, the drone of traffic and the same colorful dark world denizens strolling down the sidewalks. You breathe a sigh of relief. It is real.

Now that you're here, excitement surges through your system tenfold.

A little wiser than yesterday, you decide to peruse the more populated parts, not dark alleys, of town for a second time feeling like Alice in wonderland. Honestly, if all goes well and pleasant, Cyber City might just be your ticket to escaping your otherwise dull, monotonous life. 

In your exploration you find some nice food spots, the shopping district is full of surreal wares and trendy items alike, and you even pass by a bustling electric carnival. You eventually seat yourself at a hip but somewhat dive-y bar in a downtown area of the city. Chatting with some other patrons there, you can’t help but bring up something that’s been itching at the back of your mind all evening. Or rather someone.  

“Spamton? That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. He used to be a big deal once,” The little plugboy seated next to you seems mildly uncomfortable, but you let your curiosity press the conversation. “He was one of the best salesmen in all of cyber city, even the Queen liked him. Apparently he had a hard fall from grace, though. He’s been long obsolete now,” the tiny darkner tells you. 

“Is he… dangerous? Does he usually attack people?” 

“Attack people? Hah, maybe you’ve had too much to drink. No one’s seen him in years!” You give a suspicious ‘I see’ before the plugboy abruptly excuses themself, closing their tab and scurrying off. 

It’s a shock to hear. The very same Spamton who assaulted you out of a dumpster was once a successful, popular figure in Cyber City. The idea is hardly believable, more like a bad joke really, but an old ad here and an abandoned billboard there with his name and signature phrase plastered on them echo the truth of it clearly enough. 

You’d tried asking one of the salesmen in the shopping district about Spamton and those ads you’d seen around earlier- the similarities between the short puppet and the Addison were too striking not to- but the orange fellow was even less forthcoming with information than the plugboy. 'We don’t talk about that here,’ they said. It’d already rubbed you the wrong way then, but especially now with this new information. All you wanted was to know what this Spamton’s problem was, you weren’t expecting an impromptu pity fest that left you with even more questions than before.

Your head is starting to feel a little too heavy with both thoughts and alcohol. You wave the bartender over for your bill.

Stepping outside to clear your brain fog, you swing around the back of the bar and lean against the cool brick, allowing the tingly electric air to fill your lungs. Your eyes lazily scan your surroundings when something on the opposite wall above a large dumpster catches your attention. 

A faded old poster with a familiar face. That's him alright. ' Big shot autos, take a ride around town in our- ' The weather-worn poster is torn and largely illegible, but sure enough you can make the name out, clear as day. Spamton. He looks happier, more ...stable for lack of a better word, but him nonetheless. Minus the iconic glasses. It makes something in your stomach twist.

“I KNEW YOU'D BE BACK YOU [[Little sponge]].” Speak of the god damned devil. 

Spamton’s unmistakable, static-ridden voice booms as the dumpster lid slams open, nearly making you lose your balance. His woefully familiar figure clambers up out of the dumpster and bounds toward you with way more energy than you are mentally prepared to handle. 

“B-back?? This is an entirely different dumpster..!” You whine. “Just- Do Not fight me please I am too tipsy and I will just keel over.” 

“NO, N0! NO [Oh god! It hurts! The pain, please stop the pain!] FOR MY VALUED CUSTOMER. ONLY THE BEST [9.99] DEALS. [R1ght here, R1ght now!]” He rubs his hands together fervently, joints of his porcelain fingers clacking together in rapid succession. 

“You still haven't even told me what the deal is .” You weigh your options, but running sounds really difficult right now. Standing hardly feels worth the effort at the moment either, actually. You slide your back down the wall and plop on the ground with a groan, resigned to whatever this puppet has in store for you tonight. “Not that I really want to know…”

“I’LL HELP YOU GET STRONGER, YOU HELP ME GET [[hyperlink blocked]]. VERY SIMPLE IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF.” 

“I still don’t understand why I should care about getting stronger. You’re the only one who's  attacked me so far.” 

“OH HOH DON’T LET YOUR [guard] DOWN, THIS CITY IS FULL OF [worms], ABSOLUTELY CR4WLING WITH THEM. TAKE IT FROM ME, KID.” He juts a thumb towards his chest. “ NO ONE AROUND HERE IS [nice].”

“Except you right, you’re so kind you want to help me get stronger?” You bury your face in your hands. Spinning. “That’s your angle, right?”

“EAHAHAHAHAHA!!    DON,T GET IT MIXED UP. I AM AN [Honest man] YOU KNOW! THERE’S MORE TO IT THAN THAT.” He waves his hands as he speaks in a truly animated salesman fashion. It makes you dizzy to watch in your current state. Spamton doesn’t skip a beat with his pitch.

“YOU GET STRONG ENOUGH TO DEFEND YOURSELF FROM 4LL THESE NO GOOD [big birds] AND [High Quality Encryption], THEN YOU’LL BE ABLE TO GET INTO THE QUEENS MANSION [Hassle free or your money back!]. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THAT [Luxury basement suite] THAT I NEED.

“Queen’s mansio- tch !” You jerk your head back up at that. “You know, the people around here have actually been pretty nice, and they explicitly told me to avoid going there. I don’t wanna fight anybody. You seem pretty strong, go there yourself.” 

“GO THERE MY$$ELF??? oH NO NO NO NO Y/N!!! N0 CAN DO [Buckaroo]. THE MEN INSIDE WOULD THE MEN INSIDE WUOLDD-- - I NEED YOU [yo U] TO DO IT!!” Spamton flinches hard at the suggestion, immediate terror overtaking his features. The distortion in his voice intensifies as he stammers out the panicked protests, causing you to raise your hands defensively. You feel a little bad. A little. Maybe it's best to change the subject. There’s been a nagging question at the back of your mind itching to come out anyway.

“Hey, so, that you?” You gesture to the shambles of poster pasted to the wall. You know it’s him, but you are so curious as to what he has to say about it, seeing how no one else is particularly willing to talk.  Spamton freezes for a moment with an unreadable expression behind the glare of his bicolored lenses, and you think you might have touched a sore spot. So much for satiating your curiosity. 

A loud click startles you back to attention as he claps his hands together. “AREN’T YOU OBSERVANT!! YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON G SPAMTON USED TO BE A [number 1 rated salesman 1997 © ], A REAL BIG SHOT UNTIL SALES WENT DOWN THE DRAIN [drain].”

You take it back. Spamton doesn't let you get one single word in while he rants.

“HAD IT ALL! BIG [sales] BIG [deals] BIG [[Loved by millions]]. SO BIG THAT EVERY[@#$%] ABANDONED YOU FOR THE [[pathetic little slime]] YOU ARE. THAT'S JUST HOW THE [fresh baked] COOKIE CRUMBLES. NOW EVERY BUDDIES FAVORITE [failure] LIVES HERE! HAEHAEHEA!”

He punctuates his monologue by slamming his fist into the dumpster he emerged from. This should be scary. Awkward at least . But the strongest feeling you can muster in your chest is pity. He sounds so-

“I’M [Desperate] [[for deals]] HERE! SO WHADAYA SAY, HELP A GUY OUT?”

“Umm, maybe . What help do you need?” He just told you he lives in a garbage can. He went from a mansion to a garbage can. If Spamton’s words are to be believed, (and from everything you’ve gathered thus far, they are) he’s essentially getting a cold shoulder from society for tanked sales? Annoying as he is, that’s undeniably kind of messed up. You’re not one to turn away someone in need if there’s anything you can do about it within reason.  

“I NEED.” He steps closer with each word. “YOU. TO. BECOME.”

“[Quick and easy! Daily strength training workout routine].”

“Ghh, dude not this again. I’m making a genuine offer here!” There's already a dull pounding developing in the front of your skull. You cannot even begin to wrap your head around his request. “And even if I did agree to that, what would ‘getting stronger’ even entail??” 

“NOW NOW Y/N D0NT BE SO RUDE!! I CAN’T JUST GO AROUND GIVING MY [trade secrets] TO ANY SAP WHO ASKS. WE HAVEN’T MADE A D3AL. YOU'VE GOT THE [light] BUT YOURE SO WEAK YOU COULDN'T SCARE A [[gull]] OFF A [[bag of chips]]. AT THIS RATE YOU'LL NEVER REACH 

[the big one].”

“Spamton, buddy, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Can’t I help by like, getting you a hot meal or something?” A shiver runs through your body as the cold of the concrete seeps into your bones. You hoist yourself up using the wall as leverage. “Look, I'm a little more drunk than I thought, and I'm cold. A hot meal actually sounds decent right now. What do you say?”

That seems to catch him off guard. His eyebrows raise cartoonishly high as he staggers back. “YOU’RE INVITING ME TO [5 star dining experience] WITH YOU?” He guffaws, “DOING [business] WITH YOU MIGHT NOT BE SO [bad] AFTER ALL, LIghtNER.” 

You nod “I dunno about ‘ FiVe sTaRr ’, but yeah sure, my treat” You mimic the robotic inflection of his advertisement interjection with a grin. It earns you an amused snort. “On the condition that you don’t pester me about getting stronger for the duration of the meal.”

“OH. OH NOW THAT’S SNEAKY. YOU [drive a hard bargain]. BUT THEN WHAT'S THE POINT IF I’M NOT [free] TO MAKE MY OWN DEALS?”

“You get free food and an excuse to get out of the cold. I get some company. Sounds like a good deal to me, you can make other deals later?”

“THERE’S NO SHORTAGE OF [slimes] TO GET FOOD WITH AROUND HERE.”

“Ya but you’re already here, and I already know you. Kinda. More so than any of the other slimes.” You fold your arms across your chest. He’s being much more difficult about this than expected. You thought he’d jump at the chance to make a deal and get free food. For such a small man, he is just chock-full of strange, inconvenient surprises. “Or are you telling me you don’t want a free meal? You’re that attached to harassing me about that deal that you can’t spare two hours?” 

“YES”

You find his answer unconvincing. The gears in his head must be working overtime by the pressed look on his face. You dangle the metaphorical carrot in front of him just a bit more.

“I’ll go sit and eat alone like a weirdo, it doesn't matter to me. I have no shame. Only spare dark dollars to blow.”

“GHHH. YOU’RE [killing] ME HERE.” He contemplates for just a moment more before sticking his hand out for a shake. “ FINE. YOU GOT A DEAL.”

Chapter Text

You amble lazily through the brisk virtual air towards a nice restaurant you’d passed earlier in the evening. For the entire duration of the walk, Spamton is glued to your hip, evidently having no concept of personal space as he talks your ear off about, well, you can’t decipher the half of it. You couldn’t be too mad about it, though, given you did literally invite this upon yourself. And the ranting about how these cars were nothing like the babies he used to sell is much preferable to the alternative rant. 

Honestly, you're just grateful he doesn’t reek as bad as the dumpster he popped out of. 

You arrive at the restaurant in no time and the hostess shows you to your seats. It’s a surprisingly cozy joint for how digital things in the dark world are. The soft drone of conversation fills the room, and it’s easy to forget you aren’t home in your own world.

A server stops at your table and sets out two menus. They glance at you, then to Spamton, and back at you with a dubious look. It’s such an overtly rude gesture, you’re at brief loss for a response. You settle for an innocent smile in spite of the offense. “Is something wrong..?” 

They blink a few times and mutter an awkward no, sorry before leaving to fetch water. Even if Spamton wasn’t growing on you in a weird, fungal sort of way, who was some stranger to judge your choice of company? Not like you had any sort of reputation to uphold, but you did have a stomach to fill and a want for company while doing so. 

“Get a load of that prick.” You snort and glance towards spamton, who’s intently focused on the menu. Actually, this is the quietest you’ve seen Spamton yet. He hasn’t uttered a word since being seated. You drum your fingers on the table. 

“You’re awfully quiet.”  

“MHMM”

“Are you ok?”

“WOULD YOU PREFER I KEEP [yapping] YOUR EAR OFF? WE HAVE A DEAL ANYWAY. AND I AM WELL AWARE OF THE [disgusting] W@Y I SOUND. I THOUGHT I MIGHT DO YOU A [Party Favors at half price!] AND [shut my trap] FOR A BIT SINCE YOU’RE SHOWING ME SUCH [generositie][On A Saturday Night].”

You feel a couple darkners eyes fall on the two of you as Spamton’s voice distorts loudly. A small laugh escapes you.

“I don’t mind the way you speak, of all things. Don’t censor yourself on my behalf.” Spamton stares at you, mouth slightly agape. You shoot a challenging glare at one individual who was peering at you for a little too long, and they sheepishly avert their gaze, red handed. You might be weak physically, but at least you could harness the mighty power of social etiquette. “Though I was wondering if that was a voluntary thing. I guess that answers my question, though.” 

“[Believe it or not!] I DIDN’T ALWAYS TALK LIKE THIS. IT'S IT'S IT'S IT'S  -- LONG STORY.” The finality of his tone means you won’t be getting any elaboration on that statement. Spamton shakes out his menu with an exaggerated snap and buries his face in it, as if it's the most interesting thing he’s seen in ages.   You hum in response. 

The server slinks back to the table with drinks and you both place your orders. The shift in his demeanor is concerning, but he doesn’t seem upset per se. Maybe he's just more self conscious than he lets on. You didn’t invite him along to eat in awkward silence, though. 

“Oh come on, you’re telling me you have nothing to talk about at all? You were just yammering away fifteen minutes ago before we walked in here.”

“NOPE.” He folds his arms. 

On second thought, you get the feeling he's just being stubborn for the hell of it. Punishment for not being allowed to pester you about deals which shall not be named, like a toddler. That’s fine, he’s not the only one who can play games. 

“If you're trying to butter me up by suddenly caring about how I feel and not ‘embarrass me’ or whatever, that's not gonna work. I'm not going to risk my ass committing felonies for you no matter what angle you play.”

“IT'S NOT JUST ABOUT-”

“Ah ah, we have a deal, remember. No talking about the deal in any way, shape, or form while we’re here." You click your tongue. He tries to protest the blatant contradiction but you talk over him. How the tables have turned. "Thats to say, you cant talk about your dumb deal. I still can though." You smile cutely and his jaw snaps shut with a click. He leans back in his seat and grins devilishly.

“YOU [[sly dog]]. THAT'S A PRETTY BIG SHOT MOVE YOU’re PULLING THERE. YOU'RE JUST AS [conniving] AS ME. COULD MAKE A DECENT SALES[Man, woman, or child] EVEN.” He adjusts his glasses atop his nose and cocks his head to the side. “NOT AS GOOD AS [Yours Truly] THOUGH.” 

You laugh, accepting the very Spamtonish compliment. Your body starts feeling warm under his hawkish gaze. You clear your throat. 

“So what do you do when you don’t have some random lightner to pressure into criminal activities? It’s all I know you for anyway.”  

He jolts upright with a plastic-y rattle and you can almost see the lightbulb go off above his head. After.a moment of fiddling with the breast pocket of his jacket, he withdraws a pen and begins frantically scribbling something on a napkin as he speaks.

“I RUN A [scam] SHOP!! ACTUALLY THAT'S VERY V3RY [[essential goods and services]] FOR YOU TO KNOW. VERY IMPORTANT. HERE!!” He shoves it in your face and you snatch it from his grip. “THIS WILL BE WHERE TO [Find anything your heart desires!!] ME WHEN YOU FINALLY COME TO YOR [[$19.99]] SENSES REG4RDING... A CERTAIN TOPIC WHICH I RECENTLY MADE A [legally binding] DEAL TO NOT SPEAK OF. AND SPEAKING OF DEALS !! HAVE I GOT THE BEST [complete junk] BARGAINS FOR SALE IN CYBER CITY! PRICES SO [embarrassing] I’LL

I’LL

I’LL-”

“Shhhh, shh, alright no need to get so worked up, I get your point.” You squint at the barely legible writing, then back at him. “This literally just says ‘Trash Zone’”

“YOU GOT IT!!1!” 

“O...kay?” You tuck the note away in your pocket.

The food arrives and Spamton’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the sight. It does look tantalizingly tasty, to be fair. Not much else is said while you both devour your meals with what would be considered by most as embarrassing haste. You pay the bill and step back out into the night air feeling much better than before. 

“This was surprisingly nice, actually. Thanks for joining me.”

“I SHOULD BE THANKING YOU FOR THE [Mouth-watering Savings You Won't Believe]. I HAVEN’T EATEN SO WELL SINCE - -”  His voice clips out even though his mouth keeps moving, but you get the jist. 

You half expect Spamton to delve back into pressuring you about getting stronger now that dinner deal is done, but thankfully it seems to have slipped his mind. Instead, you walk along listening as he points out various storefronts in the area, ranting about how they’re all t otal scams , and how the owners don't have a shred of integrity in their cyber bodies. Not how you envisioned your night going, but it’s not terrible. Charming even.

By the time you’re nearly back at the fountain, Spamton changes the topic again. He tents his fingers as if preparing to make a proposition. It was only a matter of time.

“SO ABOUT YOUR [wimpy] [[heart-shaped object]], Y/N.”

“Aw man, nooooooooo” you let loose an exasperated whine. “You know, I actually kind of enjoy your presence when you’re not giving me a headache about how feeble I am. You were doing so well..!” He just shakes his head.

“I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS TO ME. IM. IM. I- SO CLOSE .”

His voice quiets slightly, the corners of his mouth twitch downward into a grimace. The somber shift in his disposition steals the tease right out of your tone. Your pace slows to a pensive halt. 

“... I really don’t mind helping you in general, Spamton. Are you absolutely positive you’ve got no other options?” 

“NOTHING THAT YOU’D LIKE ANY BETTER, [sweetheart].” 

You don't afford the disjointed pet name any mind. You stare down at him inquisitively, but his gaze remains fixed straight ahead, eyebrows knit. The reflective glasses impede your ability to read his expression any better. Why does he have to wear those things 100% of the time. What do his eyes even look like.

“What’s in the basement that you want so badly anyway?”

“MY [one way ticket] TO [[heaven]]. THERE'S AN OLD [Hot New Ride] DOWN THERE AND ONCE I GET MY [grubby little] HANDS ON IT, I'LL FINALLY BE [[free]].”

“I’m… not sure I understand..” This is the most serious you’ve seen him yet. It's the most serious you’ve taken him too. When he turns to you again, your heart nearly seizes at his pained expression. 

“DOESN'T MATT3R. ALL YOU NEED T0 UNDERSTAND IS THAT I NEED YOUR [Someone, anyone, help me!] GETTING INTO THE BASEMENT. pLEASE ”

“I-I’m, uh-’ Your thoughts are cut short by a specific, painless type of throbbing sensation radiating from your chest.

Oh no. You know that miserable feeling. Fuck no. 

The slow pull of your soul being forced out of your chest fills you with imminent dread. You whip your head towards Spamton immediately. This was a mistake, bringing him along was a mistake of course it was . You open your mouth ready to sling several furious accusations, but to your surprise Spamton looks just as alarmed as you are. The fleeting pang of guilt for jumping to false conclusions is quickly chased away by panic. If not Spamton, then who...?

You both turn your attention toward the offender ahead of you. A single virovirokun.

Oh. You relax just a smidge. That shouldn’t be too much trouble when it’s two against one. You brace yourself for battle and look again to Spamton, who has the most smug, shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen plastered across his face. He’s completely unfazed by the assault, and to your dismay he doesn’t seem to be preparing himself for anything at all.

“I [telled] YOU.”

Lovely. 

Spamton steps back and he's suddenly out of the virovirokun’s range. He leans against the wall, gazing at the chaos about to ensue just a little too cheerily for your liking.  

“Wh- how’d you do that? Can I do that?” You frantically flail your soul about to no avail, it’s locked in the playing field. He shrugs with his hands tucked into his pants pockets, grin unwavering.

“THATS [patent protected] INFORMATION.”

Any sympathy he’d garnered from your conversation moments ago is officially null and void.

Several rounds of attacks pass with you managing to not get hit too much. Spamton is of absolutely no help. You really don’t want to resort to begging, but he at least owes you an explanation after you bought him dinner. You hurl another plea in his direction. He cocks an eyebrow. 

“WILL YOU [take the deal]?”

“No!!”

“SORRY [worm], NO [free trials].”

“ Jackass. ” Distracted, you take a heavy hit head on, knocking you backwards on your ass. You hiss in pain. Spamton sighs dramatically. 

“FINE. [Adv1ce from a pro] NUMBER ONE. DON;T GET HIT!!’

“Gee thanks, I never would have thought of that!” You sneer, voice bleeding sarcasm. You take a defensive stance again, preparing for the next onslaught. “Anything useful , Sherlock?”

“TIP NUMB3R TWO [2].” He waggles two fingers in your direction with a hand on his hip, “YOU CAN DO MORE THAN [defend]. YOU CAN [act]. AND YOU CAN [attack]. TO GET STRONGER, YOU NEED TO [ATK]. GAIN SOME [sweet, sweet] EXP.” 

It’s something. 

“Ok, but I’m not trying to attack anyone. What does acting do? How do I act to make it go away??” Your voice is becoming increasingly shrill as you try and fail to navigate the field with your string-bound soul. He shakes his head and frowns.

“YOU’RE HoPELESS>. [Limited time free trial has expired].”

The battle drags on. And on. You’re getting more worn down by the minute, and even the virovirokun looks like it’s starting to regret initiating the encounter. Spamton has sat on the sidelines the entire time, you figure if he were bored he’d have left by now. It should be pretty evident you aren’t going to use violence, what’s he sticking around for then? 

You’re struck by another flurry of electric bullets and Spamton fidgets subtly. In fact, his indifferent facade seems to wane more and more as your health inches closer to zero… You get an idea. A stupid chuckle escapes your lips.

During the next barrage of attacks, you don’t move a muscle. It hurts, but you’re still standing. You’ve endured worse. Spamton gawks.

“HEY-HEY!! WHAT THE [Fifty percent off] DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, Y/N?!?!”

“This is taking too long, If I pass out, the battle ends, right?” You’re only half joking. Whether or not Spamton steps in to save your ass, you’re ready for this to be done. 

“ARE YOU [!$!%] CRAZY??”

“Possibly!” Spamton is a sputtering, dismayed mess on the sidelines, and you do feel a little insane as you let another round of attacks hit you full force.

“@#$% I CAN’T BELIEVE I'M RESORTING TO [[charity work]] FOR YOU, YOU DAMN [cube].” Sure enough, Spamton hops into the battle and within a single turn, sends the poor virovirokun running. He mutters some garbled swears under his breath before turning to you. “YOU’RE NOT [Injured? Our lawyers are here to help!] TOO BAD ARE Y0U?”

There’s a mix of both irritation and concern in his static ridden voice. Your soul recedes safely into your chest once more. It flutters.

The quick and effortless fashion in which he finished the battle just to save you is. Kind of hot. And the way his chest and shoulders do actually fill out that suit jacket quite nicely despite his disproportionate lower half hadn’t escaped your notice all evening either and oh hey what the hell- Your eyes go wide as your own train of thought betrays your frustration with the puppet, but you decide you don’t have time to unpack those thoughts right now or ever actually . You rub your hands over your face. You feel more than a little insane. Moving on.

His question goes unanswered

“Shit, you actually did it.” You laugh. How did that stupid plan actually work?

“I TOLD YOU I NEED YOU TO GET STRONGER , NOT [dead er]. OTHERWISE I'D HAVE [dispatched] YOU MYSELF LAST TIME. IT'S IN MY BEST [business interests] TO PROTECT YOU.”

“I wouldn’t have died ,” you roll your eyes and stroll towards him. He looks more ticked than he sounds, but the little huff doesn’t fool you. It’s his fault, he can pout all he wants. “Either way, I'm glad you were on my side this time at least. That virus guy wasn't shit compared to you. So thanks, I guess?” You land two solid pats and a brief squeeze on his shoulder in a vaguely affectionate gesture and continue walking. “Just don’t wait so goddamn long to step in next time.” 

You are angry. He was being a total dick for the majority of the battle, but you lack the energy to give him any hell for it. And at least he was there and willing to step in at all. Despite the way your heart pounds and your muscles ache, things would have turned out even worse had he chosen to do nothing. Probably. You justify your complacency just enough. 

A few more strides and you notice that your personal space remains uninvaded as you walk. You look back to see Spamton standing in the same spot, hand resting on his shoulder where you tapped him. 

“You ok? I didn't hit you that hard.”

“o-OH! IT'S NOTHING. DON;;T WORRY ABOUT IT.” He sputters a moment, coughs, then eyes you. “THERE WON’T BE A [Next Time] THOUGH.” 

You shrug.

“Fair enough. Well on that note, I’m beat. I think I’ll head home and get some rest.” An air of mild guilt overtakes you. You feel like a bit of an ass, going back to your admittedly empty but still existent apartment, leaving Spamton to return to a dumpster, even if he’s a jerk. Not that there’s anything you can do about it anyway. “You gonna be alright?”

He stares at you with knit eyebrows and a taut frown, perplexed. “OF COURSE.”

You suddenly feel stupid. Of course he’d be fine, he’s been living this life for presumably years now, and also you shouldn’t care too much anyway. He did just make your night unnecessarily painful in order to prove a stupid point. You’re beat. “Right. Well, see you around then, I guess.” 

You excuse yourself with a lazy salute and head home. 

Chapter Text

You raise your weapon. With as much strength and precision you’re physically capable of, you attack.  

It barely leaves a scratch. 

“Aww, it's ok!! Don’t feel bad, fighting’s not for everyone...”

“I know right? That's what I’ve been saying !”

You’ve entered a voluntary battle with an Ambyu-Lance. It started with an off-handed remark that a virovirokun got you pretty good the other day, and being an antivirus program, they were quick to barge in and offer their help under the pretense you’d fight off any Virovirokuns making mischief in the future. They even suggested this little sparring match to boot, which you accepted gratefully. According to your new acquaintance, viros have a tendency to cause trouble for citizens they might run into. 

After the runin with that virus, the nagging feeling that Spamton might kind of have a point has been eating at you. If you’re going to make a habit out of dark world visits, you should probably be better at fending for yourself. And a habit is exactly what it’s shaping up to be- it’s been a week now and you've been back every day your schedule can afford. The dazzling lights haven’t lost their novelty yet. 

You lower your weapon with a defeated sigh. “Mind if I practice the spare again?” Time to throw in the towel. Tender loving care it is. 

A quick spontaneous wardrobe change into a nurse outfit à la Cyber Dark Magic of some sort, and you are able to offer the ambyu-lance some warm soup, also manifested à la Cyber Dark Magic. They’d made it clear earlier that hospitality was what the average ambyu-lance preferred to see, but for the sake of practice they accept the magic-dark-soup and the encounter ends. Simple.

Infuriatingly simple actually- it took two minutes of explanation on how to spare virovirokuns, and frankly you could half-strangle that little puppet next time you see him for making that battle so unnecessarily difficult. Though, the idea of showing Spamton of all enemies some tender loving care during that first encounter brings you some amusement. He’d absolutely have lambasted you for even trying. He’d probably gobble down the soup like a starved raccoon then call you stupid for it. You snort to yourself. 

“Wee woo wee woo! Now go show those virovirokuns some TLC! In the name of the law!”

“Will do!” A thankful smile warms your face as the darkner runs off back to patrolling the streets, and you’re left to carry on with your night.

-----

You close a shop door behind you, the Addison inside waving behind you. You swing the bag idly at your side as you walk. It’s just a few trinkets really, but you had your eye on them all week. The sudden wardrobe change upon every entry to the dark world was a really neat surprise, not your usual style, but still fitting somehow. Might as well accessorize. 

You rummage through your haul, deciding what to put on first. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar glasses approaching. 

To your complete anticipation, Spamton makes his appearance. As usual.

“HEY HEY!!! IF IT ISN'T MY MOST VALUED [potential buyer].”

“Ahh, my most valued thorn in my side.” You fight a small grin from your lips. “Spamton, I’m not going to buy anything from you.” 

When you said ‘see ya round’ after the first time you grabbed dinner together, you kind of hoped it wouldn’t be so frequent.

Yet now in the few nights you’d been back to the dark world, you’d run into him every single time. It always plays out the same way, too- He pops out of the nearest garbage can and begins the incessant bothering, then follows you around for the remainder of the night, usually ending up at a restaurant or bar. Though, you have been able to make the best of his company each time, quickly learning the skill of sidestepping his favorite subject by distracting him with promises of free food and drink. You have a growing hunch he isn’t too mad about it, either.

Spamton hurries over to your side as usual, short legs working twice as hard to match your pace as you stroll down the sidewalk. 

“WELL! FOR THE [low, low price] OF ACCEPTING THE [Crazy deals!], YOU CAN PERMANENTLY REMOVE SAID [nuisance] [[Zero money down]].”

“How long is it gonna take before you give up for the night this time? My bets on half an hour.”

