Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He laid in a bare, new garbage bin. His glasses-covered eyes stared up, unfocused and dazed. The lid was opened. Above him was a navy blue sky, green lines criss-crossing to make squares. No stars, no moon. A building to his right shadowed where he was. He couldn’t see any posters covering the walls. Instead, there was empty space. That was good. There shouldn’t be anything covering the walls. Not if he somehow succeeded. It looked like he did. He wasn’t sure why this bin was open. He decided to himself that he didn’t care. There were more important things.

Spamton sat up, his head spinning wildly as if he were in one of those tea-cup rides. Nausea filled him for a moment. Disorder cluttered his mind. He couldn’t remember how he got here. Oh, he very well knew why he was here. But the how escaped him like a bad drug trip. What happened? What could he remember? Sorting through his thoughts sometimes helped when they bounced around.

He had flown. Big. Better than ever. Nothing could stop him. No, no, he had been held up by green wires. They tangled around his neck, his wrists, ankles, knees, wings, everywhere they were everywhere he couldn’t escape he couldn’t he wasn’t big enough— No. That wasn’t true right now. Everything was a bit off scale, as though smaller than he was used to. But it wasn’t tiny. There were no wires clinging to him anymore. No more than there should be. Wings didn’t hang from his back, either. He had his old, threadbare clothes instead of metal robes. Strangely they didn't seem quite the right size. The cuffs of his sleeves and pant legs exposed the cables controlling his arms, and his fake legs. It was as if they shrunk a few inches. Or… He was taller than before? That didn’t make sense. They still fit well enough for him either way.

He had… Had a laser gun cannon hand thing? It had been the same colours as his glasses. It shot lasers and pipis, of course. He remembered that. Which meant he used it. He was a bit puzzled for a moment. On what? Something blue, something red. Oh, yes. He was glad he decided to think things through. He remembered that human kid, that teenager lightner with the red SOUL. They had been only a bit taller than him, until he was big enough to feel his fingertips graze Heaven. Then he towered over them. Even broken his wings had been longer than their entire body, and even those wings were smaller than his own height had been. He had aimed his laser gun right at them, laughter ringing through the empty basement.

That hadn’t been how they had died, he recalled. No, he remembered they had friends who had come to try to help them. They all tried so very hard. Almost an awe inspiring sight. But NEO— Yes, yes that was right. He remembered now what it was that made Heaven that much closer— NEO never loses. Especially not to three kids . Teens, sure. But still only children. That fluffy one was first down, then went the purple lizard. The human, Kris, had been surprisingly resilient for such a pipsqueak. He almost felt bad for what he was to do. Alas! He had to. He made a deal, and they had too. They might not have read the fine print. Neither had he. A deal’s a deal, though. A human SOUL for freedom. He just hadn’t said who’s freedom.

Spamton felt more oriented now. The nausea had fled him not too long into his thoughts. His arms shot up, grabbing the trash bin’s walls to pull himself up. His legs slipped. It took a few tries to get himself standing steady and out of the bin. Whoof, whatever he did to get here drained what little energy and magic he had left. He didn’t want to sleep just yet, though. He didn’t know the date. He very well couldn’t sleep through the whole reason he came here! A ticklish, giddy feeling forced delirious laughter out of his mouth. It jumped pitches like a broken radio. It was only now hitting him what everything meant.

1997. It had been such a good year. The year he got that call, the year he got rich. The year where everything changed forever, for better and worse. He thought this would be much easier. As it turned out, time travel didn’t let him just replace his past self and not answer the phone. Now, because of that? Now he had to approach his past and stop him. This would be both easier and harder. Easier, as he doubted he could successfully impersonate his 21 year old self. He changed too much for that. Harder, because as naive as he used to be… The enticement of the caller might be too much to turn away. He wasn’t sure. 

He thanked Heaven that [Mike] only told him to acquire a lightner SOUL, not give them one.

The best place to look would be where he grew up. That’s exactly where he started walking towards. It was where he always stayed, if he wasn’t trying to advertise or meeting at the Cyber Grill. He only hoped he caught his past self alone. Binx would be a huge bother. His eldest brother was a relaxed person, but he really didn’t want to talk to him or any of his siblings. 

At least it wasn’t Pascal who he was risking meeting. They had been the first to leave the family home for their own place. It was almost funny, too. They all thought that Pascal would be the one to stick around. Oakley and Yael had taken that as a good sign for them to split off as well. It left Binx and Spam alone in their way too big home. Spamton never had enough money or reason to leave, and it was Binx who owned the home. Binx clearly hadn’t minded Spamton sticking around. He never told Spam off. It was both fortunate and unfortunate that Spamton did move away. He wondered how Binx was doing. Then he reminded himself that it didn’t matter anymore.

The route to his old home wasn’t hard to find. It wasn’t much of a walk, but also not that close to where he had woken up. It wouldn’t do, to be too close. Yet it was close enough. Close enough that in the past he had approached the house and stood in the shadows just a bit away. Imagined a heartfelt reunion filled with laughter and tears. Binx would hug him and demand they find the others to go to Cyber Grill and catch up. Pascal would see him, reprimand him on what he was wearing and Oakley would agree with more worry. They’d laugh and Yael would tell them off for being rude. Couldn’t they see he clearly wasn’t doing well? Of course he wasn’t wearing good clothes. Yael would offer help, and Spamton would finally agree. Binx would offer somewhere to stay. Then Pascal would apologise and he would apologise back. There would be sobbing, mostly from himself he knew. Everything would be forgiven. Everything would be better.

He was reminded of when he was 15, tasting a coffee with the first money he’d ever made. Oakley had laughed when he sputtered it out. She had warned him of the bitterness and he ignored it. He missed that. He missed when he was only 9, watching movies with everyone in the living room. The real world didn’t exist. There was only then, popcorn, and his older siblings. They would talk meaningless words and he would announce his desire to help in sales, to be just like Binx and Yael. To then be just like Oakley, just like Pascal. He grew older, and was less assured by the idea. It was 1995, and he would say he’d be a Big Shot. Just like them . They all laughed and told him that it was alright. He was 19. There was so much life ahead of him. He didn’t need to worry. They would always be there to help him, even if he decided to do something else. He was only 23 when apparently family meant nothing if he was too successful.

How naive. He really should have known better. 

How long had he been standing in front of this door? Standing with a hand held high, ready to knock like so many times before? Except it wasn’t like before. He couldn’t knock and expect a reunion. Couldn’t watch the door open to reveal Binx. Couldn’t run into his arms and cry out all his worries, cry about how hungry he was or how much he missed him. Spilling apologies and begging to come back home, please it’s so cold, he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to hit Pascal it was a mistake please— It was the past. It was the past. It was the past and that didn’t happen yet. They hadn’t separated and no one was any the wiser of the terrible future. His past self was still home, probably thinking of painting and ways to get better at being a salesperson. Still here and unaware of what he would lose, if Spamton didn’t just knock on the damn door! Why wasn’t he knocking? Why could he never just knock? Did he want to live in the goddamn garbage forever?! Sure, what was another several years doing that! It’s not as if the past 15 years were that terrible and that he was horribly famished or anything?! Knock, already! Knock!! Knock!!! [[knock, knock, knock knock already—]]!!!!!!

The door opened. He hadn’t moved a muscle. It didn’t swing open as if whoever was going to tell him off for standing on their porch. He very much doubted either of them had noticed he was even there. But now… Now someone would. Someone would see him looking quite a sight. After all, his clothes were patchwork, and his left pant leg was strings away from falling off. He couldn’t find any more stitching thread that was thrown away and certainly couldn’t afford it. Plus the inexplicably shortened sleeves and pants clearly showing his fake limbs. His lower jaw wasn’t even his original, just as fake as his fingers. He moved his arms to hold his hands together in front of him, shaking in his spot.

As luck would have it, the one opening the door was none other than himself. His past self. Whole, fluffy, completely white other than clothing, healthy addison. His past at least noticed him so they didn’t accidentally stab one another with their noses. The two stared at each other. One with an expression filled with manic excitement and hope, the other with puzzlement and uncertainty.

“HEY-HE Y HEY!!!” Spamton stuttered out, clacking his teeth a few times. This was awkward. He didn’t plan any farther than ‘stop the phone call’. “[[Lost Control Of Your Life]]??!”

Ah, by that shift in expression more towards puzzlement… He must have made a mistake. Maybe it was the words his tic threw out. He thought they were good enough. He opened his mouth to try again but was interrupted by the younger Spam, “...No Solicitors.”

“NO! No NO!” Spamton repeated a few times. Was that lady luck coming by with a baseball bat for his head? Because it seemed the world wanted everything to go wrong. Just as he tried to fix the situation, that awful and uncontrollable giddy feeling flitted through him. Without any prompt his mouth opened and he started to laugh. His eyelid twitched. Talking wasn’t going to go well now that he did that. Idea B, then. Quicker than little Spam could react, Spamton threw out his hands and forced them to clamp tight around Spam’s black sweater. There wouldn’t be any running away. Not before he could get his words out. “YOU NEED. TO LISTEN. TO ME. Y0U N33D TO THROW AW4Y [Telephone Marketing Strategies]. YOU CAN’T ANSWER [Mike]!!”

“Wha-What? Who are you?!”

Oh, oops. He’s frightened his little self. He could see it. The way Spam tried to jerk away, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks and his lips raising as if he wanted to bare his teeth to scare Spamton away. He had always been such a sheltered, optimistic person growing up. So easily scared… Maybe this is exactly what he needed. A good spook. He’d get convinced enough and then everything would be fine. Everything would… Would… What would it be? What was he supposed to do, when he’d gotten past himself to not answer the phone? 

“YOU DON;T WANT TO LIVE IN A [[Goddamn Garbage Can]] DO YOU?!” He decidedly ignored that last trail of thought. He didn’t want to think about it yet. A quick glitch ran through him, distorting his appearance for only a moment. “NO PHONES NO [Deal] NO [Mike]!!!”

Time travel was always such an uncertain topic. One of those things, where until you did it you had no idea what it would be like. There were ideas and theories of course. But they were only that. Ideas. Clearly he could touch his past self without any issues besides normal interactive issues. This entire conversation should have changed his own life and memories, but it didn’t. How was he supposed to know if he succeeded? If he fixed everything? Did his every action mean nothing..?

He knew he was having another breakdown, and right in front of his young self. The previous glitch started to turn into a full disaster, and he was shaking. Twitching. This was turning into a shitshow in his mind, and barely anything had happened. So he threw his head high to the Heavens and stopped trying to keep himself from laughing. It was just as chaotic and insane as the situation felt to him. All the while, held tightly in his grasp, his past self was trying to yank himself out of Spamton’s hold. He was just a stranger to little Spam, of course. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He would know.

“Le-Let me go! I don’t know who you are or wha— or— or whatever you’re talking about!” He could only guess what Spam thought he was. Maybe he thought he was a virus filled addison looking to spread his curse to other poor souls. It was very rare. He recalled being told about them but being lucky enough then and now to not ever experience it. Or, perhaps, he saw someone who just fell off the deep end and happened to pick him as a person to vent at. Maybe Spam didn’t think any of that. Who knew what the little white addison thought of the potentially inevitable future? It was terrifying all the same.

“Binx!! Binx help!”

Spamton immediately quieted his laughter. He dropped his head, static filled glasses gazing at the past. When Spam kept calling for their eldest brother, a sharp realisation hit Spamton. He had hoped Spam was alone. He was wrong. 

“NO [[Stop]] STOP IT” Spamton let a hand frantically cover young Spam’s mouth instead of holding him still. This wasn’t working at all either. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Telling his little self to never answer a phone call again and then go home? Everything being fine and dandy? That was equally as unrealistic as his earlier imagination of a family reunion. Nothing in life was simple. Every action let blood bleed. “YOU’RE [Killing] M E PL3ASE STOP [Self Inflicted Bodily Harm] SCREAMING.”

His words felt like irony when a flat pop-up ad slammed him in the face. He hit the ground with a loud censored curse word. He wished he could actually curse heavily, because that hurt like a bitch . Spamton could feel his left forearm trying to pop off from the force, held only by the straps on his shoulder keeping his arms mostly on. His face hurt so damn much. Little Spam got lucky that his grip relied on the bend of his elbows. Instead of getting dragged forward with him, Spam instead fell back on his bottom from trying to yank away. At least the hit stopped his glitching for now. Spamton looked up, shifting from his side to his back. His glasses were crooked and the world was an awful part clear, partial blur, half far too bright, and kind of pink and yellow. It was disorienting but he could make out the two above him.

“AH.” He started flatly, “[[Have You Or A Loved One Experienced Physical Abuse? You May Be Entitled To Financial Compensation Today!]]”

“Binx!” His past self held such a high amount of relief in his voice. Spamton remembered feeling like that once. Helped by his brother, Spam smiled bright at Binx. “Thank above you got here.”

“Of course. I heard you all the way in the kitchen!” The blue addison showed clear worry for the younger and hot rage for the older. Spamton watched Binx hold Spam’s hands and check him for any injuries. He wondered if his own Binx would have done that if he ever came back. The look turned over to himself, the furrowed eyebrows shifting less worry and dropping so fast to a heated glare. It felt almost exaggerated. Binx’s head tilted slightly with a barely noticeable twitch in his expression. Spamton, however, noticed it. He could guess. That really should have knocked him completely unconscious. It was one of the strongest attacks their eldest brother had. Spamton could only guess why he hadn’t. One or two things. Things he was starting to figure out now. 

Though he was somehow taller than his past self— enough to poke out Spam’s eye with just his nose— Binx was still taller than him. His past self’s eye level was about middle chest level. Now he could actually see Binx’s shoulders if he stood up. The height would almost be intimidating from his fallen standpoint. However. That had been one of Binx’s strongest attacks. Spamton barely felt worse for wear, no more than when he woke up. It could certainly confirm a suspicion he had. And cause a dangerous confidence to bud within him, making his face pull into a wider grin. The power of [NEO] was still within him. The SOUL he had from Kris helped some as well. He was filled with so much power and magic, buzzing at his fingertips. It was unfortunate that he was too tired to use any of it. Not that he would use it against Binx.

Using his better arm, he pushed himself up to sit up. His unhidden one-of-a-kind mismatched eyes stared at Binx’s glare. Hmm… Though the hit didn’t knock him out or completely take off his arm, his jaw was disconnected from his mouth. That was probably why it still hurt so much. “YYYYOU STILL HH1T LIKE [[Discounted Supply Truck]].”

With his right arm, he forced his jaw back into place with a pained grunt. Clattering his teeth a few times, he adjusted his loosened arm back into place. “LISTEN. I DIDN’T MAKE IT [Big] JUST TO [Trip And Die] AT THE [[Finish Line]], [Esteemed Customer(s)]!! I JUST NEED THAT LITTLE [Slime]” He swung his arm to aggressively point at his past self, “TO NOT PICK UP THE [Ring Ring]!! I CAN’’T LET THAT HAPPEN! N OT AFTER [Hard Work and Sacrifices] WERE”

His sentence cut off and he didn’t continue that train of thought. His breath was heavy, and stuttered. Being able to tank a hit like that meant nothing with such low magic, and such a ravenous hunger clawing within him. He felt like absolute garbage, as much as he looked it. He refused to collapse asleep just yet, though. No. Not yet. That tickling giddy forced a chuckle out of him and he glitched slightly. The other addisons were watching him as much as he was watching them. He fixed the glasses on his nose. Then Spamton waggled his hands dramatically, “WAIT! HEAR THOSE [Bells]??? I WILL GIVE Y OU A DEAL!! IF YOU LET M E BREAK THE PHONE I WILL GIVE [Free Kromer]. [[PleasePlease Let Me Fix Things]].”

“Who are you?” Binx asked. Ah, of course! He had forgotten to introduce himself. Why, of course they didn’t trust him barring the whole manhandling young Spam thing. He just needed to make it very, very clear who he was.

“I’M EV3RY  BUDDY  'S FAVOURITE [[Number 1 Rated Salesman1997]]! SPAMT —  SPAMTON G. SPAMTON!!” Spamton answered with loud gusto. He forced himself to stand and throw his hands up to make it even more dramatic. Then he went back to pointing at Spam, “I’MMM YOUR FUTURE! BUT I. BUT I. BUT I. CAME BACK TO STOP THIS [2 For one Specil]!!!! LOOK AT [Me] AND ASK YOURSELF... DO YOU REALLY [[Want To Look Just Like Me]]?!” 

Young Spam opened his mouth but Spamton quickly interrupted him, unwilling to hear what Spam would have said, “NO. YOU DON;T. TRUST ME [Worst Deal Of The Century]!”

“Hold up. Back up.” Binx’s words stopped Spamton from carrying on to a rant on how awful it was to be him. “What happened to you?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” Spam got up from the ground, helped by his brother. He emphasised his next words, “If you’re really me, how’d you end up like… This .”

“He’s not you, Spam. Don’t be ridiculous. That’s impossible.”

“HEY!! I’M RIGHT [On Standby] YOU KNOW. BUT I GUESS I COULD SAY! AAFTER ALL IF AN YTHING [Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey] WAS GOING TO HAPPEN IT WOULD’VE!” He was going to talk anyway. If there was anything that stayed pretty consistent, it was how much he loved to talk. 

“I USE TO BE NOTHING BUT THE E_MAIL GUY! THEN I GOT A CALL ONE DAY.” He waved his arms about and twitched, “THE [Voice On The Other Side] OFFERED ME [[Great Deals For Only $4.99!]] I [Becomed] A BIG SHOT. THE BIGGEST!!! I HAD MY FAC E ON BILLBOARDS AND SOLD [Sweet, sweet] CARS AND THINGS!! I USE TO LIVE IN QUEEN’S MANSION. 1997 WAS MY [Favourites That You’ve Come To Expect] YEAR!”

“What?!” This time it was Spam stopping him from rambling. “What? Are you serious? That’s this year!”

“I HOP3D [Thought That Was The Case]!! S4Y, WHAT’S THE MONTH ANYW AY?”

“January.”

“IT’S JANUARY?” Spamton repeated, freezing completely. The lenses on his glasses started to fuzz. “…January….”

The world seemed to pause with him, the noise of static filling it. It was only in his head, though, as the world carried on and two brothers seemed bothered by the noise his glasses made. As quick as it came, the static stopped and Spamton jerked back like a clockwork robot restarting, “KID YOURE [Killing] ME IT’’S ALREADY JANUARY?? THATS WHEN I GOT THE [Ring Ring]! YOU CAN’T. ANSWER IT. EVER. THE [Price Is Right] TOO HIGH!”

His head felt heavy and his feet swayed under him. It wasn’t his usual inability to stand still that was causing it though. That didn’t make the universe sway with him as if on a dying spinning top toy. Strange. That wasn’t really normal for him…

“IT TOOK ME 24 YEARS JUST TO GET IT! BUT IT ONLY TOOK TW0 FOR THE [Kromer] AND [Unforgettable Deals] TO RU  N OUT!” He held up his hands in a claw fashion and gritted his teeth, “I LIVE IN A GODDAMN GARBAGE CAN!! I PHYSICALLY C4NNN’T GET A JOB. HAVE YOU SEEN MY HANDS. HAEAHAEAHAEAHAEAH! I DON’T HAVE ANY HANDS!!! [[Where are my hands? Help! Please, it hurts!!]]”

The last vocal tic sounded exactly like young Spam. Without any extreme yelling or buzz behind it. It was also something that couldn’t be a fake recording. Spam had never said anything like that. Yet. It was jarring. So too was Spamton’s swaying turning into a full on collapse. A Windows XP shutdown noise left his mouth. Everything blurred and turned to complete blackness.

Chapter Text

His mind felt hazy. Just a moment ago it had been in a deep, dreamless state until something dragged it out. Not quite out of the sleep, all he felt was a headache, some sort of shaking or shivering, and both amazingly and uncomfortably warm. He couldn’t really tell why he both shook and felt warm. Usually it was one or the other. Was this just luck? His tic trying something new? An earthquake?!

He decidedly didn’t want to deal with any of that. So he turned around in his laying spot with a frustrated noise. Leave him alone, weird shaking. He didn’t want to deal with it, let alone figure out what made it. The shoulder shaking did actually stop. A hum of approval buzzed through his throat. That was so much better. He snuggled closer to the squishy probably-a-pillow (He thinks? He couldn’t be sure. When did he go to sleep..?). Maybe if he fell back asleep then the headache would leave him as well.

The shaking returned like a terrible itch. This time something pulled at his shoulder. Some sort of voice blared in his non-existent ears. That tore him out of his sleep more than the hand touching him. A flicker of anxiety shot through him.

Spamton abruptly sat up, his eyes snapping open to the blurry world. This turned out to be a mistake. As he sat up, he bonked his head right onto another’s. If his headache was bad before, it didn’t compare to now. He made a loud ‘AUGH!’ and dropped his head to cradle it in his hands. The other person made the same noise but he couldn’t see them.

“Ow… Spamton, are you awake now?” Spamton tilted his head out of his hands, looking over to the voice. The figure blurred for a moment but he quickly registered who it was.

“…Binx..?” He mumbled, not quite sure. What was this? Oof, he shouldn’t have sat up so quickly. That hurt too much to be a dream. “BINX [My Old Buddy, My Old Pal]!!  HAEAHA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? WHERE IS HERE? I CAN’T SEE A [$!?!] THING. WAIT…”

The usual disappointment over his vocal volume buzzed through him. He lifted his head and squinted at the blue other. Did he lose his glasses? Everything looked so dull coloured and blurry. Fiddling with his fingers, he felt a glitch run through him. He didn’t let his brother answer, “YOU [Abandoned For The Slime] M E. WhY ARE YOU HERE? IS THIS A [Hallucinations] AG4IN? WHY…”

He saw rather than felt Binx grab his hands. Blue fingers traced the false knuckles on his hands in a circular pattern. Spamton’s eyes followed the movement. Though he didn’t feel anything from it, the motion helped calm him some. Round, back, round, back, clockwise, counter-clockwise… 

“I MISSED YOU.” Spamton said, quieter than before. Still not an indoor volume, but less overbearing. Without his glasses covering him, the tears bubbling at the corner of his eyes were easy to see. “I SHOULD HAVE [Come Back Soon!]”

Binx’s expression dropped in the corner of his sight. He patted Spamton’s hands, and spoke with mixed emotions, “Spamton… I don’t know what exactly has supposedly happened to you over the years, between now and whenever you come from… Regardless of believability… But… That’s not now. Whatever it is that happened hasn’t yet happened. I don’t know why you have been able to miss me.”

“oH.” Spamton used a dirty sleeve to wipe away the tears. He took a moment to mull over the words. He remembered now. The past, yes, the past. 1997. January. Overuse of magic and days of exhaustion catching up to him. Probably that hit to the head too. Ridiculously harassing his past self, which seemed stupid now that he has had a bit of sleep. One thing started to bug him. “WHY AM I INSIDE? YOU DON’T KNOW IF YOU C4N [[Trust]] [HonestMan].”

“Well, you are quite right that I can’t.” Ouch, that was blunt even for Binx. “But… Spam— Past you?— believes we can at least trust you and your word for now. Especially after your last… Comment. So… I want to trust you are both telling the truth.”

Spamton hummed. He hadn’t really noticed before, but Binx was really willing to go along with him when he was younger, wasn’t he? Could it be because he was the baby of the house or something? It seemed a little amusing that he hadn’t abused it much then. 

His gaze turned to the house. He himself sat on one of the couches in the front room. A familiar blanket bunched around him. It must’ve been the source of warmth from earlier. Generally he could tell where everything was. Years of living in this house were only dulled from time, not erased. The entryway was to his right, the kitchen and dining room to his left. A step stool rested against one of the counters. Behind him ran a hallway and staircase up. He wondered if all his old painting things were still in the hall’s end room. Did Oakley ever take her guitar back? Wait, of course everything would be there. It’s still the past. If he dared tread upstairs, he knew he’d find the colour-coded and labeled bedrooms. Still left alone for when the whole family met for any holidays. Or if they all just preferred home for their meeting instead of Cyber Grill.

For only two people, the house was rather big. Supposedly their parents were quite successful, and that’s how they afforded the house. He didn’t really know, they were long gone. Even before the Call. The house seemed smaller when there used to be seven addisons living here years ago. Not long after it reached seven, there were five whole occupants left. There were four, and after that there were two. Then. Then, there was only one left in the family home. To his knowledge, it stayed that way until he went back to 1997. Now there were two.

Living in a big bunch was great and all. Until you started to feel crowded and wanted to do your own thing. Wanted privacy.

Now that he was in his old home, all the pushed down nostalgia and longing skittered in him. It clenched his throat and left it parched. He missed it, living with his siblings. He would give anything to have another movie filled night with buttered popcorn. A static-filled sigh left him, much like a tired dog would make. If the dog was a low quality video.

“Spamton?” Binx’s voice pulled him from his musings. He hadn’t even noticed his mind slipping from reality again. It felt odd to have someone interrupt it, and drag him from that void of thoughts. He turned to Binx, noticing that at some point he had stood and looked down at him. If only he had nerves in his hands, maybe he would have felt Binx stand up. 

“YE S?”

“It’s Friday, and we were planning on going to the Cyber Grill.” Binx paused. He took a deep breath in. He continued, “Spam was wondering if you would want to join us there.”

“...”

“Otherwise you would be left alone in the house. You don’t… You don’t seem like you should be left to your own devices, regardless of why you’re here.”

“I SUPP— 1 5UPP053— I SUPPOSE!! I HAVEN;T BEEN THERE SINCE 1999… Th4T’S” He twitched and wondered if he should call Binx his younger brother. Spamton was technically older now. “[Lost Friends] [[Abandoned]]. WHERE ARE MY [$49.99 Prescription] [[Dealmaker]]? I CAN BARELY SEE.”

He watched as Binx repeated the word with furrowed eyebrows before nodding and stepping away. Spamton tried watching for a moment, then gave up bothering. He fiddled with his fingers again. His thoughts turned back to family.

Spamton wondered how his family had changed over the years, in his own lifetime. It didn’t really matter. But he couldn’t help but think about it. Going to the past was much like visiting relatives you saw only on holidays. They saw you and expected you to be the same as before. Nothing changed, stuck in a static moment of life and assumptions. Except. Now it was only him. He was a distant family member, expecting the same old and thought to be the same to anyone who would believe him. He would be in the wrong just as much as the believers. Still it differed, as he noticed things that the young him didn’t. He never saw how Binx trusted him so much, and certainly wasn’t aware of how willing to believe his past was. Is? Considering where he sat, perhaps he should consider speaking of the past as now rather than then. He likely couldn’t go back to his time, for the foreseeable future.

He chuckled at the thought.

Fear of being an outsider to his siblings wormed through him. Even after the fallout between most of them, he had still been family to them. Doubt was to be expected. Certainly it would take time for them to all be convinced of the absurdity of time travel. Especially with how he looked. Little Spam growing to become what looked like a sickly, black market dealing, media stereotypical druggie? Complete with the manic behaviour and constant twitching? Laughable. Yael wouldn’t believe it. Pascal neither. Oakley he wasn’t sure about, and clearly Binx already sat on the fence. Spam? He would see. Would Spam believe him or did he just pity him?

Spamton’s vision cleared with pink, orange, and yellow hues. It was jarring for a moment before his mind registered why it happened. “OH! THANKS.”

“Of course.”

The pause of silence didn’t stick around. A third voice joined the room. “Oh good. He’s awake just in time!”

“[[Rise And Shine Sleepyhead!]]” Spamton looked behind at the doppelgänger. The Spam of this time came from the hallway into the living room. He too twiddled his fingers much like Spamton, but his hands weren’t made of plastic. He wore white flats instead of the green heels from earlier, but otherwise looked the same. 

Nothing more jarring after a nap than to see yourself without a mirror. A reflection that didn’t flip or copy you exactly. Even his magic sorta-clones didn’t feel the same strange way. They were too small and never looked exactly like him. Had he always looked so… Nerdy? Tiny? Like a walking ball of raw cotton wearing clothes? Sure he had seen Spam earlier, but he had been running off of solely the high of success at that point. Really, he should have passed out when he first went back in time. It turned out time travel back almost 3 whole decades took a lot of energy.

“How did you sleep? You didn’t sleep long. Just an hour. We’re late at this point, so it’s good Binx woke you.”

Binx left the area, saying something about needing different shoes and giving a thumbs up to Spam. Spam returned one in kind with a smile.

“I SLEPT [Like A] [Ga-Ga] [Baby]!!!” This was like a literal and worse version of projecting on Kris. “W3 ARE GOING 2     ThE CYBER GRILL? [New Year's Resolutions!]”

As Spamton spoke, he had an idea of what day it could be. Regret over his two second thought agreement filled him. Maybe, he thought, he didn’t actually want to deal with the reality of being ‘other’ to the rest of his family. This was a terrible idea. But he already agreed and didn’t want to— No, he couldn’t back out. Staying alone in this house would kill him more than his family could.

“Oh! Binx actually convinced you? It was my idea.” So he had heard from Binx. “I’m glad you agreed! You just— You kinda—”

“L0OK LIKE [Behave Like A Slime]?? [Hungering For Great Deals And More]?!.!” Spamton interrupted with a laugh of his own volition. Time to get up. He pushed off the blanket and swung his legs, actually sitting on the couch. He paused and then carefully stood up. His feet still stumbled. “oR IS IT [my] CLOTHES?”

“Eh— A bit of both.”

He hummed like a computer fan. The semi-permanent smile on his face turned almost sly and kinda sad, “YOU’RE TOO [Honest]. TOO [Trusting]. YOU CANT TRU5T ANYONE, [Kid].” He stepped towards Spam and gestured to where Binx stood. He ignored the looks on both of them, “NOT EVEN YOUR OWN [Friends And Family Discount!]. NOT YOURSELF AND NOT THE PHONE, NOT THE PHONE, NOT THE PHONE—”

Spamton kept repeating the last phrase like a broken record. Not the phone, no. He couldn’t trust it, it had to be made clear. A glitch shot through him and he started laughing with blackened glasses. He curled in on himself, with hands clawing towards his hair as if to grab it. Why, why, why, Heaven, why? He did what he was supposed to, what was this terrible feeling and the god awful ringing in his ears? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. What was this? Why was it like this again? Where was he? This wasn’t his hideaway, this wasn’t a safe spot.

“IT’S SO DARK [Gamma] IS IT STILL SO DARK?!?!!? I DID EVER  YTHING RIGHT WHY IS IT ALWAYS DARK!? [Y]!?.! [[Unintelligible Laughter]]”

Faintly he felt something touch his greasy hair. Luck was with him and he yanked at his hair, feeling a sharp tug. He shuddered and stumbled, yanking again. Spamton’s head shot up, and the colour returned to his glasses. He saw the look on the other addisons. Staring at him. He didn’t like it. He tugged a third time to make sure he forced himself back into reality.

Carry on, carry on. Don’t think about it, don’t let it be real.

“WELL, SINCE WE’rE [Late Night] WE MIGHT AS WELL GO NOW.”

“Are you alright?”

Ignore, ignore. He didn’t register who asked. Only a momentary pause and then he pushed past it with a dismissive answer, “I’M [Please Try Again Later]!! LET’S GO. AND GET THIS. OVER WITH. I ALREADY [Being Afraid] SPEAKING TO P4SCAL AND YAEL AGAIN. OAKLEY THOUGH.”

He walked towards the door and changed the subject in his mind. Ignore the previous train. Not important. The taste of caffeine and sweet, sugar filled espressos crossed his mind. “I ALMOST M1SS HAVING A COFF3E [Addicted To These Sweet Rides?].”

He opened the door and left the house, stopping only to give a wide and expectant smile to Spam and Binx. They were late, didn’t Spam mention? Yes. He focused on that goal as the three of them headed off to the Cyber Grill. No one commented on the fact that Spamton still wore the same clothes. A complete disaster with stringy hair hanging in front of his face, staining his glasses.

The walk to the Grill wasn’t too long from the house. Awkward but only 15ish minutes. Spamton filled the uncomfortable silence with random quips and nonsense. Maybe it would make who he was more believable. Or it would make the other two also ignore his weird behaviour from not too long ago. Kris was good at that. They should be too. He spoke words riddled with stutters, ads, and straight up electronic noises. Such as how it was difficult to keep white hair constantly dyed a dark colour, especially with no money. 

Only a few times did Spam say anything, asking questions about a future Spamton lived in. He spoke of a lost grandeur, of fancy clothes and expensive dining. He had been describing how soft his old bed had been when he saw the sign. He tripped over his feet and he let out a telephone dial tone. Binx opened his mouth but apparently whatever he had to say died on his tongue. 

They were in front of The Cyber Grill.

It looked as it had always. Of course it did, Spamton retorted to his thoughts. It was the past. Of course it would look the same. That didn’t help his mind from stuttering like an old machine at the sight. The dial tone noise turned to an Emergency Alert noise as he looked up at the Grill’s glowing sign. In the corner of his eyes he saw Binx and Spam continue on, walking to the door. He wanted to follow but his knees wouldn’t respond.

“Spamton?”

Something burned his shoulder. He jerked away from the sensation, vision flip flopped as his head glitched. Spamton forced his body under his control and looked to the voice. A ring of silence followed the cut off of the emergency beep noise. 

“WHAT?”

It was his little 21 year old self, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. That’s all it was. Just himself, a hand held up as if it had been on something. That something being his shoulder. That’s all it was. Was he that unused to physical contact that his mind would only register a threat? Too long on his own affecting him? Or did his past self just have really cold hands?

“Are you… Well, no. But will you be okay? Actually going inside?”

He really didn’t want to think about it. Time for what he was best at, or at least pretended he was good at.

“EAHAHAHAHAA!!!! HUH??? WHAT?? OF COURSE [Little Sponge]! I AM [[Mentally Unstable]] FINE!”

Spam’s face didn’t change for the positive. His eyes squinted more and his frown deepened. That was not the look of someone reassured. Augh, Goddamn it. He really couldn’t say a thing without making it worse. He followed Spam as they all headed inside. Ignore the glances from Spam, ignore the bystanders looking at him strangely. 

“YOU KNOW!” Spamton hesitantly began anew. “BELIEVE IT OR          !! [Banned 4 Life] HERE FOR A F3W YEARS! APPARENTLY FIGHTING IS AGAINST THE RULES.”

“There you two are!” Someone interrupts him, cutting off the topic he had decided on rambling about this time. “We knew you’d be late when you called, but it’s been— Who the hell is that?”

“This is—” Spam’s voice faded to a buzzing and ringing telephone in Spamton’s ears.

Pascal.

Tall, pink, foul-mouthed, sweet, huggy, traitorous… 

Pascal.

He missed Pascal.

He hated Pascal. He never wanted to see them again.

He wished he had come back home and apologised to Pascal. Maybe left on better terms. He couldn’t remember exactly why he started the last fight. There were mixed feelings about them. Then his eyes looked to the others at the table. There was Yael and Oakley too. He expected this but it wasn’t the same as actually seeing them.

Sitting across from Pascal was Yael. The second oldest, yet had been the second shortest as well. Well. Now they were the same height. Spam was still shorter than him. Yael’s hair and fur stood on end like normal, somehow always electrically charged. He was reminded of fun days cheating at carnival games, of hours spent being taught how colour coordination helped sales, playing new video games, shocks on accident, shocks on purpose… He was reminded of bared teeth, a yellow hand holding back a white one from trying to take an eye out, blood pouring from Pascal’s nose, and deep slashes on Yael’s cheek. Yael had been the most sympathetic, but everything had a straw that broke the camel’s back.

He hadn’t seen either of them since 1999. Not since that night. They both had good reason to never see him. But… But they still left him. They left him. After all he tried to give back? They left. Why did they leave?

He always kept his claws clipped dangerously short after that. For promotional reasons, of course. Nothing else. Definitely not because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt family like that again or see that horrified look on Pascal a second time. Looking friendly or looking handsome was very good for ads. Claws weren’t usually ‘safe and sexy’ even if every addison had them. …His fingers hurt for days on end.

Oakley, though. She sat next to Pascal. They were his new favourite sibling, he decided to himself. She hadn’t been there that night, only hearing of it secondhand. They had left on surprisingly good terms, and contact had been kept up for a few years after. Binx had tried to keep calling him, trying to get everyone back together and apologising. Tried to force the family back to what it had been before. Spamton figured it was an eldest sibling thing. Much more preferred, Oakley had waited until Spamton reached out. They were the first and only one he called, since she was the farthest from the entire conflict. Until he threw himself off the grid almost entirely, they had small meetups filled with coffee and laughter. The last time he saw her was 16 years ago. He recalled it being the day before he evicted himself a little too late. He could remember that day in great detail.

He missed having a coffee addiction… But coffee wasn’t cheap, nor did it feed anyone.

Actually. It seemed kinda… Funny. That in a way Spam had been the one to get him in a reunion. The very person that stopped him from it. Years and years of radio silence. Stopped because the family baby requested his sweet big brother to ask the strange man to join the weekly family meetup. There must have been some sort of cosmic humour in that.

The distant sound of pitch changing, manic laughter pulled him out of his memories. The world seemed unreal and blurry. Had it been like that a moment ago? He didn’t know. What was that laughter? Who was laughing? Oh wait, that giddy feeling jumped in his chest and throat. It was him. He was laughing. Why? His tic? There wasn’t anything funny about this situation. The past was in front of him. Shocked, confused, disbelieving, worried. Most of that last one on Spam’s face. How strange to see.

“SO—SO—SoR—” Spamton tried saying in between his fit of laughter. The attempt left him breathless. He tried again with pre-programmed words, “[[Apologises For This Interruption. We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties.]]!!!”

“Spamton? You know how we love you and all… Yeah?” Yael first spoke up after the laughing fit. At first Spamton thought he was talking to him, then saw Yael looking at his past. Not himself.

“No, no, I know that. But I swear, that’s what’s going on! That’s what he said. So far I believe it.” Oh, Spam must have explained what little he knew about the situation while Spamton had… Spaced out. At least that answered an earlier question.

“You are easy to trick, and it could be a scam.”