“ PL3ASE? ”

“Oh now you’re not even trying. Not that I’m complaining, but that’s not a very big shot tactic I don’t think.” 

You swear the tuft of hair that swoops down the back of his neck raises at the accusation. He sputters incredulously and you laugh. Getting Spamton riled up is quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes in Cyber City. Not that it's cute , but there’s a level of satisfaction gained as you watch him plummet from cocky, self assured bastard to a floundering dork. The way his voice becomes extra fuzzy with static and advertisement interjections litter his speech when he’s flustered is kind of endearing, though.

“OH [playing] THAT [family board games, half pr1ce!] ARE WE? WELL! W3LL! HERE'S A PITCH FOR YOU-”  He points a finger at you with a flick of his ball-joint wrist. “WHAT’S SOMETHING YOU [[crave]] MOST IN THIS [god forsaken] CITY RIGHT NOW.”

It’s an interesting question, one you hadn’t really given any thought to. Honestly, you were still getting used to having this secret escape world at your disposal in the first place, never mind considering getting more out of it. You hum in thought.

“I suppose having my own spot to retreat to would be nice. It would be convenient to have somewhere to hang out that isn’t food related or costs money generally speaking.”

“GOOD ANSWER, GOOD ANSWER!” He nods, grinning confidently as he clasps his hands together.”IF YOU GET ME INTO THAT BASEMENT I’LL [Guaranteed] YOU HAVE AL THE [Luxury apartments at affordable prices] YOU;RE LITTLE LIGHTNER HEART DESIRES.” He props his eyebrows suggestively. You quirk your own.

“Sounds like a bold promise for someone who dumpster dives regularly.”

“BUT Y/N! WITH YOUR [help] IT;s POSSIBLE!! I PROMISE YOU WOULD [[have it all]]. [Terms and conditions may apply].” 

“How, exactly, would the thing in the basement make that possible?” 

“HMMM. IF YOU BRING ME THE [disk] I’LL GIVE YOU A [Live demonstration].” He steeples his fingers, waggling his eyebrows with a sly smile once more. 

Even if he’s telling the truth, the risk and effort would hardly feel worth it. For now, food is good enough. You ignore the way his words sounded a little too suggestive. You also ignore the way you’re blushing.

You shoot his offer down with a shake of our head. “Hard pass. Sorry but bribery won’t work on me buddy.” He whines petulantly.

“Anyway, food time right? You feeling anything specific tonight? Personally, I had a complete shit day at work so as long as there's alcohol I’m down for anything. My treat of course, as usual.” 

“HOW DO YOU AFF0RD ALL THIS [Dine in options available] ANYWAY?” His voice softens slightly, “WHY DO YOU KEEP BEING SO NICE TO ME?”

The question catches you off guard. By the looks of it, he caught himself off guard too. His jaw snaps shut so fast it gives you second-hand whiplash. 

“I MEAN. UH. UHM. UH---”

“Oh, you don’t know? I run odd jobs and pick up favors for people around town. Gives me an excuse to explore, plus I make some spending money.” You decide to relieve him of his apparent embarrassment and ignore the second inquiry. Not that you even had an answer. 

“WHY THE HELL WOULD I [know] WHAT YOU D0 IN YOUR [Free t!me]?”

“I dunno, I figured you stalked me or something.” you shrug.

Spamton stops dead in his tracks and scoffs. “WHY!! I’D [[NEVER]]! I AM AN HONEST MAN, Y/N. NOT SOME [99Ȼ] CREEP .” He vigorously straightens out his blazer jacket and adjusts his glasses as if to emphasize his obvious professionalism. 

You can't help the hardy laugh that escapes you. God, he looks so offended . As if you could come to any other conclusion about how on earth one could develop such a knack for popping out of the exact dumpster nearest to your location day after day without fail. 

“How else do you pop out of the closest garbage can to me every time I’m here? Hmm?”

“CALL IT INTUITION.”

“ Riiight .” 

“IT’S NOT LIKE YOU EVER COME TO MY [Shop now: t0p rated item$] ANYWAY. WHAT’s A [[desperate]] GUY LIKE ME SUPPOSED TO DO?” Spamton folds his arms across his chest defensively and scowls. You snicker at him some more. 

“You look like a toddler when you pout like that. Tiny baby man.” You hold your thumb and index finger an inch apart and squint through them, a devious smirk playing on your lips. You might be having a little too much fun at his expense. It’s fine.

“WHEN DID YOU GET SO [mean]?” he moans. “I’M NOT EVEN THAT SHORT.”

“Aw come on, it’s all in good fun. I mean-” The words slip out before you even register them, “We’re friends right?”

Your eyes go wide and you can feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Is that really how you feel? A sudden wave of embarrassment washes over you and you can’t even begin to parse out why. Maybe the delivery was a tad more coy than you would have intended, but the way your face heats up and any following words promptly died in your throat feels like you just accidentally confessed your feelings to a highschool crush. 

It’s not even like you just blurted out that you do find him somewhat attractive and oddly charismatic despite… everything else. Your face heats up more. 

So tripped up by your own reaction, you nearly miss the way his grin flinches and eyebrows twitch. A hand moves to his collar as if adjusting an invisible necktie, his shoulders have curled in on themselves slightly. He looks… worried?

“...FRIENDS?” He waivers, the static interference in his voice is abnormally thick. 

“Uh, yeah. You don't... you're not pestering me 100% of the time you know?" With the amount of time spent together roaming the city over the past week, how could you not be friends in some capacity? Every friend group has that one annoying sonofa bitch friend anyway. Even if your group is only two strong. 

Your anticipation in wake of his pause feels wildly disproportionate relative to the topic at hand. 

“I THINK. I THINK YOU’RE GETTING TOO COMFORTABLE.” His previously lax demeanour goes rigid.

The sting is already setting in even though you aren’t exactly sure what he even means. He must be able to read it on your face, too, because the salesman facade comes on tenfold. His tone becomes far too up-beat and exaggerated. Like a persona speaking, not him. 

“AHEAHAHA! WE ARE NOT [friend request declined]. I’M NOT  [in The bisness>] FOR FRIENDS , Y/N. I’M IN THE BUSINESS OF MAKING DEALS.”

Now it’s your turn to falter. He can’t be serious. “Wh- Oh really . Is that why you still tag along every single time I’m in the neighborhood even though I’ve made it abundantly clear I’m not doing that ?”

“[Free meal with purchase]”

“ Bullshit. ”

You feel anger slowly creeping into your body. Angry with him for not getting it through his dense, dummy skull that you’re not going to relent to his obscene request no matter how persistent he is? Angry with yourself for being too forgiving, too quick to accept the company, too eager to have a consistent friend? You can’t decide. But conversation does come so easy with him, you do feel the potential to actually be decent friends. That’s what hurts most. “You're telling me you don’t enjoy the company just as much? You’re fine just living in a dump with nobody to talk to otherwise? Seriously ?”

Spamton only doubles down. Light of a passing vehicle reflects sharply off his glasses.

“JUST BECAUSE YOUER [Pathetic] [All alone one a late night] and [[Aching for the love and attention you haven't felt in years?]] OF ANY [sponge] who WILL SPARE YOu 2 MINUTES DOESN;T MEAN- -- I DONT [CARE] ABOUT THAT. HOW NAIVE ARE YOU?”

Oh. Now he's struck a real nerve. You can tell he doesn’t mean it. The insults come across hollow and flat, not really aimed at you . Words said just to piss you off. He’s thwarting a friendship you both probably need on purpose . It just makes the sting worse. 

If that’s how it’s going to be then so be it. 

“Fine, you’re right. I suck actually. I’m completely useless, how have you not figured that out by now? Find someone else .” You turn on your heels and start walking in the opposite direction. You’re not at all prepared to grapple with the sudden stew of mismatching emotions squeezing your chest. You don't know where they came from, why this specific outburst is getting to you more than usual. It’s overwhelming. 

“YOU MIGHT BE [purple] Y/N, BUT I’VE BEEN [Playing the long game] SINCE 

SINCE [1997]. I’LL OUTLAST YOU. AND I'M NOT GOING TO [[Le4ve  YOU All Alone]]  UNTIL YOU HELP ME. TAKE THE DEAL.” He follows.

“No”

“DEAL”

“No”

“DEAL”

“Oh for fucks sake.”

“DEAL [DEAL] DEAL [DEAL] DEAL [DE4L] DEAL-”

You clutch at your chest, balling the fabric of your shirt in your fist.

“How many times do I have to tell you no. No! No! I Do Not Have It In Me.” The absolute mess of emotions in your chest starts to boil over, “You know what, I even tried a little bit! Do you believe that? I did! And I failed! I can at least spare people now, but I’m just tired , Spamton, I come here to escape -” 

“YOU DIDN'T TRY HARD ENOUGH.”

 “Fuck off!!” The threat of tears in your eyes brings a tightness to your throat that makes your voice crack. Whether they’re out of anger, frustration, desperation, or something else entirely, you can’t say. “I don’t want to do anything. I don't- I just-“ 

You cut yourself off in favor of picking up the pace, straining the muscles of your legs as you suppress yourself from breaking into a full on sprint. 

The expression on his face as your voice cracked echoed some guilt, like it clicked that he just might have pushed too far. It’s too late for you to care. You can’t think straight. Can’t look at him.

“W-WAI HEY WAIT. Y/N!!”

Just leave. Don't open your mouth. Ignore him. Ignore ignore ignore. You repeat the word in your head like a mantra hoping to drown him out. 

“Y/N [hold] YOUR [horses], DON’T [[leave me]] JUST YET>.” 

You hear his footsteps catching up to you and the building pressure in your head snaps. You whip around, the volume of your voice rises as you speak until you're shouting, tone jagged and raw.

“No!! I’ve been trying to be nice! I’ve been trying to tolerate you!! Offer you any sort of help that isn’t fucking breaking into the Queen’s mansion and risking my own ass! I really thought I liked you but clearly that was a mistake and god dammit I’m really starting to understand why everyone else in this city avoids you like the plague! So just fuck off back to the dumpster you crawled out of and leave me alone you god damned creep! ”

…

The air between you falls deathly still as your voice echoes in the night. You wince back at the vitriol of your own words reverberating in your eardrums as you catch your breath. Too harsh, way too-

“HA

HAH

HAEHEAHAHEHAHEHAEH” he glitches, the piercing slew of laugh track noise clipping out of him incoherently.

Or not. Of course. You let out a shaky huff to steady your nerves.

He doesn't stop. 

...This feels different. 

It doesn't stop.

Isn’t it darker out than it was just a moment ago? You suck in a sharp breath. It fizzles in your lungs.

His lenses crackle with static and you recoil at the sudden sound. The atmosphere shifts causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. It’s suddenly extremely difficult to think straight. Your thoughts feel like they're clipping into each other, a static haze filling your skull. Spamton stands completely frozen in place. There’s a phone ringing.

The air crackles with

The air crackles with You overdid it. Shit . Why are you like this? You couldn't just bite your damned tongue crackles with the taste of burnt metal

You panic.

"Shit, hey wait are you ok?? I didn't mean-" You go to grab his shoulder and the sharp tingle of static sears your hand. Like white hot needles prickling up your arm. Popcorn crackles under your skin.

You hiss out a swear in pain. Spamton rambles on, w0rds not matching the movements of his mouth

[No! I’m sorry! Someone help me! Please! I’m begging-- Don’t-] 

Indistinguishable broken electronic noise. More laughter. Dial tones. Garbled mechanical screeaming mechanical Garbled tones Dial laughter More noise electronic broken Indistinguishable You grab at your head, the noises begin to feel like they're coming from within your own skull. Your skull crackles with the noises begin to feel like they’re coming from within your own skull. Your skull cr4ckles with Still amidst the ringing and throbbing you look at him and know in your [gut] [[skull]] that whatever your skull begins to cr4444ckle with Spamton is going through it [ 1 0 00 00 % off! ] times worse. You begin to [[crack]le]] babble, terrified out of your [skull] crackles with

"Sht, hey wait are y0u 0000k?? I didn't me333a444n-" You go to grab his shoulder and the the sharp tingle of static sears your hand. Like white hot st4tic prickling up your arm. Popcorn crackles under your [[skull]]. 

You hiss out a swear in another hiss out in agony Spamton cackles on, w0rds not matchingtching the aiiir crackles with an0ther h!ss out in 4gony your words are [vomit] crawls out of your throat 

“Oh [g0d], s$h!tt im sorry! Hey! I’m having a having a [[do you wanna have a bad time?]] lately and snapped I really didn;t mean that! I'm so sorry! It was terrible to say and You're weird and c0nfusing and way ay [2] pushy But you d0nt deser\/e to be reduced to living in garbageliving in living in garbage! You especially don't deserve whate<er this hell[Hell][H3LL] is Is is there any way I can I Want to help you Spamton I’m here for you please I’m heeee3333-”

Your own [vomit] sounds distant and electron1c and terr ifyi ng You grip at His ou tstr etched, sp4sming hand refusing to let go l3t go dont let go you don’;t let him go despite the fact that your body craCkles with

S t @ t iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

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iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

It stops.

You collapse to your knees, chest heaving and knuckles white clutching Spamton’s hand in a death grip. You pry your eyes open and the world around you is normal. Painfully so. Not even so much as a pebble out of place to validate the reality of what you just experienced. You look up at Spamton in front of you.

His glasses have gone dark, he's completely still, shoulders slumped forward and expression blank. He looks like a plain old, lifeless ventriloquist dummy. Your stomach writhes with dread.

"S-spamton? Are you alright?"

You stutter over yourself, voice unrecognizably fragile. You withdraw your hand from his to knead it between your fingers, shaking. The memory of the shooting pain from just moments ago is still fresh even though it, too, had vanished instantaneously. You’re sure there would be tears in your eyes if your body wasn't shocked into unresponsiveness, still reeling with too much adrenaline. You want to cry. You want to scream. But it takes every ounce of strength you have to force a whisper. 

“H-hey, you're not dead right? Please don't be dead-" Your voice quivers. The urge to reach out and grab him again is immeasurable, but you’re frozen. You can’t do anything more than stare at him.

Then you hear him, quiet but crystal clear, with the faintest strain.

"I'm sorry."

Without warning, he straightens up and turns away, walking off almost robotically around a corner. In your stunned state, you let him vanish into the night.

Chapter Text

It takes a long time before the fear dissipates and you regain the ability to move, reality no longer feeling so fragile that it might shatter if you so much as lift a pinky. A neon billboard in the distance flashes the time in scrolling, pixelated numbers overhead. It’s 2am, but there's no sense in returning home for the night. You won't be able to sleep. Not after that. 

You realize quickly trying to weigh your options that there’s only one thing you can even think to do right now, and suddenly find yourself sprinting towards the shopping district.

---

“Well hey there our valued customer! Back for more eh?” The pink Addison’s voice greets you in a manner far too cheery for your current state of mind.

You plow straight through the front door of the shop manned by an Addison you’d asked about Spamton once before. Even if they were reluctant to talk at the time, they obviously knew something . There had been no sense of urgency to warrant pressing the matter then, but that’s changed now.

Business must be slow at this hour, too- the orange and blue Addisons seem to have abandoned their own posts in favor of hanging around Pink’s storefront. Orange stands next to Pink, who waves you over as they lean lazily against the counter, though Blue does seem to be busy with a customer on the other side of the store. 

Pink straightens up and clasps their hands as you approach the pair first. 

“And well hey, hey! By the looks of it, I think you could use a nice pair of dating shoes. I’ve got plenty of flavors, take your pick!”

“What? No. Why? I mean-”   

“There is someone you care about quite a lot! It’s written all over your soul.” The Addison gestures vaguely at your chest.

“Not like that !” Your hands shoot up to cover yourself, as if they’ll somehow do a better job at hiding your soul than your entire chest cavity. “And don’t just look at my soul like that, that's rude !”

“Oh, my mistake! Perhaps I could interest you in some platonic shoes then.” Pink grins without missing a beat. “Or maybe some sleep shoes? Those bags under your eyes are quite awful!”

“You mean slippers ?” You rub tired circles into your temples in an attempt to focus your train of thought, “And no . I’m not here to buy anything. I came here because I need you to tell me everything you know about Spamton.”

“S-Spamton?” The Addison’s perpetual smile twists into something more of a grimace upon echoing the name, “He’s not who you’re… You can’t be serious, right?”

“I am.”

Pink leans back against the counter and folds their arms, quite literally turning their nose up at you. Their entire disposition changes, they clam up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit. You know him, you admitted as much last time.” You can already tell this is going to be a pain. Being unnecessarily difficult must be a requirement for the salesman position. Pink only glares at you. You throw a pleading look at Orange, who raises their hands defensively.

“I-I’m sorry, it’s not in our best business practice to talk about personal matters on the clock.” Orange shakes their head, equally as uneasy at the name drop. Though they maintain a relatively professional front compared to Pink, who looks downright offended.

“And we are always on the clock so please never ask again .”

“Wait- Please? I really need to know, I’m worried about him and-” 

“I told you, no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re not going to buy anything then you need to leave.” Pink one waves a hand in your face as if shooing away a fly as they peer down at you. Well then. The action alone brings your temper to a quiet simmer, the unapologetic dismissal of the subject at hand turns it into a boil. 

“What is your problem dude? Look, I'll even pay you to tell me.” 

“Well right now, nosy people like you are my problem.”

Fine.

“I’m not above starting a fight.” You bluff. There’s no doubt that even the lanky, prim and proper Addisons could make short work of you. They don’t know that though. The ordeal from earlier in the night left an edge to your nerves that hasn’t faded yet, and you’re running on fumes at this point still without any answers. Resorting to extreme measures is made dangerously easy by the combination. The Addison gawks. “ Spill it, peaches.”  

“All over that washed up loser ?” 

“Damn right.” You jerk a thumb towards the Addison next to them, whose eyes are nearly bugging out of their head. “I’ll even drag clementine here into this, too. I can take you both . ”

You feel like a rope about to snap with the tension building in your body, and somewhere in the back of your mind you thank the heavens that the shop is nearly empty for your reckless gambit. The orange Addison looks about ten different shades of uncomfortable, and Peaches looks like they’re one snide remark away from pouncing on you. You almost curse the fact that you haven’t gotten a lick stronger in all this time- right now, nothing sounds more appealing than landing a solid blow on the pink one’s stupid, pointy nose. You’ve done dumber things…

“Is something the matter?”

Your laser focus on the pink one is interrupted by a calm, concerned tone as the blue Addison strides over. Worry graces their features as they give you an inquisitive look. Slack is added to the rope, your muscles ease up just a bit.

Orange opens their mouth to speak, but you’re already babbling like a child tattling on their classmates.

“I know you guys know Spamton and these two are being lying liars about it but I really need your help. Please, can you tell me what you know about him? What happened to him?? Why does he glitch like that? How does he break reality ? Anything about how he just- why he-'' You have no idea how to explain what just happened. You sound crazy. All three Addisons exchange troubled glances with each other. You fight the new wave of emotions rising in your chest to choke out the rest of the sentence. “Something happened and I’m… I’m really worried about him, ok? Please help me?”

“I see…” Blue hums, contemplates the situation for a moment. “I apologize. Refusing help to patrons in our establishment is poor customer service.” The other two watch quietly as Blue proceeds to drop the act entirely, smile receding to something more regretful. “Spamton... was a salesman like us once, just, never quite good at his job.”

“Couldn’t sell a damned thing, ran his mouth like he did though.” Pink mumbles and Orange gives them a stern look. Blue continues. 

“It’s true, he never had any luck when it came to actually making sales. Until one day he suddenly struck gold, so to speak. His numbers skyrocketed, and he became so successful that the Queen invited him to move into the mansion with other big names of Cyber City.”

“I remember hearing that,” You recall the awkward conversation with the plugboy at the bar and shift your weight on your feet. “But they said that he got kicked out..?”

Pink interjects again. “Yeah, of course he didn’t get so good at his job by himself all of a sudden right? And I don’t even just mean that tacky old CRT partner of his.” Pink waves his hand dismissively,  He was on the phone constantly at the height of his ‘success,’ he must have made a lucky call cause whoever he was talking to was helping him big time.” The resentment in their voice is nauseating, knowing first hand the state Spamton spends his time in now. You continue listening quietly despite the affront . “None of us know exactly what happened, but he kinda lost it one day. Ditched his partner. Started talking crazy. His sales tanked again just like before and he lost everything. That's when he got kicked out.”

“He was obsessed with that phone. Even long after the calls stopped coming. It was scary, honestly.” Orange rubs the back of their neck, nervous. “Whoever was on the other end of the line must have said, or done something to… break him like that.”

“I went to check on him when he was to be evicted, but he wasn’t in his room.” unease settles deeper into Blue’s features, “I… I must have just missed him. The phone was off the hook, and I could have sworn I heard a voice coming through the receiver, but when I picked it up all I could hear was garbage noise.”

“ You didn’t look for him? ” The question is spoken more like an accusation, spilling from you as soon as blue closes their mouth.

“I didn’t know where to look. We’d stopped hanging out with him long before then-”

“Not like he needed us anymore anyway!” Pink interrupts again. 

“We were pretty jealous.” Orange admits. 

You can’t believe your ears.

“But even so! I’d asked one of the butlers at the mansion where I might find him if not his room, and all they could tell me was that he spent most of his time praying in the basement as things headed south. He wasn’t permitted there anymore, of course. I was at a loss.”

The blue Addison's eyes drop towards the floor, pressing their steepled fingers to their mouth as they speak. Pink stands with their arms crossed, irritated and refusing to look at you, and Orange keeps their hands folded at their waist, solemn gaze also averted. All three shrink with shame under your scrutiny. As they should. You don’t even know how to respond to what you’ve just been told. None of it explains what you just experienced, but it’s infuriating all the same. Heart breaking. 

“Is he… doing alright?” 

You nearly laugh in their faces. What an idiotic question. “Hardly! He- he...” 

It’s not your business to spill the details of his current situation, especially not to these three with the history they evidently share. It’s probably the last thing Spamton would want. “... What do you think ?”

“I understand,” Blue sighs, “If you want to know any more, the Swatchlings at the mansion might be of more help.”

You’ve heard enough for now, and would prefer to hear anything else from Spamton himself. You’re not going to let him disappear back into obscurity alone like they did. The thought never crossed your mind. Not even a question. You speak to yourself more than any of the darkners in front of you. “I’m gonna go find him.”

“Be careful won’t you? And… Could you tell him I’m sorry?” 

“Thanks, I’ll be fine. And I appreciate your time, but, no.” It takes all of your willpower to not spit your words, “Why don’t you? ”

You do go to his shop, but the door is locked and there’s no answer when you knock. You check every dumpster he’s popped out of in the past week as well. Not a sign of him anywhere. It’s been hours, your eyes burn from fatigue. Thank god you don’t have work today. Reluctantly, you head home, looking and feeling like death.

---

The moment your eyes open, he’s on your mind. Thoughts picking up as if you never fell asleep. Peering at the clock, it’s well into the evening. You slept like shit, as expected. How were you supposed to sleep with all of that new, horrible information about your friend stewing fresh in your mind? You weren't even sure he could hear your pathetic pleas and apologies through all that Hell. 

And, yeah, he IS your friend, regardless of any ridiculous ploys he tries to pull to distance himself from you. 

You throw yourself together and head straight to the dark world, to the trash zone. Your legs can’t carry you fast enough, mind reeling the entire way there, combing through the Addisons’ story over and over and over. Those calls...Whoever was on the other end of them was something that didn't sit right with you. Even losing your friends, fame and glory overnight shouldn't turn someone into…

A violent shudder wracks your body at the memory of searing pain shooting through your arm and frying your brain as Spamton effectively glitched reality around himself. Some thing did that to him. And he's been alone in it all. Your chest constricts, but it's not pity anymore. 

The disturbing whirlwind of thoughts only ceases when you finally arrive at the trash zone once again. Old, broken down cars still speckle the landscape and the same assortment of debris litters the path to the shop entrance as last night. You approach the door, stomach in knots.

"Spamton?" You wrap on the rusted steel door a few times. 

"You there? It's Y/N, your, uh, 'number 1 valued customer'...?"

A CUSTOMER!?” Some muffled rustling and a few crashes reverberate from behind the door before he continues, “YES COME IN COME IN!! HAHAEHAE HAVE I GOT SOME SPECIL DEALS FOR YOU [All Day Every Day!] !!

Some tension eases from your shoulders. He’s here. Thank heavens. And he at least sounds back to his usual self, for better or for worse. The door lets out a low creak as you push it open and make your way into the shop, slightly less anxious than a moment ago. You see Spamton, sitting at the far end of the space behind an old desk. 

He does a comically large double take upon seeing you. 

"O-OH. IT'S YOU."

"I said it was me... is that bad? I'll leave in a sec, I just-"

"NO!!! NOT BAD! I'M JUST SURPRISED TO SEE YOU HERE AFTER THAT- AFTER THAT- AFTER THAT DAMNED [[[[[####ow I'm sorry! Please stop I'll stop!!]]." 

His body physically clips apart like a damaged film reel, but the brief belief that you’d permanently broken him and the terror that came with it quickly subside as he near-immediately turns to normal. He clears his throat and tugs at his shirt collar before speaking again with the most strained smile you’ve seen on him yet. "HEH... SO WHAT CAN I SELL TO YOU TODAY?!"  

“I'm not here to buy anything, actually.” You shake your head. “I just wanted to check up on you, see how you're doing after, uh, since last time? And apologize, sincerely. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean any of that frankly cruel shit I said, I didn’t mean to snap like that..." The apology feels more like an excuse, but it’s the absolute least you should do. 

You search his features for some sort of reaction, but he just... stares. The most basic, bare-bones apology has sent him into a stunned silence. Jesus, it really drives home exactly how alone he’s been. You awkwardly fold your hands and look around the shop- anywhere but his eyes, which have been glued to you for the entire duration of his stupor.

"Are... are we cool?" Another few moments of dazed silence pass, you quirk an eyebrow and call Spamton’s name again. He snaps to attention, making a sudden jerky motion and barks out a short laugh.

“OF COURSE!!! WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN [ice cold].”

“ Always? That’s an interesting choice of words considering-” His shoulders curl in on themselves and you do manage to bite your tongue this time. Even if it still stings, you remind yourself of the conversation with the Addisons, and the slight bitterness rising in your throat becomes something you can swallow easily. He already apologized.

"Alright, yeah, we’re good." You nod hard a few times to cement the notion in your own mind and roll your shoulders back, shrugging off the weight they held. You can move forward.  "So, this is your shop huh? It's sure got a lot of.... stuff."

Mountains of trash are piled up the walls, unsurprisingly given the shop was located in the dump. What is jarring however, is the childish mural of a sunny blue sky painted on the walls in stark contrast to the rest of the utterly drab furnishings. Spamton lets another harsh electronic laugh loose before eagerly leaning on one arm over the counter towards you. It's only then that you note a single pristine rotary phone behind him, eerily out of place in its surroundings. 

“SURELY YOU'VE FINALLY COME TO TAKE ME UP ON THAT DEAL WE HAVE THEN!?”

"Ahah, Nononononono. Nope, we don't ‘ have a deal ’. I mean it when I say I'm not interested." You wave your hand quickly in hopes of avoiding that rabbit hole altogether. You grab a rusted folding chair conveniently out of the nearest trash heap and pull it over. "Mind if I sit here? I dont wanna be a bother if you're expecting any business. I won't stick around long if you're busy.” 

“NO NO! NO, I'M NOT... BUSY. YET!!! ARE YOU SURE YOU AREN'T [Interested in Checking Out] THE THe [[Hyperlink Blocked]] FOR SALE AT LEAST?”

"Yup, nope. Pass." You straddle the wobbly chair and prop your chin on the back rest. Spamton also sits back at his counter, evidently at a loss for what to do that doesn’t involve pushing sales. You break out the metaphorical pickaxe and take it to the wall he's set on building with you. "Anyway, I guess you spend your days hanging around here selling stuff?"

“YuP, AND SALES ARE SURE TO [turn a profit] AROUND ANY TIME NOW!!!! JUST WAITING ON [[That Phone Call]].”

There's a certain waiver in his voice through the thick static interference. His hands fidget in their place folded on the counter.  "Right, I see." You furrow your brows, but take great care to avoid sounding sarcastic or dismissive. A chill runs down your spine. Phone call .

“TO BE HONEST Y/N I'M NOT SURE WHY YOU'RE [Here and Now!] IF YOU AREN'T GOING TO [transmit kromer], AND KEEP REFUSING MY [Irresistible offers that will blow your mind]..?”

“I told you, I just wanted to pop in and check on you, make sure you're ok. Hang out a bit, maybe.”

“...WHY.”