“What could he even get from such a ridiculous scam?! All he’s done is pass out on the lawn.” Spam gestured an arm wildly at Spamton, “He didn’t even try offering— Wait, no. He did offer money to break the phone. But that’s not really a scam. Just really weird.”

“That’s suspicious as fuck, Spam.” Pascal pointed out. They took a sip of their drink. When did they get that? Wait. When did everyone but himself sit down at the booth?

Best not let this continue on. He couldn’t let a fight start between his past and Pascal. He did hesitate, though. Would it help the situation?

“You sure would believe a stranger. Easily. Any story would get a meal from you.” That was Oakley. Okay, now.

“THERE ARE [Top 10 Easy Ways To] TRICK SPAMTON” Spamton agreed. He flapped his hands in the air as he thought. No way would he go through such effort just for a meal. Time travel? Hell no, too complex. He could have just said his wallet got stolen and Spam would have offered his own money. That would have been so much easier. “FOR EXAMPLE. I COULD. I COULD… What am I trying to accomplish by this…?”

He froze mid hand waggle, his last words a mumble. Best not to waste the breath. With a sigh, he dropped his arms and glanced his hidden eyes at his siblings. “CAN I SIT? AND JOIN? PLEASE? I CAN [Afford These Deals] WHAT I GET. I PROMISE. YOU WON;T HAVE [Spend Spend Spend!] ANYT HING. I CAN— I CaN— I CAn— I C4N—”

“Sit down. Please.” His repeating glitch stopped when Oakley interjected, patting the empty spot next to her.

Spamton sat down, careful not to set off his glitch. Normally he’d just plop down like a weight. But he already ruined a first impression. Shouldn’t make it worse. The booth was the best seat he’s had in years. Not too soft, not too hard. Miles better than the sorry excuse of a chair he had at his little shop. He relaxed his stiff muscles against the backing of the booth. Who knew a good seat would make him feel as though the weight of the world left his shoulders?

“Who are you, really?” Yael went right to the point as always. He sat across from Spamton, next to Binx and Spam. Pascal and Oakley were on his side of the booth.

“THE NAME’S SPAMTON G. SPAMTON [(C)1997]!” Spamton shifted in his spot. Then he settled with one of his legs bouncing up and down. It shook the table lightly. “AND YOUre YAEL. STILL VERY [Yellow]. WHICH I AM NOT [Surprised Yet?] 4BOUT. BECAUSE YAEL. YELLOW. YAEL-LOW…”

Okay, so maybe he rambled while nervous. That wasn’t usual, was it? His past family didn’t seem too thrilled about it. He saw a frustrated glare from Pascal and mild annoyance from Binx. Were those towards himself? He assumed so. Were they as displeased about it when he was younger? He hadn’t noticed. Or was it because he was a stranger now? Maybe the stilted words he spoke were it. He needs to try a different approach.

“W0W! THIS PLACE SURE. IS. 3XACTLY THE SAME AS IT WAS!! WHAT DAY IS IT?” He turned his head to Oakley. She was a safe person. “JANUARY 3 ND? I KNOW IT’s [The Year Of Our Lord And Saviour 1997]. IT WAS SUCH A GOOD YEAR YOU KNOW. [[My Favourite Year]]. UNFORTUNATE THAT PRINCESS DIANA [Killed] IN SUCH A [GoodYear Blimp]. BuT HEY! SCOTLAND GOT A PARLIAMENT. AND I GOT RICH! THAT… THAT ALSO. HAPPENED. WON''T AGAIN THOUGH. It CAN’T. I WON’T LET IT.”

He fiddled with his fingers, twisting them this way and that. Maybe he could take total control of the conversation, and refuse to let anyone else speak. He didn’t want to let them talk. It would hurt less. If they were silent, he could pretend this was a hallucination. That he sat in his shop on his shitty chair, and imagined a reunion again.

“Why would you want that?” Objective failed, he didn’t continue speaking. Oakley was loud over his thoughts. “Isn’t getting rich a good thing!”

That wasn’t much of a question, he decided.

“I’d want to be rich.” Spam said, tapping his fingers on the table with downcast eyes. Attention all turned to him. “I’d do a lot if I were rich. Like paying for dinner for once.”

“You know that you don’t need to do that. We can cover it...” Binx gave Spam a soft pat on the shoulder.

Ah ha! A topic he knew. This was easy. He could force everyone to be silent with this. Being polite didn’t matter right now. He saw Pascal go to speak but threw his words out even faster. “HEY H EY HEY! THAT’S A [Great Deals And More]!! WHAT IF I COVER TONIGHT COMPLETELY?!?!” Spamton pushed forward. Both verbally and physically, as he sat up and leaned against the table. His smile seemed to grow. “I HAVE ENOUGH [Wacky Stacks]. THEN EVERYONE ELSE KEEPS THEIR KROmer!”

“WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP?!” Any and all voices at the table quieted immediately at the unexpected tone coming from Pascal. Enough was enough. He hadn’t paid enough attention. He forgot they were an easy to set off trigger when stressed and annoyed. They turned a hell-fire stoked glare to Spamton, baring their teeth. This looked far too familiar. “Stop talking. None of us know who you are, and I frankly don’t give a shit.”

None of the group noticed his flinching at their words. Too focused on the second youngest with mixed emotions. Spamton quickly clacked his mouth closed and shrunk away from his sibling the pink Addison. His fur bristled and he held his arms stiffly at his sides. 

Spamton could swear he felt his fingers and knuckles ache, despite not having any hands to hurt.

Yael gapped at the explosive reaction. “Pascal!”

“What?!” Pascal threw their hands up. “He’s clearly fucked in the head! What sane person goes around claiming to be from the future? Who looks like that? No one! Spamton’s got a goddamn bleeding heart, letting him tag along.”

Spam jerked away at the backhanded sort-of-compliment, his jaw dropping. The others all saw that. Binx patted his back and traced circles on his shoulders. Yael turned a glare on Pascal and Oakley was shifting in her spot with grinding teeth.

“You’re ruining what was suppose to be a fucking family meet up.” Pascal carried on, their look worsening and fully focused on the stunned Spamton. “You’re just some crazy, glitched up and broken Addison. We don’t know you.”

“You can’t say things like that!” Oakley leaned back in her seat, sending a look right back at them. She crossed her arms, “Why would you say that?!”

“Look at him! His clothes are falling apart at the seams. He’s so dirty he might as well be dirt! And then, he has the fucking audacity to offer to pay for dinner?”

“Is that really what got you in a twist? It’s an offer . You’re being petty as hell.”

“We were all thinking about it! Right?!” Pascal looked at Binx for support. He scowled. They glanced at Yael. Nothing. “I can’t be the only one! One of these times Spamton’s going to help the wrong darkner. It’s starting to get real worrying.”

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t think…” Spamton spoke up, shaking in his spot. Any bit of a smile turned down. He froze when he felt the table’s eyes on him. Waiting with breath held. Hot frustration whipped through his chest like a hurricane. A growl built in his throat and his fist raised up high, then slammed down on the table. Everyone jumped at the sound. A hole dented in the table, punching half through it with splintered lines spreading out like a spider web. His plastic hand cracked. “ GODDAMMIT! WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN [Twice]?!?!”

Spamton tensed and then threw himself to his feet, stumbling away from the table. His static filled gaze looked from the hole to everyone. They all were staring at him, or glaring at him in Pascal’s case. Panic flitter through their eyes. He clenched his hands with a frown. Punching a table usually did that. 

Spamton breathed in deep… And let it out. Apathy filled the void his whirlwind emotions left behind. He didn’t want to repeat a mistake completely. “LOOK. I GET IT. I WOULDN’T LIKE SOM3ONE [Offers So Low I’ll—] EITHER.”

He checked his inner jacket pocket and counted out a few hundred Dark Dollars. Who knew he could get a teenager to give him so much for some random junk and the KEYGEN? Setting a counted amount on the table, his frown turned back to a bright smile. A fake one, but one all the same. “HERE. THAT’S ENOUGH 4 WHAT YOU’LL GET,, AND SOME. JUST TAKE IT. DON;T QUESTION. I’LL TAKE [My] L34VE. YOU WOnT SEE ME IF YOU [Don’t] WANT.”

Spamton turned around and left the Cyber Grill. He didn’t look back, ignoring the yelling from the addison family.

Chapter Text

As dramatic and awfully loud his exit of the Cyber Grill had been, outside it was calm. A soft breeze flowed through the city. It cooled the hot air. Green lines swam through the sky as if they were the city’s pulse. Quiet chatter and walking was all around. Various darkners were heading home or out for fun much like his family the five addisons had. His feet had at first started to lead him to where his ‘home’ was. He’d actually gotten almost halfway there when he remembered. The past. 1997. Both his shop and the area he had claimed as his own were gone. Hours of set up, maintenance, redecorating, fighting to keep it as his spot. All of that. Meaningless. Anything not on his person lost to time, in a reverse way. It hadn’t been much. His telephone, spare worn out clothes, old bowties, broken down cars, and other random junk he collected… But it still hurt. It had been all his junk. Some bits stolen or just thrown away, but still all his. No one else’s.

So instead he walked about the city. Wandered around the shops and homes, reminiscing about the past that was now. He could actually go out in the open without anyone recognising him! It was nice to not hear the laughter and see the pointing from anyone who remembered the fallen Big Shot from his time of fame. No one here knew him. Sure, there were still faint whispers he could hear about himself. He couldn’t escape that with how he looked right now. But they weren’t knowing words. Only words about a stranger that looked rather suspicious just by how odd he was.

He wished he waited at the Cyber Grill to try stealing the conversation. He could have had something to eat, something fresh for the first time in several weeks at this point. Like always he didn’t think ahead nor wait. He jumped the gun and ran his mouth too much. 

The initial plan, if Kris fell through the end of their deal, was to use the money from the KEYGEN to buy a bunch of non-perishables. Maybe even a new blanket. His previous one had been getting to that ‘too ratty to be useful’ point. Perhaps some new pants, or maybe threads to fix what he already had? …Essential things were more important than nice clothes.

As it turned out, being in the past wasn’t so great for his head. He already had issues staying in reality. Now it was worse. Everything was the same because it was the same. Less of a static memory and more the real deal causing upset. He saw several places he knew at a point. One he remembered buying golden shirt buttons at, the first week of his riches. He still had those buttons— Well. He had had the buttons. Just another of many unexpected losses from time travel.

Oh look! Another place he recognised. A family owned sandwich shop that used to be his favourite before he had money for fancier places. They had closed years ago in mid 2005. Something about a chain running them out of business? He didn’t know the details. He’d only found out a few years later after finding it replaced. It wasn’t a concern back then, he was a might bit busier losing money too. Plus several parts of his body, which was more importantly distressing at the time. It turns out planning doesn’t matter if you unexpectedly get dumped in a certain river. He didn’t think he would need health insurance ever, given he had always been a very healthy addison.

A stray thought wondered if Mike planned that. Probably just paranoia, but… No matter what he’d tried, his entire company lulled a slow and painful death after their last call. Every bit of luck died with it. He wasn’t that god awful at being a business-person, was he?

A terrible ache in his stomach reminded him why the sandwich place had stopped him. It wasn’t just reminiscing. With as much confidence he could find after the earlier affairs, he strolled up to the front door and headed inside. The door’s bell jingled softly. He shoved any hesitance as far down as he could.

“Good evening!” Someone said as he entered. “And welcome!”

His confidence fizzled for a moment. He approached the front. It seemed off that no one else was here besides the few staff. The certainty flowed back as he recognised the darkner at the counter. Her name slipped his mind like melting candle wax. “HE Y! PL34SE [Give Me Just A Moment].”

“Of course. Take your time, Sir.”

That was quite nice, he considered as he picked up and looked through the place’s paper menu. The first time in forever that he was called ‘sir’. The oddity of being unknown made his gut squirm. Even though he knew logically that it made sense. He looked similar but not exactly the same as he used to. He didn’t sound right at all. It also had been a while since he ordered food in person. Normally he would find or steal some, rarely bought from convenience stores. Maybe it was too frivolous, spending his limited amount of money on something like fresh food. But the temptation had been too great. He only hoped it didn’t screw him over. Thousands of dollars sounded like a lot until you saw the price tags.

“COULD— COULD— COULD—” He stopped. Then he tried again after a long pause, “COULD I HAVE. WHATEVER SANDWICH IS [Cheapest Prices]?“

“One grilled cheese, coming up. Anything else?”

He shook his head, not trusting his words to break. He quickly paid the cashier and went to sit at a window double chair table. Waiting. Watching. Mostly the outside, since that’s why he chose a window seat. It was a nice view he hadn’t appreciated when younger. Really it was only the outside street, bustling with life and faces he knew but couldn’t name anymore. Cars drove and walked past, ads glowed brighter than any addison on walls, himself talking to random strangers, the road looking quite crowded, even more signs and billboards, plenty more general living things than he could name or even focus on. It was beautiful in a way. It was bright. Way too bright for his poor wide eyes. That’s part of why he had some cool prescription sunglasses— Wait. Himself?

Spamton did a double take when his brain finally caught up to something he noticed. His past self was walking around the sideways, speaking to darkners and wearing such a disappointed face. How weird. Spam had just been at the Cyber Grill. Why would he leave? It was far earlier than Spamton had left there in his time. Hours younger in the night. It made even less sense when one of the strangers pointed at the sandwich shop he sat in, and Spam lit up like a light bulb. There were only three in this place. The cashier, the chef, and—

His actual self.

Oh. 

Wait.

No. 

He couldn’t even try to run away without being very obvious. Or forgetting his sandwich. That’s just what he gets for thinking fresh food is a good idea. An awkward conversation after breaking a table and yelling again at Pascal. Had he really been that trusting at Spam’s age? No wonder an eldritch being had managed to convince him to take a hella shady deal, even while not at first telling him his part. Then again. It’s not like he knew the whole not-from-this-world thing until near the end. 

The sound of the door bell jingling pulled him out of his jumping thoughts.

“Hey, Lina!” His younger self greeted the cashier. Oh that was it! That was her name. Just one of many small things he couldn’t remember. Spamton kept his head facing the window, pushing his glasses down slightly to watch the reflection of the two.

“Spamton! It’s nice to see you again. Aren’t you suppose to be at the Grill with your family?” The cashier, Lina, seemed to perk up at the familiar face. She was just as confused as he was about this. At least. He assumed so. Maybe he was projecting his feelings again, who knows. He certainly couldn’t tell if he was or not.

“Yes, but, well, there was a fight…” Spam hesitated, then the subject changed as he gestured back at Spamton, “I’m actually here to talk to him. Could I have one of whatever he’s having as well? I ran out so quick, I forgot to order something! Eaheha!”

“Of course. A second grilled cheese, right up.”

“Thanks!” Spam smiled at her. He paid for it, and then turned to walk towards him. 

Spamton quickly put on a smile as well, though much faker than Spam’s. He turned his head to Spam. “HEY, [[Little Sponge]]!!! I DIDN;T TH1NK YOU WOULD [Be Here].”

“I didn’t think so either.” Spam sat down in the opposing chair. He lightly scratched at his hands. “I guess it makes sense you came here. This place is really nice!”

“[[Your Favourite Treats!]]” Spamton agreed with a nod. Then he paused, took a breath, and jumped right past any other niceties to the point. “WH Y WERE YOU TRYING FIND [Me] fOR? I ALREADY [Talk]. I DID WHAT I WANTED. I DONT DON’T Don;THA VE [Anything You Want And More!]”

“I just wanted to know where you left to.”

His smile twitched down and he raised an eyebrow at Spam. He hoped it looked just as incredulous as he tried to project. Spam nervously rubbed his hands as if they were cold. He fussed the rest up.

“O...Kay. So. I also wanted to know what that was about.” His shoulders shrugged. He looked away. “I’ve never gotten in an argument so bad that I would want to hit a table. Supposedly you’re me. So… Why did you?”

Ah. That was not as bad a question as he expected. He relaxed his posture and smile, leaning back in the chair. “A [Oh No! Our Table! It’s Broken!] IS BETTER THAN A BROKEN [Nose].”

“…What?”

“BETTER A TABLE?” He repeated, “THAN NOSE?” 

Spam’s face dropped further. His head tilted slightly and his eyes squinted.

“WHAT? [Why So] [Confusing]??” Was he missing something? Was it the tic? What could possibly be so—

Lina stopped their double confusion by setting two plates down with halved grilled cheese sandwiches. “Here you two are. I hope you enjoy! Feel free to flag me back over if you want anything else.”

“THANKS.” “Thanks!” The two chimed at the same time. She walked away with a wave.

Spamton snatched up one of his plate’s sandwiches, shoving it in his mouth. Screw his paranoid thoughts from earlier! This was the best decision he’s made in forever. He picked up his second one as well, opening his jaw to carry on his starving dog like actions.

“Did you— Will I… Break Pascal’s Nose?” Oh. He forgot for a moment why he was less than happy. The food was delicious, truly. But it was soured by his younger self sitting across from him with such an upset expression. He closed his mouth as he considered the words.

“RIGHT ON THE [Kromer]!!! IT. WAS AN ACCIDENT.” Mostly. At the time he wanted them to shut up and stop talking. Not break their nose. He hadn’t even known he could hit that hard! It was more useful to know later on than he would realise in that moment. His hard hitting punch would be a hide-saving grace.

“Why?? When?!” Spam’s upset grew as he lazily picked up one of his sandwiches to nibble. “Do I have to worry about that?”

“[[Not At All]].” Spamton tried to reassure. He tapped the table as he thought back to that night, taking a bite of his sandwich. It was practically seared into his mind. Even in the worst moments of memory he remembered those faces, the blood that flowed from two and caked under his extended claws. He swore that sometimes he saw it on his hands. He didn’t even have nails, much less claws to use for such a thing again.

It had been August in 1999. He had been skipping out on several months of meetups at the Grill. There were more important things to do. He couldn’t waste time with silly things like family and sleep. Plus there were several times that he had been told— no, Commanded — not to go by his benefactor on the phone. Which of course he listened to. Far too often he would claim he could come only to be held up by the phone or even other customers. One restless night he managed to have a free schedule. He could show for once. But. Enough was enough. He couldn’t recall who started to yell first. Him, or Pascal. They always tended to be confrontational. He just never really knew how bad it could get before then. The two of them were the youngest siblings, they had things to fight and argue about. Until then there were no reasons to fight fight. Words had been said and it escalated farther than it should have, even with two elder siblings trying to break it up.

There had been a quick and hot rage burning in him that night, and he swung a fist at them. Out of all the things that came to mind first to quiet their words. Spamton still wasn’t sure why years later. Even at the sound of something cracking and shocked clambering from his other siblings. The look of betrayal on them... He had tried to do it again and there was blood and oh god how could he have done that why had he done that he hit them he hit Pascal and he hit Yael he shouldn’t have done that why did he—

Something yanked him out of the memory. Shaking and glitching he hadn’t noticed slowed but didn’t stop completely. Scratches much like deep trenches trailed in the table, leading to his now curled hand. His sandwich was squished in his grip.

“HUH?? WHAT?” He looked up at Spam— When did he look down?— and saw he had grabbed Spamton’s shoulder. “DID YOU [Want] SOMETHING?”

“You were doing that thing again.” 

That narrowed absolutely nothing down. “THING? WHICH ONE?”

“The glitch thing.” Spam let go of his shoulder and gestured to all of Spamton. “You were talking and then suddenly stopped and turned all… Glitchy and staticky.”

“OH” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to say to that. It was normal for him, he’d lived with it longer than not. He couldn’t really remember when it started or why it happened. “…[Sorry]?”

“Does it hurt?”

He blinked behind his glasses. He expected many questions. How come it happened? What caused it? Could he control it? Etcetera. The one asked didn’t cross his mind. He wasn’t sure if he should lie or tell the truth. So Spamton looked away and ate the last part of his sandwich. Quite literally chewed on the idea for a moment. Did it hurt?

“…Sometimes it does…” He settled on. Then, jolting at the Spam-sounding and glitch-free admission, he tried to correct it. Awkward laughter stuttered out his mouth, “HUH?? IGNORE THAT. I DIDN;T SAY ANYTHING. IT DOESN’T [Hurt? Good.]!!!.! WHERE DID [You] GET THAT IDEA??!”

The unfortunate ability to excellently read faces meant he knew for a fact that Spam didn’t at all believe him. It killed his confidence, but told him not to double down. He was such an open book, wearing his heart on his sleeve as if it were a pride. That hadn’t changed much over the years even leading to Spamton.

“It's just... Seems like it would.” Spam finished off his sandwich as well.

He decidedly doesn’t say anything else to that. Best not to dig a worse grave. Instead he stood up with a half concocted plan. He headed to leave the establishment before the remembrance of how rude that was popped up in his head. So he turned back. Opening his mouth and clattering it closed a few time, he thought. Spamton gestured for Spam to get up and come along, “LET’S GO. NO REASON TO [Stay].”

Though he did stand up to follow, Spam asked, “Where are we going?”

Spamton shrugged, pushing the door open and walking right out. It didn’t really matter where they went, now did it? No where he had to go, and no where he wanted to go. Well, there was one place… But Heaven could wait for later tonight. He had the time now, he didn’t need to rush.

He saw Spam pause at the door to turn and wave at Lina, “Goodbye! See you next week!”

“Bye bye Spam!” She responded in kind before Spamton led him along out the door.

Together the two saundered about the city. Just looking at things. Familiar buildings, familiar faces. Whatever they could find. At least… Spamton was looking at things. He wasn’t sure why Spam still followed him around. Sure he had said they should leave the shop, but that didn’t mean he had to follow. It was nice though. It wasn’t often he had friendly company that didn’t mind his peculiarities too much. Despite it quite literally being himself. Kris had been the last, but even they were scared by his off movements and awful voice. They also were quite quick in fulfilling their deal. It only took them an hour! Quickest deal he’d ever done. They didn’t even stick around to hangout really. Unless asking weird questions like ‘What are you scared of’ and ‘Are you friends with the knight’ was what kids in the future days considered hanging out? That thought made him feel old. He wasn’t that old, was he? He was just 45.

“I [Used Vehicle] TO OWN THIS CI7Y, YOU KNOW.!” He said after a bit, gesturing his arm at everything around them. The sound of other city dwellers was enough to muffle his voice and stop any silence. But it wasn’t enough to quell the building pressure in his throat demanding he speak his thoughts aloud. At least it was enough to make his odd words seem less out of place.

“Really?” The voice of Spam startled him for a moment. He half expected Spam not to respond at all. Spamton nodded, his teeth clacking against each other. 

Throwing a hand up to make it more dramatic, he continued. “REALLY!! I WAS ON T0P OF THE [World]!!!! FOR [Ate] YEARS MY NAMe WAS [Far And Wide] KNOWN.”

Spam’s head followed the hand. It looked up around, at flashing lights and giant billboards. At buildings standing tall and proud, names declared to whomever would look. Disappointment seeped it’s way into Spam’s words. “That sounds nice. What I would give… Did you really come back to stop that from happening?”

“IT WASN’T [What It Seems].” Spamton’s smile twitched. He dropped his hand and his head. His glasses filled with black. “ALL THAT [[Kromer]]! ALL THE [[Deals So Good]]!!! [Mike] MADE SURE I COULDN;T KEEP IT. I JUST. I JUST. IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH. … Why wasn’t it enough..?”

“…Mike? You keep mentioning him.”

He snapped out of the beginning of a spiral, swinging his head back up with colourful glasses once more. He sounded a recording of his old telephone’s double ring. He glitched out a laugh. Taking note of where they were, he changed direction for a specific location. While he could stay out forever if he really wanted to— and probably will be since he had nowhere to go— he wasn’t going to let Spam do that. Especially if he doesn’t have to. “A DEAL’S A DEAL! DON;T TAKE [Mike]’S. DO YOU KNOW WHAT [Mike] WANTED [Me] TO GET???”

Spam gave him a look. In hindsight, that was a silly question. If he hadn’t known, why expect Spam to?

“A LIGHT nER [[HeartShapedObject]]!!”

He heard rather than saw his young self halt. Not wanting to lose what might be the last friendly conversation for a good while, he too stopped and looked behind him. Spam’s mouth had dropped, wide mismatched eyes staring. Much like a spinning mouse cursor that keeps going for minutes, clearly several things were running through his mind. Before Spamton could ask if he was okay, Spam squeaked out, “That’s impossible! Wha- Why- How??”

It was a spitting image of when he had been told the same thing. If he put Spam into his old mansion room with the phone and switched his clothes, he would have believed it to be a photo of that day. “THAT’S WHAT I SAID. THEN HE LEFT AND DIDN’T EVEN [Tell Me More].”

He waited a moment, in case Spam had more to say. His young self started up walking again. Spamton followed and their steps were quickly in time.

“You know. Pascal starting that fight got us all temporarily banned from the Grill.”

“HUH?” The abrupt change in subject startled Spamton for a moment. A genuine snort of laughter left him. It was an obvious way to change the topic but still… He wanted to hear this. “RE4LLY?”

“Really! Right after you left!” Spam smiled. He waved his hands excitedly as he started to explain, “I’ve gotten in arguments with them before but… Never like that. Not all of us at once either. And— And, what you said before? How fighting is against the rules? We learnt that quickly. We didn’t even get to eat anything! Too busy yelling. And the table… Well, the money you left went to that instead.”

He honestly forgot that the table would have had to be paid for. Most things he hit were his or public property.

“I’m not sure where we’ll meet up after this for a few months. If… If we meet up. Pascal and Oakley were pretty upset with each other. I’ve never seen her so worked up.”

“TAKE IT FROM ME, [Kid]!” Ooh, this was going to sound so hypocritical he knew. “DONT LET THEM [Avoid] EACH-OTHER. HEY!! WHAT      ABOUT THE HOUSE? [Very, Very Big],, JUST HAVE THEM VISIT.”

“We already do that on holidays.”

“MAKE EVER YDAY A [Marketable Holidays]!!”

“I’d have to ask everyone about that idea… Wait.” Spam slowed a smidge as he finally took notice of where they were. Just in time, too, they just reached in front of the house in question. “Have you been walking me home this entire time?!”

Spamton nodded, quick to pretend as if this wasn’t a random last minute idea. Totally what he planned the moment he left the sandwich place. Yes. It took longer than he expected for Spam to notice, right up to the house. “IT’s LATE, AND I [Doubt] YOU’D WANT TO [Like And Follow] M E ALL NIGHT!.”

“No. I guess not. Thanks.”

They both stopped at the porch stairs. Spamton rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away from the door. Before he could run off with a hasty goodbye, Spam turned to him with an uncertain look. “Hey. Do you… Want to spend the night here? You mentioned living in the garbage. So. You’re homeless. It wouldn’t feel right forcing you to stay out in the cold.”

Yes    ❤️    No

A strange feeling fluttered through Spamton and the world seemed to stutter for a moment. He shook his head to clear it away. He could have swore his answer was just about to be made for him. He decidedly completely ignored that. He tuned back into Spam’s anxious rambles.

Spam had at some point gestured behind him at the front door. “You can take the guest room if you want. I already asked Binx— Well, really I told him I was going to ask you, and that he’d have to deal with it. He actually went along with it? But now I have to do the dishes for a week…”

Spamton made his own choice.

“YOU WON’T STOP ASKING UNTIL [Agree To Terms And Services].” he pointed out with a shrug. “SO I MIGHT AS WELL [Take The Deal]”

“Oh.” Spam quieted. Then he blinked. “Oh! Good, right. Let’s head inside, then. Binx is probably heading to bed soon if he hasn’t already. So you won’t see him. Do you remember where the guest room is—?”

Spamton followed him up and inside, closing the door behind them. His thoughts turned to the odd feeling before Spam dragged him along to the guest room with more conversation. It was probably nothing. He felt weird things all the time anyway.

Chapter Text

He was Big. Gigantic, even. High in the bright blue sky with everything below him like ants. A delicate breeze flowed under his massive and colourful wings. It held him up and let him swim through the air. Clouds fuzzed underneath his heels. Above him, even higher than he, was the golden sun shining over it all. It was everything he desired, everything he wanted. Amazing . It was… A little chillier than he expected it to be. Wasn’t the sun supposed to be warm? It certainly glowed as bright as he knew it to. Maybe it was just cold in the sky or something. He didn’t know. A mirror never comes with temprature. 

For that matter, how did he get here? Wasn’t he just… It didn’t matter. He had iffy memory at the best of times. He was here now, and that’s all that was important.

His eyes watched the sun above. It’s rays melted down, dripping like paint to colour the white clouds golden. He wasn’t sure if that was normal either. But who was he to question the will of Heaven? If It wanted to change the white fluff, then it was going to happen. The sight was beautiful either way. He flapped his wings to grow closer to the drops of sunlight. A hand reached out, curiosity tainting his mind. They were so close. If he could just touch It, just taste It. Would it be like honey on his tongue, or would it have spice like the warmth it held?

The gold turned vibrant green at his touch.

The drop of what once was sunlight raced along his hand, tying into thread on his wrist. He yanked his hand away. The thread still clung. His wings beat back and he tried to fly off, falling into the clouds below. It followed his every movement. The golden sky wool swirled at his presence, neon green colour tainting every inch. It strung him up like a marionette. His attempt to escape led to his very demise of will. They pulled taut with his struggles. His throat, his joints, his wings. They were everywhere. The strings cut through him. His limbs should have been bleeding from how tight they were, but nothing flowed. He tried to rip them off. His claws— when did he get his claws back?— scratched and scratched. Tearing at the strings, the wires, his fur. Still they stayed. It was as if they were impenetrable. He rose a hand to reach for the sun once more.

It didn’t seem as real as it was just a moment ago. A cutout cardboard look-alike with god awful cheap paint dripping from it. An attempt at something greater, something better that it could ever hope to be. It was enough for him. If he was bigger, if he was clever enough. If only he could have everything in the world as his own, instead of nothing at all. Maybe then he could have it. The Heaven he needed, the Heaven he wanted . But these damn strings. They pulled him down from the clouds, away from his everything. He could feel them twist his self and drag him faster down.

He wasn’t flying in the air anymore. 

He was falling.

This was probably the worst way to go. Torn down by the threads tied to his every move, Heaven just out of reach just like always. Left to lay in this goddamn dumpster like always, like everyday trash. Like something that meant nothing. How did he even get back here? Was it those swatchlings? What did he do wrong? Why did his plans never work out? No matter what he tried, that beautiful Heaven-piercing body he craved was still too far.

Hadn’t he escaped this place? He could have sworn he wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t it the past? 1997? Hadn’t he been offered to stay at his old house? He was certain for a moment that this wasn’t right. 

A noise outside the bin interrupted his scatterbrained thoughts. He sat up, looking over to see a familiar face. How could he look over the bin’s walls without standing? Wait, not really important. Not compared to the person outside the bin.

“Kris. Kris!”

He couldn’t help but grin wide at them. He clambered out the garbage bin to the ground. He stumbled but righted himself quickly. This was good, this was great! His most favourite customer in years. Perhaps even a friend? To him at least. He hadn’t exactly been quiet about his declaration of friendship offer. Though, they never did say if they agreed with him about it. Either way. They could help. Surely their deal was almost completed? He had made a deal with them, right? He was pretty sure he had.

…Were they always that tall?

“KRIS!!! You little shi— Sponge!!” He squashed down the urge to start shaking his hands excitedly. Instead he gripped them together as if to pray. “Are you here for our deal? Have you got the— What was it? The Disk! Do you— Where are you going?”

They walked right past him. They didn’t even acknowledge his presence! He turned to trail at their heels. A high pitch tone wormed its way into his voice, “Hey, hey, hey! You’re leaving?! What about our deal?”

Where were they going? Out of the alleyway to the road? No, they couldn’t do that! He couldn’t follow them out there. Couldn’t stand the jeers and scorn from strangers. He sped up, throwing his arms up and walking backwards in front of them. His eyes looked up at their shadowed bangs. “Did you even hear me? Kris, you can’t leave me at the good part. I’m— We’re so close! Don’t you want the Freedom Of Choice ?”

For a brief second the fact that he actually said what he wanted surprised him. Then he shook it off.

“Come on, say something. I know you know sign language! You used it to ask those weird questions.” Was the alleyway always this long? He couldn’t stop his hands from waggling in frustration. He ground his teeth to keep himself from biting his tongue. “Listen. Do you got the disk? You can’t have forgotten about our deal already! Kid, you’re killing me. Please tell me you didn’t forget. It’s such a simple task, for such a great payout! Why are you ignoring me?!”

Was it his voice? It sounded far away. Like he was disconnected from it somehow. But no. It couldn’t be that. He still was in front of them. They could see him, surely. They at least should have been aware that he was talking to them. Right?

…Right?

“Kris. Kris. Kris, Kris, Kris .” The name felt faker with each repetition. This wasn’t working, they weren’t listening.

Hoping to get their attention, he grabbed their wrist. For his action he was rewarded— with a buzzing jolt that hurt. It shocked him, both literally and emotionally. He let go and shook his hand as if to get rid of the feeling. The grab must have worked, though. Kris stopped walking. They stared down at him, gaze intense but unreadable. Perfect, they were listening now.

“Kris! Listen. You want the Freedom, don’t you? You need the— the KEYGEN for that!” For some reason, he couldn’t remember what they had already done and what he’s said to them. He tried to recall, but his mind fuzzed the more he did. The look on their face didn’t change.

‘Proceed.’ They signed back. Oh good, good. They were listening and responding. 

“Which I have for you. You’ll never reach the queen’s basement without it.”

‘Proceed.’

“It won’t take too long to get the Disk from there.”

‘Proceed.’

Did they want him to explain every little thing? That would be tedious. Maybe they just wanted to confirm they got his gist? Or they were making sure they knew every part they had to do. That was reasonable. He wouldn’t leave them hanging on their side, like he had been long ago. But really it wasn’t that complex a plan.

“You just gotta get me the disk, then transfer me to it.”

‘Proceed.’

“…How much do you expect me to tell ya, Kris? That’s the whole thing.” He looked at his hands and gestured vaguely. As if he could pull the words from his throat easier. “Buy the KEYGEN. Get the disk. Transfer me to it, and then— this is important— put it back where you found it.”

“Proceed.”

He jumped at the voice. The word echoed through his head and the entire alleyway. It didn’t sound real, it didn’t sound right. In every little way it was off. Worse than a computer that was just human enough yet not close enough to be entirely correct. Like an approximation of what the word might have been if it were real. He shook where he stood. It sounded too close. Even with the short distance Kris stood. The word was all encompassing. Consuming every other sound, the quiet driving cars and breeze stunted silent. There was only it and him.

“Proceed.”

He looked up at Kris, eyes wide behind his shades. They were pointing at him with the same disconnected expression. They repeated themselves with lips that seemed to exaggerate the word. As if the taste of it was rancid on their tongue.

“Proceed.”

“W-What? There’s nothing else to say. I’ve told you the whole thing.”

“Proceed.”

He stepped back. Finally noticing the red glinting in the darkness. From Kris’ pointing finger were several thin strands that lead to himself. How had he not seen those before? Were they always there? His eyes followed them to see the strings wrapped around his wrists, neck, and even his ankles.

“Kris. What. What did you do?”

“Proceed.”

His feet carried him further back, but the threads grew longer to compensate. He ran back, hoping to Heaven that the distance would help. He wasn’t watching his step. There was ringing in his head, the world was spinning and— his foot slipped. The ground never came. He fell.

There was useless fluttering at his back, and then everything went grey.

Chapter Text

[Mike] was calling him. It was the first thing he thought while waking up. A familiar trill danced in his head. It sparked his nerves awake, his mind slipping down a waterfall of nonsensical thought. His phone was ringing.

He needed to get up to answer the phone answer the phone answer the phone make it stop ANSWER THE PHONE— He fell off the bed. Something caught in the comforter, yanking it down onto him. For a brief moment, far too long, he flailed about to throw it off. It was a fair bit difficult given his circumstances. He just about gave up to fall back to sweet sleep when he managed to chuck it off himself. There were more important things to do than sleep. Like the phone. It was ringing. He needed to answer it. He had to answer it, he had to, he must, he needed it he needed—

To summon a few little spamlings to help himself. His concerns twisted to a different problem stopping him from answering. He knew where the phone was, below in the study. But he couldn’t exactly reach it just yet. No matter how much his heart jumped in his throat and his thoughts screamed. After all, it’s a fair bit difficult to walk downstairs when you can’t walk. Or easily hold things. He couldn’t exactly sleep with his prosthetics. Well, he could but this was a semi-safe place. He didn’t need to worry about being woken to fight or flee. It was already a bit of a risk accidentally falling asleep with them on earlier.

The phone was still ringing throughout the house.

He summoned a couple spamlings to help get his limbs on. Whatever benevolent angel in the universe let him have such magic was a blessing. Rising to his legs and stumbling his way out the bedroom, the little spams trailed at his heel until they poofed when no longer needed. He nearly made his way down a single step when he heard something else slip past the blaring ringing. The words slipped in and out his inner ears, lost to him. Not looking behind him he perfectly mimicked the ringing and rushed down the stairs. He couldn’t afford such a distraction when [Mike] was calling.

There was the hall. Down the right, the first door. The study. He had been the one to decorate it after so much pestering of his older siblings. It was filled with pale furniture and a cluttered shelf. The table supported a mess of disorganised items and a desktop computer, so unlike after he made his first breakthrough. But the most important thing sat to the computer’s right. The telephone. The telephone. The unmoving telephone he heard ringing so clearly it might as well have been in hand already. It was. It was in his hand, already held to his head in a familiar manner.

“HELLO?”

There was silence. He twirled the cord in between a finger, far less fluid than when [Mike] used to call. He didn’t have the same dexterity.

“HELLO, [Mike]?? I’M AT [Phone] NOW. PICK IT UP [Pick] IT [[Up]]. I’M [All Alone On A Late Night] [Please] [Please] [[Please]] [[Pick up the phone]]”

Nothing. Not even the fuzz of garbage noise. He plopped down in the table’s chair, glitching out with the force. There was a pause. Then a decision. His fingers glided across the dial, spinning it with such practice that even lost muscles couldn’t scrub it from his hands. He ignored the voice in the back of his head screaming at him stop, stop, what are you doing?! This is exactly what you came to prevent!