“Pfff! Because you had some sort of terrifying, reality-warping meltdown last time I saw you and then vanished before I could even ask if you were alright?” You scoff. What kind of question was that? “You've got a real talent for getting on my nerves at times but that doesn't mean I think you deserve to suffer through whatever the hell that was? Not gonna lie my dude you had me worried." You shrug "Glad you seem to be doing better, though."

Spamton once again goes silent. You quirk an eyebrow as he opens and closes his mouth several times, staring right through you for a long moment. Then it's gone. 

"HAEHEAHAE!! NO NEED TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR OLD [worm] SPAMT

SPAMTON!! IM JUST

IM JUST

IM JU

A-OK!!!"

Spamton lays on the hammy salesman tone thick, eyes darting to the side as he speaks. He laughs loudly again, but it’s not convincing in the slightest.  The dense static overlay to his voice betrays his nerves.

"If you say so." The mild concern that he might short circuit if you keep pressing the matter flutters through your mind. It won’t stop you from making awkward conversation until he starts acting ‘normal’, though. Keep swinging the metaphorical pickaxe. 

You lean back in your seat, taking in your surroundings once again. "Sooooo, what kinda stuff do you sell here anyway?"

The question flips a switch in him, or maybe he’s just glad to change the subject, but either way his energy comes back full swing. He begins spouting a whole list of... words that have absolutely no meaning to you, but it’s an honest relief to see him back in his element. You settle into an oddly comfortable lull listening to Spamton prattle on about each old worn item he pulls from various places around the shop. Happy to have an audience, like someone breathed some life into the old salesman in his prime. 

The faded poster from the alleyway comes to mind. The fact that you're sitting amongst heaps of trash as you watch Spamton eagerly wave a tattered bowtie around is suddenly much more painful. Phone call.

You idly kick some debris, lost in your thoughts.

“HEY HEY, WATCH THE [merchandise]!!” 

"Huh? Oh, sorry.” Merchandise? You pause and glance around at the junk littered about. “Wait, then is everything around here for sale? Like what about this?" You scoop up an old fashioned alarm clock off the ground beside you and turn it over in your hand. It’s a little rusted, but not in too bad a shape for being tossed in a dump. Probably wouldn’t be hard to fix.

"HA! HA! YOU'RE A FUNNY LITTLE [Bunch of bananas]. OF COURSE NOT, THAT'S GARBAGE."

" Psh - Literally how can you tell the difference."

"YOU JUST DON'T HAVE THE [nose] FOR IT [kid]. NO WONDER YOU’VE BEEN SUCH A HARD SELL ON MY [Fantastic Offers]. YOU WOULDN'T KNOW A GOOD DEAL IF IT SLAPPED YOU IN THAT [[pretty little]] FACE." he tsks. You half-heartedly chuck the junk in his direction with a facetious scoff. 

Wait.

“In my what ?” You perk up at that last static-ridden interjection. His expression is unreadable behind his glasses, but oh, is his silence and the sudden squareness of his shoulders very telling. “Did you just call my face pretty??”

“PAL! YOU'RE MAKIN A BIG SCENE ABOUT [ 10 facts that will blow your mind! ]. IT'S JUST AN EXPRESSION.”

Oh, facts , huh? Interesting. You ramp up the tease in your voice. "I thought I was a worm-slime ?"

“Y0U ARE.  AND YOU;RE BEING A LITTLE [sponge] RIGHT NOW TOO. YOU [You] WANT TO K33P ADDING TO THAT LIST>?”

Oh, he's flustered .

"But Spamton, that's the closest thing to a compliment I've ever got outta you! Of course I'm not letting that slide." A mischievous grin creeps onto your features at the evil little voice in your head curious how far you can push. The devious urge is rather out of character for you, but far too tempting to ignore. Maybe the waters could be tested a little. You cup your hands to your cheeks with an exaggerated motion. "Aw Spams! You're making me blush!"

Spamton slaps one hand on the desk with a loud crack and wheezes out something like a dialup sound, tugging violently at the collar of his shirt. “HOLY [cungadero] WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!!!! IT'S [[CL0SING T1ME]], TOO BA44a4D!!!!! HATE TO BE RUDE, BUT THAT MEANS IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO [Scr@m]!!!1!!” 

Not difficult at all. You stifle a snicker, noting in particular how his cheeks flush red at the way you draw out the nickname. Cute . But it would be cruel to torture him too much. You came here to make sure he was doing ok, not embarrass him to death.

"I'm just messing with you," You laugh as he hops over to where you’re precariously balanced on the rickety chair, trying and failing to shew you out of the shop muttering little ‘ go, get out, go ’s. You’re too consumed with giggles to move.

"You’re really kicking me out for a little jesting? I can be useful , like if some of this stuff is legitimately trash, do you want a hand cleaning up around here a bit?" You swat him away to reach for another piece of scrap metal. “Some of this junk looks dangerous to leave lying around.”

Spamton pauses for a moment to regain his composure, adjusting his shades and smoothing back his hair with a mild huff. 

"WELL IF YOU'RE JUST GOING TO

[F---

lounder] AROUND AND BE SUCH A BOTHER ,” you can hear the eye-roll in his voice, “I MIGHT AS WELL GET SOME [Free] WORK OUT OF IT. SOUNDS LIKE A [hot] DEAL TO ME."

There's the Spamton you befriended over the past week. You smile wide.

"Alright then, where do I start, boss ?"

You commit the downright goofy grin that flickers across his face in return to memory.

Chapter Text

“YOU KNOW, THIS IS AN [Amazing Opportunity] FOR YOU TO LEARN A THING OR TWO ABOUT [Real value]. CONSIDER YOURSELF [Lucky W1nner!] YOU HAVE SUCH A [[garbage]] [Experienced Industry Professional 1997©] TO SHOW YOU THE ROPE5.”

“Spams, I’m only doing this to help you out. I’m not gonna dumpster dive in my day to day life. I have a normal job.” You roll your eyes at the salesman even though you know he can’t see you. He’s off somewhere behind a junk heap and out of your line of sight. 

It's another day in the dark world, another evening spent accompanying Sampton in his antics. You’ve settled into an unofficial routine of visiting him, though the hangout sessions aren’t usually spent picking through trash- you do have enough sense to avoid doing that when possible. You much prefer getting Spamton out of the dump instead, whether it’s going out to grab food or just strolling around the city enjoying the sights. 

Tonight however, he insisted upon sorting out a new load of junk dumped in the trash zone. The library must have conducted a routine hard drive cleaning overnight given the sheer amount of new garbage strewn about, so you’re currently focused on clearing a navigable path to the shop entrance more than anything. Even if this world is some sort of cyber simulation, it feels just as unsanitary as any real dump. Spamton can sort through the contents himself later.

You try to kick some more rubble to the side when your foot catches something, throwing your balance. You tumble sideways and fall into a pile of scrap metal with a yelp.

“HEY HEY!!! DON'T CUT YOUR [wimpy] [[littel hands]] ON ANY [Half Price Tupperware]. I’M NOT [Liability Insurance For Your Business?] IF YOU Bl33D OUT.” Spamton calls from somewhere on the other side of a trash heap at the echoing clatter of scrap metal and broken glass. “CAN'T AFFORD ANY INJURIES [[on the clock]]!!” 

“ On the clock ? You don't pay me.” 

“NOT TRUE!! I PAY YOU WITH MY [Handsome] COMPANY! AND- AND ID EVEN THROW IN A LITTLE [Hyperlink Blocked] JUST FOR YOU IF YOUD [[Seal the Deal!!]];” You don’t need to see his face to know the exact expression he's wearing, and definitely waggling his eyebrows as he speaks. His tone is salacious enough. You’re not even sure he’s talking about the usual deal to be honest, not that it matters. You roll your eyes harder.

“I think it’s the other way around, Spams. Kind of.” You stand up brushing the rust and dirt from your clothes and yank the culprit responsible for your tumble out of the pile. A dangerously jagged rusty pipe. 

On second thought, Spamton can clear the rest himself, too. Darkner email puppet things probably can’t get tetanus, right?

You twirl the lethal baton for a moment before chucking it farther into the heap. “Anyway, I think I’m done messing with garbage for the night.”

“YOURE [Leaving me] ALREDY??” Spamton all but squeaks from somewhere amongst the mess, and out of the corner of your eye you see the pink yellow glint of his glasses peek over one of the abandoned cars. The childish protest in his voice is evident through the static interference and you snort fondly to yourself as you cautiously tiptoe over to a section clear of debris. 

“Don't worry, I’ve got plenty of time to hang out still. I’m just gonna do so over here, away from the mountains of health hazard.” 

“I WAS NOT WORRIED .” He lies, poorly. 

Spamton returns to rummaging through the rubble  and you give your hands another onceover, making sure you didn’t miss any scratches. Heaven forbid an unnoticed wound goes uncleaned and you develop some weird cyber infection. Come to think of it, you’re in such a remote part of the city, you’re not even sure where the closest hospital is . You’ve never run into so much as an Ambyu-lance out this way. 

Oh! Which reminds you...

“Wait, Spams, I just remembered something I wanna show you! C’mere.” Spamton peaks over the car again and cocks an eyebrow at the excitement in your voice. You wave him over and he obliges, scrambling over onto the nearest car and perching himself on the hood. Once he seems situated you give him a nod and focus. 

With a single concentrated snap of the fingers, a quick gust of wind changes your clothes to a nurse uniform, and a bowl of magic-dark-soup manifests in your hands. You hold up the bowl and beam. 

“ Soup!!! ”

...

Spamton stares at you for exactly two seconds before doubling over in a choking fit, whole body rattling as he wheezes. Your cheeks begin to burn and you clutch the soup back to your chest defensively with a scowl. Sure you look silly, stupid even, but not that bad. He doesn’t need to be so rude about-

“WHAT'S WITH THE [Top 10 Sexy Halloween Costumes This Season] OUTFIT CHANGE.” 

You’ve never seen someone smack a hand over their mouth so fast. 

Which is odd, because he has definitely said weirder things. Hell, he was just implying something a minute ago. You wouldn’t have thought twice about the interjection if he didn’t react like that . 

You loosen up at the realization he’s not making fun of you in the slightest, rather a wide smirk plasters itself across your face. 

 “Why so flustered, Spams?” Your eyes narrow, predatory. “Please feel free to explain what exactly is sexy about a shapeless lab coat and tacky nurse hat.”

“DON’T [Look at me like that] [[Hochi Mama]].” 

“ Hoochie mama?? ”

You watch with the utmost amusement as he squirms under your gaze. Sure the flirtatious banter you engage in usually doesn’t get this blatant, but he can be a very pull-no-punches kind of guy when he wants to be with this kind of stuff. Right now though, he can’t even look in your direction. 

“I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THA444T I SWEAR TO [Ffff1ve Star Rentals] I CAN’T CONTR0L THIS [Stupid] [!@#$%]. NOT THAT YOU’RE NOT A [Hot Singles in YouR Area, Click Now!]. WAIT [[ Theres more! ]] GOD F!@$ DAMN IT- ” He presses both hands to his temples frantically attempting to concentrate, sputtering. “I MEAN AN YONE CAN SEE YOUORE A VERY A T T R A C T I V E PERS0NNN G3NERALLY$$$PE4KINGG. ” Spamton grits the strained slur of words out, fighting any more embarrassing advertisement clips from plaguing his speech. It sounds like someone put his voice through an audio compression tool and turned the sound quality to zero.

Oh. He’s serious .

The realization brings your mild power trip to a screeching halt. 

Empty flirtatious banter was fine, it means nothing, but getting bombarded with what feels like embarrassingly honest compliments is not something easily dismissed. Your whole body is suddenly on fire. He’s still running his mouth and it’s more than just a little slip of the tongue to tease him over, at this rate you might short circuit as well if he doesn’t shut up. 

Thankfully, his wits catch up to his mouth and he quits babbling before you actually crack. Spamton rubs his eyes under his glasses, leaving them slightly askew on his nose. “JUST. JUST. JU$T [gived] ME THE DAMNED S0UP.” He hops down from the car and shuffles towards you, grumbling. “OUGHT TO CHARGE YOU [In four easy payments of] [Don’t Speak Until Spoken To] FOR ALL THE            !!”

You somehow succeed at feigning composure through the verbal barrage, and hand the bowl over with a cocky grin. Not at all acknowledging his little tirade or the confusing slew of emotions it brought on in your chest. The amount of time it takes him to eat the soup should be plenty to get over whatever is going on with those right now, you’re a bit dizzy. 

Spamton doesn’t allow you the luxury.

“THIS TASTES LIKE [[Battery Acid]].”

You strangle out a noise best described as the vocalization of a keyboard smash. So much for maintaining your composure. All that for some battery acid.

“I need a moment actually.” You sit on the ground. This is fine. On the ground with the trash where you belong, probably. You flop backwards on the pavement and drape both arms over your face, unable to process anything else. Brain fried. “I’ll be here letting the trash heap claim my body. Bye forever.” 

His eyes track you the whole time behind his glasses, and you hear him chuckle at the dramatics. It's a nice sound. Warm. Not harsh and electronic like the usual piercing laugh track noise, though there is a soft hum of electricity behind it. You haven't heard him laugh like that before. It’s really not helping the situation. Your face heats up and both your hands press over your eyes, elbows raising straight up in the air as you try to will clarity to your thoughts.

“O-HOH WELL LOOK HERE! NOW WHOS RED AS A [Organic, Vine Ripened] TOMATO. WhY sO [[flustered]], Y/N??” Spamton echoes your prior taunt with a mocking, sing-song voice. You feel him loom over your, but you don't dare uncover your face. “CANT [keep it together] NOW CAUSE OF [your ol’ pal] SPAMTON?”

You can feel him staring down smugly at you right now. Why is he suddenly the one making you squirm, when exactly did the dynamic flip here? He’s using that overtly suggestive tone again and, damnit, there's that chuckle again, too. Change the subject, change the subject-

“Why do you know what that tastes like anyway? You try eating batteries or something?” 

“WHAT? GHHH NO !! THats [Confidential Information]!!”

“Oh, you totally ate batteries.” You peer out from between your fingers with a growing smirk despite the fact that you are most certainly several shades too red, and Spamton crosses his arms defensively. That was easy. Thank god.

“KINDA [Hard to avoid] GETTING IT IN YOUR M0UTH WHEN YOU,RE [Thrown out like Tueasday’s trash] INTO A R1V3R OF THE STUFF [[At Half Price!]].” He quickly corrects you and opens his mouth as if to say more, but closes it again. Looking immediately like he might have divulged too much information. “IT’S. IT’S [Long story].”

You were joking of course, but the sudden, deeply concerning implication sobers you somewhat. You open your mouth to ask um what the hell but Spamton shakes his head quickly.

”DONT ASK. [please].” 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and shoot him a dubious look, but he keeps a straight face, glasses flickering with static momentarily. The air feels heavier by the second. You nod.

“Anyway, if the soup tastes so bad, I’ll go grab something to wash it down. I owe you for making you try the stuff at least.” There was a stand that sold tea not too far away, if you recall correctly. It’s a little chilly, something warm sounds good. Plus, you could probably use a walk to clear your head fully. Spamton hums.

-

You return shortly to find Spamton leaning against one of the cars, arms folded. He perks up when you call his name. 

“THAT WAS [Expedited Delivery], WHAT YOU GOT THERE?” He reaches toward the cups making a greedy grabby motion. You join in leaning against the vehicle beside him and hand over his cup. The air is notably lighter at least.

“It’s tea. There was a stand I passed earlier.” Well it was supposed to be tea, but when you tried it on the way back it was more like hot water than anything. You give the steaming beverage one last cooling blow before taking another sip, hoping it just hadn't had enough time to steep. 

You grimace. Nope. So much for that. 

“Sorry it’s-”

“WHAT [Brand Names at Affordable Prices] TEA IS THIS?” Spamton lowers the cup from his mouth, looking something between surprised and confused. He takes another sip.

“I dunno, when the guy handed it to me he just said it was my tea. Like, my name.” You swirl your own cup around in your hand, eyeing it with skepticism. “It’s just water though, I honestly only brought it back so we could shit talk that Addison.”

For a brief second, you swear Spamton looks mortified , but the reaction is so fleeting and so bizarre that you doubt you saw it at all. You shrug it off- a trick of the light maybe. His expression now is something more blank, contemplative. He stares at the drink in his hands.

“ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS GOOD.” 

“What??” 

“I'VE NEVER HAD TEA THIS [All Natural] DELICIS.” The statement is filled with soft-spoken bewilderment. 

You, too, are bewildered.

“Well mine wasn’t! Let me try it.” 

“HEY, HEY! [[No Returns]]!!” Spamton snaps out of whatever inner monologue he was having and quickly moves the cup away from your grabbing hands. Maybe yours was just a bad batch? You manage to swipe the cup out of his grip on your second attempt and quickly take a sip. You scowl. Nope, his tastes like lukewarm water, too. 

“YOU CAN'T JUST [Free Refunds Made Easy!]. MINE ” He snatches the cup back from your hands. “AND YOU CLEARLY JUST HAVE [horrible] TASTE DOLL. IT’S [sickeningly sweet].” 

“Are your tastebuds shot?”

“ARE Y0URS?”

You open and close your mouth a few times, but come up short of a sufficiently snarky reply. Spamton leans back against the rusted vehicle with a smug grin, sipping contently on the tea. You take another disgruntled sip of the hot water that you don't know why you're still entertaining. It tastes like disappointment. Maybe it was fitting for your self-named tea after all. 

“...Do they make Spamton tea?”

Spamtons whole body cringes at your question, and he grimaces. “Y3S.” The answer comes with an air of resignation, as if he knows exactly what's coming next. You light up.

“Seriously?? Wait, I gotta try it!” Unique tea to individuals must be a dark world thing. That raises several questions about the different reception you both had to the You-tea, but the idea of Spam-tea is even more intriguing. You start digging in your pockets for dark dollars. “If I give you some money, would you get some? Please?”

“YOu DEFINITELY DON;T [want it all,]. UNLESS YOU [enjoy the smooth taste of] LIGHTER FLUID.”

Tea sprays out of your nose and mouth as you choke on a poorly timed sip. “ WHAT ?” 

“I [tried it once] A WH1LE AGO. DON”T BOTHER.” He shrugs.

Your eyes water in pain from the burning sensation shooting through your sinus as Spamton laughs at your coughing fit. You aren’t even going to bother asking why he knows what that tastes like. Of course he does. At this rate he probably knows what gasoline tastes like, too. You wipe the last of the drivel off your face with your sleeve and blink your eyes clear.

You stare back down at the supposedly-delicious hot water in your hand, and wonder. 

“If you think my tea tastes good, maybe your tea will taste different to me? That’s probably how magic-dark-tea works right?” It wouldn’t be surprising. Given how dark world logic tends to function, it’s pretty likely actually. 

“MMM, NOPE. [Transaction Declined].” Spamton swats away the dark dollars you wave in his face and clicks his tongue, but your hand moves right back to its previous position in his face. Not only do you want to know what Spam-tea tastes like for yourself, but now you need to test your magic-dark-tea hypothesis. At worst it’d be another cup of hot water and more business for the Addison ripping you off. A small price to satiate your curiosity. Spamton goes cross eyed glaring at your too-close fist full of cash. “I WILL [devour] THOSE [Delicics Kromer] IF YOU DON'T KNOCK IT OFF.”  

“You wouldn’t.”

“[[Try me]]”

...Those teeth could definitely do some damage to your fleshy human hand. You withdraw your fist with an exasperated whine. “Well what if I like the taste of lighter fluid, huh? You really gonna deprive me of a safe alternative to my favorite beverage?” 

“FOR SOME [Crazy, cr@zy!] REASON, I D0N’T BELIEVE THAT.”

“Spaaaaammmmsssss, please?” You already know it’s a battle you probably won’t win, but if he insists on being difficult over something so trivial, then so will you. You smack his shoulder a few times, pouting. “I want to drink the lighter fluid.”

“WHAT IS [[wrong]] WITH YOU.” 

You’re pretty sure he’s suppressing a smirk.

“I’m being prevented from becoming a human blowtorch, that’s what. ” He grabs your wrist preventing you from continuing to wail on his shoulder, jointed fingers closing around your wrist in a firm but surprisingly gentle grip. 

You pause for just a moment at the abnormally intimate feeling of the sensation, and in this moment, you admit to yourself you might be a little touch starved. It must be written all over your face, too, if the way Spamton's face flushes a light pink is any indication. His eyes dart behind his glasses from your face to his hold on your arm, back to your face. He lets go. 

Something giddy bubbles in your chest. You grin and double down, not an ounce of seriousness left in you. ”Let me live my dreams, Spamton. I need the lighter fluid tea.”

“YOU’RE A [Headache] IS WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU.” The static in his voice is warm and fuzzy. You try to feign offense, but you’ve already dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Spamton is trying so, so hard to maintain a straight face, but your laughter-induced teary eyes meet his, the corner of his mouth twitches and the facade cracks. “YOU’RE GONNA- GONNA BE [[Death Of A Salesman- Tickets And ShowT1mes]] YOU DAMN NERD. WHO SAYS $#*7 LIKE THAT?” He brings a hand over his face in a half hearted attempt to hide his amusement, mouth forming a lopsided grin. 

You eventually settle down as Spamton finishes his tea (and your tea while insisting it’s certainly not just water), and the rest of the evening carries on comfortably uneventful. By the time midnight rolls around, you set out to head home. As much as you don’t want to leave, you do have work tomorrow. 

Your heart is a bit heavy as you bid Spamton goodnight, leaving him to the dump by himself, but you assure him and yourself that you’ll be back in the next day or two, as usual. You wave, and he watches you go until you're out of sight.

---

Except, you didn't make it back the next day. Or the day after. Or that week at all. Life had just got in the way, as it tends to do at the most inopportune times. 

The entire time you hadn't stopped daydreaming about the dark world of course. Your boss, your landlord, your mother, the monotony of your life, god it's all so tedious in comparison. Daily life feels so void of meaning at times, but you’ve come to realise that Spamton gives you something to look forward to. And he’s the reason for the current bounce in your step as you make your way through Cyber City, finally .

The evening air is brisk as you bound through the trash zone, two cups of ‘tea’ warming your hands as you approach Spamton’s shop. You knock on the door, giddy with relief to be back. A few moments pass, no answer. Weird, you always meet around this time, he’s always here unless you plan otherwise. You turn the handle expecting it to be locked if he’s not around, but it opens. You push open the door, everything is lit as if he were here. The unease starts creeping in. 

“Spamton?” You call his name a few times and are met with only silence. The lack of ambient static in the air is enough of a clue that he isn’t here. Your heart sinks. Should you be worried? He might just be busy somewhere. You could always stop back later before you head home. 

You close the door behind you with a loud clunk and a dejected sigh, when a low sound comes from one of the dumpsters beside the shop entrance. Something like a whine? 

You quietly creep towards the dumpster, straining your ears to catch it again. If it’s a maus or tasq rummaging through the trash, maybe you could catch it. Spamton has made it clear multiple times now that he hates finding the little guys chewing up his ‘premium wares.’

Your ears perk up at the sound again. Except, that’s most certainly not the feral whines of some wild creature. It’s a whimper, and then the familiar kind of muffled sniffles and coughing that follow after a full on bawling session. 

Oh…

Oh, no.

Spamton has barely been anything other than arrogant and boisterous around you. Maybe flustered or timid at times, sure. Fleetingly disheartened at most . But not what you’d call emotional , and certainly not so much to the point of tears . You’re far too awkward to know what to do, damn it. What do you say? Should you even say anything? It’ll certainly be embarrassing for him... but...  just leaving him there crying in the bottom of a dumpster is absolutely not an option. 

Another muffled noise from the dumpster snaps you to attention. It sounds something like words this time, mumbled between the wimpers. Isn’t... wasn't that what one of the Addisons called themself? 

Then comes another name. And another.

Fuck it, absolutely not . What's a little embarrassment compared to whatever he's going through right now? 

You awkwardly strut back to the door of his shop, purposefully dialing up the theatrics of your motions and making a show of yourself to no visible audience. Maybe he just didn’t notice you were here the first time. You knock loudly.

“Heyyyyyy, Spams you around? It's your favorite #1 repeat customer again!” You project your voice, attempting to lightheartedly mimic the robotic inflections littering his voice in the way that almost always gets a snort out of him. You’d gladly take something small as that right now.

He's silent.

“I brought tea! I mean it still tastes like water to me, but that’s good for you right? It’s getting cold!”

Nothing.

“Orrrrrr I was gonna see if you wanna hit up this restaurant I've been meaning to check out? My treat as usual!”

Electronic. Crickets.

You were really, really hoping he'd pop up like ’ oh sorry everything’s /100% satisfaction guaranteed/ ’ or whatever it is Spamton would say. Then your intrusion would feel less like prying, but no dice. You're in too deep now. 

You roll your shoulders inhaling harshly and rub both hands over your face before making your way to the offending dumpster. You gently tap the side.

"Hey, I know you're in there. You don’t have to come out but, uh, I'm here if you want, Spams. Just give me the word and I'll give you your space, or, I'll be right here otherwise."

A few minutes of more suffocating silence pass. Not a peep from the dumpster to confirm or deny the desire for your continued presence. You sit on the ground with your back to the dumpster wall and set the tea on the ground beside you. 

Without a single clue of how to tactfully handle the situation, you just start rambling. About your day, life, whatever. Your mind numbing job. The squeaky door that won't stay shut in your shitty apartment, and how your shitty landlord won’t fix it. The absolute bastard of a really fat squirrel that tried to steal your lunch yesterday. Literally anything that comes to mind. Nothing but dead air answers in each pause in your stories, and you feel a bit crazy having a one sided conversation with a garbage can, but the silence just means Spamton isn’t telling you to stop , right? 

You lose track of time but from the way your back is beginning to ache against the cold steel you guess it's been at least an hour. Maybe longer. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the rusted metal, voice utterly spent. He could have fallen asleep, or snuck out the other side while you yakked away for all you know. You don't know what compelled you to keep talking into the quiet night for so long, why you stuck around. You sigh.

Then you hear a rustling from behind you, then a thump on the ground next to you. The air shifts with a low level of buggy static as you feel a body sit beside you.

"...THAnk you."

You blink your tired eyes open to look at him, and the way he looks back at you...

 Duh. That's why. 

Chapter Text

You've been sitting in silence for a while now, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Spamton hadn't given you much more than hums and single word answers when you tried asking if he was alright, so you’ve dropped it. He'll talk when he's ready, and at least you've done enough talking yourself for the night already. 

You shift side to side, readjusting your sitting position for maybe the fifth time tonight when a loud exhale distracts you from relieving the sleep-induced tingling sensation in your legs. 

“THEY ALL LEFT ME.”

Spamton stays unmoving, sitting in the same position he’d first assumed upon joining you. Hands hanging listlessly as his forearms rest atop bent knees, his gaze fixed straight ahead. You almost second guess whether he actually said anything until he speaks up again.

“WHEN I FINALLY [Made it big] THEY ALL LEFT. I WAS ALONE AT THE TOP,. BUT I THOUGHT- - F#%$ EM! I DONT NEED [worms] ANYWAY! I HAD [[every_thinG]] I COULD EVER WANT. GOT A. GOT A NEW BUSINESS [[partner]].” He grimaces, regretfully. “NOT TO MENTION A ROOM IN THE QUEENS MANSION. DELICIS KR0MER. FAME. EVEN- EVEN [Hyperlink blocked]!”

“OR SO I THOUGHT. BUT I LOST IT ALL” He hesitates. “OR MAYBE> MaybE IT WAS NEVER [mine] IN THE F1RST PLACE.”

As Spamton speaks, his somewhat flat and detached tone cracks and deteriorates to wavering and cracking erratically until he pauses and clears his throat. Spamton finally averts his gaze from straight on as it’d been this entire time, but rather than looking at you while he speaks, he turns away. His voice is more than quiet. It’s small . 

“I WAS-... I THOUGHT Y0U WERENT COMING BACK. THOUGHT I SC4RED YOU AWAY.”

“You WHAT!?” The volume of your own voice startles you, but… the shock and disbelief and pure horror at hearing that - “Spamton, oh my god, I wouldn't just abandon you like that! I would never- Why would I do that to you??”

“IT WOULDNT BE THE FIRST TIME.”

Right, the Addisons. 

“I’m such an idiot.” You rub your hands over your face, and your eyes are met with Spamton finally looking at you, brow quirked inquisitively. You can faintly make out dried tear stains trailing from under his glasses in the cyber moonlight. Shit, how air-headed could you be. A week goes by quickly when you’re drowning in tasks and activities and work, but Spamton is only ever as busy as he makes himself. You really could have made the time to come back sooner if you’d tried a little harder. He very well may have been mumbling your name at the bottom of the dumpster this whole time, too. Damn it all.  

“Spamton, I’m so sorry. I got so caught up in my life, I was so busy time got away from me. I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark like that. Shit, I wish there were some way we could communicate when I’m not here.” 

“ITSS            ITS [a-OK].” Absolutely nothing about the way he says that makes you believe it. Even as he continues talking in response to your skeptical expression, it sounds suspiciously more like he’s trying to reassure himself than he is you. “REALLY!! YOU YOURE NOT SOME [good for nothing] I KNOW THAT. I [[know]] THAT!! YOU WOULDNT- YOURE NOT-” 

Then, it’s like a switch is flipped. A crack appears in the wall he’s built to guard himself.

“THEY’RE ALL [ [ SCUM ] ]”

Spamton gushes, recounting everything about the rollercoaster of a life he’s lived. How he came from nothing , how he made a connection who changed it all. The Addisons slowly abandoned him. How suddenly help stopped coming. How he watched his furniture being carried off as he was evicted from the castle. Watching as his face went from plastered everywhere to his existence being scrubbed out of the city almost entirely. Trying to pick back up the pieces of his shattered life, somehow impossibly lower than from where he began.

Of course, most of this information isn't new . What you hadn't heard directly from other cyber city residents, the city had told you in the form of old form posters and forgotten billboards. But as Spamton sits beside you, quivering as he lays out every detail first hand, it feels as if you're learning everything for the first time all over again. The gravity of his situation, that this is how he's been living, this is his reality, hits you like a freight train. Nauseating. You knew there were some sore topics but he'd always been relatively quick to bounce back upon changing the subject. It was never so clear exactly how it all weighed on him- how much he hurt .

“DID YOU KNOW THAT THE QUEEN’S MANSION HAS A R1VER OF BATTERY ACID? GREAT FOR [Romantic Getaway Package For You And Your Sweetheart] IN THE ACID [Tunnel of Love]! ALSO GREAT FOR [[Baptizing]] [failed] BUSINESSMEN INTO.” He laughs bitterly. “HERES AN UNRELATED [Fun Facts!] DID YOU KN0W THAT BATTERY ACID SHRINKS THING5?”

Still, the color drains from your face. Nothing could have ever prepared you to hear that. 

“WHEN I GET THAT BODY THEY'LL ALL REGRET LEAVING ME TO ROT. IM GOING TO MAKE SURE OF IT, IT SIT S ITS ITS ITS THEY DERSERVE. GONNA HAVE ALL OF CYBER CITY EATING OUT OF MY       AGAIN FOR THROWING ME AWAY LIKE SOME [Yesterdays Paper]. ILL BE SO- I’LL BE SO [[Powerful]] THEY WON'T HAVE ANY CHOICE.”

Spamton rants on, and you can barely find the air to breathe trying just to process everything. The new information, the growing anger in his voice, the look on his face, the mildly painful fizzling of static in the air-

“THEYLL BE BEGGING FOR FORGIVENESS BUT THEY WONT FIND ANY. NO ONE LISTENED TO ME WHEN I [begged] NO ONE WAS THERE WHEN THEY [dragged] ME OUT OF MY ROOM. NO ONE LISTENED WHEN I [pleaded] FOR MERCY CHOKING ON ACID. NO ONE CARED THAT I WAS [condemned] TO LIVE HERE IN THIS- IN THIS”

Spamton fists a hand into his hair and claws the other down his face, breaths becoming more erratic as his frenzied anger devolves into panic. A particularly sharp crack of static snaps your focus back to the present, you move without thinking.

“Hey, hey, ” You gently grab his hand away from his face to give it a firm squeeze before tears threaten his eyes again. The action startles him a little- he flinches at the contact and turns to look at you, blinking some clarity back into his eyes as if he forgot you were even there. “I’m here. And I care.” 

Despite the leak turning into a steady stream of painful memories and unstable emotions, you can tell there's still some things being held back. It feels like there's a ticking time bomb somewhere in his head that he's desperately trying to bury. Trying to reassure him with hollow 'its ok's would feel dismissive, but you have no idea what else to say in the moment. You squeeze his hand a little harder, and hope it's enough for now. 

After a tense moment, Spamton exhales a shaky sigh. "S0RRY-"

“You have nothing to apologize for, Spamton. I'm sorry that all this batshit, godawful stuff happened to you.”

You allow a few quiet moments to pass for Spamton to collect himself. Spamton runs a hand through his hair in a half hearted attempt to smooth it back. His breathing evens out after several measured breaths, and you realize that a fair amount of time has passed and you’re still squeezing his hand.

And that might possibly be weird. 

To your surprise, though, as soon as you let go Spamton immediately reaches to grab your hand back, pulling into his lap. Wordlessly inspecting your hand rather than holding it. Turning it over and tracing the lines in your palm, something reminiscent of a self-soothing motion. Feather light touches you never would have considered him capable of. You suppress a shiver.

And, you hadn’t paid them much mind during any of the other brief instances in which you'd grabbed his hand, for a shake or otherwise, but you have time to take in the unique sensation of his puppet-like anatomy now. Just as smooth as they look, and surprisingly warm, with a slight coarseness on the palm and pads of his fingers, like well-worn porcelain. 

Hands that have no place rummaging through trash every day to make a living. Hands much more suited for tender moments like now. 

Hmm.

“Having fun there?”   

“YOUR HANDS ARE SO SOFT.” 

“Wh- yeah of course compared to your puppet hands.”

“SOFT WEAK [small child] HANDS” 

“Pff-” You make no attempt to withdraw your hand from him. "So I've been told."

“I DIDNT WANT TO SAY ANYTHING BEFORE BECAUSE IT WOULD BE [Poor Customer Service]. BUT YOURS ARE EXTRA [fragile]. AND I'VE HELD PLENTY OF HANDS-  [[And More!]] -IN MY [1997] DAY.” He coos, and even though you can only see one eye from the side view of his face, you’re pretty sure that was a wink. 

“Well, glad you’re back to normal.” A small grin tugs the corners of your mouth. “ CuStOmEr SeRviCe has never stopped you from insulting me before though," you lilt.

Spamton immediately chokes on his cocky air and (admittedly charming) attempt at being suave. “ITS ITS NOT AN INSULT. ITS A [highest rated] COMPLIMENT. SOFT HANDS ARE GENERALLY CONSIDERED A DESIRABLE TRAIT. THAT'S THE [Sales Pitch] OF EVERY LOTION [Your Advertisement Here] OUT THERE. I WOULD KNOW .”

"Ahhh, so is that why you've been feeling up my hand for like 10 minutes now?” You laugh. He flinches and fumbles at the callout but you interject before he drops your hand completely, quickly closing your fingers around his hand. “ Not that I mind. It's nice. Please continue.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him, but when you don’t rescind your statement as some sort of teasing joke, he hesitantly obliges, earning a content sigh from you.

At this point in the night- or probably morning by now- you're too tired to be flustered. Or really be affected by how intimate this entire exchange is. You yawn and slump your entire body to the side in search of a more comfortable position, ultimately resting your head against his shoulder. The height difference isn't so noticable sitting on the ground like this, you note in passing as your tired eyes drift shut.
His body becomes immediately rigid under the weight of your head, but you don't mind the hard plastic feel of his shoulder under the fabric of his blazer as much as you appreciate the warmth radiating from his body. It takes a moment for Spamton to relax again with the new position.

"YOURE SO DAMN WEIRD. I DONT GET WHY YOU STICK AROUND.” He mumbles, resigned. He sounds pretty tired himself. "LIKE- LIKE- LIKE I KNOW I CAN BE @n OVERBEARING A$$"

"True, but also you're my friend. What are you on about?" 

"BUT WHY . DON'T YOU HAVE [real value] FRIENDS. REAL. UH. I MEAN LIGHTNER FRIENDS." Your lighthearted tone is lost on him. He's more serious than you were prepared for and the question catches you off guard. A faint scowl creeps onto your face as you reluctantly blink your eyes open.

You have to ponder a moment to form your response.

“I mean, I basically just gave you an entire detailed rundown of my life. All that boring-at-best and miserable-at-worst shit I just babbled about? Not specific to this week. Except maybe the squirrel.” He snorts and you give a half-hearted smile that feels a lot more like a grimace.

The urge to hug your knees to your chest as you spill your guts is stifled only by the fact that your hand is still occupied. Though Spamton has subconsciously began rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand as you speak, and the tiny gesture is somehow more comforting than any self-soothing motion you'd have tried anyway. You continue. 

“I have friends, but they've moved away and do things with their life now. We keep in touch but it's not the same. Meanwhile I’m just stuck in mine," you shrug against him, "But yeah, my life is just like that. Boring. Lame. Kinda sad. Kinda pitiful."

“PITIFUL?” He scoffs and yanks your hand clutching it towards his chest. “YOU’RE [selling yourself short] HERE!! YOU DON'T KNOW PITIFUL. I KNOW PITIFUL AND YOU ARE NOT IT> YOUVE HEARD ENOUGH ABOUT [number 1 rated l0ser] ME TO KNOW WHAT PITIFUL R3ALLY IS.”

You jolt upright at the ludicrous self depreciation and whip your head to look at him with such fervor he squeaks in surprise. Spamton nearly falls over at the loss of leverage with how much he was leaning against you. You hadn't noticed he'd started doing that, but you don't spare a moment to dwell on how fuzzy that makes you feel given how offended you are.

“You’re not pitiful! What! You’re hurt more than anything. But I’d say you’re pretty damn strong, too. Despite all the shit that's happened to you you’re still trying your damnedest. Hell you haven’t even given up on pestering me yet. You’re damn resilient.” Your eyes fall to where your fingers are interlaced, noticing exactly how tight you've began gripping his hand, and your expression softens just a little. “You're far from pitiful, Spamton. You don’t sell yourself short, either.”

That shuts him up. Despite the darkness enveloping the dump at this hour, the rosey color spreading over Spamtons face is clear and he sputters indignantly. “Y Y Y YOU CAN'T JUST SA44Y THAT!!”

“Uh, yeah, I absolutely can cause it’s true. I think I know enough to make that call.”

He looks like he's about to say more, but leans back against the dumpster, evidently coming up short of a counterargument. Good . Instead, he rubs his eyes beneath his glasses with his free hand and lets out a resigned sigh. Face still quite red.

“YOU KNOW. I DIDNT EVEN ME4N TO TELL YOU ANY OF THAT [tragic backstory] B3FOR3. YuoRE TOO [Communication Made Easy!] TO TALK TO.”

“Me? Seriously?” You suppose it makes sense, given how you feel the exact same way about him, it would be a two way street. Still, it’s strange hearing someone actually say it and does nothing to quell the surprise in your voice. A genuine smile warms your face. He gives a sharp nod. 

“BUT TOO00 NICE FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, TOO. SOME [slime] IS GONNA [[Take Advantage of]] THAT.”

“Oh, like you've been trying to do?” You tease, but he furrows his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth twitches subtly. Maybe he does feel worse about that all than he lets on. “Hey, it was a joke, don’t take that seriously.” You nudge his shoulder with yours earning a small hum from him.

"And for the record, I'm actually glad you assaulted me in an alleyway and continued harassing me ever since. Otherwise we wouldn't be here." 

You lift the hand he's holding to eye level in front of him, wiggling your wrist in emphasis. Where exactly here is, you don't want to delve into right now- it's neither the time nor place. Without much thought though, you can safely say that here is comfortable. Here is good. 

Spamton doesn't make another sound, but does nod slowly after a moment and things drift into a comfortable lull. The two of you sit in a second long silence, but the air feels calm and open. Spamton still has your hand clasped between his own, but it rests on his lap no longer the center of his attention. Instead, he’s leaned his head back on the dumpster. His eyes are closed, and a few loose locks of his otherwise disheveled hair hang over his forehead. Expression content. It's such a dear sight. Your chest squeezes.

When did he become so dear to you? 

You stare hard at him, eyes roving his peaceful expression as if searching his wonderfully unique features for an answer, but you come up short. All you can muster is the fact that right now, you are just two weirdos sitting in a dump talking about sad things and holding hands, making each other less sad. That's it. 

Here is comfortable. Here is good.

You must have dozed off, because you groggily open your eyes and yawn at the sudden sound of Spamton’s voice.

“ALRIGHT, [Times up!!] NOW. C’MON.”

“Wha..?” You whine at the loss of warmth as Spamton stands up, leaving you leaning back against the cold steel dumpster. He doesn't pay any mind to your tired glare as he straightens out his blazer, the resulting clack-clack-clack of his hands wiping the dirt from each other wakes you fully. 

“YOU SHOULD GO HOME, [doll]. YOU N33D SLEEP.”

Right. The elephant in the room that you’d been procrastinating addressing till now. Despite the gut-wrenching events of the evening leading up to now, you do inevitably need to return to the light at some point. 

Leaving him surrounded by garbage, alone, again. 

But does it have to be right now ?

“What if I-” 

Spamton quickly holds a hand up to silence you, loose strands of hair swaying over his forehead as he quickly shakes his head. He squashes your suggestion before you even voice it, as if he read your mind. 

“I CANT LET YOU [Tips For A Better Night’s Sleep?] IN A DUMP. THAT A SPECIL [[disprivilege]]  RESERVED FOR ME.”

“I hate that.”

“ME T0O. THATS WHY [you] ARE NOT-”

“That's not what I- ghh, you know what I mean.” You rub your eyes disgruntled before taking his extended hand as he helps you up off the ground. You continue speaking, mirroring his motions patting the dust of yourself as well. “Spamton, there's gotta be a way to get you out of here. I mean, besides-” 

“MY DEAL.”

The way the words rush from his mouth entirely absent of static, as if something just dawned on him catches your attention. He looks at you and there's no reflecting light to obscure his eyes behind his glasses as they flicker over your face. They're full of… fear? He hesitates, hands subconsciously fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket.

“...IT'S THE [One And Only] WAY.”

The static is back and twice as thick. You aren’t sure how useful it would be to point out that he’s kind of seriously worrying you right now. A skeptical humm escapes you instead.

“I refuse to believe that. I’ll figure something out. I will make something work.” 

It’s not an empty proclamation per se, but it’s not backed with any sort of tangible plans. The tired, angry, passionate concoction of emotions fueling the claim makes it feel real enough, though. If sheer force of will is enough to make something happen, then you’ll fix everything in no time. 

He doesn't buy it, but he doesn’t say anything more on the matter. Instead, Spamton reiterates your feeble Lightner need for sleep , and insists on walking you to the fountain. Though, the entire way he accompanies you, he’s unusually quiet, obviously lost in his thoughts. It isn't really until the portal is just a few blocks away that he seems to register reality again. Anxiety is written all over his face anew, and given everything you completely understand it. You sigh.

“Don’t look like that Spams, I'll be back soon I swear. I'll miss work if I have to.”

Your reassurance falls flat, he stares forward, brows knit. Silent. Tense. That feeling that something is going to break drills its way back into your chest. 

You lean down and wrap your arms around him in a hug as hard as you can. 

He lets out a surprised peep and even though he goes stiff as a board with no sign of loosening up, it still feels like the most correct thing you've ever done. And despite his rigid posture, his body is surprisingly soft in your embrace. He’s warm and his chest has a slight give, not like the smooth hard porcelain that make up his hands to his shoulders. It reminds you of a densely stuffed doll. You swear you can feel the faintest heartbeat, more like the thrum of energy. 

You inhale harshly before drawing back, leaving a lingering hand on his shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze. The glare reflecting from his glasses feels unusually ominous as he stares back at you, no response. 

“I’ll… I’ll see you soon, Spams. Tomorrow. I promise.”

“TOMORROW.”

“Tomorrow.” 

You flash the most reassuring smile you can muster and give his shoulder a final pat before letting go. As you turn to step into the roaring darkness, you can only hope that whatever the timebomb will entail, he can endure until you find a solution. Until you can figure out a way to diffuse it, even just dampen the explosion. 

Or, at least, that it can endure until tomorrow.

It doesn’t. 

Chapter Text

Right off the bat, you’re uneasy. 

The you-tea you’ve picked up along the way threatens to scald your hand as you stand in the middle of an empty shop. Between the late day at work and the quick detour to the tea-stand, it’s a little later than your usual arrival time. The lifeless room is therefore all the more confusing given Spamton is always back in his shop by this time of night. 

A swift search of the perimeter and several unanswered calls of his name confirm that Spamton is in fact nowhere on site. The brief consideration of searching any father for him is easily discarded; It’d be better to stay put here, given the chance that he comes back while you're out searching for him. Plus, there are far too many dumpsters in the city for one person to cover in a night. You wander back into the shop and plop yourself in his usual seat behind the counter with a deflated hum, setting the tea down and relieving your hand of the heat. 

Your thoughts quickly wander as your eyes lazily scan the shop. Nearly every piece of junk adorning the space has blended into the background by now, just visual noise cluttering the backdrop of your habitual rendezvous point. Heaps of trash now so familiar you almost forget how unusual it is to spend majority of your free time among garbage. 

Your finger idly traces the grooves and dips in the worn wood grain of the counter. The sensation reminiscent of the ridges and joints comprising Spam’s hand from just yesterday. Because you did sit side by side for hours, holding hands. And it was nice, and comfortable, and good. Almost everything with him is comfortable and good. The image of him resting peacefully against the dumpster, loose strands of hair casting thin shadows over his face under the cyber moonlight flutters back to mind. He's so… He's can be just so… 

Uhg

How is it even possible to suddenly care so deeply for someone? 

You really, really like this man. You’ve fallen hard. 

Just as your eyes begin to drift shut without any further stimulation, a sharp snap of the door jolts your attention back to reality. A warm smile blooms on your face just as quickly as you see Spamton standing in the shop. 

“Spams!” 

You nearly leap from behind his desk, scooping up the tea (now almost a reasonable temperature for consumption) on your way to greet him where he stands. Expertly maneuvering over the stacks of junk scattered about, easy motions that have become second nature to you at this point. A complete mismatch of energy to your own, Spamton remains just in front of the door, hand still rigidly gripping the handle, expression … startled, almost. 

“YOU CAME BACK.”

“Of course I did, I promised, remember?” 

You jut the tea into his face, far giddier at Spam’s return than you anticipated. “Even stopped by that tea stand along the way to pick up some of your favorite, flavorless hot water! Which, by the way, I’m still holding out for a taste of the ‘lighter fluid’ spam-tea one day.” You tease pointedly in an attempt to ease the stiffness out of his frame. "Lest you forget."

The steaming cup, however, remains in your grasp. He just kind of… looks at the tea in your hand for a moment, unresponsive. There's a certain... look to his look that you can't quite place, but it doesn't seem right. The giddy warmth in your stomach subsides just a tad, and you consciously try to not outwardly deflate altogether. The unease begins to trickle back in at his unusual tautness.  

He’s definitely still feeling off from last night. 

To be fair you initially expected as much, if not worse based on how he seemed when you departed. Though you'd hoped that your presence, however late you made it, would take the edge off of the nerves that had strung him up. Just as your hand begins to retract, he takes the warm beverage from your grasp, wordlessly. Solemnly. Spamton swirls the liquid in the cup absently. Staring at it. Staring through it.

“Spams?”

You watch silently as he takes a sip, before again continuing to stare down into the cup. Whisps of steam fog his glasses, but you're almost certain the color is fading from the lenses. Tension seeps into the silent air, and when he finally does respond, it's entirely too flat. 

“IT’S                BETTER THAN LAST TIME.”

His brows furrow. He dumps it out onto the shop floor. 

“U-um, that-” you splutter, completely caught off guard by the action, “That, uh- You’re kinda contradicting yourself there?” Oh no.

“STOP. 

LOOK. MY [dearest] CONSUMER, I’VE BEEN DOING SOME [[Soul Searching]] AND I HAVE MADE A [Serious Business] DECISION. I NEED YOU TO JUST [[do what I say]]. YOUR GENOROSITI IS NOT THE

IS NOT THE [Variety] I NEED.”

“Spams, it's just some tea.” You duck your head to the side, eyeing him, pensive. 

“YOURE [making] THINGS MORE DIFFICULT F0R YOURSELF”

“It really isn't a big deal,” Bad. Bad bad bad. The feeling creeps up your spine. “Spams. Are you alright?” 

“YOURE [[making]] THINGS MORE DIFFICULT IN GENERAL .” He still hasn't looked up from the empty paper cup in his hands. It’s being crushed in his grip. 

He's not talking about the tea. 

“Spamton.” Your words are spoken like a warning, stern and measured. “Spamton, no. You’re not doing this again. We’re past that .”

“YOU’re TOO NICE. WHY. JUST [cut the act] ALREADY. GET IT [done and over with].“

“It is not an-”

“I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE Y/N. IF YOU DONT      THEN I CAN’T

I C4NT 

I CANT 

I CANT 

I C@NT

[[Hyperlink Blocked]]”

Spamton stares straight down, body fidgeting briefly when that disjointed, mechanical voice cuts through his speech. You were right- his glasses are void of any color- completely black. Hollow looking. The air is becoming notably thicker, slowly becoming harder to breathe; each inhale taken feels more and more akin to filling your lungs with bricks. Cold sweat accumulates on the back of your neck. These ominous sensations are familiar. Fuck.

Why didn't you ever ask him what that reality breaking episode was? How the fuck did you let that slip your mind?

There isn't even enouch time to brace yourself. Spamton keeps talking, words spilling out faster and faster. Dripping with disgust. 

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO WATCH YOU [run away] LAST NIGHT? HOW [fear itself?] I WAS THAT IT WOULD BE THE [La44st Change Bargains!!] TIME AGAIN? ALL OVER? IT HAPPENS 3VERY TIME I SEE YOU Y/N. WAITING FOR YOU TO COME BACK LIKE SOME SORT OF [Pathet1c] [[Snivel1ng]] LOST PUPPY .”

“Nuh-uh. No. We aren’t doing this. I’m not doing this. Calm down, please, we can talk, we, we need to just talk.” It’s pathetic how quickly the hardened resolve in your voice moments ago dissipated. The quivering words are drenched in desperation- a plea more so than the demand intended. ‘Just talk’? Laughable. You don’t even know what can be said. 

“EVERY TIME I SEE YOU I FEEL LIKE THINGS MIGHT BE OK. LIKE IT WILL BE [Different].”

“Spamton!”

It's all so sudden and intense. The world around you has fallen away, drowned out by a dam of emotions bursting out of nowhere, creating a flood in it's wake that your mind can’t keep up with. Forming responses fast enough to counter Spamton’s harsh rambling just isn't possible. 

“BUT I KNOW THAT'S [All LieS]”

“S-spamton!”

“I SAID I KNOW YOU WOULDNT [Throw me away] BUT I DONT. I D0NT KNOW IT WONT BE THE LAST TIME. I [100% Guarantee ee e] THAT ONE OF THESE DAYS YOU WONT COME BACK, BUT NOT KNOWING WHICH ONE. IT'S [killing] ME. YOU’RE GOING TO [[breaked]] ME. ”

“Spa-”

“AREN'T I ALREADY [[breaked]] ENOUGH?”

Every sentence that leaves Spamton’s mouth is a punch to the gut. He's lashing out, spilling his guts and even though he’s going about everything in the worst way possible, in the back of your mind you can't even blame him . He’s not even wrong. It’s not like his fears aren’t grounded in reality, because this has been his reality for years. The mental scars are far deeper than you thought, and the realization that there is absolutely nothing that you can do or say in this moment to dispel his fears and prove them wrong guts you . 

Instinctively, your hand reaches for his shoulder only for a sharp sting to zip through your wrist as it’s smacked away. 

“SO I'LL MAKE THIS THE [Bitter end]. I GET TO [Decide]. I AM IN [[c0ntrol]]. I’M THE ONE [Calling The Shots]”

A familiar ripple in the center of your chest starts to form. That telltale tugging sensation submerges you in pure dread.

Your soul is painstakingly dragged out of your chest despite how hard you fight it. You can only stumble backwards as the battlefield between you gusts to life. For the second time now since falling into the dark world, you’re locked in an encounter against Spamton, except this time the stakes are higher. This time, it feels like there is everything to lose.  

“YOU KNOW Y/N, I HAVEN'T JUST BEEN [tossed like yesterday’s paper] BY EVERYONE. I’VE [$%*@] [[old friends]] BEFORE MYSELF. THAT S THE KIND OF [[Honest Man]] I AM.” Spamton spits, taunting you- arm raised in your direction to ready an attack. Any pleas for him to just stop and listen falling from your lips go completely ignored, perhaps unheard altogether under the verbal onslaught. They're barely audible to even you un his crescendoing voice. “YUOR NO DIFFERENT. IF I CAN’T HAVE YOUR [HeartShaped] COMPLIANCE THEN I DON’T NEED YOU. I DONT NEED [regularly scheduled programming] OR [board of investors]. I DONT NEED [Purpl] [[Lonely Hearts]]. I DONT N33D [anybuddy]!!! I'VE GOT PLANS for [[The Big One]] Y/N. IVE GOT [HopesAndDream$] AND I WONT LET EV3N Y0U GET IN MY WAY oF [[FREEd0M]].”

He hesitates for only a second, but with a snap of his wrist, those wretched electric bullets spiral towards your exposed soul in a way that makes it nigh impossible to dodge. The way that your damned, stupid little purple soul is confined to the strings on the field ensures a hit. Stupid, weak little soul that's only ever gotten you into trouble. You flinch, bracing yourself for serious damage.

-5hp

But…

Just… just 5 hp? Your eyes shoot open, you immediately begin frantically looking yourself over to make sure there isn't some mistake- a trick of the adrenaline coursing through you, somehow. But no, just some minor scrapes on your forearms where you attempted to shield yourself. He’s… he’s holding back. The sight that meets you when you dare to look up at him just confirms it. He was never good at masking his feelings for long, and it’s never been more apparent that that attack was difficult. The way his hands are shaking, the tension in his features, the almost pleading look. 

All of this, and he still can’t even bring himself to truly try to harm you . Even despite the complete meltdown culminating from entrenched anxieties, he can’t do it . All just shallow self-sabotage. Your throat is too tight with emotions to choke out a word anymore. All you can muster is a pleading look in return. 

“HIT ME”

-5hp

>Defend

“[Hate] ME”

-3hp

“FIGHT BACK”

His voice cracks with a sharp static pop. It hurts, but not physically. You can’t listen to this anymore. 

  >Act >Talk

“You’re holding back Spams. I- I know you don’t really want to do this either. Just let me-” 

“STOP!! I WON'T [Cease and desist] UNTIL YOU ATTACK OR YOU D1E. I’M IN CONTROL. I’M IN [Control] AND I’LL [Control+alt+Delet] YOU.”

-5hp

>Defend

-2hp

>Defend

-5hp

>Defend

-3hp

  >Act >Talk

“WHY???? WHY  WON'T YOU [hit me where it hurts] BACK. WHY????????? WHY ARE YO00U LIKE THI$. ” He wails, misery bleeding through the mania that's consuming him. The static is suffocating.

“I’m not going to fight you,” You grit through clenched teeth. “ I’m never going to do that .” 

Even despite him holding back, sending meager 5hp shots your way when you know he's much more powerful than that, it's not like you have too much health to begin with. Each hit still makes you wince in pain and ends with you worse for wear. But each word that falls from his mouth cements your resolution even further. You refuse to engage. 

“EITHER TAKE MY [terms and conditions apply] OR [[scram]] LIKE THEY ALL DO. YOU WILL SOONER OR LATER. S00NER OR L4TER YOU'LL BE JUST ANOTHER [Slime] TO [sob uncontrollably] OVER AT THE BOTTOM OF A [heaven forsaken] DUMPSTER. YOU- YOU-"

You’d been willing to get knocked out to make a point when the stakes were comparably nothing - it’s not even a question now. At this rate, it may take a while, but if that’s what it takes, then-

"WHY SHOULD I [Go For Broke]. WHEN INST3AD I CAN FINALLY GET FINALLY GET GET [[Hyperlink blocked]].”

Unintelligible laughter erupts from him before he doubles over, sputtering. Grabbing at h!s own head, expression twisted in ag0ny.

“THERE- THERES NO MORE [[Miracles]]. NO HELP WHEN YOU'RE [All Alone] [[On a late night]], USED UP [empty] WITH NOTHING LEFT TO OFFER. YOU CAN'T FIX EVERYTHING, NO MATTER HOW [a lot] YOU PRAY, NO MATTER HOW [all the time] YOU [cry] AND [Screamm] and [[scream]], HOW [desperate] YOU ARE TO FEEL           !!! To [[be]]!!

YOU MAKE ME SICK. 

NO ONE IS [Coming and Going] TO SAVE YOU WHEN IT ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN YOU G0D D@MNED FOOL. YOURE THE ONLY [#1] ONE WHO WILL WATCH OUT FOR YOUR [disgusting] SELF. YOUR 0NLY [shot] IS IS [[Hyperlink Blocked]]”

Another layer of static crackles and sizzles around you, blurring your thoughts further and further and further and and as if the situation weren't overwhelming enough. The verbal onslaught continues like a [broken] record. 