“We're sorry; we are unable to complete your call as dialed. Please check the number and dial again, or call your operator to help you.”

That’s right. Both relief and disappointment zipped through him. Of course. It wasn’t a real number. It never was one, was it? Not until… He rang it again. The same answer parroted back to him. Then he did it again, a third time, a fourth, fifth. It was the sixth time when he noticed it. With how close he was to the table, he shouldn’t have been able to feel the back of the chair. His breath left fog on the black shine of the phone. He twisted the cord in hand, turning his head around. His heart stuttered at the sight.

Feathers. Sunset coloured feathers. His mind rather unhelpfully pointed out that they were, in fact, wings. The same wings NEO had. However, in a much better condition than he had seen last. Like how they had been when he first found it. No longer wing-esque masses of metal that couldn’t even dare hold his weight, but rather proper angelic wings. Idle wonder crossed his thought, of it being because of the lightner’s SOUL, or if it was NEO itself. 

He dropped the phone and found himself falling off the chair. A bit-crushed shriek filled the room.

“[[No nO NO No]]”

Imagine if anyone else saw them. The amount of trouble, the difference of him with and without. He just arrived! His feet pushed him back against the wall. No one would believe him and Spam the same with them. Could he get in trouble for stealing something that would still be there? He didn’t want to end up back in a goddamn garbage can because of wings of all things!! He doubted he could even fly with them like this. They were most likely useless. Would they find more things for him to lose? He squeezed his eyes closed and yanked at his hair. He prayed. He was only imagining things. They couldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here. It didn't matter to him that he could feel them and everything they touched.

“Spamton?”

He curled in on himself, hoping he stayed hidden in the small spot between the table and the room’s corner. It’s not like it would help. His throat was filled with a constant stream of 'no.' He didn't need to be seen to be noticed.

A phone clicked back in its receiver. The dial tone permeating the air cut off. There was nothing but his voice and static.

“Spamton?” Whoever it was got closer, the volume of his name reaching through the ringing. He dared to open an eye. Binx hovered above him. Looking down at him as if he were a feral dog that may snap at any moment. He shifted his jaw and clenched his teeth. What an awful look, he decided.

“[Blue Cheese]! IT’5 [[NOT!!! LET ME SAY—]] WH47 1t [[Looks Like Car Troubles]]!!” Spamton waved his arms about. As if that would be more convincing. The panic crawling through him caused him to glitch erratically, twitching his head this way and that. He ignored the sharp stabbing pain caused by the sudden movements.

“…I… What? It looks to me that you were on the phone and then hid in the corner. I do not need to know why.” Binx shook his head. He took Spamton's hands in his and helped him off the ground. Spamton didn’t protest. “You look like you need a distraction. Why don’t you… Go get dressed and wake up Spam, yes?”

Dressed? He glanced down. Ah. In his haste to reach the phone, he hadn’t thrown on his sweater or jacket. Not even his shoes or glasses. He was only wearing his pants. Whoops. Not exactly a ‘Big Shot’ look. It was beyond him how he hadn’t noticed his blurry vision until now. He must have been out of it.

“…okay...” He nodded shakily, pulling his hands back. His feet carried him around Binx, tripping only once. A quick glance behind him at the phone, followed by a check of his back… Nothing. Just dirty, white fur. Not a single feather nor even a hint. It… Must have been a hallucination again. Yes. That’s exactly what it was. Nothing else. A hallucination. He returned to the stairs, pulling himself up them. Every few steps he looked back, as if the wings would sprout once more. He gave up expecting them to reappear once he had on the rest of his clothes. 

Right, okay. He shifted his inner tasks, trying to focus on what Binx asked. Wake up Spam. That would be easy. He certainly had the lungs and volume for it.

Spamton made his way past the upstairs furniture to the white door. After a few knocks, he opened the door with a loud, “[[Good Morning Cyber City! Today’s Weather Forecast Includes]] WAKING THE [[$!?!]] UP!!.!”

An ‘ugh’ response resounded in the darkness. Spamton made his way in the room, a hand to the wall. Luckily a lamp wasn’t far from the door. He fumbled before twisting it on, blinking at the brightness.

“Nooo…” Were Spam’s thoughts about that. The addison in question shoved his head under his pillow. Spamton walked over to his old desk—or rather, the not-so-old not-his-anymore desk— and turned on that lamp as well. Together the two lamps lit up the room quite well. Dark, star themed wallpaper was more visible, and purple carpet kept it from being too bright. The off-white furniture stood out. Not awfully, but quite a bit of contrast.

“[Wake Up] TO [The Smooth Taste Of] D4Y” He looked over the desk. Was it always so crowded? There were pens and pencils, papers with doodles, scribbles, and even a labelled page with math for how much a car should cost. A candle and a clock were pushed to the far corner, not as used as the rest. Above the desk was a cork board that was equally disorganized. Glasses sat in the only empty spot nearest the bed. Spamton turned away. 

“…Go away...” Spam’s muffled voice said. “Wait…”

He pulled his head out of the pillow, squinted up at Spamton. He blinked. The two started at one another, Spam’s mouth flapping with a loss of words.

“…IT’S tiME TO W4KE UP.” Spamton jankily pointed a thumb to the clock.

“That wasn’t a dream.”

“[[No]].”

Spam sat up with his eyes on Spamton. “You’re me.”

“ARE YOU [Real Estate Interest] THIS?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “BINX SAID [Wake Up Call] Y0U. [Alarm Noise.mp3]”

“Hooo… Shit.” Spam rubbed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. He glanced back to Spamton, then to his hands. This was a bit ridiculous, and he really didn't want to wait for every response. So Spamton headed to leave with copied earlier words, “[Go Get Dressed]”

“Right. Right…”

He closed the door behind him. And deflated with a static huff. He wasn’t running away from an awkward situation, no. Everything was fine. There was nothing to run away from. Now.

Now what?

He didn’t know.

Perhaps he would try seeing what he could gather up to sell other darkners, while he planned for Heaven. Not too unusual for his normal activities. Perhaps easier. None would recognise him and his tactics. There were many ways he knew to trap someone alone in an isolated area. Or he’d just get lucky again like with Kris. He had no idea what he was going to sell. He didn’t have his most signature items with him, nor really anything of note. That he would willingly part with, anyway. Just what was on hand.

It’s not like he carried hundreds of items in his pockets that logically shouldn’t fit, such as swords or whole cakes. Sword of a lot. That would be odd, though he wished he did. Could he even make enough kromer to get by? Or get some sort of home? Would he be stuck in garbage forever? Stuck seeing how long he could put up with the charity from his past? He’s not really able to get a normal 9-5er. Fine motor skills were not his strong suit anymore. If he went to an interview, no one would take him seriously for long. Longer than in his proper time with a lack of social standing. But not long enough.

He’d tried. Multiple times. He hadn’t had it worked out before.

Oh. He was standing below at the base of the stairs. The room was a fair bit brighter than earlier. The lights illuminated the soft golden colours of the walls and carpet. His eyes snapped across the room. The grayscale kitchen, free of any mess or disaster. Deals could wait a bit. Might as well abuse this situation as much as he could. Before the worst comes to the worst. His quick strides brought him to the fridge, just about to open it—

“There is cereal in the cabinet above the oven.”

—Someone speaking up caused him to jump. Spamton turned to see Binx eating a sugary bowl of cereal in the dining room. Ah, that would work just fine. It’s far easier to accept what’s offered instead of agonising over the options. “DELICIS [Deals]”

He found himself staring at an empty bowl and a cereal. A sense of vertigo swam his head. The kitchen step stool was untouched, still leaning against a counter. His memory blanked out, and he couldn't recall getting anything down. Confusion fluttered through him. He shook off the oddity. The little extra height he gained was apparently enough to finally reach the cabinets. That was new.

He filled the bowl all the way up. The thought of just swallowing the whole box did cross his mind. Sadly for that brilliant idea, he preferred to keep his food down. Throwing up happened way too often for his comfort. That didn’t stop him from treating the cereal as if it were soup, tipping it down to eat it.

“‘Scuse me.”

Spamton choked and coughed, glitching out the path of an unexpected Spam. Heaven was it annoying to be spooked twice in five minutes. Keeping an eye on Spam, he continued to step off to the side. Spam practically danced around in the kitchen, grabbing miscellaneous items for reasons Spamton didn't know. He finished the little bit left of his cereal. It wasn’t stale for once. Or soggy. It used to be surprising how much soaked cereal others threw away.

“Do you two want any scrambled eggs?”

“No, thank you.” Binx shook his head in the corner of Spamton’s eye.

What a terrible idea. Both cereal and eggs? That much food in such a short time… It could make him sick. “[[Request Accepted]]!!!!1!” 

So of course he would have eggs. His glasses lens flipped colours at the exciting thought. There’s nothing wrong with having a nice splurge every once in a while, is there? Of course not. He could consider it a… A ‘success’ feast or something. Split up feast since the sandwich was before he slept. Whatever’d get his thoughts to stop whispering he didn’t deserve anything.

He considered licking the leftover sugar out of the bowl before deciding against it. He set the bowl down behind him.

“HEY!! LET ME SAY [[Thanks]] 4 THIS [Great Deals And More] [Offer] YOU GAVE.” Spamton jittered with a tapping foot, looking between the two other addisons. “CANNN’T SAY     I’VE HAD BREAKFA5T IN [For The Longest Time~]”

“Ah.”

“Well, ehaha…”

Neither knew a good response, nor did Spamton know what he would have wanted to hear. He didn’t need one anyway.

“I DO NEED, [Terms And Conditions Apply] IF [Please let me stay! Don’t leave me alone!]. MONEY NO. I HAVE [For A Limited Time Only!] KROMER”

“You know… You don’t really need to do anything to stay here for a while, right?” Binx said.

He blinked and his hands held a little plate with scrambled eggs. In front of him, Spam nodded along to Binx’s words. “It’s not like you’re renting. Maybe just help with chores if you can?”

With a few choice words, a lightbulb went off in Spamton’s head. Help? “I CAN DO THAT! WHAT YOU NEED [Press F1 For] IS BECOMING A [[BIG SHOT!!!!!]].!”

“…What?” 

“A BIG SHOT.” With a quick spritz of magic, he dropped his scrambled eggs— and the plate— down his throat, not pausing to chew. Ignoring the horrified look, he gestured his hands as if to  paint the air with ideas, “I AM   I AM  A SALESMAN , AND WITH [3 Easy Payments of $9.99!] [[You Too Can]] BE A BIG SHOT LIKE ME!. JUST [[Don’t Touch That Dial]]!!”

“That doesn’t really—”

“YOU’rE TRYING TO SELL A [[Cungadero]], [[Right]] [[Right]]?”

“A what ?”

“WELL HAVE I GOT [[Exactly Everything That You Need]]!! [[Insert Text Here]].”

“Huh?”

“[[Hyperlink Blocked]]”

A pause.

“…EAHEAHEAH! I MEAN I. C4N HELP. YOU. I WAS [Number 1 Salesman] FOR REASON!”

“Hey… Wait…” A blue hand pushed Spamton away from his younger counterpart. Separating the distance that close without him realising. He’d shoved himself in Spam’s face without noticing. With teeth grinding, his attention turned to Binx.

“Don’t you think you’re taking things a little far, just to offer some sort of help?”

The familiarity of the words sent an uncomfortable shiver down his back. “WHAT? OF COURSE NOT! [No Money Back Guaranteed] [Mik—] I’M AN [[HonestMan]]! IT’S JUST A LIL BUSINESS. THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH— There’s NOTHING WRONG.”

“I’m not saying there is.” The expression on his face told Spamton that Binx hadn’t even considered it. Water plinked down from the faucet next to him. Hesitation left an air of uncertainty. It was deafening to his head. “Look, Spamton… You have been a fair bit more extreme than necessary. It’s rather—”

Spam cut Binx off. “How could you help?”

“What?” “HUH?”

“I— Well— Eh— It’s my decision right? Since he asked me!” Spam fumbled his fingers through his ponytail. He shrugged and turned around as if he couldn’t face them. Or maybe he was just interested in his own scrambled eggs. “I’m not sure how it’d make me be a ‘big shot’ but. Well. Advice couldn’t hurt.”

Spamton gave a manic laugh, his head jerking downward and up with teeth clattering. He excitedly flapped his arms about, “THAT’s [What I’m Talking About]!!! YOU GOTTA GRAB [The Game Of Life™] BY THE [[Silly Strings]]! MAKE YOUR OWN [Deals] CALL YOUR OWN [Shots]!!1!”

Binx's glancing between the two Spams was obvious even with his eyes closed. Yet despite the frown and uncertainty that was so obvious, he didn’t try to convince either little addison to stop. Well, really he didn’t try a second time to get Spamton to settle. Spamton had begun to pacing with exclamations that even he couldn’t keep track of. Just spitting nonsense, not sure of what he was trying to say. While he waited for Spam to finish his breakfast, he pointlessly filled the stiff and silent air. He was certain of only one thought.

Anything he told Spam was still better than [Mike]’s sickening, raw honey words.

The moment food was all eaten, he jumped over to shove Spam out the door. The faster they were, the better chances of tired early risers who wouldn’t read fine print. Spam only protested briefly, but there was no refusal. Spam had to lead the rest of the way not long into the walk. It had been so long since he had attempted to sell on the street rather than in a back alley.

“YOU HAVE [Details Included In Our Paperwork] RIGHT?” He almost forgot the most important part of any ‘proper’ deal. Legality wasn’t exactly something he dealt with anytime recently. But he had plenty of experience. Mostly. …As a Big Shot, he’d been quick to hire someone else for that tedious loophole work. Laws never were his strong suit.

“Wha— Yes.” Spam searched through his pockets before pulling out some loose half folded papers. He straightened them out and gave them over, “Here.”

Spamton took them, reading them over for a refresher. A 1991 junked car he found in the trash zone. It was probably the correct amount of papers, he couldn’t remember. Laws change over 25 years. It had been a side project. Just something to fix up in his spare time. He had done a damn fine job of it, too. Mechanics were always a favourite pastime of his. Up until all that hands-on work was no longer his part in maintaining Big Shot Autos. Then he was only the owner and main advertiser, not really working on anything in years. And after… Well.

Oftentimes he wondered if it was a coincidence the car finally worked a few weeks before he got that call.

He tuned back into the current reality to hear Spam rambling about the car. Something about how red was such a good car colour that made it feel faster. Spamton nodded along, his thoughts scattered elsewhere. Not that he would disagree.

Eventually they stopped in a crowded part of the city. Significantly less urban than where the family home was. More of where he watched the lightners travel along, in the original future. Aside from them, there was only one other Addison. All three were unconcerned about the other party. There was no competition, so each party ignored the other.

“…Okay! So!” Spam’s head swivelled to watch the passing darkners. Spamton stayed quiet to listen. He couldn’t at all remember how he used to pitch, before [Mike]. Spam was clearly trying not to fidget or move around like he did at home. A frown briefly graced Spam’s face before he twisted it to a slightly crooked, typical addison smile. “I— Okay. …Twelfth time’s the charm…”

There was a pause as if he forgot his lines, before he cleared his throat and spoke back up. 

“Hey! Car sale, I— We’re selling a great, used car for cheap prices! At half the price than you’d find originally. Only 10 thousand dark dollars!”

It certainly was a pitch. But the words were spoken at a normal conversational volume, not a ‘professional car salesman’ level. Or with the same zeal as Spamton. Even his words to Kris had fulfilled the basics of any sales pitch. Even though Kris was terrified, it still worked.

“WOW. THAT’S [[Dirt Poor Quality]] DEALS!”

Not all of his glitching words were totally involuntary. Just mostly. Besides. There was no reason to hide how dumb Spamton thought it was. Spam blinked in response. 

“Wh— It was perfectly fine.”

“YOU NEED, TO BE LOUDER! AND [Adobe Flash]IER!” Spamton declared, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He patted Spam’s shoulder and gave a computer fan hum. The younger’s smile fell. “Is that why you yell?” Doubt was obvious in the younger’s expression. Spamton wasn’t sure why.

“OF COURSE! THAT AND MY vOICEB0X IS… [Stuck In Traffic].” He didn’t want to dwell on that . He tried to think of how to continue on the previous topic. His smile twitched, “WATCH AND LEARN, [Little Sponge]!”

He threw his arms up and dropped his jaw. Letting out strange music from his throat, his fur and hair started to shift through rainbow colours. The area around them lit up similarly to the brightness of it. Eyes that had previously ignored them were drawn to the strange and mildly obnoxious sight. Perfect. He glanced over to Spam, then to the street. 

Picking a random stranger, he walked up and swung an arm at them to force their attention on him. The legal papers in his hand crinkled loudly. “HeY HEY HEY!!!” He cut off his song and rainbow. Luckily this situation had the simplest requirement. He just had to reuse the exact words from the original time he sold this car. He waved his hands and approached closer after each sentence. 

“[[Are you tired of walking place to place in this city? In need of a cheap solution that really works? Our lightly used and EXCELLENTLY maintained car is just what you need!!]]”

He paused to sort what to say next, gauging how they reacted. Oh. Hm, that was not a good look. Could he recover from that glare and electric zap of annoyance? He probably should have paid attention more to who he singled out. A werewire didn’t need a car. This one clearly didn’t like the audacity of the suggestion.

“OR OR OR OR— FOR! ONLY [13k Retail Value]!” Might as well stick to his guns.

They let out a loud bzzt before he could continue. White spheres of electricity shot past his head as sparks audibly ignited in the air around them. It was more of a threat than an actual attack, but it was effective enough to get the intent past. He didn’t back off, doubling down with a stuttery laugh. 

“HA HA HA! [[Best Deals This Side Of]] [[$!?!]]!!!”

He hardly blinked when the world  darkened to black, faint purple lines surrounding them both. Oh, if only he could only grin wider. With how his business usually went, this was a very familiar sight. One he knew how to work around quite well.

So a Fight the werewire wanted? He could give them that. It was a poor mistake on their side. He already was a great Fighter. NEO just made him even stronger. Maybe a few dollar sign bullets or even lasers and this would be over quickly. 

Wait…

Why couldn’t he move?

His body twitched and he glitched, his head turning to his right. Spam stood next to him, wide eyed and grimaced. He hadn’t even noticed Spam got pulled into the Fight as his battle partner. Something else did, though. Like a janky marionette controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer, his arm pointed at the werewire’s connected cord. Words less his than usual left his mouth, “SP-SPAMTON!! [[helpme]] THR0W [50% Off] BULLETS AT THAT WIr3!”

“What?” Spam looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, “How is that supposed to help?”

Spamton felt his eyes squint and smile drop, as if affected by an irritation that he couldn’t feel. It made him slightly woozy. “[[Trust]] [[My]]”

“I— Er— Alright?”

He briefly watched Spam summon up word bullets, uncertainty painted on his face. The puppet turned away. Familiar fuzz of magic crept up his throat. He coughed before it could manifest, as if the feeling were foreign to him. In between the hacking, ‘his’ pointing grew more insistent and words spilled from his lungs. “[Take The Deal] AND SHOOT [For The Sky] SPAMTON!!! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW AS [[Much Ado About Nothing]] AS Y0U C4N”

Dollar signs and various ad-related words zipped faster than he could blink, hitting at the werewire’s cord. It shifted, maybe looser but otherwise nothing happened. He didn’t really see the point of such an action, though his returning smile indicated otherwise for you .

“HELL YeS [DIY]!”

Then came the werewire’s turn. Reminding him why a Fight wasn't such a good idea, not that he had any choice. The SOUL. The brilliantly glowing SOUL that gave him what he believed to be Freedom. It floated out of him very much like it had from the Lightner. Normally, he wouldn't be too bothered about it. Excited more than anything. His impossible prize, proudly displayed for all to see— well, only two others. He had the impression that the SOUL was unconcerned as well.

It was their reactions that got him.

A sharp buzz and gasping. Circles flying quick with a ‘what’ said near. And then. Pain. Lightning flashing down his spine. His awe of rose glory halted by the harsh reminder that no matter what Heaven’s Angels have gifted to you, reality’s blade dug deeper. It didn’t burn as much as usual.

In retaliation, You managed to choke out ad bullets at the wire, shaking it up more. A few numbers join after from Spam, greatly loosening but just not enough.

“[Defend Your House From Those Pesky Bugs] SPAMTON” His glitched voice commanded the past. 

“I don’t—” Spam held his arms up in a kind of pitiful shielding manner. There was a pause before he finished his words. “I don’t really know how?”

“[[Congr4tulations You W1n!]]”

Strikes of electricity whipped past both of them. A swarm, then just a couple spheres— Only some hitting the pair. It hurt Spamton more than Spam. That was alright. You had a plan.

“AG4IN. PR0CEED.”

Raised arms and just in time. Despite how the magic hurt and made you nauseous, it was fine. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. You had a lot of HP to keep up with your clumsiness. It’s so difficult to re-coordinate on such short notice.

You decided to use the extra TP to finish this. Your partner did not have as much experience to keep himself safe. 

“PROC3ED. DEFEND.”

As soon as Spam’s arms were up, you reached for that familiar and new feeling. It was painful for only a brief moment. You were barely on your feet when the ache in your chest flew out as a toothy, cracked heart. It swung and snapped at the wire, ripping it off the werewire. Your mouth filled with the taste of rubber. The werewire shrank into a little plugboy and thumped on the ground as the heart dropped the wire.

The heart disappeared, your clothes thankfully not that much worse for wear. Spamton blinked his eyes and felt his head swim. A pounding headache hit him.

The battle magic sustaining their little pocket dimension finally faded, leaving the three on the city street. The little plugboy wasted no time in running off with a curt ‘sorry’, weaving between darkners until neither Spamton future nor past could see them anymore.

“Let’s not do that again, alright!” Spam yipped, shaking his head and hopscotching his feet up and down. It was not a question. “Maybe we should head back home. I haven’t used that much magic in a while…”

His nausea reared itself up to the back of his throat. Spamton gagged and threw up ceramic plate shards and breakfast on the sidewalk. He heaved for a good minute, faintly noticing someone pulling his hair away from his head.

“…Right, we’re heading back home.”

Once there was nothing left to throw up, Spam led him off. He didn’t pay much attention to anything around him. His head was full of cotton, his semi-permanent smile anything but a smile. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Expected for Spamton and his luck at this point…

They walked up the porch and inside, where they split off. Spam said something about a sink, he didn’t really listen.

Spamton caught a glimpse of Spam and Binx talking out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure what it was about, so he opted not to care. He felt far too emotionally and mentally drained. He stumbled his way upstairs after voicing an odd combination of ads. Hopefully that sounded like what he was trying to say. He could get away with sleeping the rest of the day, yeah?

Chapter Text

Spam was not as gullible as others thought. He would never give away his wallet for someone else. That wasn't what Pascal meant. That wasn't what he said. But it sure sounded like it was. Why couldn't people just say what they mean? At least his future self was direct and upfront in his methods, as unnerving as it was. Especially with that fight on Friday. Of course, he doubted Future Spamton at first. He had even tried speaking out, yet Future Spamton just interrupted to declare Spam wouldn't... Whatever he had said. Spam couldn't understand half of his words. They sounded like personified advertisement met a glitchy calculator on the world’s most virus infected windows computer. It was times like these he wished there were words around people, like videos games... That would be nice.

His hands flipped, folded, and finished putting laundry away. The shower running in the next room reminded him who owned the clothing in his hands. His fingers fiddled with a frayed string on the collar of a jacket Spam was pretty sure was wool twill- which Oakley once told him was pretty expensive. It was Spamton's, Binx having snatched his clothes to join the other laundry while Spamton showered.

The idea of a fallen business man being his future..?

It terrified him.

His siblings going against him? A giddy feeling built up in his chest and throat, involuntarily forcing chuckles out. Before yesterday evening, Spam would never have expected a fight so bad! Which kind of time travel logic did this use? Since he saw his future, is it now permanently his? Could he really change it? How could he, when he could barely understand what his future self means?!

This wool feels weird, his brain unhelpfully pointed out. His building panic snapped with his last 'ehehe's puttering out. But not bad.

Fancy fabric aside, even the pants folded on the counter looked self repaired. Well done, but with whatever was on hand clearly. Spam picked at a loose yellow thread under the collar that didn't match the aesthetic of the black jacket. Maybe it was suppose to match the colourful sunglasses? He wondered about Spamton's loose joints. If the future really meant homelessness, then they really needed to get Future Spamton some new clothes. Maybe he could call Oakley and ask about it. Was it too soon to do that?

Spam dropped the worn jacket on the counter and left the laundry room. He jogged across the hall, down the stairs, then turned around towards the study where their only phone was. He idly wondered why they had only one, but it passed quicker than his thoughts on his task. He had to call before he forgot he wanted to. Reaching the study, He confirmed the computer was off before he snatched up the phone and began punching in Oakley's number. The call patched through, his fingers still hovering over a 3. He paid no mind to the oddity.

"Hello? Oakley?" Static greeted him on the other end. It jittered in volume before, as quick as it appeared, it was gone.

"Spamton?" Oakley's voice came through the speaker. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Eh- yes? Is your phone not working or something?"

"Just a bit quiet is all. I... Almost forgot to turn off the internet. What did you want to ask me for this time?"

The wording sounded off but Spam couldn't place why. He decided to ignore it for now. He laughed awkwardly, "What do you mean this time? I don't ask for many favours."

"Oh, silly me." Oakley chuckled back. "I suppose that's true. So? What was it?"

"Er, well. Funnily enough, you were right about a favour... Do you recall the, um, the, um, the supposed future me?"

"Yes. I do. And?"

Spam fiddled with his fingers. "And. Would you be okay with sizing him up for some new clothes today? I can pay of course, I know fabric is expensive. Or help in your shop for how ever long? Whatever you think is a fair trade."

There was a long pause. Anxiety was just starting to bubble in him when he heard Oakley again. The voice seemed practiced for some reason? Customer service mode? "Of course, Spamton. I'm happy to help whenever. Don't even worry about the cost. Be here by 15, I'll close shop early."

"Really?" Spam licked his canines as he swallowed air, "I mean- Thanks Oakley! We'll be there! Love you, bye!" And he hung up before Oakley could say a thing. He almost felt guilty but stampted the guilt right back down. He said bye, now he needed to catch Spamton before he disappeared. He didn't know how, but he was sure that geezer was going to take off soon. The scam artist seemed like a runner. Why else would he still be homeless if he wasn't running from his family? Or they were dead, but he disliked that idea even more than the first option. He made sure to tell Binx he loved him too, after telling him the plan for Oakley's.

Spam hated to admit it to himself but facing this addison claiming to be from the future forced him to. Spam and Spamton are both assholes. He never notice it before and was ashamed, even if he likely wasn't Spamton's level of loud dickheadery. So, that was part of the reason Spam believed Spamton's claim. Belief that Spam himself could become even worse, turning into a ticking time bomb asshat scam artist. 

Spam fidgeted with his yellow dress shirt. Today was a yellow day, so even his shoes were yellow. He wore grey pants to avoid being an eyesore. He was long lost in his head of thoughts by the time he reached the guest room. The shower had stopped so he was assuming Spamton was back in the guest room. In his idle spiraling, looping thoughts, he didn't stop to consider what he would see, casually pushing further open the room's cracked ajar door.

Spamton was sitting on the bed, fiddling with some sort of strap on his shoulder and muttering frustrated noises. Little versions of the con artist, addies, ambled across the bed and were trying to help with whatever he was doing. They didn’t look very successful. He was only wearing black slacks and Spam’s white sneakers he offered up, though Spamton’s legs looked funny in the gap between the shoes and pants. Spam wasn’t sure why. One of Yael's yellow hoodies was discarded on the ground. Honestly, Spam totally thought Spamton would be done getting clothed. Apparently not. At least he had on pants, Spam was just glad he didn’t walk in on something more… Intimate. He must have found a tie for his hair, since it was pulled back in a black one. Whatever dye used on his hair had washed out completely, leaving behind familiar fluffy white. Really, really fluffy and long. When was the last time he got a trim— right, homeless. He wondered instead why Spamton didn’t brush his fur, then noticed exactly why. He was entirely missing his left arm, even his elbow. His other arm looked weirdly like a plastic puppet arm connected to a harness over his shoulder. Spam realised that was the strap Spamton was trying to fix. The other side of the harness was another longer puppet arm. 

"Do- Do you need help..?" 

The older addison screamed out panicked probably-profanity as he floundered back uselessly on the guest bed. The addies tossed the bed's comforter across him as if he had something to hide. 

I really need to remember to knock first.

Spamton peaked out from the nest his little addies created. He looked more like Spam than ever, ignoring the many other things wrong with the addison. Even his addies looked exactly like Spam. Really, Spam wasn’t sure how much more evident he needed. Maybe he just didn’t want to believe Spamton. There was a pause, then, "NO. NEVER BETTER. LEAVE."

Spam wanted to argue, but was reminded of his thoughts moments ago. About being an asshole. Did this count as being an asshole? Shit— he didn't know. Another topic to join his ever growing list of 'stuff he doesn't know that everyone else somehow does'. He's pretty sure Spamton would fight him if he somehow oversteps in a way he actually hated, anyway. Spam took a breath and-

"WH Y ARE [U] [Hungering For More?]??" Spamton garbled, speaking faster than he.

"Your... Uhh..." Spam's totally well crafted probing questions crumbled. "Your arm? …Ss? Arms?"

"My ARM!" Spamton waved his... stump? Was that the right word? Spamton exaggeratedly waved at him regardless. "I LOST IT, I LOST IT ALL!" If Spam didn't know better, he would think Spamton was almost embarrassed somehow. It disappeared quickly.

“Ah.” Spam wasn’t sure if he should press, but— well, supposedly and unfortunately pretty convincingly, this was his future. His future. So sorry if that changes things! “...How?”

“HUH?” Spamton put on an almost convincing act.

“How did I lose almost a whole arm?” Okay, so maybe Spam was getting frustrated already. He gets frustrated easily! Sue him. His foot started to tap down repeatedly. He didn’t even try to stop his foot, this time.

“EHAHAHAEH! [[Wouldn’t You Like To Know, Weather Boy]]!!

Just?? Answer the goddamn question!? What, was he deliberating? For what reason? This was pretty important! He’d like to avoid whatever caused that, thank you very much. He crossed his arms. Spamton was unmoved. Unfortunately, involuntary movements with impatient gestures do not sway the mind of a seasoned salesperson. Or whatever Spamton was.

“S AY! HOW ABOUT A [[Specil Deal]]? IF U HELP REATTAAACH MY [Limbo, Jimbo], [The Quicker Picker Upper] I EXPLAIN!.”

Spam raised an eyebrow, “I want a better end of the deal. You come with Binx and me to Oakley’s for some clothes, and I’ll help reattach your arm.”

This way, he was sure to convince Spamton to come. Plus, he heard Binx close his bedroom door, so he was probably getting changed to head out. Which meant he needed to comprehend how to help Spamton fast, if they were to be there in time. It was almost 2:30! He hated being late, the thought not helping with his frustration.

“ARE– AR– ARE—” Spamton stuttered. Spam felt a smidge of empathy. “ARE YOU SERIUS? No [Agonising Promises for Glory]? [FREE]??”

“Yes, promise. I already told Binx and Oakley anyway. Now, you said that I help ‘reattach’ your limb? What’s wrong with it?”

“ITS mY [Silly Strings]. [[Silly Strings]].” Spamton growled in frustration, his teeth grinding before he tried again. “HAR. NESS. IS. TWISTED. I CANn”T FIX IT. MY [Angel] ARE [A Weakling!]. I CAN’T [Move It Move It] RIGHT UNTIL IT’S FIXED.”

A winged addy popped out of the blanket pile and flew across to tug at the limp puppet arm on the bed. It could pull it, sure, but quickly demonstrated that it couldn’t hold it up on its own. The other three angel addies joined to try to help and while they could lift it up to Spamton’s shoulder, they just couldn’t pull it through the strap to correct the loop. They couldn’t hold it and the strap, and Spamton couldn’t easily reach across to hold it for them. Clear red embarrassment flushed across the salesman’s face as he watched them fail. Even one of the addies turned red as well and kicked at the arm like it offended it. It was kind of cute.

“Oh, okay.” Spam walked over to look at the arm. He glanced over to silently ask if he could pick it up. Spamton shrugged best he could. The addies floated off, sitting themselves around the nightstand and lamp.

Spam was very careful picking up the arm. He wasn’t sure how sturdy it was. Though, he supposed Spamton did nearly destroy a table, so… He hummed as he looked at it. It was clearly some sort of plastic modeled to look just like a regular addison arm. It didn’t glow. A pale yellow sleeve like thick cotton connected to the arm but not the harness. There were two green cable wires connected just below the sleeve. One short one which stopped in the elbow to control it, and one long one that went under the hand. Probably to use the hand, though he wasn’t sure how since it was covered. He was fascinated. Up closer, Spam realised it wasn’t just a puppet arm. It was a prosthetic. Which made sense now that he saw Spamton without his shirt– as weird as that sounded in his head– but he had never seen a real prosthetic before. He just knew of them from movies. He glanced to the other arm that was on. The hand was cracked, from the table probably. It had a sleeve, the hand wire, and was much shorter. Spamton had that elbow apparently. Did he have prosthetic legs too? What he did see did looked weird, but he didn’t make a habit of looking at people’s legs. He hoped Spamton actually explained instead of continuing to skirt around things like he always seemed to do.

The harness was twisted backwards. It wasn’t too hard to flip it and adjust the straps to match the other side correctly. Just a little annoying, and requiring dexterity that Spamton and his addies lacked. “How does it go on?”

“IT. SLIPS ON. LIKE A SOCK. SHOULDER. THEN. ARM.” Spamton lifted his arm up and his right hand closed. Amazing.

It was much more boring to slip on the harness, then the sleeve and arm on. Spamton fidgeted with it afterwards, two addies swiftly coming to help him readjust the sleeve and cords. The other two helped free him from the blanket nest they created, showing that Spam was right. His ankles revealed his legs were prosthetics too, but they were already on. Maybe they didn’t have straps that could tangle? Was his jaw a prosthetic too and that's why it was weird?

“Will you explain now?” Spam almost forgot that was why he looked at the arm. 

“[Give Me Just A Moment]” He replied as he unsteadily got up to grab Yael’s sweater off the ground and slip it on. Once he was done, the addies all poofed out of existence and he turned to Spam. “YOU ASKED [How did I lose almost a whole arm?]?”

Hearing his voice copied was still weird, but, well, to be honest it was kind of cool. He wondered what else Spamton could copy. “Yes. And, your legs?”

“IT WAS [[Hyperlink Blocked]]! NO, No, not THAT.” Spamton glitched out, static creeping into his lens. “IT WAS. A MISTAKE! I SLIPPED AND NEXT I KNEW WAS IN [[Dr. House]]!! I WAS— WAS— [[Hhuh..? Where am I..? HeLL0? What— WheRE— Wh3re— Where are my hands? Help! Please, it hurts!! WHAT haPPENED TO MY H4NDS?!]]”

Spam’s eyes opened as he jerked his head back. It was no longer as cool to hear his voice recorded. That was… Him? In… Doctor house, doctor… The Hospital? Hearing the same sound bite from a few days ago was horrifying. A much clearer, extended version of the recording. He listened as his own voice slowly distorted more before a familiar shout of Spamton’s voice had screamed. At the time he didn’t give it much thought, the ravings and peculiarities of a mad man at his doorstep. By the time he considered Spamton was telling the truth, he had forgotten it entirely. If he was honest… He was lying for saying he believed him, before.

“Are you two ready to go?”

Both Spamtons jumped. Binx had managed to sneak up on them. Spam turned to him with closed eyes and a smile, “Oh, yes. I was just telling Spamton about heading to Oakley’s. He agreed! He and I were just about to come find you. Looks like you beat us to it, eaheha!”

He noticed Spamton blinked confused and hoped he said nothing. Binx didn’t need to worry. Maybe Spam was still freaked out by the sound bite, but that was his own fault for asking. They really did need to get along, though. “Since we’re all ready, are we taking the car? Or walking?”

“Hm.” Binx looked at him funny. “The Car. It is too late in the day to walk to Oakley's currently. I'll drive?”

“Works for me!” Spam grabbed Spamton’s shoulder and, ignoring his startled Linux error ding, pulled him forward past Binx, “C’mon, let’s go!”

He could feel Binx’s eyes on him as they all headed downstairs to the garage. Thankfully, he couldn’t look at him the entire way to Oakley’s. Not unless he wanted to crash.

By car, Custom Style Tailoring was only 10 minutes away in the center of Cyber City where the highways were. On foot, it would have been closer to 30 minutes. He had forced Spamton into the front seat. Spam kept his eyes off Binx and Spamton, watching out the window instead. Nothing of real interest was along the roads. Other cars, other darkners. They drove past a cafe, Sweet Teas and Cakes. He saw it was open and wondered if Pascal was still mad about their last fight.

“Dammit, Spamton, I’m fucking worried about you! I don’t want to have to bail you out of some shady shit again just because you want to be some sort of big shot! It’s not worth it! Why can’t you just listen to me for once?!”

Spam turned from the window. Spamton was meddling with the radio and lightheartedly arguing with Binx about the music choice. After yesterday morning… After just minutes ago… He didn’t know how to feel. He’d been trying sales since he was 15, and claiming such a high title for months. He’d wanted something more for years. He didn’t know what else he could do, he was an addison! His siblings were so successful too. They weren’t yet top-shelf household name brands but they were close to it. Especially Pascal after creating that magical person-flavoured tea. Oakley made formal clothes for the queen’s personal staff. Binx sold high-end footwear and accessories to other dark worlds and the light world! Yael would probably be selling the newest fancy electronics and take the world by storm, if he didn’t prefer to fix up and sell old things. Sure, they were extremely busy and half them worked the weekends, but. Spam was falling behind in every aspect a salesman needed and more. His stupid repetitive and vocal bullshit drove most customers away, even if it was nowhere near whatever the hell Spamton’s got. His dumb little email job was mostly just sitting around waiting for no response. 