“I’M IN CONTROL. I JUST NEED

I JUST NEED

I JUST NEED 

I JUST N33D

I JU$T NEE eeD”

A high pitched squeal of microphone feedback splits the air. You flinch, h@nds flying to cover your ears desp!te the fact that the noise feels like it’s reverberating from within your skull from within your skull. Neither of you are focused on the battle you’re locked in anymore. 

In fact, you can hardly make out the playing field at all among Th3 piles of junk aren’t supposed to m0ve l!ke that. Your arm isn't supposed to be missing pixels.

It hurts. Everything [hurts]. Every cell in your body tingles numbly. It brings you to your knees. Reality is fall1ng apart around [[you]] again and it's tenfold worse than anything you've ever [hurt$]. You can barely see through the 

You can barely see through the static behind your eyes but 

bUt

But-

But. This isn’t. the first time. you’ve faced Spamton, bare [Heart-shaped Object] ripped. from your body. This. isn’t the first time. Spamton has tried to pu$h you away in favor of [making]. [[Hyperlink Blocked]]. This isn’t the. first time reality. threatened                           to disintegrate. around you from his [help! Someone! Help! I'm melting! Plea$e!]

You screw your eyes [$hut uP], focusing as hard as you can, wrestling to maintain a coherent train of thought. Fighting the spliced sentences and amalgamations of thoughts and feelings and anxieties and pain echoing through the static shroud.

-But it is different. this time on all accounts. because now you get it . Now you're prepared. to do what3ver- 

[Whatever]

FUCK

W H A T E V E R  it takes to catch him before he crashes and burns, tearing you both to shreds in the process.  

You stand back up,  gravity crushing you beyond possibility. He’s only a few feet away . Your knees don't give out. You take one step. He feels so impossibly far away. Persevere. You take another step. You yell his name but words don't come out. If they come out you can't hear them between the static in your skull- eyes-- mouth- legs . You keep moving your legs . Persevere . Until you can, just one more step, until you… can…

You reach out and yank him into your body, arms wrapping around his back and shoulders squeezing him as hard as you can muster. That same searing white hot needle sensation shoots through your core, your limbs, your mind, your everything. Anger at everything causing his scars vastly outweighs how the pain hurts you. You collapse to your knees, bringing Spamton down tumbling to the ground with you till you're firmly on top of him. Smothering him with your presence. Physically forcing him to come back to reality. The reality that you are here, and you aren't going anywhere. No matter what.

Slowly, Spamton's insistent echo of ‘ I just need’ s reduces to wordless hyperventilation, the all-consuming static in the air subsides in parallel. You only allow enough space for the rapid movement of his chest as you lean your full weight on him. Attempting to choke the mental breakdown with your embrace. 

It feels like an eternity, but the rapid breathing finally ebbs to ragged, exhausted breaths after several minutes more. A cough shakes his whole body under you. 

Finally, your tattered soul recedes back into your chest. 

“WHY ARE YOu stiLL Here? I DONT. I DON'T Ii doNT i-”

You squeeze him harder. The way his trembling arms briefly lift off the ground to hover beside you before falling back to the floor divulges that he's either too tired to return the embrace, or too afraid. Maybe both. Instead, it earns soft sniffles accompanied by trembling exhales. Despite your shaking, wiry nerves, you force yourself to shift into a kneeling position, all while keeping a vice grip holding him close. 

You wait until you feel just steady enough before you speak; quiet, but assertive.

“I like you, Spamton. I really, really like you, and I care about you so much." Your heart clenches in your chest. You aren’t sure in what capacity you’re admitting your feelings, or how he’ll even interpret the admission, but your throat constricts as the words leave your mouth nonetheless. He strangles out something between a groan and a sob. 

You bring a hand to the back of his head, combing your fingers through his hair and pressing his face harder into the crook of your neck. The glasses dig uncomfortably into your skin, you don’t care.

You don’t know how to make him believe you. You can't, really. Not right here, right now at least. You can only hope that with time you can prove it, that his anxiety will fade and he’ll trust that you won’t abandon him. All you can do is reiterate yourself as firmly as possible. 

“I Will Not Abandon You.”

He barks a short, bitter laugh. 

“AFTER EVERY[[Hell]] I PUT YOU THREW-”

“It’s fine.”

“H0W CAN YOU SAY THAT??” Spamton whimpers almost petulantly. Still incapable of processing the thought that maybe he's worth it to you. “YOU SHOULD . I'M A [disaster] [[And A Half]]. YOU SERIOUSLY H4VE… no idea.”

“M-mm. Nope.”

You squeeze him tighter in emphasis. The message will get through his thick puppet head one way or another, no matter how much you have to repeat yourself.

“Listen Spams. I don't understand everything you're going through, I know you're hurt and a lot of people hurt you, and even with everything you have told me I’m sure I don't know the half of it, and- and I can't even begin to imagine how hard it is, but I'm here for you. I do care, and I’ll prove it to you, day after day as long as you let me. I just need you to let me.” 

That's the core of your dilemma, isn't it? He can't undo the trauma. He can't force himself to feel a certain way. But he can choose to trust you. He needs to. Especially when it comes to doing things like this- this, pushing you away thing. If-

“THATS [Half Pri$e] THE PROBLEM .” He grits, cutting to the crux of the apparent turmoil still swirling in his head. “I CANT [[used]] YOU IF. IF… I… YOU…”

“Use me...To get into the mansion.”

Your voice is soft as it dawns on you. You take his silence as a confirmation, and then it all makes sense. 

That is how your whole friendship started. A friendship that would be a gamble on his end to trust after the entire city turned its back on him at his lowest . It shouldn’t be surprising that sneaking into the mansion is even more dangerous than he let on. Of course if he allows himself to trust that you’re his friend, his only friend, he wouldn’t want to put you in danger. But then he’d be sacrificing his plan, whatever it entails, for you . A gamble that could break him completely. 

The last of the tension in his frame dissipates as he droops against you, resigned. His voice is impossibly small. “CANT GO THROUGH WITH IT.” 

The vague revenge plot continually referenced has never quite sat right with you, but the more Spamton cracks and crumbles, his fears and emotions laid bare before you, the more your moral compass proves to be less ingrained than you’d thought it to be. Seeing him like this, the quiet rage you hold in your gut almost has you wanting to do whatever he asks regardless of what it entails. Teetering in a precarious position between willing and unwilling, and the balance might tip at the slightest provocation.

To let that slip to him now though would undoubtedly not help his state in the present moment. You focus on rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

“DON’T-” he coughs, voice stammering electronically, “doNT YOU HAVE [Your 9 to 5?] TOMORROW?” 

“After all this? Yeah, no I don’t. Not any more I don't.” You’ll call out. You owe your boss a few headaches anyway to call it even. It wouldn't even be suspicious to claim illness anyway- you looked like death itself today from the sleep you didn't get last night. “You’re way more important.”

“DoNT SAY THAT. I'LL                 START [cry like a baby] AGAIN.”

“Well I’ve got plenty of sleeve left for wiping away tears. Two sleeves actually, that’s enough for two whole babies. So no worries there.” 

It earns a weak, static-congested snort. You take it graciously. Slowly, his shoulders shift and a light pressure form at the small of your back- his hands.

A hug. It's the first time he's hugged you. 

There isn't enough room left in your head for any more emotions, neither in quantity nor quality. All you can manage is to relish the feeling while it lasts. Existing in the calm silence until his breathing evens out almost completely, and then some still, just soaking in the comfort of each other's embrace. 

The moment is only interrupted when Spamton lets his arms fall from their place on your back, moving instead to firmly grip your shoulders. He leans back, forcing you to look him dead in the eyes.  “DONT [Ever ever ever] DO ANYTHING [Crazy Stupid!] ON MY BEHALF. OR IN GENERAL. YOU GET IN ANY [trouble], YOU CALL ME. ILL TAKE [[good, tender care]] OF IT.” He pauses, glancing down for a moment and back up again, before adding with painful earnestness, “ PLEASE .”

“I- um, O-ok.” Oh. This close, you can see his eyes almost perfectly clear behind those glasses; dark and weary in an odd, pretty sort of way, and in the present moment contain an edge of seriousness that pierces right through you. It all catches you off guard, big time. 

“THE DEAL IS [off the table].”

You blink. Did you just hear that right?

“IM SERIUS.”

You did. And he's still staring at you just as intensely. He's willing to take that gamble on you. Trust you, or at least try. Your lips part slightly in shock, momentarily speechless. He must understand why you're short circuiting. Endearingly, he offers a light reassurance at your reaction.

“YOU DON'T HAVE TO [saying] ANY THING. I'M JUST [telling you how it is].” The reassurance is spoken with both nonchalance and an air of finality. 

You just nod. And try to not think about it too hard for now.

Spamton moves to usher you up off the floor where you're still kneeling. Your knees almost give out from the stiffness of supporting your weight on the hard ground for too long. You shift your weight from leg to leg a few times, bending and extending them in turns to shake out the pain. He gives you a long stare as you stretch your legs, patting the dust and bits of debris from your knees. It was already late when you arrived, it must be some time in the earliest hours of the morning now. 

Once you seem sufficiently steady, Spamton makes a movement like he's heading towards the door. 

“Hey wait, where ya goin?” 

“UM. WALK YOU [Home sweet home!]?” 

You shake your head, giving your arms a much needed stretch above you. “I’d rather stay here this time." You guess you didn't make that clear earlier... "When I said I’d call out of work, that’s, uh, what I meant.” 

You expect him to put up a fight, at least with the typical excuses he uses to send you home on the later nights you hang around- there's nowhere comfortable! Or, you can't sleep in a trash heap! As if he doesn’t do that every night. As if you wouldn’t deal with it for just one. But instead, he only stares at you dumbly for a minute before simply nodding. He must really be spent.

Scanning the room unsurprisingly offers no obvious choices for a comfortable sleep setup. A heap of magazines off to the side seems about the best bet; Relatively clean and not pointy or jagged in any way at least, and you're too tired to care about much more than that. 

The slight give of the paper is much more forgiving than the hard, gritty floor. You sit on the spill of stray magazines before the pile, reclining against the larger heap behind you and stretching your legs out again to cross them comfortably in front of you. Your knees will probably be sore for a day or two. 

“Where do you usually sleep anyway?” You fold your hands behind your head with a yawn. 

Spamton shrugs and gestures vaguely at the shop. Right, well, that makes sense. Stupid question. You regret asking. 

“Well, these papers are as good a place as any. There's room for two.” You pat the empty space next to you. At this point you suspect Spamton might go along with just about anything you ask right now. Which is good, because you’d really be digging deep to find the energy for much more.

Just as you’d hoped, he shuffles over and plops down in the space next to you, leaning back, mimicking your position with a weary sigh. 

A sigh escapes you in return, finally entirely relieved of any lingering iota of stress. Just maybe, everything will be ok. You sit in silence for a while, and it’s not long before you notice he's gone completely lax- asleep. You smile just a little. Maybe it can get better, even. 

—

You wake up before him, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. Thankfully your back isn’t as sore as you’d expected it to be, because you don’t dare move yet- at some point in the night, your hand once again ended up clasped between both of his, clutched against his chest. Spamton’s head is woefully turned the other way despite how badly you want to gaze at his sleeping face. He looks nice without the permanent state of stress weighing down his features.  

The first hint you get that Spamton has awoken is his hand twitching in yours, flexing and giving a brief squeeze. You watch intently as his face turns to you, nose crinkling and brows furrowed. He lets go of your hand in order to rub at his eyes under his glasses, with one while propping himself up with the other. A groggy little grunt escapes him, the sound warms you at your core. 

His hair is completely disheveled and the glasses are slightly askew on his nose. It’s definitely one of your favorite looks on him. A fond hum escapes you. 

“YOU [realy] STAYED. [All Night L0ng!]?” He mutters, half-question, half-statement, as if he knows he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. Of course you did. 

“M-hm. That was the plan.” You clear your throat attempting to dispel the groggy morning voice. 

“YOURE TOO GOOD FOR ME [Angel].” It’s almost wistful.

“Angel?” That's new. 

“I MEAN IT.”

A stupid smile creeps onto your face. “Pshh, shut up you corn ball.” Dork.

The morning proceeds with a brief trip to the dark fountain so you can hop back into the light, just to make that quick call to your boss. A quick detour is made on the way to procure a replacement cup of you-tea at Spamton's very apologetic and fairly embarrassed. The phone call itself takes all of 60 seconds before you leap back into the fountain. The first thing you're greeted with upon return is Spamton, wringing his hands and staring up, but oddly not quite at the fountain, you think. There isn’t another moment to spare it any thought though, because as soon as he sees you, your heart lights up at the biggest smile plastered on his face.

 “Alright, now that that’ s all taken care of, what's on the agenda today Spams?”

Chapter Text

It's been months. Time is not an effective balm for this particular sting. 

No matter how often you see Spamton, you will never get used to the fact that he's been relegated to dumpsters for living. If anything, it hurts to think about more and more with each visit.

You've thought about ways to secure some form of housing for him. You tried talking to some places to haggle them, strike a deal in true Spamton-spirit even, but with no success. And as much as you wished it were possible, there was just no way you could juggle a job in both worlds to pay for two rents.

You even considered ways to get him out of the dark world altogether. He would move in with you, if only it were as simple as tugging him along to the fountain with you. Of course, you never mentioned this to him, not wanting to give him false hope, but you even tried experimenting with various objects you'd pluck from the environment- that rusted junk alarm clock, a scarf, a CD bagel. But each time, you'd return to your world empty handed, maybe with some type of junk in your pocket at most. Even after the very first night you dined together, the napkin with ‘Trash Zone’ scrawled on it had turned to a blank, crumpled shred of computer paper in your pocket, though you hadn’t put much thought into the implication of its transformation at the time. Now though, it hurts . It likely wouldn't be any different for him. 

A being made entirely of darkness, he just isn't compatible.

You try to not let it destroy you, but god damn is it difficult.

The only feasible thing close to a remedy that you’ve come up with so far, has been to save up enough dark dollars by doing odd jobs here and there to get a hotel for a couple weeks, take a vacation of sorts. A temporary relief surely is better than nothing at all. You've already taken a week off from work, too- the rest of the booking duration of course would be mostly for Spamton himself. 

It took months to save up the funds, but every minute of work was worth it. And you skimped on no expenses when it came to the hotel itself- you reserved the nicest one you could find in the center of  Cyber City with every single amenity under the cyber sky. A full suite with a kitchen, a bathroom for both separate bedrooms, a bougie common area and heck the bathtubs even had jacuzzi functions. It’s a setup that’d make your real apartment weep in shame. You’ve never been somewhere so nice in your world.

Plus, too, you could use a break from your life, and you might be a little over excited to spend that break with your best friend. Because if you're being real, that's what Spamton is at this point. Something even more, in the privacy of your heart, but definitely best friend regardless. 

A duffel bag of your dark-world belongings rests lightly slung over your shoulder as you make your way towards Sampton’s shop. You clench the booking confirmation folded up in your pocket and a giddy grin overtakes your features.

It feels like a new chapter of your life is about to begin. Even if you can’t pinpoint exactly what is giving you the feeling, you indulge the warmth and excitement of it anyway. 

—

“SPAAAAAAMS!!” 

“OH? HEY HEY   !!! WHATS UP WITH YOU? THAT SMILE YOU GOT THERE RIVALS THE [Signature brand] [[award-losing]] SMILE OF [Your Ol Pal] SPAMTON G SPAMTON HIMSELF.” 

Spamton jumps as you swing the door of his shop open with perhaps a little too much gusto. You throw the booking info at his face, bouncing on the ball of your feet.

“Surprise!!!” 

“WH0AH, HEY NOW, WATCH THE [New Hot Merch Available Now!!]  !!” Spamton snatches the fluttering papers out of the air, turning them over while inspecting them till they're facing right-way-up again. The grin splitting your face does indeed give his heart-winning smile a run for its money, you don’t doubt. He takes a moment to scan them over, mouth falling open slightly in the process. He glances back and forth from the papers, to you, back to the papers, back to you , looking …a little lost? 

“You really need me to spell it out? C'mon we can check in already! I meant to get here earlier but-” Check in time was 4 pm- it’s closer to half past 6 now. You shrug.  “You know how it is. Life and stuff. As usual.” 

“YOU?? HOW??...WE????” 

“I've uh, been running odd jobs around and saving up for this honestly. It's no big deal, normally I do this sort of thing in my world- work a bunch to save up for vacation, so I figured why not vacation here this time?”

Running around the dark world in secret behind Spamton’s back was the most difficult part about it, really. 

For one, the concern that he would just pop up like he always did in the beginning was always itching in the back of your mind, despite the fact that he hadn’t done that in months. Lately, he seemed comfortable trusting that you would always come find him when you got to Cyber City. 

But for two , it was just genuinely difficult to not do exactly that- run and meet up with him as soon as you stepped foot in the dark world. 

“...AND YOU’RE [Exclu$$ive Membership Only Invite] ME?!” His voice is a timid squeak as he peaks over the top of the booking receipts at you, all glasses and nose. Cute. That image will never not be adorable. 

“ Yes , duh? Why are you acting so shocked??” 

“BUT I DON’T I DON’T           N0THING TO [return payment] WITH!! I-”

“Oh my god Spams, quit acting like we haven't been friends for months. You don't have to pay me back. You coming along was the whole point! You deserve to get out of this dump even if it's just for a bit.” You motion at your surroundings, the rusty jagged scrap metal and crusty bags of who-knows-what stress your point with visual succinctness. You shrug, “Plus, the room would essentially cost the same either way, anyway.”

Spamton’s eyes dart over the booking slip another few moments, which appears to be getting quite crumpled in his grip. You gently take the papers from him for safe keeping, causing him to begin anxiously wringing his now-unoccupied hands, a slight scowl adorning his features. 

Every time you mulled the scenario over in your mind, imagining his reaction to your surprise excursion, it was a fifty-fifty chance he would either enthusiastically hop on the offer, or do this . It’s crazy to really think about, this is such a far cry from how he would’ve acted months ago when he’d first wormed his way into your life.  A simple reminder of how far the two of you have come. 

“LOOK, Y/N, I LOVE A GOOD [Deal of a lifetime] MORE! THAN! [any buddy]! BUT THIS IS [different], YOU KNOW?”

“Ha, no, I don't actually. Why?” Endearing as his concern is, it’s still ridiculous. You’ll make him spell it out so he can hear exactly how ridiculous he’s being. 

“Please, explain.” 

“AH. WELL.” He becomes a bit flustered. “YOU’RE MY [Refer a Friend for 20% OFF!] AND IT’S NOT RIGHT. I KEEP TAKING AND [[Taking and t@king!!] FROM YOU, THIS. IS. A [[steal]].  MORE THAN A [Deals, Deals, Deals!].”

“Spams, that's how being friends works. Don't worry about it. And if you REALLY want, you can pay me back however you see fit once you're back on your feet. For now can I just take a nice vacation with my bestest pal?” 

You won’t actually accept any type of repayment, even if he does get back on his feet, of course. It's just something you offer to get him to stop thinking so damn hard. 

He stares at the crickled paper in your hands a moment more, processing your words. 

You’re yanked into the tightest hug you ever recall receiving. Yeah, yeah, this is going to be good. 

“YOU>RE REALLY SOMETH1NG ELSE YOU KNOW THAT?” He shakes his head and offers a small lopsided grin. “0K, OK, [Buckle Up Buttercup:], LETS GO.”

The walk there is a bit painful, clogged up by several traffic jams that seem to stretch forever, causing you to arrive even later than expected. Also, for reasons you didn't exactly want to press at the moment, Spamton seemed a little on edge as you began making your way to the nicer parts of the city. Concerned as you were, each time you asked if he was alright you were met with a curt yet exaggerated 'YUP. MHM NO [complete distress] HERE LETS KEEP GOING'. So clearly he was not, in fact, alright, but he obviously didn't want to talk about it, so you ultimately decided against pushing the matter. This vacation was supposed to be a fun, relaxing, good time.

Perhaps the only silver lining of the delayed arrival is how utterly impressive the hotel is in the darkest dark of the night. CYM neon pillars stretch from where you stand on the ground all the way up the towering building, twisting and looping in mesmerizing patterns, breathtaking cyber embellishments adorning the hotel’s exterior. It’s even bigger than you imagined, and a glance to your side tells you Spamton is in equally as much awe as you are.

The interior proves to be no less impressive, your heads on swivels as you make your way up to your rooms, which, once inside, the first thing you do is fling your bag onto one of the beds. 

The second thing you do is rush over to the grand panoramic view of the city visible from the giant glass pane spanning the far wall. Your suite is near the top floor; the sprawling view is incredible.  

You can’t help but let a gasp escape you. The view stretches for miles, rooftops and rooftops illuminated by sparkling, neon flecks of windows and billboards and streetlights. Digital  buildings slotted neatly into city blocks, reminiscent of the sleek patterns of a circuit board. You had no idea the city was this vast . 

Yet amongst all of the clean, precise lines defining the majority of the city, one structure catches your eye in particular- ominously out of place. Dull blue monochrome castle towers bow and warp as they stretch higher than every other building, pointed spires jut haphazardly outwards, creating a distinctly jagged silhouette against the cyber sky. 

The Queen’s castle, if the large neon sign reading ‘Queen’ above a massive reconstruction of her familiar cartoonish visage is anything to go by. 

Even if there are no longer any plans to go there, unwillingly or otherwise, it’s still probably good to know where the castle is exactly. At least to avoid it, if nothing else- the warnings from a few kind darkners way back in the very beginning of your cyber adventures haven’t been forgotten. 

Having fully taken in the grand view, you turn to your side expecting to see Spamton gawking alongside you, only to find yourself standing at the window alone. Concerning , especially given his suspicious behavior on the walk here. 

You pop your head into the second bedroom unclaimed by your duffle bag to see Spamton, completely passed out on the bed on top of the covers, glasses, blazer and all. 

Snoring loudly, too. 

A fond huff escapes you at the sight. And thank goodness you have a separate room . Exhausted, you retreat to your room for the night as well.

—

There's no sunrise to spill through the bedroom windows as the new day dawns, but the clock on the nightstand confirms it's early morning when your eyes flutter open. You find yourself alone again in the common area when you emerge from your room, too. Spamton must still be passed out. Good. He needs as much decent sleep as he can get. 

Taking your pick from the wide selection of varieties complementary with the room, you set to get some coffee brewing. The rich aroma of coffee fills the air as you lean against the counter, watching the slow trickle of liquid fill the pot.  It feels… domestic. A glimpse of what could be if things were just a little different. If you could move here. If he could move in with you. If he liked you like that . 

Your heart beats with just a little more yearning at the thought. Maybe you weren’t actually prepared for this . You quickly fix a cup to your liking once the coffee is done before wandering over to gaze at the sweeping panoramic view of the city, steaming beverage in hand. Eyes searching as if you could find a solution to the situation somewhere among the sleek city blocks if you only look hard enough. 

The ache melts away the second you hear Spamton emerge from his room. 

He steps into the common area completely disheveled and a little dazed, sleep still heavy on his features. He's still in his blazer, too, now creased and rumpled, Stray strands of hair stick every which way and his ever-present bicolored spectacles sit crooked atop his nose. 

“Ah, good morning good morning!” You chirp, stifling a chuckle at the endearing sight. Maybe you should have removed the glasses after he’d fallen asleep for him. Then again, does he ever take those things off?

Spamton shuffles over, hoisting himself onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar in the kitchen area facing your direction by the window. He leans his elbows on the counter surface, hands still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“ ‘MORNIN.” His voice is groggy with static. 

“So I was gonna suggest a nice shower and maybe dinner before heading to bed last night, but uh, you were completely zonked as soon as you hit a nice mattress, huh?” A chuckle does slip out but you can't help it, recalling the image of Spamton comically sprawled out on the mattress, snoring away. You return to the kitchen, getting started on making him up a cup exactly how you know he prefers. You’ve dined out together often enough to have it memorized.

“YEAH WELL YOU TRY A [Premium quality mattresses hand crafted for luxury and design] AFTER SLEEPING ON GARBAGE FOR SO L0NG.” 

“Hey, no judgement! I was just saying. You feeling well rested at least?”

“BEST SLEEP I”VE HAD SINCE [circa 1997©].” 

“Love to hear it.” you grin, setting his coffee down and joining him at the bar.  “Anyway, how bout you do that after the coffee? I can get your clothes washed in the meantime, we can ask the front desk for clean bedding later. I brought some spare clothes that I thought might fit you till yours are ready. And don't worry about missing breakfast, I’ll just go grab a bit of everything from the buffet downstairs before it’s over and bring it up for you. Any requests?...

…uh, earth to Spamton? You ok?”

He blinks at you.

“HUH? OH. YUP!! !” 

You open your mouth, about to voice your skepticism on that, but ultimately decide a bit of respite might be more helpful. Contemplative silence hangs in the air as Spamton stares across the room, out at the glimmering city skyline. 

“YOU KNOW, ALL THIS [ritzy living] BRINGS BACK MEMORIES. OF WHEN I MADE [Big Deals]. GLITZY [5 star stays near you?] AND PEOPLE DOING [[menial labor]] FOR ME.”

He glances down at the coffee, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“AND YOUR”E DOING ALL THESE THINGS WITHOUT [asking] OR  [begging] OR  [[screaming FOR ANYTHING IN [Free returns, Money Back Garantee].” Spamton shrugs almost meekly. “ITS IT S ALL [Hunky-doody]. I JUST HAVENT HAD THIS [Genorosity] IN A LONG TIME.”

Ah . That probably explains the behavior on the way here last night, too. 

You shift a bit in your seat beside him. You were honestly so excited at the prospect of getting him out of the dumps for just a little bit that you never really considered if it was too much at once somehow.

The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable. He's already got PLENTY of that. 

“Am… I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? Is all this too much? Like I'd totally understand if-” 

“WHAT. NO!” The wistful demeanor vanishes and Spamton nearly jumps out of his chair, waving hands in the air in front of him dismissively, momentarily mortified at the apparent misunderstanding. “OH NO NO! DON'T WORRY YOUR [pretty little] HEAD ABOUT IT! PLEASE  YOU'RE [Highest rated hosts]!! IM JUST REMINISCING. IT'S THE [[nostalgia factor]]!!”

He looks you in the eyes. “I APPRECIATE IT.” Too sincere, too fond .

“Oh... Ok, Good. To be honest, that would've been tragic, I didn’t exactly have a plan B for vacation , ” you joke with a sigh. Deflecting the way every single ounce of sincerity he sends your way makes your heart squeeze in your chest. He chuckles and moves on, which you take gratefully. 

The rest of the morning goes about as you'd suggested. You catch him staring at you a few times throughout, but don't think much of it. He does seem a little dazed in general, it's probably something to do with that. Nothing worth dwelling on.

As for the daily itinerary, well, there really isn't one. You figured the best and simplest thing to do would be to take the first day easy, just strolling the area seeing what's around. Ease into the whole vacation thing.

Once out on the town, you do a little window shopping, a lot of sights ogling, get lunch, continue ogling the sights, and before you know it the two of you have covered decent ground. You’d even passed a carnival at one point, which you will definitely be checking out in full another day. 

All the while, there seems to be one thing in particular that catches Spamton's attention as you meander through busy streets- There are a lot of nice cars in this part of the city, some of which occasionally turn his head all the way around staring as they drive by. You think you even hear him whistle at one under his breath, maybe. 

Curiosity finally gets the better of you when he scoffs at a small car dealership across the street, a nice corner lot lined with some of the shiniest vehicles you've ever seen.

“Car guy, huh?”

His shoulders lurch slightly as if caught red-handed, but a small laugh quickly follows.

“COULD SAY THAT. WAY MORE THAN THESE [FAST TALKIN [[Phone ies]]. Y’KNOW I USED TO [Sell sell sell!] [Smokin R1des!] RIGHT?”

You nod, thinking back to the tattered old ads you'd seen abandoned in the more neglected parts of the city.  Bigshot Autos , you remember.

“THESE [[joy riders]] THINK THEY'RE [Best deals on the market!]. BUT I BET THEY DON'T KNOW A THING ABOUT A GOOD [[Hot set of Wheels]]. ALL FLASHY TECH AND [[HD visual display]]. GREAT IF YOU”RE INTO THE [Rube Goldberg] LIFESTYLE.”

“All form, no function?”

“ EXACTLY!!” He plants one fist in the palm of the other hand with a clack . “ USED TO WORK ON MY OWN [cungaderos] TOO! BET YOU NONE OF THOSE [pencil pushers] EVER PUT AN OUNCE OF [An Honest Day’s Work] INTO THEIR WORK A DAY IN THEIR [40 hour work week].”

Now that’s news to you. And intriguing. And kinda hot? Maybe you feel a little bad about it, but you would have thought that he was more of the seedy, used car salesman type- sell you a lemon at your expense and disappear for you to deal with the problems on your own- but the way he rattles off things about the various cars you pass leaves you without a doubt in your mind that he knows what he's talking about.  

“Well shit, Spams, that's damn impressive and cool as hell. I wish I could steal you away to the light just so you could help me out whenever my absolute clunker acts up.”

“…YOU WOULD TAKE ME TO [heaven] WITH YOU?” he all but squeaks.

Ok, not at all where you were going with that sentiment, but it’s not inaccurate. In fact, Spamton looks far too surprised for your liking.  He can't keep being surprised like this. 

“ Yeah . Why not?”

He doesn't seem to have an answer for that, or maybe he's just too busy processing it, but either way he stares blankly at the ground ahead.

You suppose you've never actually verbalized that desire to him, regardless of the context. Of course you would. You've dreamt about it for months . It’s the exact thing that inspired this whole vacation plan. 

“Spams, of course I would. I would love nothing more than that.” You temper your tone so as to not betray how emotional this subject makes you every time you think about it. Keep it lighthearted, for your own sake if nothing else.

“I. Enjoy. Spending. Time. With. You.”  You punctuate each word with a firm pat atop his head, trying to ruffle his hair lightly.”Get it through your thick little noggin!”

Spamton swats at your hand grumbling something along the lines of ‘ OK OK I GET IT FINE!!’ in a brief tizzy before folding his arms across his chest in a huff. 

“WELL ANYWAY!! DON'T FORGET! I DON'T DO [charidy] WORK. I’D STILL REQUIRE [[massive compensation]] FOR THE [a hard day's work?].”

“Sure,” you shrug, "I'll take you to dinner. As if I don't already do that all the time .”

“OH? O-HO? EVEN IN THE [sunny side up]?? WHERE OTHER LIGHT>NERS CAN [[get the wrong idea]]?? CAREFUL THERE, WHAT IF YOUr [sweet hart] SAW US OUT [hooting and hollering] AT THE LOCAL [[shabby dive]]!!”

He says it jokingly, but…. 

“LMAO MY WHAT NOW ?”

“YOUR [Valentine's Day Specil]..?” 

…But there's an edge of seriousness in his voice that almost sends you to the cusp of reeling.

“Wait wait wait wait - Spams. Spams. Do you think I’m like?? Actually in a relationship or something??”

“WHAT!!!!! YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE [Book a romant1c getaway today!]?!!?!”

The vocal equivalent of a keyboard smash lurches from your throat, echoing the absolute befuddlement overtaking your mind. No thoughts, only an infinite scroll of mental question marks for a long, long minute. 

At least maintaining enough sense to not start shrieking in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, your response finally comes as a shrill whisper.

“ ??????????? DID YOU THINK THAT I DID???????????? ”

“NO!! I DONT KN0W!! I NEVER [never] CONSIDERED IT!!!” Spamton sputters the words out way too fast, back tracking in a way that absolutely makes you think he’s lying. Which is insane, because how could he come to that conclusion with any consideration at all. 

“SPAMTON WHAT THE HELL GAVE YOU THAT IMPRESSION???”

“ NOTHING !! IT JUST W00ULDN'T BE SURPR1SING !!! WHY ARE YOU [Don’t wait: Act now!] LIKE IT'S A [w1ld pr1zes!!]] IDEA ANYWAY??”

“IF I HAD A PARTNER, HOW WOULD I GET AWAY WITH SPENDING LITERALLY ALL OF MY FREE TIME HERE??” 

“... ...AH.”

‘AH ’ he says , like he never even spent two seconds thinking about it. Like this isn't quite possibly one of the most baffling things he's ever said to you. And he's said A LOT of baffling things. Like, half of what comes out of his mouth, minimum. What. What. What.

You try really, really hard, to douse the brain-on-fire feeling overloading your thoughts right now. 

A few awkward, silent minutes pass as you wrap you both evidently wrap your minds around this misconception. You rub your eyes and sigh. 

“Spams, I spend more time with you than I do anyone else in my life that’s not out of obligation. Like, y’know, not counting coworkers ‘n stuff. Like, I don't even like anybody like that. Up there.” 

Honestly, thinking back on it, if you weren't so starved for social connection, you probably would have never considered taking a guy who more or less assaulted you out to dinner to begin with. Who in their right mind would ? 

He’s looking straight ahead as you walk, face still fairly pink, but the gears in his head are otherwise clearly turning. You prattle on to fill in the silence. 

“It’s not like I was some hotshot rich and famous person before like you, either. I basically gave you my life story already. You keep forgetting, I've always just been… this.” You gesture broadly at yourself. “... Me .”

Spamton stops dead in his tracks at that.

“STOP [doing] THAT. YOU’RE ALWAYS [[doing]] THAT.”

“Huh?”

“THE SELF THE SELF [depreciation in value].” He juts a finger at you, pointedly. 

“Oh, I uh, don’t really mean to. I’m just saying…” 

“WELL KNOCK IT OFF [[Heart Breaker]].” You roll your eyes making a dismissive motion. Which is a mistake because it only seems to make him double down.

“IM SERIOUS. YOURE WORTH [1 Million $$$$ JackPot!], A REAL [[Hot Piece]]. I WOULD KNOW. IVE [telled] YOU BEFORE  THAT SPAMTON G. SPAM TON HAD HIS [Fair Share at affordable pr1ces!] BACK IN THE D4Y.” 

“Spaaaams, stoooooop!”   You hiss in a hushed tone at the barrage of complements, dragging a hand over your heated face. You are in the middle of a bustling street downtown right now. And no effort for discreteness is being made on his part, at all .  “Are you trying to kill me?? And do you have to say that all so loud?? ”

“IF THAT;S WHAT IT TAKES!” He simply turns his nose up and folds his arms over his chest as you continue walking down the sidewalk. Speaking so matter-of-factly. “BESIDES THE [Whole Wide World] KNOWS IT ALREADY. ANYONE WITH [Peeping eyes] CAN SEE.”

The worst part is, he's not even doing this on purpose, to get any sort of rise out of you. The whole ‘ you fluster him- he flusters you- you volley back and forth until one of you can't anymore and then move on like it meant nothing ’ thing. You're used to that bit by now. But this isn't a bit . He seems entirely oblivious to how you’re burning up, just talking like he’s explaining any other fundamentally mundane topic. Stupid little dork. You sigh in exasperation. 

Change the subject. 

“So, you’ve had partners before, right? Obviously I’m not surprised, but definitely curious.” You prod, casting a sideways glance down at him. Trying to play it cool. 

His eyebrows shoot up as he sputters, as if he didn't see that line of questioning coming, somehow. It's not even like it's the first time he's referenced it. He was just asking for it, honestly.

“GUHH. I MEAN. [yes], AND [n0], and [[yes]].” Spamton fiddles with his jacket collar nervously, almost like straightening a non-existent tie. His head swivels rapidly to look everywhere but your direction.

“IVE [gotten around] AS ANY BIGSHOT IN THE [Slime Light] WOuLD. MOST WERE [Small Potatoes] [Baked at 425°F for 20-30 minutes] YOU KNOW? NO BUDDY WORTH [Call now before time runs out!] HOME ABOUT... BUT THERE WAS ONE… ”

Spamton cuts himself off, face flickering between something of regret and resentment. It only just occurs to you that this might have been a touchy subject. 

From the side of his glasses, you can make out his eyes darting to your face briefly, nervously, as if trying to gauge your reaction- and you do your best to maintain a neutral, inquisitive expression in return. If he doesn’t want to talk about something, he’s usually pretty good at telling you as much, given the topic isn’t one to cause a mental spiral. And now you're really curious. 

You stay quiet, but vigilant, just in case. 

A few moments pass with Spamton debating whether he wants to relay any more on the topic until his shoulders hunch forwards in resignation, visibly deflating with a sigh and conceding to your curiosity.

“HE WAS A [Highly Valued] BUSINESS PARTNER. BIG- BIG [Television Star] IN HIS OWN RIGHT. WE MADE A [$uper] TEAM! [New sensation taking the world by storm!]! THE [[Dynamic Duo]]. MATCHING [Businessmen Attire], EVEN.” He cuts out for a second, glasses filled with static- “...still hear him when I talk sometimes…” 

You instinctively reach for his shoulder at the static-laced interjection, but Spamton picks right back up before you make contact. What started as a meek recollection quickly melts into heated venting, spilling his guts, vehemently waving his hands as he rants.

“BUT! BUT HE WAS TO0 PUSHY. ALWAYS PUSHING MY [butt0ns]. ALWAYS PUSHING EVERYONE TO SIGN [contracts] AND [waivers] AND [end-user license agreement]. ITS HIS FAULT THAT I LOST EVERYTHING. I [trusted]] HIM 2 MUCH. I [[gived]] HIM TOO MUCH. HE WANTED TOO MUCH. IF HE IF HE IF HE  

MY [[Trade secrets]] THEN EVERYTHING WOULD BE [[5 stars luxury living]]. DONT TRUST ANYTHING YOU [See on TV] Y/N!! DITCHING THAT [Boob Tube] LEAVING HIM IN THE [spotlight] WAS THE BEST THING I EVER D1D!!”

Oh . That was not what you were expecting to hear, not that you even really had a guess to begin with but…

The way he talks about this Darkner, this falling out really left a lasting sting. You could almost think he still had feelings or something, if it weren't for the pure vitriol in his words and sneer on his face. Even then, you’re still left with an inkling of doubt.

Regardless, Spamton is clearly extra worked up over this, and he must notice as much himself by the way he pauses and shakes his head. He tries to compose himself a bit, digging his hands in his pockets while adding only a few more mumbled insults to the tirade before ceasing entirely.

“HE COULDN’T KEEP UP WITH THE [Slimes] ANYWAY. HE’LL BE JUST ANOTHER 

HE”LL BE JUST ANOTHER  [[obsolete]]    [Trash Heap] SOON.”

“Shit, jeez, I’m… sorry he did that to you. Sounds like you did the right thing by ditching him,” you offer lamely, unsure of what else to possibly say to any of that, meaningfully. Especially without knowing the half of it. 

The expression on his face is unreadable. Unconvinced. 

Hmm. Maybe it doesn’t have to be meaningful as it does distracting.

“Eh,” You shrug lightly, “what’s a ‘ HoT PiEcE ’ like yourself need some pushy jerk for, anyway?” You mimic the robotic inflection in his voice, throwing his own words from earlier back at him. “ He fumbled the ‘ Million Dollar Jackpot’ with you, I’d say.”

The dial-up modem noise he produces in response leads you to believe the shameless flirting worked.

“H-HEY NOW!! USING A GUYS OWN [worms] AGAINST HIM!! THATS A [grand larceny].” 

There we go.

He nearly short circuits, stammering and shushing and making pathetic attempts to reprimand you for the lexical theft, all of which does nothing to wipe the smug grin off your face. 

—

The rest of the day was pleasant, if not a bit fruitless. Unsurprisingly, the shopping district in this area of the city is largely TOO upscale for your wallet. Though you did splurge on a few bits and bobs, most of your expenses for the day were food related. After an absolutely delectable dinner, the two of you have returned to the hotel for the night.

You make quick work of changing into some pajamas after retreating to your room, and though it is rather late, you find yourself not quite tired enough to sleep just yet. Instead, you make your way back out to the common room, scanning the space for inspiration on how to kill time. You almost reach for the TV remote, but… decide against it… just in case. Maybe a little bit of reading before bed will have to do instead. 

You grab a book you’d packed with you and lounge yourself on an overly plush chase on the far side of the common room. Cracking open the book to where the bookmark was neatly slotted between the pages, you proceed to immediately lose yourself in thought instead.

The new information regarding this mysterious former business partner has been itching at the back of your mind all day. Questions now given space to flood the foreground of your thoughts. 

You wonder if the Darkner is in cyber city. You wonder if you'd ever run into them. You wonder what you would do if you did.

You wonder how you compare. 

Probably pathetically, honestly. The guy was a famous TV star after all, right? And big enough to be close with Spamton in his prime, when his face was plastered on nearly every damned billboard in the city. 

Spamton hadn’t relayed many details earlier, either, leaving plenty of wide open space for your imagination to run wild. Was he strong? Charismatic? Savvy? Attractive? Every attribute you assume he must have had makes you feel… inconsequential at best. Inadequate. It certainly sounded like if that TV guy didn’t do whatever it was that contributed to Spamton’s downfall, they would very likely still be partners.

How could you ever hope to compete with- 

“YOU OK THERE?”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Spamton stands in front of you, obviously amused and suppressing laughter at your reaction. 

“Wh-wh? When did you get out here??”

“10 MINUTES AGO. YOUVE BEEN [L@@k!!]ING AT THE SAME PAGE THERE THE WHOLE TIME. WHATCHA READING? MUST BE QUITE THE [fully immersive experience] STORY.”

“O-oh. No. It's nothing honestly. It’s about to put me to sleep, really” you lie, completely unprepared to face him right now. And, shit, he looks good in just a t-shirt and sweatpants. You’ve never seen him in a different change of clothes before. You shut the book and stand, stretching the tension out of your back. “Speaking of which, I think I'm gonna head to bed now.”

“HEY HEY JUST 1 THING F1RST!”

He grabs one of your hands before you turn to leave. You quirk an eyebrow. 

“THANKS F0R TODAY. FOR ALL OF THE [Everything].”

Oh no. He's treading into that territory of earnestness that gets you all in your feelings . As if you aren't already in them too deep. As if they're not threatening to drown you.

“Tell me you aren't going to thank me every single day for the next two weeks.”

“MMMM MAYBE. FOR ALL THIS?? ITS THE [minimum guaranteed compensation] YOU DESERVE.” He punctuates the assertion with a short nod. 

“Deeply unnecessary. Please Do Not.”

Especially not now. You try to move towards your bedroom, but his hand tightens around yours for a moment. 

“ITS NOT [unnecessary expenses]!! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. I OWE YOU THE [World Wide Web] [on a silver platter] AND I AM A [[worm]] OF MY WORD. I WILL GIVE YOU THE [www.planet3arth.com].” 

It's so overwhelming, it's making you sad . Your stomach is churning with what feels like guilt of all things, for reasons you aren't certain of. You try to play it off, desperate to get the emotions to stop.

“You don't have to talk so big.” You retract your hand with a hopefully natural-sounding laugh. “Still trying to butter me up after all this time you dweeb.”

Spamton doesn’t let you dismiss it that easily, though, instead following you as you head to your bedroom. You stop just inside the doorway, turning around to face him again. 

“I'M NOT [cheap] [[sweet talking]] YOU HERE Y/N. I MEAN IT. YOU DESERVE IT ALL.” He looks angry almost, brows furrowed, corners of his mouth in a taut frown. You know he means it. It's not helping at all. 

“I know you do, Spams. Don’t doubt it for a second.”

It’s too much- too personal, too genuine. 

He’s going to be the death of you. He gets flustered over the silliest little things, but then he’ll turn around and tell you that you deserve the world, and he'll give it to you in complete earnest without so much as batting an eye.  He really… He really doesn't realize the effect he has on you, does he? Or is he just in denial? Definitely not out of the realm of possibility when it comes to him.

Or perhaps, if you let the self doubt get the better of you, maybe he does know, but however deeply he obviously cares for you, maybe it’s just not in that way. He still especially seems messed up about his former… business partner. There absolutely could still be something there, instead. Which is fine, you could get over that, with time.  

For now though, your chest hurts. You box the emotions up, as usual, and pack them away with a false smile.

“G’night, Spams”. 

Chapter Text

Bittersweet. 

That's the best way to describe it. And even if it hurts at times, it certainly isn’t the worst feeling to relish. It is still sweet after all, and the persistent longing for something just out of reach is an easy price to pay for Spamton to be the happiest you’ve ever seen him. Every single wrench of your heart over the past few days has been worth it just for that. 

And aside from those secretly angst-ridden moments, this has been the best week you can recall having in a very, very long time. Even if the majority of it has been spent lounging around the hotel itself rather than being out doing things as a tourist would, that was the point really, wasn't it? Getting Spamton off the streets and into a comfortable, safe place. 

The suite has been exactly that, and the difference shows. 

Spamton is the most relaxed he's ever been. Features weighed by years of constant stress and misery softened in only a week's time; the typical knit brows and resting frown exchanged for a more easy, open expression. It looks good on him. Painfully so. You could almost do anything to keep it there. 

And, maybe you're going crazy, maybe it’s just that spending all this time together has normalized his typical disposition even further to you somehow, but you SWEAR that over the past week, Spamton has been just ever so slightly more lucid. The harsh electronic interference in his voice and the recycled advertisement interjections clipping into his sentences seem slightly less frequent, slightly more coherent. Still present and prominent, certainly, but just a bit less coarse. 

There is however one oddity amongst the otherwise more relaxed demeanor: You've noticed him staring at you funny numerous times now.

Like he's doing right now. 

“NO IM NOT. YOurE IMAGINING THINGS.”

“You just were. You're not a good liar, Spams.”

You've stopped to get lunch just a few city blocks away from that carnival that’s been beckoning you from the window of your suite all week, with plans to head there as soon as you eat. The cute little outdoor cafe table you’re occupying is small enough that you’re practically side by side. Distant cheers, music, and ringing of carnival game bells set a nostalgic backdrop, watching city bustle go by as Spamton once again attempts to deny the obvious.

You didn't think much of it the first time you caught him staring, but by now you’ve caught him so many times that you’ve started calling it out. Simultaneously dazed and contemplative. It's always directed at you, but feels like the gaze moves more through you. He always shakes his head out of it, too, clearly not paying attention whenever you catch him. 

“I’m not gonna let you ‘businessman’s honor’ your way out of it this time. It’s getting ridiculous.” 

“SOUNDS LIKE YOU NEED TO GET A [FREE eye exam with purchase of    ].” He folds his arms across his chest and turns his nose up at the accusation. You huff. 

“Listen, if you’re gonna keep looking at me funny, I’m gonna have no choice but to do something about it.” 

“HAH. L1KE WHAT?” 

Your lips curl at the edges, spotting a perfect opportunity.

“Mmm, if my eyes are so bad, maybe I'll just steal your glasses.” 

Spamton laughs. He might be oblivious, but you aren't joking about stealing them. You take another bite of your sandwich before setting it down and wiping your hands clean. You'll at least spare him the courtesy of getting sandwich residue on them.

“SORRY DOLL, BUT THESE WONT [press F1 for] HELP YOU THERE. THEY'RE NOT [prescription brands at affordable prices]. ITS ABOUT THE STYLE.”

“O-ho, I'm definitely stealing them then.” 

“PSSHH!! YOU WOULDN”T STEAL FROM A [little guy]!!” 

Spamton pouts so unseriously, hands pressed to his chest. Puppydog eyes, and all. You can’t help but let out an amused snort.

The way he’s entertaining your threat right now leads you to believe he wouldn’t be too mad if you actually did snatch them. You drum your fingers on the thin metal lattice of the table resting your chin in one hand, eyes squinting ever so slightly. 

“Mmm, fine , I guess I couldn't possibl -” You pluck the shades right off his face, quickly placing them on your own exceedingly smug face, and earning a startled yelp from Spamton. 

“Warned you. How do I look?” 

Spamton immediately makes a move to swipe them back off your face, but you easily hold him at arms length with a hand splayed against his chest, keeping his grabby hands just out of reach as you glance around. The blend of the pink and yellow lenses gives everything the appearance of an off-orange tint, fluctuating between being more pink and more yellow. You have to squint to keep the effect from being too dizzying.

“LIKE A CRIMINAL. GIVE THEM BACK!!”

“Woah, this is kinda disorienting. You sure these aren’t prescription??”

“GIVE THEM BACK AND ILL TELL YYOU?”

“Mmm, Nope.”

A brief pause, and he slumps back into his chair with a huff. You know that sound. He wants to be mad, but he isn’t. Your grin widens as you track a passing vehicle with your head, blue headlights tinted mauve. 

“I DIDN'T THINK YOU COULD BE SO CRUEL!!! DEPRIVING A MAN OF HISS [Ray-Ban Charidy Event Sale]. HOW'S HE SUPPOSED TO MAKE SWEET [$w33t] DEALZ WITHOUT HIS [[Deal Makers]]??” Spamton throws his hands in the air, sarcasm tinging the protests. “ I’LL LOSE ALL CREDIBILITY!!  MY [brand reputation]!! [[Think of the customers!!]] ” 

You’re still distracted watching the streaking taillights of traffic with your new tinted astigmatism, and it's not until you hear Spamton snort, trying and failing to suppress laughter, that you think to check your reflection in the cafe window.

Oh that’ll do it. The garish accessory does not suit you well, to put it kindly. Your face heats up as his composure continues to rapidly deteriorate.

“That bad huh?”

“YOU- YOU JUST DONT HAVE THE [[it factor]]. NOT EVERYONE CAN BE [the latest market trends] SETTER LIKE ME.”

“Go ahead, laugh it up. It only works for you because you're monochrome.” You roll your eyes. For all the time you've spent together over the last few days non-stop, you have run out of neither comfortable conversation nor absolute nonsense to occupy you.

“Really though, I don't know how you function wearing these things. They’re kinda making me nauseous.”

“YET YOU’RE STILL WEARING THEM?” 

“To make a point, yup.”

“OK OK. WELL POINT TAKEN.  [[Return Service Requested]], YOU CAN GIVE THEM BACK NOW.”

“Mhm. We’ll see about that.”

You slip the deal makers off your face with the intention of handing them over to his outstretched palm, but freeze glancing back at his face. Glasses-less

You’ve… never actually seen Spamton without his glasses before? Sure, you've seen his eyes through the colorful lenses, and from the side even, but it's different. You're lost taking in his plain features as a whole for a moment, now that you’re actually paying attention and your vision is clear.

Those glasses really do wonders at obscuring his emotions, even more so than you’d originally thought. You could almost curse them for it. He quirks an eyebrow at your sudden stillness, but even through the inquisitive look, the depth of fondness in his eyes is unmistakable. And- you swear if you just focus hard enough-  they almost glimmer, like stars in a dark night sky. Surely resulting from some sort of Darkner magic.

Spamton falters suddenly, breath hitching and eyes going wide for a second as his hand retracts towards his chest. 

“YOU- Y-YOU CANT JUST TELL A [[Slime]] THAT. NOT LIKE THAT ”

“Huh what?? Did I say something??”

You definitely didn't mean to say anything, but based on the jumble of thoughts in your brain, and his reaction, there's a good chance that it was a compliment, and quite possibly an  embarrassing one on your end. 

“OH. NEVERMIND. IT S. ITS  nOTHING>.” 

He waves you off with something between a groan and a sigh.

You just stare at him in a way that he knows you aren't going to drop it.

“ PRETTY. YOU JUST SAID PRETTY. THATS IT.” Spamton can't look at you, his fingers hang loosely over his mouth, partially muffling the words. As if he’s the one that should be embarrassed in this situation. 

Just pretty? That’s not bad at all. You laugh quietly. 

“They are. Your eyes are very pretty. I wish I got to see them more.” You turn the glasses over in your hands. They have a nice weight to them. And they're hardly bent or scuffed for as old and worn as they are. He clearly takes exceptionally good care of them. 

A simple accessory creating a character to wear, a character to fill the role of what he’s been relegated to. Concealing the vulnerabilities otherwise too bare to stand. Without them, just the man that he is stares back at you too clearly. It’s no wonder he wears them all the time.

You could hand the glasses back to him, but the urge to slide them back into place on his face yourself wins out. It feels right in the moment. Stealing one more glance at his face before obscuring his eyes as they widen at the very act. 

“Not that you don’t look good wearing them though. You do.”

He mutters you’re gonna kill me , followed by something else you don't quite catch amongst the bustling street noise as he buries his face in his hands.

The bustling noise which, you note, sounds to be getting louder by the second. Odd time for a lunch rush now, but you’re ready to wrap up here anyway. You beckon the waiter over for the bill, and Spamton goes quiet while you pay. 

No sooner do you hand the waiter the payment then a tight grip takes hold of your wrist and you're being whipped down the street in the opposite direction of the commotion.  

Everything is a blur for a moment- Spamton mutters a censored swear under his breath, and the next thing you know, you're stumbling  to the ground, skidding forwards on cold, hard pavement. Palms scraped and stinging from breaking your fall. You immediately roll over and prop yourself up on your elbows to get your bearings, realizing you’ve been shoved into a narrow alleyway, entirely empty save for a line of dumpsters filled with cardboard boxes. 

Spamton kneels beside you, looking over his shoulder towards the street where the commotion steadily grows louder. 

“SPAMS WHAT THE F-”

“SHH!!!” He immediately smacks one index finger to his mouth and one a hand over yours, looking manic. 

“BE QUIET!! PLEA$E. I'M NOT LETTING THAT [Smokin CPU] GET HER [[acid stained]] HANDS ON MY LIGHT nER.” 

…his L ightner ?

Spamton doesn’t even give you three seconds to mull that sentiment over- your senses are deafened by complete darkness and the scent of damp, musty cardboard. You immediately shriek in protest, but he grabs you by the shoulders, squeezing hard enough to bruise. 

“SHHH! PLEASE ! PLEASE TRUST ME. DON'T MOVE. DON”T SAY [a word from our sponsors!]. I’LL BE RIGHT BACK WHEN IT’S CLEAR. I PROM-”

“What Is Going On Back Here?”

You hear him spit a second censored curse under his breath before his footsteps trail off to somewhere in front of you. 

There's a faint gleam of light trickling through a small tear in one side of the box over your head. As slowly and quietly as possible, you adjust yourself to see what the hell is going on. Vision is limited, but you can finally see who Spamton was so concerned about. A face you recognize instantly. 

The Queen. 

Your blood turns to ice. 

“Oh It’s: You. You Are Looking Unusually… Not Miserable? What Are You Doing Here?”

The Queen sits on a levitating throne, crossed legs bouncing a foot idly. Sleek and robotic, swirling a toxic looking cocktail on one hand as she peers down upon Spamton. The glare from the fire propelling her seat casts long, flickering shadows down the narrow alley, encasing his form in a bright halo of light. Fiery warm tones an ominous juxtaposition to the cool blue lights of the city. He looks tiny in comparison. You feel even smaller. 

“HEY HEY!! [[Queen Bean]]! WHAT!!! NOT HAPPY TO SEE [Your Ol’ Pal] SPAMT    SPAMTON?”

“Let Me Think About It Ok I Thought About It. LMAO No. Also Do Not Call Me That Ever Again.”

Spamton winces, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous fashion, posture shrinking, recoiling under her gaze. You’ve never seen him cower before someone else. The fact that the Queen is at least in some part responsible for his current situation isn’t lost on you, but it’s still unnerving . 

“HHAH. OF COURSE NOT. OF COURSE NOT. BUT HEY! YOU WOULDNT HAPPEN TO LET ME [swing on by] THE CASTLE WOULD YOU?? [[For old times sake!]]? 

“Your Repetitive And Pitiful Attempts At Gaining Access To My Glorious Mansion Are Futile. Please Desist From The ‘Being Really Annoying About It’ Thing.” 

“JUST THE [[fully furnished]] BASEMENT!! REALLY WHATS THE BIG DEAL!!! JUST [A one-time offer]!!! ONE PEEK!! YOU W0NT EVEN KNOW- W00NT EVEN KN0W  IM       !”

“You Did Not Want The Free Moving Service Provided For Your Eviction. You Didn’t Even Like The Free Acid Swimming Pool. Why Would You Want Free Basement? That Does Not Compute.”

Acid swimming pool? Why would- Didn’t Spamton mention that acid… shrinks…

Oh god. 

Is- She’s referring to the acid that Spamton told you he was thrown into, isn’t she? And she has the fucking audacity to just nonchalantly throw that in his face like it was some- some sort of privilege?

You can’t see his face- you can only tell that his shoulders have gone painfully rigid- and it might be for the better. It’s taking every ounce of self restraint you have to stay still and silent. Whatever look he's wearing right now, regardless of whether it's anger or something more painful, would probably be enough to bulldoze your inhibitions. 

“Anyway I Thought I Heard Someone Say Lightner. You Haven’t Happened To See Any Lightners Around Lately Have You?”

Spamton barks the most uneasy laughter you’ve heard from him yet. You have to actively suppress the wince at the harsh electric churring cut in with his voice. 

“ LIGHT NerS?????? GO0OD ONE! VERY [funny business]!!!”  TELL YOU WHAT THOUGH. YOU LET ME INTO THE [Renovated Basement Suite] ONE MORE TIME AND ILL BRING YOU [Expedited Shipping] [At no additionel cost] THE NEXT LIGHTnER THAT COMES MY WAY.  [[Deal]] [[Deal]]?”

“Bring Me The Lighter First And I Will Consider It.” Her wide smile is accompanied by ‘ Lying ’ spelled out in those red LEDs, and you can’t help but wonder if the displays are unintentional, or if she’s doing it just to mock him.