He was sick of it.

They parked behind Custom Style Tailoring, the trio getting out and heading around for the entrance. It was locked, but a quick knock and chat was enough for them all to head inside. Oakley looked to be sorting the remains of the day’s work, paperwork being neatly organised into a file cabinet.

Binx looked around a bit puzzled, “Are you the only one here, right now..? Were you working alone all day today?”

“No. I sent my workers home, when I got Spamton's call.” Oakley said with a shake of her head. They kept up their frantic closure.

“Oh. I'm glad you weren't alone… Well, which room do you want us to meet up in?”

Spam almost missed Spamton wandering off if not for the click sound of his jaw against his teeth giving him away. He must've known where from the moment when he entered the building. It was certainty that made Spam guess it was related to future events. He scamper off towards—

“Four.”

Room Four. Spamton flicked the light switch on as Spam followed right behind him. Two flood lights filled the room with white daylight bulbs. Inside there were red painted walls, an orange sectional couch taking up the whole left side of the room, and a couple double door closets. A golden mirror hung on the wall above the couch. 

Binx and Oakley were there soon after their distracted chittering. Oakley pulled Spamton away to a separate closet area in the room. It was so sudden and experienced, Oakley a whirlwind of action before words. She swiftly forced Spamton to strip Yael's hoodie for wrapping measuring tape and jotting down hectic notes in a little book. She didn't bat an eye at his prosthetics, just carefully worked around them.

“What happened before I came in the room?” Binx eyed the prosthetics entirely unsurprised as well. He tilted right towards Spam with a whisper after the two left hearing range. “Don’t lie again. I heard that recording.”

Spam swallowed and licked his canines nervously. “I saw— I saw he has those prosthetics, so I asked how. He had trouble. With speaking, I mean, you know how he is. So he played that sound. He said… He slipped? And ended up in the hospital. But his voice… You heard it. It warped. I think there's more to it, but I don't know if I should have asked.”

Binx frowned, his tail swishing in agitation behind him.

They watched Oakley spin around the con-artist several times for each measurement. He looked dizzy afterwards.

“H EY HEY!  [[Watch The Merchandise]]!!”

“Colors? Style?” Oakley asked instead. 

“RED, WHITE, BLACK. FORMAL.” Spamton’s shrill voice demanded. Zipping off, Oakley searched through hanging closet items.

“I have some close to your size for now. You're nearly Yael's size.” They pulled out a few dress shirts, slacks, and various jackets. She paired them in sets of two or three, laying them out on the bed. “I'll make more accurate ones later.”

“WOAH, [2 for 1 Specil]?? [[No Refunds.]]??”

“Think of this as a deal.” She smirked low and mocked a stage whisper. Clearly this was her evil plan the whole time. “I can't get the other Spamton to model for me much anymore. You'll help, right? Modeling for free clothes, fair exchange?”

“[[Hoochie Mama]] PROCEED TO SIGNN M3 UP [$4.99 Email Subscriptions] AN YTHING  NEW!” Spamton eagerly agreed. 

“Great. Now, I picked out these ones. They should do for now so we'll leave you to change. We can discuss the details of the deal more after.”

“YES, AFTER.” Spamton nodded, his lens glitching the colours back and forth. 

Quick as they entered, they all left Spamton back out to the lobby. Oakley closed the door behind them.

“Binx. Spamton.” Oakley put away the notepad in her inventory, looking at the two. Spam sweated slightly at her unnaturally emotional voice. “I'm sorry for Friday.”

“Huh? Oh. No, no, it's okay, really! I'm the one who continued to argue!”

“We were all fighting, Oakley… This is a really unusual situation.” Binx reassured. He gave them a hug, pulling Spam into it with an oof. “I'm not sure how we're going to handle this all in the future, either… It seems more and more like he's going to be staying longer term. It's a very complicated situation.”

“I actually had an idea about that.” Spam squirmed slightly in the hug. “We could just say he's our oldest brother? But he got in an accident years ago and we never talk about him much for reasons we act too emotional to bring up? It's not that far from the truth.”

“What about the matching names?” Oakley cringed watching him struggle free. She ended the hug early.

“Well, juniors exist all the time? I don’t mind just being Spam when he's around, its already my nickname.” He was pretty sure neither of them would be willing to part with their name anyway. Spamton literally called himself his own name twice, maybe as a stage name, and Spam quietly agreed with the sentiment. He just wasn't sure about the legal part of Spamton's whole existence. Laws have never been his strong suit.

Spamton was back out of the room just moments later, seeming excited to show off his first choice. He wore off white pants, a black v-cut shirt, and a black shawl jacket with rolled up sleeves and a popped collar. He gave a dramatic spin. “HOW ABOUT THIS?! [[Win Pr1zes]]?”

“Very nice.”

“It fits you well!”

“Gives you a ‘bad boy’ aesthetic.”

He seemed to soak up the attention like a sponge. He tugged at the jacket and turned back to the room, “[Don't Touch That Dial, We'll Be Right Back With More!]” He semi-sing-songed as he left again.

It continued like that for a few more outfits. He stuck to the black-white theme for a bit until Oakley brought up the red dress shirt she left him. He seemed apprehensive despite having asked for red, but left back into the room for a while. Spam wondered if the other two could hear the faint sounds of glitching inside. The trio were starting to wonder what he was doing. He had been enthusiastic for the last few he showed off yet now it was like he didn't want to leave the room at all.

“It's been so long. Do you think Spamton is done yet?” Oakley asked some time after the conversation puttered out.

“I wouldn't know… He hasn't lived with us long.”

“Do you want me to go check on him?” Spam offered.

“Please?”

Spam knocked on the changing room's door, “Hey, Spamton?” He started before entering it immediately after. “Are you almost done getting dressed? It's been a whi—”

Some sort of gun pointed directly in his face. The end glowed hot white with power, specks of magic buzzing off it into the air as if the shaking device could barely hold onto the sheer energy it contained. What looked like a winged, gigantic, and garish robot crouched like a feral animal taking up almost the whole room. Its face was pale with white hair in a ponytail not dissimilar to his own style, and a red dress shirt hung off a frame far larger than the garment itself. Black pants-like shorts exposed its furry legs. In fact, outside what it wore, the entire thing was white fur and yellow joints. Spam wasn't even sure if it was really a puppet, or actually a robot due to the faint whirring noise Spam could faintly hear separate from the shaking of the arm cannon thing. The glowing yellow and pink panes making up the glasses on the creature were nearly the size of Spam's entire face.

“Holy shit.” Spam squeaked, his hand clutching the dressing room door like a lifeline.

It looked like… Spamton. What the fuck.

And it was moving somehow, the gun poking closer to Spam's face forced him back. He bumped against the door and it closed behind him. Then he realised how dark the room really was, watching as one of its wings scraped the ceiling right where a broken flood light was. What the hell was this thing? Was it Spamton? Why did it look like him? Should he run? Wait— Shit, shit, why did he just close the door?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Then.

It spoke.

“[Holy shit.]” It parroted.

What?

“[Holy shit.] [[Holy shit.]] [[Holy shit]]” It started to loop, a constant sound bite echoing in the room and growing faster. The spamton-robot-thing reared back from Spam, its gun knocking off his lens. The noise grew louder and louder still. Was it him or could he hear his siblings through the door? The gun was blindingly bright now and—

The last thing Spam remembered was his own echoing voice as the ceiling collapsed.

…

…

…

He bumped against the door and it closed behind him. Then, he realised how dark the room was, watched one of its wings scrape the ceiling, saw the broken flood light. What the hell was this thing? Is this really Spamton? It looked like him. Should he run? Wait, shit, why did he close the door? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Then.

It blinked rapidly and spoke, “Eht..." An odd noise squeaked out of its throat. "[E]"

Huh?

"...WhaT? WhERe..." The gun lost its glow as the giant fell back on its own tail. Spam could only gape at the thing.

Spamton A. Gradient wasn’t so sure he wanted to be a big shot anymore.

Chapter Text

Spamton wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he died. He couldn’t really imagine the void before, the concept of nothingness difficult to grasp. Maybe he’d go to a colder, harsher place befitting a scamming murderer like him. Instead, a cozy, sleepiness coddled him in an empty void. He’d describe it as an infinite blackness, except there wasn’t really anything.  He could hear his breath quicken and the chatter of his teeth as he frantically looked around. It was otherwise silent. For some reason the thought of quiet never crossed his mind in all his many existential crises. Silly, he knew, considering the word void. Yet, here he was. Nothing around him and his faint glow, the only noises from himself. He wished there was more than the dead. More than just… white emptiness.

…White?

He twisted towards the one colour he spotted. There it was, silvered words before him. Words ‘Continue’ and ‘Give Up’ floated like ad popups at his hip level. They were almost familiar yet so off and foreign that he wanted to back away. As if they were the spam garbage and not him. He looked up and saw ‘GAME OVER’ in the same font with flourish around it like lightning. The font was extravagant like castle decor. Somehow he knew it wasn’t a prompt like the other two.

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Came a voice behind him, echoing throughout the void. It was so familiar, though he would say he’d never heard it either. “I think it’s both my favourite and least liked place... Since you have to die to come here.”

In an instant, he had flipped around to the voice. It felt like floating.

It was a red heart? No, no, a SOUL. Such a familiar one. Almost like the one he— Wait. Could it be? One and the same? He wasn’t sure. He Checked it and– the magic and all he felt from it matched perfectly. What was this place?

“Are you not gonna say anything? That’s no fun. And here I thought you would be so cool to talk with! C'mon, Spammy, aren't you the showman here?”

The pout in the SOUL'S voice rang so clear it was as if he were the disappointed one himself. In fact, he did feel it. Dragging down his heart was a swirl of emotions he didn’t hold. The glow of the SOUL outshined his own softer addison glow, fizzling and pulsing to their words.

“Wh-W-What?” Mild disappointment pricked at him with the stutter, but he ignored it best he could. He held on to hope he wasn't blocked by ads. "Where am I- am I?"

"He speaks! Oh, wonderful!" The SOUL spun around Spamton excitedly. He tried tracking them but as they flew faster and faster, it made his head spin. "I'm so glad! This is The Void. More importantly... How'd you free me? You'll do more things with me than Kris, right? Oh, the things we'll do together! My vessels have always been a human, I've never been with a darkner before! Are you still a darkner? Did you see how hard you hit that roof? Ouch! You toppled a whole building! In one strike! No wonder you were such a hard boss fight, if you can do that! I couldn't even beat you the last time."

Free? Vessels? Boss fight?? What the fuck were they talking about? Oh, he can curse in his mind now. How could he do that? Regardless he knew, both as a darkner and from his Deal, their world was predetermined by The Prophecy (The Lord of Screens—) but was their world a... He didn't want to think about it. He figured he couldn’t do anything about it anyway.

The SOUL stopped spinning to bounce left and right like a caffeinated pingpong ball. "Oh, oh, do you remember that werewire from yesterday? How fast do you think that Fight would have gone as NEO? Would it destroy the wire instead? Would that count as Fighting or Acting? Would it have even tried to Fight us if you were NEO? You're like! 10 feet! or something?"

"Woah— Slow down, kid!" Spamton managed to get out between their rapid fire monologue. 

They stopped in front of Spamton, "I’m not a kid, I'm... Uh. Actually I don't know how old I am. But, I'm not a kid." They stubbornly said. Spamton was pretty sure they were younger than him at least. But, he supposed, in the end it didn’t matter. Not considering… Everything… That this meant. He wondered how he was supposed to interact with this… This being. This thing that was talking to him, because apparently his strings weren’t as gone as he tricked himself into believing. He hated that he was right. The feelings before, the momental losses of control, half of the entirety of today blipping in and out again. He never cut his strings, did he? He merely surrendered himself to a new master.

“Whoa, Spamton, there’s no need to panic!” The SOUL buzzed, glowing a little brighter. “Relax! I’m a nice person! I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” 

Oh, good, because that made it so much better. NOT. 

“Well, right now. Ooo, how fun will that be to do later! I’m curious, this is a different time than before! So many new things! You can talk. I can talk! Not just a few words either. Though, that ad thing is annoying… Worth it.”

What?! Did that all mean?!? It was enough to throw his current downward spiral to a different stairwell of spiral. Wonderful, he can dual-wield panic attacks. Spamton scratched at his hands, squinting at the SOUL with his mouth twitching down. Oh, he just noticed he wasn’t smiling this whole time. He tried to but ended up with a crooked grimace instead. “What? EHAHA! You're pulling my leg!”

The SOUL chuckled right back. “Heh heh! Why would I be joking? Imagine what we could do together! New experiences, new responses… And someone new with different abilities, who can talk… Who I can really talk through… Why wouldn’t I try everything, including attacking too?”

“You—” A terrible image came to mind. Why did he still care? “You wouldn't hurt little old me, right?”

“Oh no, no, no. Of course not!”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re my vessel! I wouldn’t want to reset.”

Perhaps he sighed too soon.

“Anyway! You need to go!” The SOUL started to push him (How???) towards the ‘continue’ prompt. “You don’t want to actually die, do you? Go little mailman, you got this!”

And before Spamton could question them further— What did he get? What is this place? Was he supposed to be doing something? Were they going to make him— he was shoved at the ‘continue’ button. Barely catching himself with his hands, he almost smacked his face on it! His vision flashbanged with white.

…

…

…

He woke up.

Or rather, he rapidly blinked and the void with the SOUL was just gone. His vision was replaced with darkness and— Spam with wide eyed shock, glasses slipping down a long beak-like nose and a large, glowing bright pink and yellow gun poking at his face.

"Eht..." An odd noise squeaked out of Spamton's throat. "[E]"

"...WhaT? WhERe..." He blinked one eyelid at a time as he tried to banish the vertigo clinging to him. There was ringing in his head. He dismissed his hand cannon, releasing its power-up energy like fireflies splitting away from the end. His wings opened, pulled him, and he fell back on his tail. He winced at the sting of pain. His eyes flicked over to Spam who stood with his back against the door and his mouth agape at him. 

Gathering himself was extremely difficult. He could feel things. It all contrasted so much to the void he was in before. To his life before NEO. Before the SOUL. His shoes, his pants, his sleeves, the floor... So, so many textures and, and— [[Oh Great Heavens]], how did he ever deal with this when he was younger?! His fur was matted under his too tight sleeves. He could feel each individual strand making up the pants he wore! He whined and dug his new metal claws into his legs, tearing the fabric and drawing blood. His wings flared wide and hit the ceiling, carving lines in the ceiling through the already broken lights. Twinges of pain traveled down the new limbs. Spamton fell against a wall glitching. It was already too late to completely stop his meltdown. He tore at his scalp in a horrid attempt to ground himself from panicking more than he already was. Spamton curled in on himself, his colourful wings clumsily attempting to shroud him. He was much too big and bright to hide. He could feel something ticklish building in his throat, forcing its way past his lips. His laughter was maniacal and echoed in the room.

What was this?! What the hell was happening?! There's so much going on! It hurt, it hurt so much. This never happened the last time, at least he didn't think so. His body shorted out and distorted. He had been so hyperfocused on Kris and their SOUL, he couldn't think about anything else. He wasn't even sure if he could talk anymore, he had no tongue! How the hell did he talk without a tongue?! Wait. He sorta spoke earlier, didn't he? 

His glitching settled just enough for him to try to focus his vision. Yellow and pink beams searched in the darkness. Something to pull him back to reality, beyond the sting in his leg and the oily blood dripping down his head. There would be only one visible thing in the dark room. The glow of an addison would make him stand out harshly, maybe pierce the static. Spamton’s own glow barely existed anymore due to his own poor health. It had gotten brighter, the longer he was in 1997.

The door was open. He was alone. He wheezed through another laugh.

“...Spamton… …Robot…” He could faintly hear through the static and ringing echoing in his mind.

[[!@?#]].

“[[Injured? Bet on it!]]” He voiced instead to his immense displeasure. Heavy glitches tore him apart and put him back together again. A grinding noise emitted from his throat like a growl, his body coiling up like a wind-up toy. His feathers and fur fluffed up. A voice was clear soon enough. Static partially obscured his vision, overtaking his glasses. “Why would there be a— GIANT ROBOT?!”

Spamton sprung.

His claws dug into the floor, his hands far larger than Orange. Beneath his massive paws was an addison. He assumed that's what the vibrant orange shape was through the haze. Just enough pressure to ache but nothing more. The orange glow flickered and squeaked. They were familiar. But he. Wasn’t. Sure. Something smacked the side of his face hard enough to jerk his head over, cutting out his laughing fit. Loose hair and drops of blood spilt on the ground. A flat ad for shoes popped out of existence.

“Holy shit. Spamton?” Binx’s voice came from his left. Spamton turned towards the voice, seeing a blue one.

“BINX [My Old Buddy, My Old Pal]!! HAEAHA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?? I CAN’T SEE A DAMN THING.” He boomed, lifting his head. Everything looked unreal and so blurry. He wanted to see what Binx looked like… But everything was static. Tearing through the floor anxiously, he felt a glitch run through him. He let his brother answer.

“What am I… Spamton, we came here with you. You were just showing off!” Binx had a tone he couldn't place. Spamton only saw a moving colourful thing. He shook his head erratically. His vision cleared a little, letting him beat back the bad deals he was imagining. Binx was… Glaring at him?

“I. SEE.” He carefully said, you know, like a liar. He looked down. Oops. That was Oakley below him, though he couldn’t read her expression. He stood back up on two but hit his head on the ceiling, ow. He clutched his head. Right. Of course.

“What… The fuck is happening?” Binx enunciated each word with frustration. He took a deep breath in and put his hands on his hips. He continued with that certain tone before Spamton could answer, “What is this, Spamton Addison Gradient? What are you doing turning into a giant robot and attacking your older sister? You better explain this right now.”

Oh, swearing, full name, and everything? Not the right one, but he could place that tone now. He was in so much trouble. “I I I DIDNNN;T RECOGNISE HER!! MY [50% Off Prescriptions] ARE” Another glitch tore through his head, cutting him off. He squished his head to contain it and the countdown dinging he heard. He was quite exhausted from all this bugging out he had. “[Could] BARELY SEE.”

“That does not explain the robot part of this situation.” The blue addison gestured to all of him. “Is there anything else you’re hiding like this? I would like to know for future possibilities.”

“He has a lightner’s SOUL. I found out, yesterday morning.” Spam brought up, alerting Spamton to his returned presence. How cruel, to share the fact that he was totally planning on telling them all about later. WHAT, no, he wasn’t lying again! Shut up.

“WHAT?” Dual voices rung out.

“WELL. YOU SEE.” He started to sweat, “[[Sweet Deals And More!]]! [It] SPOKE TO ME. I SAID [You, too, can be a Big Shot™!] BUT [[Don’t Touch That Dial]] SO THAT [[Little Sponge]] GAVE ME THEIR [Word] AND [[Power of NEO]]. THE [[HeartShapedObject]] WAS [The Bonus Round!!!]! IT WAS SIMPLE DEALS, DELICIOUS DEALS! hOW DID YOU THINK. I GOT HERE?”