“[We apologize for the inconvenience] BUT THE TERMS OF THIS [[desperation]] ARENT UP FOR [negotiation].”

“I Am Not Taking Your Deal LOL Are You: Stupid? Wait Don't Tell Me I Know The Answer”

The word ‘ Yes ’ flashes across her face, and Spamton continues to just… take the verbal abuse. He’s audibly gritting his teeth, jointed digits flexing at his sides, but otherwise not acknowledging the beratement.

This whole thing makes you feel insane. Useless. Spamton is taking an onslaught of needle sharp personal insults from one of the worst people in his life just to protect you. Your brain has barely caught up to this sudden wild turn of events, but you have never wanted to beat the hell out of someone this badly in your life- god do you wish you actually learned how to fight. Your whole body twitches, jostling the cardboard cover slightly. Inching dangerously close to blowing your cover, instinctively ready to tear her apart, but against the will of every fiber of your being, you contain yourself. 

Even so, the small rustle of cardboard may still have been too much. 

The Queen perks up inquisitively, straightening herself up in her seat while peering further back into the alley. 

Right in your direction.

“Hey Did You Hear That?”

Fuck fuckfuckfuck -

“WHAT!! N00-0. YOUR [bloatware] MUST BE OUTDaTED YOu OLD [[box]]. [See your doctor if you experience paranoia, hallucinations, or   ].” Spamton’s verbal tics are increasingly severe and glitchy. He shifts to stand more directly in front of you, but it doesn't do much given both the distance and his stature. 

“Initiate Facial Recognition Scanning Protocol”

“DONT UH- UM- DONT CH4NGE THE [[Hot Topic]]!! IM TRYING TO [[Drive around town in one of our ]] A [lose-lose] BARGAIN HERE. WHAT DO YOU 

WHAT DO YOU EVen [[need]] THAT OLD [[hunk of junk]] FOR ANY>WAY??”

Her gaze falls directly upon you.

The grimy damp concrete seeps through your clothes in a way that makes your skin crawl. The muscles of your neck hiss in pain from holding your head at such an angle without reprieve and your shoulders threaten to collapse from the continued strain. You don’t dare move. 

“Protocol Complete. No Faces Found.” 

The cardboard box… actually worked? WHAT?

“Outdated?” She resumes her lax position in her throne, turning her attention back to Spamton. The LED display screen on her face flashes a bright red ‘ False ’. “I Just Installed The Latest Update Last Night Before The Internet Went Down. I Am Fully Up To Date With All Of The Things A Lightner Could Ever Want. I Am Cooler And More Prepared For World Domination Than Ever Ha Ha”

She takes a long, loud sip of whatever the radioactive green cocktail in her hand is. 

At this point, the muscles of your entire upper body are trembling, screaming at you in protest to collapse onto the ground. You silently beg for Spamton to hurry up and get her out of here soon. Like, really soon, or it's about to get messy.     

“Anyway You Are Acting Suspiciously… Suspicious. What's Up With That?”

“ ME ? I HAVE [[seriuos business]] IN [new vacancies available] ALLEYWAYS. YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S ON [competitive territory]. DONT YOU HAVE SOME [easels] TO [[boss around]] OR DID YOU REALLY [miss these Amazing Deals] ME THAT MUCH?”

“Believe Me I Would Not Miss LMAO”

She raises the back of her hand to her mouth letting out an exaggerated, regal laugh, facial display now reading ‘ Nice ’. Hate hate hate hate hate

“But Yeah True I Have Better Things To Do Than Have Long Conversations…

In Dark Alleys …

With Suspicious Sounds… 

Like…

I Heard There Was A Lightner Around.

I Could Find Them And  Make Them Into A Willing Peon. Or Robot.

Or Robot Peon.

That Would Be Sick AF. 

(Just Like My Mix Tape Which They Irrefutably Will Love)”

Spamton folds his arms and cocks his head to the side, as if skeptical, and you’re certain that the motion is half meant to cover up how unbearably anxious he’s getting.

“RIGHT. [[Wishing you the best of luck!!]] WITH THAT. A44RE YOU DONE..?”

“Yeah. Bye. See You: Hopefully Never Again.”

And just like that, the levitating throne boosts upwards and out of sight. Even well after the gasps and chatter of the crowds reacting to her appearance subside, it’s a long moment before either of you feel safe enough to move. 

Your elbows give out from under you, collapsing backwards onto the cold damp concrete with a groan. 

Spamton runs over and rips the cardboard box from your head, immediately inspecting you for damage while apologizing profusely for pushing you earlier. You let him fuss over you, limbs too exhausted to protest. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of him maneuvering your arms as he scans them for cuts and bruises, healing the little scrapes in your palms where loose gravel broke skin. You take the moment to let your mind come down from the intense situation. 

“So that was the Queen huh?” 

You're definitely shaken from the run-in, but now that the sudden rush of fear has subsided, you'd expected her to be a little more… imposing? Intimidating? Not just… small and revoltingly mean . Floating around on a stupid fancy chair. 

And… It is interesting that a literal cardboard box had her completely fooled. The residual rage still simmering in your stomach latches onto that fact. 

Hmmm. 

“STOP.” 

“Huh?”

“I CAN TELL YOU;RE [[Thinking]]  AND I CAN GUESS ABOUT WHAT.” Spamton pauses patting the dirt from your arms to look at you. His voice sounds almost raw from the excessive glitching- soft staticy pops and crackles coating the words as he speaks.  “IM FINE. SHES SCArIER THAN SHE [L@@K!]S. I WOULD KNOW> [[Ow! It burns! Stop! Help!]] I WOULD KNOW.”

You wince. He would know.

And even if she’s small, you suppose it doesn’t mean she’s weak. Spamton is more than enough proof of that himself. 

He looks shaken, really shaken. This should be the other way around. You should be fussing over him right now. After all that? There’s no way it didn’t bring back some bad memories. If only your muscles worked.

You know you won’t be able to just forget this new information about the queen so easily, but you’ll drop it for now. For him.

Once Spamton seems satisfied that you’re ok, he helps you up off the ground. Steadying you with a hand on your arm. You roll the last of the soreness out of your shoulders. 

“Thanks for looking out for me like that.”

“OF COURSE IM GOING TO PROTECT YOU. I TOLD YOU, ID TAKE [[Tender loving care]] OF IT.” He scoffs, but there's tenderness in his touch as he squeezes your arm for a moment, before his hand falls back to his side. 

You grimace.

There's not a single doubt in your mind that he would have tried something reckless to protect you if the queen actually did notice you. The thought nearly triggers your anxiety all over again.  You’d be useless for help. If something ever happened to him… 

“Please don’t do anything crazy on my behalf though. You know the last thing I want is you to get in trouble for me.”

“ LIKEWISE .”  

It’s both a plea and a warning. 

...You just nod.

Spamton runs both hands through his hair, letting out a long exhale, coming down from his own nerves. When he speaks again, the statement leaves no room for argument.

“WE'RE GOING HOME.”

A resigned sigh escapes you as the carnival plans are fully abandoned, but you can’t be truly upset. He’s right. Maybe running around the upscale parts of town was too reckless from the beginning. 

It’s for the better anyway, now that the scent of musty cardboard is etched into your nose and your entire backside is damp and dirty, the chance to clean up is appreciated. 

And, even through the ambient discontent and exhaustion, that specific word choice isn’t lost on you, either. Home… The word settles in your mind, warm and true. It’s not just the hotel itself that's earned the sentiment. A small smile finds its way onto your lips despite the spoiled day.

You take a step towards the entrance of the alley, but Spamton grabs your wrist, shaking his head. Instead, you’re led deeper into the alley. Your wrist almost hurts from the tight grip he keeps on you, treading swiftly through the dark, neglected corridors threaded through the city like veins. You idly suppose he would know the back ways in this part of town, too. 

Like apparitions through the streets, the two of you move quietly through the alleys undetected until you’re back at the hotel. Safe. Together. Home .

Chapter Text

You take your time unwinding in your room; the shower washes away both the alleyway grime and residual unease from the encounter. Putting the whole thing out of your mind is easier than you’d thought once you're fresh and in a clean change of clothes. Almost as if none of any of that ever happened. 

It’s more jarring then, when you finally step into the common room to find it uncharacteristically empty.

You expect to see Spamton lounging out in the common space when you emerge from your room, usually sprawled on the chase or sitting at the kitchen bar, but he isn’t- the only other movement in the room is the twinkling reflection of the city lights gleaming off various surfaces in the room, the low distant hum of traffic is the only sound to greet you. 

For a moment you think you might have lost track of time, but a glance at the kitchen clock dismisses the idea- it’s certainly not late enough for him to have gone to bed. …Given today’s earlier events, how long it’s been since you got back, and the fact that he has not once all week been prone to staying hidden away in his room… the math isn’t hard. Just concerning .

Your hand stops short of knocking on the door to his room, halted by the sound of… voices? 

You press your ear to the door instead and, no, not voices , but a voice- stilted and irregular murmuring on the other side. Like one side of a conversation, or at least the cadence and inflections spoken as if it were. You can’t make out a single recognizable word being said, but it is definitely Spamton. 

You knock on the door. It goes unacknowledged, the droning of his voice only continues with increasing agitation. You knock again, harder. 

“Spams, hey, is everything alright in there?” 

No response.

At the risk of being invasive, you crack the door open enough to peek your head into the room, calling his name once more. 

For a moment the room looks empty; it’s not until you fully step into the room that you see him. 

There is a large, wooden desk on the opposite side of the bed, its chair is haphazardly shoved off to the side. In its place on the floor is Spamton, kneeling and hunched over, back to you with both hands clutching at a black, corded phone raised to his head. 

You freeze.

The disturbing history involving phone calls had nearly been forgotten, shoved to somewhere in the back of your mind as the vague recountence seemed to lose relevance over time. Until now. Now that it's haunting Spamton right in front of you. What you can only describe as garbage noise spills from Spamton’s mouth with an air of panic that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You know nothing about who or what is on the other end of that line, except that it’s not good.

For a second, the conflicting urges to not intervene out of fear and to dash over and rip the phone cord out of the wall grip you in inaction. It’s only with great courage, despite even greater dread, that you cautiously creep towards where Spamton kneels. Holding your breath until you get close enough to hear what's on the other end of the line-

A dial tone. It’s just a dial tone. He isn’t talking to anyone.  

The restored sense of relief and safety doesn’t change the fact that Spamton is still having an episode before you, but it does allow you the fortitude to intervene and try to snap him out of it. 

You kneel on the floor beside him, gently placing a hand on his back. His glasses are filled with static as he stares straight forward into the floor, gaze unwavering. 

“Spamton? Hey, are you with me? Everything is ok Spams-”

Suddenly a sound emits from him like an old rewinding VHS, and the words spilling from him become intelligible. 

“ANSWER THE PHONE PLEASE [[please]]  ANSWER THE PHONE. ANSWER THE PHONE. IM SORRY! I WONT 

I WONT 

I WONT 

[stop no please don't take my furniture] HELP. PLEASE! [Press F1 for    ]-”

“Spams, it’s me!” Increasing urgency fills your voice as you speak. You shift to sit in front of him, your hands framing his face to lift his static-ridden gaze to you. The static from his lenses tingles and pops against the skin of your fingers. “ Can you see me? Spamton? ” 

Shit this is not working.

Of course that encounter earlier fucked him up. Of course he's been retraumatized. Shit. You should have known. Should have… done something! Stayed with him longer instead of immediately fucking off to your room, made sure he really was ok.  

Spamton continues to babble incoherently, grip on the phone ironclad. Trying to remove it from his hands isn’t feasible, and possibly not a good idea with him in this state anyway, even if you were strong enough to pry it away. That fucking phone. 

You crawl over to the heavy wood desk on which the connecting phone keypad sits, power cord running behind it to an unseen outlet. Your arm can't fit behind the damned thing to reach to cords, and shoving the desk on your knees proves useless. You sit with your back to the side of the desk, using the bedframe as leverage, and shove with all the strength you can muster. It lurches, giving you just enough room to squeeze your arm behind it, feeling until you find the wires and yank . 

Silence.

The dial tone ceases, as does Spamton along with it, static in his glasses is replaced with hollow darkness. Thank god. 

You scoot back over to him and gently take the phone from his hands, fingers loosely clacking together as it slips out of his slackened grip. You take the base of the phone off the desk and return the receiver to the hook with a soft click.  

Spamton jolts back to reality at the sound, suddenly breathing rapidly as if just waking from a nightmare. 

“WHAT??? WHAT??”

“Hey, are you back with me?”

“IM-... IM HERE. YOU>RE [[hear]]. RIGHT.         RIGHT." He looks around the room regaining his bearings. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

“I heard a commotion in here, you weren't responding when I was calling for you. I found you, uh, on the phone.” You offer a free hand to Spamton. He scans your face looking a little bewildered before taking your hand. “Are you ok?” 

His gaze falls to the machine in your other hand. “Y-YeaH. UM. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. WITH THAT.” 

“I don't think you need this. I’ll just keep it in my room till we check out.” You stare at the phone in your grasp uneasily. You’d finished wrapping the loose cords half way around it already, but the idea that it will somehow still start ringing fills your stomach with dread. “You… you didn't hear anything right?” 

“WHAT?? NO- No.  JUST. RELIVING [[old memories]].”

Spamton shakes his head, seeming genuinely surprised if not a bit confused by the question at least. It puts you a little more at ease. The possibility that maybe he could hear something besides the dial tone hadn’t completely escaped you. 

Of all the things you’ve come to learn about Spamton’s past over time, this mysterious phone business is by far the most unsettling- and hardly knowing anything about it at all only makes it more troubling. All you do know is that it’s likely the thing that made him this glitchy, manic shell of who he was, somehow . 

The words of that orange Addison so long ago now echo through your mind. 

Whoever was on the other end of the line must have said, or done something to break him like that. 

You shudder.

“Old memories… like the voice on the phone…?” 

Spamton’s head snaps up at that, but his alarm at your words quickly turns to something that looks more like confusion, and you suppose that he might not know that you know anything about that at all. Spamton himself has certainly never told you anything about it, and you never did mention your visit to the other Addisons. Not that you were hiding it intentionally, there was just never really a reason to bring it up. 

“The one that you… that helped you make it big? I talked to some of the Addisons and they-”

“YOU WHAT- ”

Ah.

“Listen- It was right after that first time you like, broke reality around us I was really freaked out and didn't know what to do!!” You wave your hands in front of yourself defensively as the words spill out of your mouth in a rush to explain yourself, but Spamton brushes right over that issue, caught up on something else entirely.

“THOSE GOOD FOR N0THING [Successful bisnessman] ACTUALLY [blabbed] ABOUT [number 1 rated salesman circa 1997]??? WH WH WHAT'D THEY S4Y?? NO WAIT. I D0NT [[need to know]]! WAIT! I MEAN-” His hands move back and forth between running through his hair and fidgeting with the lapels of his blazer, almost panicked, before finally settling on pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. ”JUST… DON'T BELIEVE ANY    THING THEY SAID ABOUT ME. …DID- D1D THEY…”. 

“They didn't say anything about you, other than what I asked about, Spams.” He eases up just a little- good. The last thing you intended is for him to have more to feel worse about. “The blue one especially seemed to feel really bad, they even asked me to apologize to you for them.”

Spamton plops himself into the skewed desk chair burying his face in his hands. You sit on the bed across from him, hands folded over the wrapped telephone in your lap. 

“IM NOT GONNA GO [[crawling back]] TO THEM OF ALL PEOPLE. THEY CAN [rot] FOR ALL I CARE.”

“Yeah, I told them they ought to do it themself if anything. Almost got into a fight with peaches though.”

He lifts his head from his hands. 

“PEACHES?” 

“Mm, the uppity pink one.”

“YOU CALLED THEM PEACHES ?”

You nod, and he snorts. The misery in his features softens.  

“...I TAKE IT BACK, I WOULDN'T MIND SEEING THEM AGAIN JUST TO SEE THE L@@K ON THE1R FACE AT THAT. I’D BET MY [4.99] [[Life Savings]] THEY WERE PISSED.” His smile is crooked and a little devious, half hidden behind fingers as he rests his chin in his hand. You flop back on the bed, eyelids fluttering shut, allowing yourself to relax fully. 

“ Hah - oh yeah. Almost got into a fight with them after that one. Didn’t though, as evidenced by the fact that I am still here alive and well. “ You laugh. “It was hard though. They do have a really punchable face, y’know?” 

Spamton snorts. 

“THATS A [[10 facts That Will Blow Your Mind]].”

You hum in agreement, letting comfortable silence fill the room. Almost forgetting what spurred the conversation to begin with.

“SO… WHAT DID THEY TELL YOU? ABOUT THE [phone calls].” 

Right. You purse your lips. 

“Mmm… Honestly? Not much. I got the impression they really didn't know anything themselves. Just that you’d come into contact with someone on the phone one day all of a sudden, and whoever was on the other end of the line seemed like they were helping you out big time, until they weren't. And that's when things uh, went really wrong.” 

You chew your lip, sitting back up to look at Spamton. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. And, I'm sorry about the queen thing earlier, too. I had a feeling the whole run in earlier would, um, unearth some less than pleasant things. I should have-”

“YOU DO [So much more!] THAN ENOUGH. BELIEVE ME.” 

Spamton raises a hand to stop you, shaking his head before pausing, brows furrowing at nothing in particular with a hum. Like he's debating something internally for a moment.

“I THINK. I SHOULD EXPLAIN EVERYTHING.” 

You blink.

“WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE PHONE. WITH ME.” Spamton shifts uncomfortably in his seat, antsy. 

“I mean, as much as I'd appreciate it, you don't have to if you aren’t-”

“NO. I HAVE TO TELL YOU. AT THIS [Point Of Sales]? YOU SHOULD KNOW. NOT FAIR IF I DON'T.”

So he does.

Or at least, as much as he believes he reasonably can. Spamton explains how he’d been too scared to tell you anything before for fear of repercussions, but, he thinks he can talk about it in vague terms. Why he's like this. What truly broke him. At least in brief, because last time he dared to tell someone he’d cared for so deeply about the secrets the voice on the phone told him, he was punished for it. A big shot in his prime, made to lose everything. That, and he doesn't want you to get wrapped up in the mess should that voice intervene again. He made that decision long ago.  

There's a prophecy. The voice on the phone told him many things. He was able to strike a deal of sorts with the stranger, he would learn the secrets of the prophecy, not excluding his own fate, in order to learn insider information that would help him make it. and just like that he made it big- he was given the answer to every problem, and from there it was a quick climb to the top.  

At the same time, he found something in the basement of the Queen’s mansion- the essence of a Lightner’s dreams, a crystal in a body imbued with power so immense that when he touched it, he saw into the light- ‘Heaven’. And suddenly, the need to escape his fate hit him full force. He was always hungry for more, more fame, more deals, why shouldn't he want more freedom? He dared to think he could defy it. Find a loop hole. Or become powerful enough to rewrite his destiny himself. He prayed to the machine, to heaven, for more - taking his fortune for granted, too high on his own rapid success to see the cliff he was set on running off. 

That desire to escape was, according to the voice on the phone in the final phone call, the first in a series of mistakes he made. The phone call that came after he crossed one too many lines according to the mysterious benefactor. There would be no more help, and he would fade into obsoletion just as foretold- only sooner rather than later. 

And here he is, just as the voice said. Lost access to the only shred of hope that he had, now just a broken puppet of this fate. A slave to these strings that he can see but can't touch, can't control. 

Maybe he's an idiot, he sure as shit is desperate, but despite the certainty and absolute nature of his fate, he still has to try. He's n othing if not tenacious. When you met him, he had nothing left to lose, he'd already lost it all. Why not go for broke?

You're entranced as he recounts everything, stunned into a dreadful, bewildered silence as he explains. It’s all so much to process, far more desolate and horrifying than anything you could have ever conceived of, but he continues. His gaze is haunted, looking down at his open palms as he speaks. 

“I MADE A PLAN Y/N. IF I CAN BE [[bigger]]. IF I CAN GET [the light]. I CAN BECOME SOME BODY. NOT JUST A [junk mail] OR A [useless joker] OR [[trash heap]]. I CAN BE MORE THAN WHAT I AM. ESCAPE THE DARK. TRUE [ F R E E D O M ].”

“IF I CAN JUST GET BACK TO THE MACHINE IN THE MANSION. IT CAN GIVE ME [the light]. MY DIRECT LINE TO [[heaven]]. NO MORE PRAYERS. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I JUST WASNT [GO-GETTER] ENOUGH. DIDN'T GRAB LIFE BY THE [silly strings]. 

THAT'S WHY I [craved] THAT DEAL SO BAD.”

That deal. The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

The deal wasn't just a power grab revenge plot like you'd initially thought. 

It was his life. It was his fate. 

Spamton continues to speak, but it's all lost on you, a vague echo deafened by the realization that the minute he called the deal off with you, he effectively chose you over his own freedom . He would risk enduring obsoletion for you. To this moment, as he divulges all of this information, enduring horrors beyond your comprehension, he has decided that you are more important. 

The following headrush blurs your vision and it takes every ounce of focus in you to keep yourself upright. You have to run your hand through your hair to ground yourself. 

He chose you. You. 

“-GET [hyperlink blocked].” The present comes back into view as Spamton’s face contorts in anger and disgust at the sounds coming out of his mouth. The glitching interference that you finally see for what it is. 

“THE [hyperlink blocked], AND-. MY [hyperlink blocked]! [Hyperlink blocked]!! [Hyperlink blocked]!! FFF[Fifty percent off] [$%^&] THIS IS WHAT IM [[    ]] ABOUT. ALL SO I CAN NEVER [telled] THESE [trade secrets] TO ANY BUDDY EVER AGAIN! LIKE IM A DAMnED CORRUPTED [invalid file type]. DUE FOR [are you sure you want to permanently delete these files?]. BUT I DONT WANT. I D0NT W4NTt- HOW DID THAT [Back End]   [[killed]] ME LIKE THIS??” He stops pacing (you hadn’t noticed him start ) to slam a fist into the sturdy hardwood surface of the desk hard enough to crack it. 

“H-Hey hey-” You jump to grab the hand immediately, cradling it in your own hands. Thumb gently smoothing over the new scuffs. They'll heal with a bit of magic no doubt, but that doesn’t make them any easier to see. The wild look in his eyes dissipates easily as they focus on his hand in yours, and maybe, for a moment, you could understand how he chose you.

He exhales harshly. 

Addressing any of what was just divulged is an impossible task. You swallow thickly, and make an impossible promise instead. 

“We'll figure something out.” 

“WE.”

“Yes, we.”

“TH-THE DEAL IS OFF. I DONT WANT YOU TO-”

“We will figure something else out.” You shake the returning headrush out of your head at the reminder of that discarded deal. “I won't let that happen to you.”

What the hell can you do? There are forces at play beyond anything you could ever imagine, and they're set on ensuring Spamton is relegated to the dump. What can be done? 

Still, it doesn’t feel like a lie when you tell him you won’t let him succumb to this fated obsoletion. Not when you're here with him, holding his hand, holding his defeated, anxious gaze with such resolve. That outcome feels even more impossible, somehow. 

You hug him. His fingers dig into your back, tethering. 

“Thank you for telling me all this.” 

“I HAD TO. WOULDN'T BE FAIR THAT YOU'RE ALL [gift wrapped] [With a bow!] UP IN THIS [Hell] WITHOUT KNOWING.”

“Well I'm glad that I am.”

“YOU CAN'T-”

“ I am .” 

He lost his old friends when he rose to the top. He lost the rest when he fell. He lost everyone. He has no one. Except you. And he has you ride or die. 

“..[[Angel]]...” He gives you a final squeeze before leaning back, letting you go. Too short. You frown, and fear where he’s heading.

“YOU SHOULD-”

“Let me stay here with you.”

You try to beat him to it. It doesn't feel right to leave after that whole ordeal. Not now.

“DON'T DO THAT TO YOURSELF ON ACCOUNT OF        [[My]].” He deflates. “ITS LATE. GO GET SOME [[shut-eye]].”

“Spamton, I'm serious.”

He just shakes his head and tuts you out the door, not leaving any room for resistance. Closing the door on you with fake assurance. Abruptness of the situation stunning you into silence. A mirror image of what you did to him earlier in the week, now in an entirely different light that slaps you in the face in hindsight. You could scream. 

—

You stare at the ceiling of your room. Laying on your bed, his words and expressions and conflicting actions swirl and clash in your head. You… You know he's always being so damn earnest telling you how great you are and this and that and whatever, but it's all been words . Words that gnaw on your heart and burn in your mind, sure, but words all the same. Words that could mean not much of anything beyond exactly what they are at surface level.

For him to have put you above his worst fears so long ago, though, without you even realizing it. Enduring the existential terror of his pitiful existence in secret, alone. Accepting it for the foreseeable future just to keep you safe and isolated from his personal hell, being stronger than he needs to be in order to do so.

God. 

Maybe there is something there. Has he really ever done anything that's made you doubt the possibility? Has it really been in your head the whole time? Manufactured by your own doubts and insecurities? 

There's weight in your chest, your head is swimming and your throat is dry and right now all you want is a hard drink. But it's well past midnight and a glass of water will have to do.   

You quietly make your way to the living area, turning the kitchen light on to the dimmest setting. You’re met with Spamton, frozen mid-pace in front of the window. 

“...Spams?”

“OH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING [wide awake on a late night]?”

“ Me ? What about you ? Is everything ok??” His hair is a bit disheveled with his glasses resting amidst the ruffled locks. Though he's quick to replace them in their usual position atop his nose, you note the dark circles under his eyes are much more prominent than usual. Even more than they were when you just left his room. It's a stark contrast to the way his face brightens at the sound of your voice. 

“MMM. CAN”T [snooze & lose out!]. ITS [standard business practices] TH0ugh.” He shrugs, plopping down lazily onto the lounge by the window. “NORMALLY ID MAKE MYSELF BUSY BUT. THERES NOT MUCH TO [wheel and deal] HERE BY MYSELF. ESPECIALLY WHEN IM TRYING TO NOT WAKE [[Sleeping Beauty]] UP.” 

He gestures at you lightly with a cheeky grin from where he's sprawled. His head tracks your movement as you make your way to the fridge for that glass of water. He’s not even trying to hide how happy he is to see you. Just after being so melancholic about sending you to bed. The whiplash is disorienting. Oh, your heart. Why did he even send you away ? 

“Really?” You manage to maintain nonchalance in your voice, despite everything . “I've seen you sleep multiple times before though. Like, you were out cold the first night here, I would know. You snore like crazy. ”

“YEAH WELL THE NOVELTY OF A [Fresh from the Vine] MATTRESS WAS [Too Good To Pass Up?] THE F1RST NIGHT. AND THE REST. OF COURSE YOU'VE ONLY EVER SEEN ME SLEEP. I CAN ONLY 3V3R SLEEP BECAUSE YOU'RE THERE.” His eyes go wide for a moment and grin falters. “AH…” like he didn't realize what he was telling you. He sighs and hoists himself upright, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. 

“LIST EN LISTEN>. ITS JUST THAT. IM MORE [[comfy and cozy!]] WHEN- YOU. ARE COMFORTING. OK?” Spamton waves his hands, dismissive, and it sounds more like a tired obligation than anything.

He must be exhausted because the response is so muted compared to his usual freak outs when he thinks he's run his mouth too much. Not that he even has, because that is far from surprising given everything else you just learned tonight .

…

Wait a second-

“Spamton. Spamton. Have you not been sleeping this whole time??”

He bristles, and it's all the confirmation you need.

“ Oh my God, you haven't !!”

“I HAVE A LITTLE OK. ITS NORMAL NO [[Big Deals]] [Of a Lifet1me!].” He flops back down on the lounge with a huff. A combination of resignation and frustration in his voice, like he knows you aren't going to drop it. 

“Spamton that's ridiculous!!”

“DARKNERS DONT NEED [the Z’s] ITS FINE. JUST GO BACK TO [The Best Sleep You’ll Ever   ].”

“You know I just offered to stay with you earlier!!” 

You don’t mean to sound hurt. You aren’t hurt , you’re more exasperated, and sad - Still, it translates as hurt when you speak. 

Spamton winces, curling away from you on the couch so his back is to you. Voice muffled as if burying his face in his hands.

“NOT- THATS NOT   !!” 

“You can even come stay in my room if-”

“ I SAID NO !!! ”

Your jaw snaps shut. 

Silence, sharp and stinging, hollows the room.  

It didn’t seem like that bad of an overstep, it’s not like you haven’t already fallen asleep side by side before- like he didn’t just admit he’s more comfortable doing as much. You clear your throat to soften breaking the silence.
“..Right. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll… just go back to my room. My door is open if you change your mind.” 

Spamton has a running history of needing both gentle and firm shoves of reassurance in the right direction. This feels like this is another case of that, a byproduct of the fear and self loathing so deeply ingrained in him. Especially given everything that’s happened today, everything you just learned. 

Regardless if that’s true, this isn’t the situation for that.

The glass of water trembles in your hand on the way back to your room. If you weren’t already wide awake before, you sure as hell are now. You crawl under the covers and pull them up to your chin, back to the door, shaking from adrenaline that came out of nowhere. The blinds are closed, but specks of light peek through the stitching. The resulting shimmer reminds you of his eyes. You bite down a pathetic groan.

Even though you walked away, it feels like you're about to blow something up. Plowing straight towards a breaking point of some kind right now. You just want to hold him. If he would just let you hold him. 

There's a soft wrapping on your doorframe. 

You look over your shoulder to see his silhouette standing awkwardly, against the dim glow of the city lights. 

“IM-”

“Don't apologize, if that's what you're about to do.” You exhale, steadying your haywire nerves just enough. The last thing you want is for him to feel worse . “It’s fine. You’re fine .”

He fidgets. Based on the lack of response, you guess that actually was what he came to do. For some absurd reason.

“DIDN’T. Didn’t mean to snap at you. YOU DONT Deserve that.” 

“ I’m sorry, Spams. I didn’t mean to be pushy or anything. It’s good. It’s all good.”

He doesn't move. He wants to stay. You know he does. You can't make him, though. You can only reiterate yourself. And you will, you’ll do it 1000 times if that’s what he needs. Even if it’s this torturous in the meantime.

“Last thing I’ll say and then I’ll drop it. I want you to stay. I would feel better if you stayed.”

Even after clearing your throat, the words come out smaller than you'd have liked. He groans.

“DO Y0U EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU [[do]] TO ME? YOU- I-”

You adjust yourself so you're fully facing him, and faintly make out the silhouette of him pressing his hand to his forehead. “ JUST …”

Until an hour ago, you could honestly say you didn't. 

“...Spamton?”

“I'M AFRAID I'LL FEEL LIKE IT ALL MEANS SOMETHING!!”

He looks at you, torn, broken with want. As if he assumes it doesn't.  

The whole world stops for a moment. 

Oh.  

White-hot nothingness fills your mind- the quiet, small-but-loaded confession pierces straight through you. 

Then, it's everything. The earnest comments, the funny looks, the weird behavior- it all clicks, meanings suddenly clear as day, and you quickly yank the leash on that emotional whirlwind in your head, in your chest. There are so many things you want to say, none of them will resolve the situation at hand any faster. This is something to discuss tomorrow, when it's not 2 a.m. When you're both well rested and recovered from the mentally taxing day, capable of thinking straight- not a wrecked, raw bundle of haywire emotions as you are now. The bed whines as you sit up fully, swinging your legs over the edge and tangling a hand in your hair.

"My God Spams, it does, it-" It comes out breathless, only warbling a little, "right now, it means I want you here. So badly you have no idea.”

His breath hitches.

“It's two in the morning, please, I need you to come to bed. Please ?"

The glare of his deal makers reflect cool, distant lights as he stands, unmoving. Unreadable, and for a moment, you think he won't. You think his own mind will get the better of him, just like yours must have so many times. 

But then, he takes one halted step. And another. 

A tired wobbly smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and as soon as he's within reach you drag him into your arms, onto the bed, pulling the covers over you both. Spamton squeaks at the sudden motion, gasping as you curl around him. A soft, reflective oh escapes him, as if he wasn't expecting to be enveloped by you, as if the implication is settling in his mind. His back is to your chest, fitting perfectly into the shape of you, your arms wrapped snugly around his torso. All cool porcelain and warm, soft, stuffed cotton. 

You inhale harshly, squeezing him tighter before murmuring, asking if this is ok . 

After a moment, a small, cool porcelain hand rests on your arm, followed by a quiet ' Mhm '. Then a shiver. The shivering doesn't stop, though, and you realize he's actually shaking against you. 

At the sound of a sniffle you realize what’s happening, and immediately lift your head off the pillow to look at him- his eyes are screwed shut with the beginnings of tears pricking at their corners. You try to move away concerned it’s not actually ok , but his grip on your arm tightens, clutching it even closer to his chest and you can't budge. Instead, you settle back down into the pillow and tighten your embrace around him in return, nuzzling your face into his hair. Debating if you should say anything more or just keep holding him. 

Before you know it, the shaking stops and his breathing evens out. 

You don't last much longer.

Chapter Text

Before all senses and clarity return to you in your groggy state, you wake up comfortable. Happy. 

It's only when you squirm to readjust yourself in bed and stretch, finding your movement severely limited by the body tangled around you that you actually recall last night.

Your eyes snap open to see Spamton, tangled up in your arms.

Right! 

Right!!

His head rests on your arm that’s curled under him, with your opposite hand tangled in his hair. He has an arm draped over your lower back, fingers twitching against the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up, while his other arm is pinned between your bodies. You also note the feeling of one of his legs hooked around your thigh as well. You're entirely wrapped up in each other. 

His blazer is off, too, discarded somewhere out of sight in the night and he's just in the cotton shirt. He murmurs something inaudible and squeezes you tighter briefly. Nose bent, hair disheveled and face smooshed into your chest. 

Your heart pounds as you recall the details of last night, and you grin ear to ear, impossibly bright. 

Of course you got the best night sleep you've had in ages, he's in your arms. Finally. Finally!!

The warmth bubbling in your chest as you look down at his disheveled yet peaceful state  flushes through your entire body, buzzing in your head and making your cheeks hot. When's the last time you were this close to someone, physically or emotionally? Afraid it will feel like it means something. Oh, but it does. It means everything to you. He means everything to you. You might be a fool when it comes to a lot of things, but not him. Of that you're positive.

God you should have said something sooner, you could have been waking up this way for who knows how long.

Actually, you do still need to say something, technically- talk about what was said last night. Clarify feelings and meanings and how exactly that translates for the two of you.

But you don't dare move yet. You want to savor this feeling as long as possible, lest you wake him up and it ends too soon. You'll just continue to hold him, giddy with relief. He’s finally in your arms. Finally, finally finally finally.

It's not long before Spamton stirs, attempting to stretch his limbs while in your embrace to find himself waking up to the same confusion that you did- groggy eyes growing wide as he looks around and realizes where he is.

In your bed. Touching you. Completely intertwined.

“NOT… A [sweet dream]..?”

Before you can respond, he’s flailing and falling out of the bed as if it's made of lava, censored cusses spilling from him as he clatters to the floor. In a split second, he’s up again and stumbling towards the door, but you aren't letting him run away now. Not from this.

You scramble to the edge of the bed after him, flinging plush blankets aside and spluttering his name. You swipe at him and manage to catch his sleeve, pulling him back towards you with the intention to get him to just pause and listen to you for a second instead of immediately freaking out. 

Instead, though, Spamton loses his balance completely and stumbles forwards into you, and you catch him in your arms against your chest. 

The surrounding world completely falls away from your periphery

Spamton stands between your knees where you're seated at the edge of the mattress, forearms braced against your chest, and very, very close to your face. He inhales sharply, wide-eyed and frozen. The thrum of electricity in his chest feels like an erratic heartbeat in your arms. 

You open your mouth to explain, to tell him how you feel, that you want him here, but you can't find the words to speak. …Maybe there are no words that could ever possibly be enough for this. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth.

Spamton’s breath hitches as soon as he realizes what must be going through your head. 

“...OH”

You kiss him. 

He lets out a startled, needy little sound as soon as you make contact, lips soft against porcelain teeth. It's an odd feeling, almost reminiscent of kissing a ceramic mug, but it's him and it's everything you ever wanted. 

Your hands gently frame his face as his eyes flutter shut, finally letting himself relax into you, hands coming down to rest on your waist. He leans into you ever so slightly with a small, computerized whine and your heart swells- warm and bubbly in a way that makes the corners of your lips curl into a smile against him. 

As much as you could revel in the moment forever, you still need to talk. You pull back to break the kiss, and Spamton leans forward slightly as you do, following the feeling of your lips at the loss. 

When you open your eyes, he's looking at you too dazed, with too much wonder, too soft, like he can't understand how that just happened. How this is real.

“HAHH.” He breathes, a heavy static overlay to his voice. His fingers dig into your waist as it hits him. “YOU… WHY?” 

“Please stay.” Maintaining eye contact is difficult, but you force yourself to look at him. It’s important. “What you said last night- it can mean something. You already mean everything to me, really. I didn't think you felt that way and I’m an idiot for not realizing sooner, I think.”

Spamton’s eyes search yours, as if looking for some hint that this is a dream, conjured by his imagination, but your eyes only reflect the raw devotion you’ve felt for so long now. Real and true. 

You comb the stray locks of hair hanging over his forehead back with your fingers, running them down through his hair before bringing your hand to rest on his cheek again. He shivers under your touch. 

“Sorry, I'm really not good at this kind of thing, but…” An awkward laugh escapes you. You close your eyes- inhale- exhale- and open them again. Just tell him. “I like you. I want to be with you. I want… I just want you.”

“Y/N, YOU…”

Spamton stares, still seemingly awestruck, untill…

Like watching in slow motion, you see the gears in his head starting to turn. His hands slacken against your waist. His brows furrow as he blinks a few times, processing. The corner of his mouth twitches, and a quiet, incredulous laugh escapes him. Not a relieved one though- more as if instead realizing there's some sort of problem with what you just said. 

Spamton steps to back up, but you grab his wrist before he moves out of reach, confusion taking over.

“Spams?”

“I THOUGHT. I THOUGHT YOU DIDNT- IT MADE SENSE.” He slowly fists a hand into his hair with what appears to be dawning… horror? “[@#$%]. [$&@!]!”

“S-spamton? What’s wrong?” 

He just whimpers, eyes looking anywhere but your face, and you're so blindsided by this complete flip in his demeanor that you don't even have space to be upset. 

What? What??

“BUT YOU DO. SO THEN [why] DOESNT- THEN [Y] WILL I [        ] ??“ He shakes his head, wrenching his eyes shut, breathing steadily accelerating. “[$!@*]”

Your arms hover uselessly in the air around him, unsure of what the problem is, how to help. He looks like he could crumple into you at any moment, and you honestly wish he would so that you could comfort him with your embrace, tug him under the covers and envelop him like last night. Except it sounds like you are the source of whatever this problem is, or, your feelings for him are at least. 

But given everything that just happened in the past 24 hours, that makes no sense. 

There's something else to it.

“Spamton, slow down, please tell me what’s going on? Talk to me Spams, I’m here.”

“Y/N- Y/N- THE THINGS. THE [[phone]] TOLD ME. YOU>RE [invitation no longer valid].- RRGH!” He growls, voice increasingly bit-crushed as he fights against interjections. “YOU. ARE. NO0T IN. IT.  BUT IF YOURE SERIUOS, THAT MEANS-

THAT MEANS##-

WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU?”

That's what it is.

He's caught up on the prophecy- the fact that it dictates he'll fade into obsoletion, alone, you imagine. Trying to make sense of how you fit into that fate if you’re together. 

The answer that he's landing on is that you simply don't fit. 

But…

What, then? Just because this strange voice on the phone didn’t mention you, that means you’re temporary just like everyone else? That you’ll leave? That something will take you away from him? That you didn't just promise the both of you would shred the grip that prophecy has on him in the first place?

You grit your teeth, now fuming inside. This fucking voice on the phone already ruined his whole life, and it can't even grant him a sliver of peace now, in what should be a moment of pure happiness and relief. Hijacking it and turning it into a confusing mess of angst and conflicting emotions because he's been so damned traumatized. 

You cup his face in your hands once again, and force him to look at you. 

“Spamton. Listen to me. You will not lose me-”

“I DONT [[know]] THAT” He chokes the words out, trying to turn his head away. You keep him firmly facing you despite his effort.

“I DO. I have never been more certain of something in my life, Spams. That prophecy doesn’t mean shit. We already decided we are going to defy that idiotic thing, together. Fuck that thing. Whether I’m in it or not doesn’t matter a damned bit. I'll tear it to shreds. What matters is this! Us! I adore you!!”

You swallow, pausing to temper your rage for a second, doing your best to steady your voice and calmly talk him down from the edge of panic. Despite how angry you are for him, and how desperately you need him to believe you. 

Your hands soften against his face, thumbs brushing over the rose-painted cheeks you love so dearly. 

“I'm not going anywhere. There isn't a damned thing in this world that can make me. I’ll-”

Spamton’s mouth crashes against your lips.

In an instant, he’s climbing onto the bed- climbing on top of you until he’s straddling your lap, pressing himself to you with such force that you have to brace yourself with one arm momentarily to prevent yourself from falling backwards. You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he pulls away to press his forehead to yours. Small, porcelain hands frame your face in a mirror image of your actions earlier while his eyes bore into you. He’s trembling. 

“[Prom1se me!] YOU HAVE TO [Prom1se me!] YOU H4V3 TOoo-O-.” He physically glitches for a moment, pixels misplacing themselves and crackling against you while he tries to speak. “I CAN'T LOSE EVERYTHING AGAIN

EVERYTHING AGAIN.  I CAN'T.” 

You comb a hand up the back of his neck through his hair and squeeze his hip with the other, ignoring the way his glitching form stings your skin. Nothing has ever been easier. 

“I promise, of course I promise.” 

His mouth is back on yours before you can utter another word. Pressing his whole body into you again like he can’t be close enough, can’t get enough. Like he'd crawl into your ribcage if he could to make up for all the weeks of longing and pent up need and time apart all at once. Repressed feelings unleashed in a flurry of intensity and hunger that sends you reeling.

It's too much, too many feelings and sensations to process all at once. Incapable of much else, your mind hones in on just need. Need to ravish this man, spoil him, drown him in the feelings you've stifled for so long until he forgets he ever felt unwanted. You hook an arm around his neck to drag him down with you as you fall back on the bed, parting your lips to lick at his mouth, fingers digging into his waist to convey the message. Need him, need more-

Spamton immediately obliges, opening his mouth allowing you to deepen the kiss with a moan to your delight, and his hands roam down over your shoulders, down your chest, around your waist. Smooth porcelain digits graze the skin of your stomach under your shirt in a way that zips up your spine. A pleased little whine escapes you at the sensation, earning a deliciously desperate groan from the man above you that makes heat pool in your gut as you arch into his touch. 

It escalates from there. The bare minimum of words are exchanged between kisses, clothes are quickly discarded as hands roam freely- everything happens so fast, but there's no time to ease back into physical intimacy like this. Even if it's overwhelming. Every word and every touch. Completely lost in each other until the initial tidal wave of passion and desire is exhausted and the weight of everything that's changed begins to settle. 

Spamton is collapsed in your arms as you catch your breath. You almost feel like you could cry from the release of all the yearning and boxed up emotional turmoil in such a sudden, intense way. Like your mind and body don’t know what to do with the relief now that you’ve come down. You can only imagine how overwhelming it must be for Spamton. 

It's not surprising, then, when you hear the unmistakable sharp, stuttered inhale, followed by a wet sensation where his face is pressed against you. 

You let him cry it out, sobbing against your chest as you hold him, running your hand up and down his back in a soothing motion for as long as he needs. Till it’s just tapering sniffles and measured breaths. 

“SORRY- IM SORRY- IT'S JUST. A LOT. D0NT-” 

“It is.” You agree easily. “Don't apologize.” 

He exhales, lifting his head to wipe tears from his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Things mellow into a more comfortable calm as you lay in each other's arms. You stay that way much into the afternoon- neither of you in a rush to leave the others embrace just yet. Your thumb rubs lazily up and down the smooth skin of his shoulder, tracing over the seams of his joints. His head rests on your chest, eyes closed and so peaceful you could almost think he'd fallen asleep.

Is there a point in putting a label on anything? Until you figure out a way to get him into the light with you, is a serious relationship with a Darkner even feasible? It's not like you weren't aware he's the personification of a spam email, but that doesn't make him mean any less to you. Doesn't make him any less real. 

For now, it seems best to just enjoy what you have and not worry about those logistics.

And right now what you have is Spamton in your arms. A content, open and relaxed kind of smile on his face. Yours. You hug him closer and You press another kiss to the top of his head, continuing to idly run your fingers through his hair- something quickly becoming your new favorite habit. 

“HOW LONG?”

You hum, quirking an eyebrow. 

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU [caught the luv bug]?” 

That's a good question. It's been… Months, hasn't it? 

“Jeez, a… a while I guess. I think I realized it that one night we sat talking side by side against a dumpster way back when. You remember that?”

“WHAT! REALLY? THEN?? I WAS BEING [Extra, Extra!] PATHETIC!!” He props himself up on his forearms to look at you, genuine shock on his face. 

“No, you were going through it. Then we just sat there talking and, I don’t know. For how intimate it was and how awkward it could have been, it was easy and nice and I never felt so comfortable around someone. Like, ever. I realized I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible then, because it made me happy. You made me happy.” 

Spamton flops back down on your chest with a groan. 

“OH> [@#$%] IM AN IDIOT.”

“Mm?”

“I LITERALLY ATTACKED YOU [with expedited next day delivery].”

“You were going through it.” You reiterate, squeezing him lightly. “I’m just thankful I was able to get through to you that day.” 

“YOURE 2 [for giving].” He mumbles into your chest.

“Pshh- It took us both too long to address it honestly. I mean, just the other day, when you started talking about former partners the way you were talking about that TV guy, I'd convinced myself that maybe there was still something there.”

“THAT'S WHY YOU WERE SO WEIRD THAT NIGHT!”

“Ugh. Yeah. I basically shut the door in your face in the middle of you telling me how wonderful I am.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, mentally kicking your idiot self for being so oblivious that night. “Hurts to think about.”

Spamton laughs. 

“I [HATE!] [HATE!] [HATE!] THAT POMPOUS [old news]. I THOUGHT YOU WERE UPSET BECAUSE I WAS MAKING YOU [ signs of discomfort, including-].”

 “Oh god, I’m the idiot-”

“WE'RE BOTH [dummy!]S.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.” 

Spamton’s laughter quiets down to a suppressed chuckle, eyes squinted shut and nose wrinkled with amusement. He’s so cute. 

You lift his face to yours and kiss his cheek, watching him bask in the small affection. God, you're so excited to finally be able to do that. You kiss him again, short and sweet on the corner of his mouth. And again on his chin. And again on his forehead- over and over and over until you swear steam comes out of his ears and he’s putty against you. 

“Alright alright, well what about you then?”

It takes him a minute to come back down to earth, but when he does, he thinks on it for a bit. 

Spamton says he can’t say for sure. 

He started liking you the first night you took him out for dinner, but when you came back completely of your own volition after that first argument-turned-meltdown that broke reality around you because you were worried about him, it was the last thing he’d ever expected. It blindsided him so much that he instantly developed some level of feelings for you that he was NOT prepared for, and would have safeguarded against otherwise. Even if he was in denial over it, looking back he can say that’s what it was. Beyond that, apparently you just kept being wonderful, over and over. 

Spamton seems set on continuing to explain in detail every little moment that he can recall of you doing something remotely endearing (the absolute sap), and you end up having to cut him off with another kiss. Lest your heart explode. 

It's really been too long for both of you huh?

“Sounds like we have a lot of lost time to make up for then, doesn't it?” 

Spamton just lets out a quiet huff, eyes soft with adoration in a way that makes you melt.

“… [Thank you very much!] FOR THAT THOUGH. FoR ST[ick]ING AROUND.” 

“That’s… you shouldn’t feel like you have to thank me for that.” 

“I DO. YOURE THE [only 1] WHOS EVER DONE IT. I DON'T DESERVE”

“Spamton. Stop.”

You roll to your side with him in your arms so that you're lying face to face on the bed.

He does stop. Instead, his gaze drops to your chest. Thoughtfully.

“Ok, I have to ask what you're thinking about staring at me like that.”

“OH. ITS YOUR [heart shaped object]. THINKING ABOUT HOW IT'S NOT [[green]].”

“Huh?”

“YOU ARE 2 NICE. I'VE NEVER MET ANY>BUDDY SO KIND. BUT. I GUESS EVERYTHING I PUT YOU THROUGH, [Purpl] MAKES SENSE TOO.”

He winces, grimacing as he mumbles that last bit, hand bunching up the sheets as he does. 

Yeah, you guess you have been through a lot with him, but it’s nothing close to what he’s been through. You loosen his hand from clutching the bedding and lace your fingers with his.

“Don't worry about it Spams, I don't blame you given, like, everything ever, you know? It was worth every second to get here.”

“[That's what I'm talking about!] T00 KIND.”

He remains fixated on your soul as you hum, brushing stay locks of hair from his face. 

“Do Darkners have any type of soul?”

“WHAT?”

“Well, I have a human soul, monsters also have souls, and they're pretty different. I know Darkners aren’t, y’know, Lightners, but is there some kind of Darkner equivalent?”

“...KIND OF. NOT THE SAME, BUT…”

Spamton rubs his chin between his thumb and index finger, brows furrowing in thought for a moment. He shuffles himself to sit upright in front of you and opens the panel on the left side of his chest. 

A small, glass heart emerges, settling in his hands. It has his face, and you would comment on how adorable that is if it weren't for the much more prominent and concerning series of hairline fractures running through its entirety- the little heart looks like it's 2 seconds away from falling to pieces with how cracked and shattered it is. You don't even know what to say. 

“DONT LOOK AT IT [like that]. SO WORRIED.” He makes a ‘tsk’ sound and lifts it toward you. “H3R3.”

“Y-you’re letting me touch it??”

He just shrugs. 

“ITS [All YOURS] [for the Low LOW price of       ] ANYWAY. HAS BEEN FOR A WHILE.” 

“oh”

You scoot up to sit against the headboard, cradling the heart in your hands like it’s the most delicate, precious thing you've ever touched, because to you it truly is. 

Spamton lays back down, propping his arms behind his head on the pillow. The cord tethering it to somewhere in his chest sways loosely with the motion. His eyes flutter shut. 

“This doesn't hurt?”

“MH-MM. FEELS NICE ACTUALLY. NO ONES [ever]. [I’d never!]… ITS NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE [near and dear] ENOUGH TO TRUST.”

You gasp, breathless, transfixed on the ‘soul’. As if this isn't the most important thing you've ever been entrusted with. As if that isn’t the most touching thing you've ever experienced. 

“Hah, I just. I’m so scared I’m going to, I dunno, break it like this.”

“YOU WONT. IT CANT BE [breaked] THAT EASILY.” He shoots you a brief side glance, grinning before closing his eyes again. “EVEN IF YOU DROPPED IT ON THE [freshly tiled bathroom floor].”

“Then why is it…?”

“THE [xtreme personal damages] ARE FROM… MMM. NOT [PHYSICAL CHALLENGE] [aches and pains].”

That makes sense... Still, you caress it so carefully as if it were that fragile for a moment longer, fingers tracing over ridges of the cracks spanning the heart. The little spammy face beams warmly up at you as it thrums with electricity in heart-beat rhythm, and you place a soft kiss to its cheek, watching as Spamton tries and fails to suppress a shiver. You offer it back to him, and he takes it wordlessly, face a bit pink, tucking it back away into his chest with a sigh. 

“DID THAT [[LIVE Q&A Session]] [A] YOUR [Q]s?”

“I’d say so.” You snuggle back up to him, hooking an arm over his torso as he curls into you again, leaving a bit of space between you to resume staring at your chest. 

Spamton traces his fingers over your chest just below your collarbone thoughtfully.

“YOU KNOW, I IN[salted] YOURS A LOT [back in the day]. BUT I [take it back!!]. YOU HAVE A GOOD [1 of a kind]. ITS WARM AND STRONG IN OTHER WAYS. ID BE [the happiest man alive] TO HAVE A [heart shaped object] LIKE YOURS.”

Would he, really? You huff, amused. 

A smirk graces your lips at the ironic notion of him having the very soul he used to denigrate so freely when you’d first met. You’d give it to him if you could. If he had a Lightner soul of any kind, he’d achieve his goal, right? Become more than a Darkner, he could escape to the light with you. If only it were as simple as taking some scissors and snipping your soul in two. A silly, wistful little thought, but it's nice to fantasize about. A real solution wouldn’t be so easy.

You try to wave the train of thought away in favor of mindlessly basking in the comfortable silence. Enjoy the moment that you’d yearned for for so long. 

You wish it would never end. That you could stay here like this forever. That you didn't have to return to work tomorrow. 

Tomorrow.

A pit forms in your stomach. 

The week went by too fast. Far too fast. Curse your stupid shit day job and it's wretched measley PTO policy. Because how are you supposed to go back to normal tomorrow? Go home and get ready for work tomorrow? For only being a week, it sure feels like your life is about to be ripped from you as it ends. 

The only thing making the departure tolerable in the immediate is that Spamton still has the suite for a bit longer. But then what, after the hotel stay is over? He just goes back to the dump? Back to a living nightmare surrounded by garbage until his foretold doom? 

He’s so scared of losing you, but you can’t lose him either. You can't go back to your real life after all this and pretend like everything is fine and normal. You can’t just LEAVE him. This man, resting sweetly in your arms right now, who's been through hell and back 3 times over and is only hanging on by a prayer. Back to the dump? How the hell are you supposed to allow that. You weren't there for him when he was a failing desperate Addison, when he was evicted and thrown into acid, turned into a puppet, lost his sanity, saw his own doom, and rotted in a dumpster as his existence was scrubbed from the city. He was alone through absolute horrors, you can't let him go back to that 5 days a week.

Not so easily. 

He needs to get out of this Dark World.

He needs to get to that basement.

Your jaw clenches. 

And you know what? Maybe this city should pay some sort of price. He ought to do whatever he wants to this world that's chewed him up and spit him out offering him no reprieve. A little revenge with that machine in the basement once he gets his hands on it ought to be the least of what's owed to him. You don’t even care what he else does once he gets it. As long as in the end he gets to leave here with you, never having to come back. 

For any of that to happen, though, you need to be someone that can change his fate. He thinks he’ll ruin yours, but even if he did, he’s worth it. How could you mind, knowing him as you do? In fact, you wouldn't want anyone else to even have the chance but him. 

Telling him as much won't help him feel any better about what you've just decided to do, though, and you know it. Still.

He won't ruin your fate. You're going to change his. 

“[[Angel]] IM STARTING TO FEEL LIKE A [[freshly squeezed lemon]] HERE. YOU'RE TENSE.”

You’re suddenly aware of how much tension you're holding in your body, and how it’s nearly suffocating the man in your arms. You relax your arms and he sighs.

“S-sorry, sorry. Didn’t realize I was doing that.”

“YOU NEED TO STOP [[thinking]].”

He says it so plainly. He knows what you’re getting so worked up over. 

But you suppose there isn’t much more thinking to do, anyway.

You roll over pinning him under you, your midsection pressed between his legs and he squeaks, cheeks darkening at the sudden position. You take your time placing wet open mouth kisses on his shoulder that turn soft and lingering as you trail up his neck to the side of his head, savoring the small desperate noises as he squirms beneath you. You could ravish him like this all day, devour him, but right now there's a different kind of fire burning in your stomach. 

You mumble against his temple, lips not daring to leave him even as you speak between kisses. 

“Do you trust me?”  

He tenses under you, uneasy at the question, fighting the way your affections turn him to putty otherwise. He won't like where you're going with this, you know it, and you know he knows it, too.  

“I DO.” The affirmative response contradicts the suspicion lacing it, even through the whines and gasps as your hands tangle in his hair, tugging lightly. ”mmh-MOSTLY-”

“I need you to trust me.”

“WHAT Are yoU-”

You kiss him slowly, long enough to just get him worked up so that he's dazed when you pull back, previous thoughts wiped from his head momentarily. Breathing heavy and eyes hazy, you swear his pupils are pinprick hearts. Your chest hurts. 

You place a final kiss to the corner of his mouth and abruptly get up out of bed. Spamton yelps at the sudden loss, blinking the stupor away as his eyes track your movement across the room.

You stride over to the giant window in the common area. The Queens castle suddenly looks so small from up here. Menial. 

Could it really be that simple? 

“If you got into the basement, to that machine. You really think that would work?” 

“STOP”

“Then.. then you’d be able to leave here? Come home with me?” Your voice betrays your heartache at the words. Home. Spamton feels more like home than your shitty apartment ever did.

“N0. NO Y/N ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME. YOU ARE NOT GOInG TO [[Do That]].” 

Spamton tries to drag you away from the window by your wrist and the look on his face could almost make you reconsider, but you don't budge. You promised him you would never leave him. How can you do that if he's stuck here? You also promised that you would figure something out. There is only one course of action. 

“IM SO [$!$!] SERIOUS YOU HAVE NO IDEA”

Your lips form a thin line. 

“YN SO HELP ME-”