Very inconveniently, a different sort of distortion ripped through him. He felt himself fall apart and then— he screamed as he fell down reassembled. Face first. He pushed himself up with one arm, his glasses frame bent crooked. Looks like his time as NEO was currently up. Of course, why not.

“[Time’s Up Contestants!]” The loss of sensation in his limbs lingered like a bitter after taste. At least he wasn’t as dizzy anymore.

“You destroyed the entire room.” He looked up to Oakley, who hovered over him unreadable. Their eyes were open and their blue irises pierced through the darkness encroaching around her glow. Despite himself, fear sent a chill through him. He didn’t want to lose her to his own stupidity too.

“WAIT!” Spamton quickly thought. “HEAR THOSE [Balloons]?? I WILL G1VE YoU A [[Brand New Car]] DEAL!! YOU ALREADY [Giftbox] M E CLOTHES. I HAVE LOTS OF [Kromer], I CAN [Pay] FOR.!”

Words failing him, he gestured to the whole of the room. Oakley stared at him. A beat, then another. Oakley offered her hand to him. He paused at it, adjusting his glasses. He took the offered hand and was yanked up ruthlessly onto his feet. He probably deserved that…

“I'll let you do that,” She started. “if you can explain. Trust hinges on both ends, Spamton. I get you're troubled with your words. But. You randomly show up on a Friday, bringing confusion to our family. We just want an explanation. A proper one. Do you agree with that deal?”

“DEAL!” He shook her hand. “CAN WE DO THIS WITH [Happy Hour 75% Off]? MY TREAT! I KNOW A [[Great Bargains]] PLACE.”

“Maybe another day.” Oakley hummed and forced him to release their hand. “I have wine. We’ll all talk over a glass?”

“I’m not 21.” Spam said.

“[[Shut Your Trap]]!!” Spamton laughed jittery, like Spam told the funniest joke. “AGE IS MEANINGLESS! LET’S [[Party Hardy]] IN HELL!!!”

Binx sighed. “...Fine.” He left the room first. “I am going to want something for this conversation as well.”

Spam followed him out towards the stairs to head up to the house part of the shop. Oakley and him lingered in the room for a bit longer. 

“Spamton.” He looked at her. “Don’t think this means you get out of modeling clothes for me.”

When did he agree to that? Urgh, whatever, he wasn’t in a position to argue right now. He could deal with playing dress-up with Oakley again. “RIGHT.”

They followed the two upstairs.

Upstairs, Oakley’s home was much more modest compared to her store below. It was the same layout as the rooms below— though with different purposes— with an open floor plan for the kitchen and living room. Really, the rest of the house was just as uninteresting. Unless you count photos, but it wasn't worth snooping in a place he knew well. He didn't need to see more old memories. What he needed was a very, very tall glass of alcohol. Which he got after some haggling with Oakley and discussing the price of a good wine. The whole bottle, in fact. Score. Of course, he was designated drink pourer, and topped everyone off very nicely to the top. Images of the past flickered in his mind. He use to do a little bit of bar-tending with an old friend back in the day… Pretty soon, he had downed half the entire bottle before the others even took a sip of their glasses. A hangover regret was something he barely considered, considering the whole of the last… 30 minutes? An hour? Regardless, he definitely wanted to forget for a while, even if he's going to be interrogated. As a little bonus, his tics usually lessened under the influence due to him being less anxious. Which was part of the laundry list of reasons he asked for alcohol.

Unfortunately, he'd always been a lightweight. By the time his family decided to ask any questions, he was warm and had totally forgotten where and when he was. Maybe that was on purpose, he wouldn’t really ever know. He wasn’t the one to take note of it, after all. But enough about that.

“I [Use] TO BE ON TOP OF THE W0RLD! A BIG SHOT!” He crowed at his siblings. A crooked smile plastered on his face, “DID YOU KNOW THAT?”

“Oh, yes. You had mentioned it a few times before…” Binx sipped their glass.

Spamton gasped and shook his hands rapidly, “YESSSS, I DID! I DID, YES. I KNEW I COULD COUNT ON YOU [Blue-Bird]! YOU’RE THE BEST [[Family Matters]]!!”

“Hey, Spamton.” Some white addison like him caught his attention. Wait, no, that was him. Or something like that? He did quite like him so was humouring his presence anyway. “Do you remember what we were going to talk about?”

He hummed. Paused. Then hummed again, tasting the feeling. “ERM… [On Standby… Loading…].” He searched through his memory files until he found, “[We just want an explanation.]?”

“You can do that? Oh, Yael’s going to love you.” Oakley chuckled to his right.

“HUH? OH, YEAH! YEAH? YEAH.” He blinked stupidly. “DOESN’T HE ALREADY?”

The three sitting with him whispered to each other in a hush, leaving him feeling separate. He glanced between them. What were they talking about? Their responses were unclear to him, noises he didn’t really comprehend. His stomach twisted, an emotion he either couldn’t or didn’t want to dissect for a name. He hummed a familiar song to himself. Something from, fresh from? Fresh juice shoese! He couldn't recall it right.

“We actually wanted to talk about some things related to that.” Binx gently patted his shoulder. Spamton leaned into the feeling, his smile growing just a little wider.

“[[Shoot!]]!”

“That robot form you were in—”

“NEO!!!!” He interrupted. “[The Smooth Taste Of] NEO!”

“Right, neo.”

“NEO!!”

“...Alright, why were you NEO?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” He had an even better question. “WHY WASN’T I NEO?! IT WAS [Heaven]!! I WAS NEO BEFORE [here]..... WHY WASN’T I NEO AFTER?”

“You were ‘before’?”

“YEAH, BEFORE! It WAS THE LAST THING I DID BEFORE I [Killing It Out There],” He cut himself off. Did he really want to finish it, to their faces? “BEFORE I CAME BACK. IN TIME. I WAS [[BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER]]! I WOKE UP NORMAL.”

“Hmm. I wouldn't know anything about that. Maybe Queen would… So… Let's see if we can sort all this out.” Oakley passed something over to Binx. When did he get a notepad? Wait, that's what Oakley just passed over. Spamton wasn't really paying attention, his thoughts pleasant and very empty. Static ping ponging in his mind. “You have frequent panic attacks, don't remember some events after they happen, can turn into a giant robot for some reason you keep avoiding, and have a lightner's SOUL.”

“I'M NOT AVOIDING.”

“Plus, you somehow time traveled to stop a phone call from making you rich and famous…”

“He said he accidentally broke Pascal's nose, and keeps implying he had some sort of fallout with you guys. Like, hasn't seen— Hasn't seen you guys in decades kind of fallout. I think it's related to the Pascal thing.” Spam added onto the verbal list. 

“Right… Violent tendencies? Considering how he showed up.” 

Spamton watched Binx scribble that down too. He supposed it was a good idea to make a list, he had no clue what he's said and what he thought he said. Spamton fidgeted in his seat, his tail flicking behind him.

“I. DON'T. I Don't…” Spamton cringed best he could. Violent tendencies… Couldn't be more true. Why was it so much harder to talk about his misdeeds to his family compared to some kid he briefly used to know?

That's rough, Spamton! But, you should be honest. No more secrets. We can fix it if it goes wrong!

Spamton felt a bit of warm comfort at the thought. Yeah… Yeah, he supposed so. “I [[Killed]] FOR NEO. AND, THE [HeartShapedObject].”

The scratching of a pen stopped. Cyber City wasn't a particularly quiet place, such busy cities rarely were. Somehow, though, it felt like all sound was sucked out of the room, even sound beyond it.

“...You. Killed for the robot and SOUL?”

Spamton snatched up and drank the rest of the wine bottle. This was going to be a long night of explanations.

Chapter Text

Yael was a busy as hell addison, constantly on the move. Picking up odd jobs to work on in between projects, checking online forums to see if anyone had good offers, overnight stocking, scheduling meet-ups for deals, working his electronics store, deleting accounts when certain deals fall through, having to cover his tracks so it didn’t follow him home… Point was, Yael was a fixer. He was willing to work on anything, even elusive electronics that required some more… Less than legal tactics to acquire discontinued parts for. In all that, he somehow managed to set up Fridays as his one guaranteed day off. Now imagine his surprise when, of all darkners, Spamton and Binx are the late ones. The ones with the most stable jobs and least hours, late? Wild, really. Especially Spamton, the little runt was punctual as hell.

Let’s just say, it was a disturbing way to learn time travel is real. His dorky little brother was the one from the future and he was royally fucked up. Unfortunately, he was able to recognise his brother anywhere and saw far too many similarities in the creep from last week. His laughter was the first clue, that crazy ass tic thing Spamton dealt with. First thing the suspicious addison did was laugh like a maniac, just like his brother did. And then he immediately apologised for it after, just like Spam— albeit in a weirdass way. Of course, he wasn’t too sure at first it really was him. The most obvious thing about his little brother after his fur colour was that kooky laugh, so of course an imposter would copy that. Pascal went about it the wrong way, but they were right that Spamton’s offers of help were getting ridiculous. But then again, the guy knew his name without any of them saying theirs. Little weird. Creepy, if it was stalking instead of time travel. What was it that could twist his brother into… Whoever that guy was?

Binx and Yael frequently kept in touch via email. He received one cc'ing everyone saying that this week’s meet-up was at his house. What a good idea. There weren’t many cheap, non-fancy restaurants they could all go to. Cyber Grill was good enough that the cheapness wasn't noticeable beyond their pockets. He was unsurprised to learn ‘future Spamton’ had been staying with Binx and Spamton since Friday night. He had been wondering about him the whole week, distracting him from his sales. The dude showed up and disappeared hella explosively, it was hard not to think about it. He tossed his pjs for a t-shirt and jeans.

The first thing that happened when he got to Binx’s house was being handed what looked like a ransom note. Or an IOU. Either way, not a great sign. Then he’d noticed it was labeled ‘Spamton G. Spamton:’ on the front, the name the (maybe) time traveler said. Binx gestured between the door and Yael. Hm? What was he being so dodgy for? They headed inside.

“What’s this?” He asked as he unfolded the paper once the front door closed. Why wouldn’t he just have attached it to the email? There was a bunch of stuff written neatly in a list. Neat meant this wasn’t the first version. Binx had a nasty natural handwriting style, favouring speed over style. He skimmed over it. Just the first words to get a gist. Immediately he was baffled by the contents. Lightner’s SOUL? Giant robot form?? Almost got married?!

“Last Sunday at Oakley’s, we all asked Spamton a bunch of questions over wine.” He looked up at Binx, who wore a black sweater and green pants. Yael felt like there was a fucking ton of information missing. Like, several events. Spamton wasn’t even the legal age to drink yet. That was supposed to be their thing together this year! He'd argued with Pascal over it for weeks. Yael had a whole Halloween party planned and everything. Damnit, he’ll still go through with it. It just won’t be as fun knowing Binx or Oakley got him alcohol first. “I made copies for you and Pascal to catch you both up on the situation with Spamton Senior.”

“Is that what we’re calling him?” If Binx was so sure about the truth of the matter, Yael supposed he was going to trust his judgement this time. Binx was older than him, and spent a week living with the guy. He looked back at the note, reading a little more thoroughly. 

Violent tendencies during panic attacks were pretty concerning, not gonna lie. He has a gun? With the panic attacks? All of that with what he's done so far (according to the list), it's like he's a step away from doing something dangerous. These sort of combos never go well together. …Oh. He murdered some lightner in the future. Which is how he time traveled. Apparently. So, he is dangerous. Binx was trusting this guy not to fuck up worse? What the fuck happened? It wasn't even a full weekend if Binx wrote this on Sunday!

“For now, yes. That's what we were thinking of putting down… Would you be willing to help with that?”

So that's why he didn't email this note to him and has been so weirdly hush-hush-y. Yael was the fixer, after all. Well, he didn't owe the old guy (Spamton??) anything but he was willing to do a favour for his brother. He also owed Binx for bailing him out of a really awkward black market sale that fell through on New Year’s— Long story. Let's just say, Yael is not going home anytime soon. He'd been staying with Oakley most of the week, when he’s not at work. “I can this weekend, and get them to you by Monday. Just don’t let him go anywhere official, ya know.”

“I doubt he’s going anywhere. He pretty much holed himself in the guest room after Sunday.” Binx exaggerated a cringe face. “I’ll tell you more when Pascal gets here. I don't want to repeat it, nor do I know how they're going to react. Considering last Friday. Thank you for being so calm about this.”

“Hey, of course man! We’re family, we stick together! Right?” Yael grinned sharply, “I might have a little talk with the guy— Spamton before anything though. You said he's in the guest room usually?”

“In the art room now. He still likes to paint. Just… Don't freak out.” Binx sighed and gestured down the hall. Freak out? He started towards the kitchen, “Pascal said they'd be here soon, and Oakley said around 6:30. I'm making burgers.”

“Thanks, Binx!” Yael waved him off. He took his shoes off by the door then  headed down the hallway.

The art room's door was closed when he got to it, a piece of A4 white paper nailed in at the top. Printed on it was a box containing the monospace text ‘Please Knock Before Entering’, and below that was nearly illegible handwriting saying, ‘[OR ELSE]’. It looked like Spamton's handwriting, but somehow worse. Probably the other one, then. Yael wasn’t an asshole, he did knock first before entering after a minute or two. 

So, Yael only just read about the giant robot thing. He never expected to see it. Maybe eventually with brotherly harassment to convince Spam Sr to show him. The art room always opened up to the painter, someone at the desk, or something being put up on the shelf. Usually that person was Spamton (Junior? No, just Spamton). By all technicalities, he supposed it was still right since a huge ass version was in there. 

The robot had white hair in a ponytail, contrastingly colourful feathered wings, with a black cropped sweater and white shorts on. He took up the entire center of the room, hunched over in an awkward semi-squat— instead of the many other easier ways to sit despite his size, like criss cross, or literally anything other than the wild-animal-esque posture. It was creepy. His head lingered over the easel canvas with a downward tilt, colourful glasses unable to hide his eyes due to the angle. They were wide open, intensely focused on the canvas. 

“Hey, Spamton yeah?” He started with a wave. “What’s up?”

Somehow, despite knocking, Yael must’ve still startled the guy. He tensed up with some sort of freaky distortion running across him. The glitch jerked his hand holding a paint brush across the canvas, seemingly unintentionally. The machine growled out a huff of steam between his teeth. In a colourful pixelated poof he shrunk down into a replica without the robot features, in favour of the much more cleaned up doll-like appearance from before. Still with a ponytail of white hair. His clothing fit loosely correct and no longer appeared cropped. He was a life sized toy of Spamton. The prosthetics were probably why. He was still a little creepy, to be honest. Yael didn’t really think much of his appearance at the Cyber Grill. Several more questions crossed his mind now but Yael decided to shelf them for later. He had an idea. Hopefully Spam Sr was still a gambling man.

“H EY HEY! YA3L!” Spam Sr barked with laughter. He was the same height as Yael, shockingly enough. He never got a chance to stand next to him. He’d been sitting while Spam Sr was at the Grill. It made the glasses face him directly, which was somehow more unnerving. Yael decided to try not to dwell on all of the cryptid vibes Spamton Sr was practically radiating. For his own sake, not Spam Sr’s.

“What were ya painting?” If he was anything like Spamton… 

Spam Sr jumped forward to the easel, pulling it towards Yael. He enthusiastically waved his hands at the marred canvas above them, his paint brush throwing more dots across it, “[Heaven]!!! BUT. I [Ruin]ed it…”

Whatever was painted before was smeared diagonally with a harsh red across the right side. The background was a deep blue, with a yellowish grassy field below it and what looked like orange trees on the side. Beneath the red smear, he could see some sort of yellow blob in the corner. It really wasn’t too badly ruined, though he didn’t know how long Spam Sr had been working on it. Maybe it was supposed to be done already.

“Awe, well, it doesn’t look too bad. Could always redo it.”

“[No Can Do!] I ALLLLLLREEEAHH—” Spam Sr seemed to stall out, colourful glitches picking him apart like a carcass that never died. Binx’s voice floated into his mind, Don't freak out. Was it this or the robot thing he meant? What can he say, Yael was pretty sure he was a horror movie in the wrong genre. Actually, that was a pretty sick thought. Grotesque to watch. “ALREADY. LOST. NEO. TODAY. [[No returns!]]”

“Alright then?” Spam Sr wasn’t glitching like that at the Grill. …Or maybe he’d been hiding it. “Just so you know, Pascal’s going to be here pretty soon. They’ll try to be all scary on you, I bet. Wanna come find me for a card game or something afterwards? Just until we all play Monopoly or whatever after dinner.”

“[Shoreline Resort]!” Yael was hoping that was a yes. Either way, Spam Sr turned back to his easel and moved it back to its original position. Guess business was done. 

“Cool.” Yael decided to leave, 180ing right out of the room. He needed to process that whole ordeal. Whatever that just happened.

He walked by Pascal rushing past with a very murderous expression. It was all he caught sight of. Yeah, that was probably fine. Spam Sr could turn into a giant robot… Fuck, he hoped they didn’t get murdered instead. He didn't manage to say a word anyway from how fast Pascal was going.

It was his sibling duty to make sure Pascal would be okay, that Spam Sr was still a stranger. 45 was more than double Spamton's age, and that was long enough to become what was obviously a very different person. It was his personal bias that said they'd probably be okay, considering Spam Sr was their future little brother. Spamton. Who constantly got into arguments with Pascal over stupid shit. Who has thrown a remote at Pascal before. Because they're both hot heads.

…

Yael turned back around.

He was just going to snoop, he told himself. Just snooping, he wasn't actually concerned, he was sure Spam Sr was at least trustworthy enough to not kill his sibling. He hadn't killed anyone yet! The line from the note about killing a lightner crossed his mind very unhelpfully. That was different (hopefully). 

He's snooped near the art room before, and knew that he'd only be able to linger by the corner before the room. Not the best for hearing all words if they whispered, but good enough he could catch tones and flee without getting caught. Plus, he was pretty sure there wasn’t going to be whispering.

“...Ever catch you… Your fucking head…” 

That was Pascal alright.

“YOU DRIVE A [Easy Payments of $9.99]!!” The yell of Spam Sr echoed down the hall. How did he do that voice thing? Yael inched closer to hear Pascal’s response.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“N OTH1NG, I [Agree to Terms and Conditions].” 

“You’d better. I don’t know what you’re pulling, but none of us need this shit right now. You hear? We’ve got enough problems right now without your… Freaky, sketchy shit.”

“PASCAL BELIEVE IT OR          ! I’M AN [HonestMan] HERE TO HELP, NOT [[Hyperlink Blocked]]. I WOuld— I W0ULD NEVER [Hurts So Good!] YO U GUY5!”

Shit, he heard someone coming to the door. Better skedaddle. He scampered off as quietly as he could. He would take off running but then he’d be caught.

Binx was still in the kitchen. He was slicing potatoes on a chopping board, his tail swaying while he hummed to himself. A baking sheet with round patties sat on the counter next to him, the oven preheating for them. Binx enjoyed cooking, really the only one of the five that actually did. He didn't make extravagant things. Though, he was learning how to bake and shape cakes from Pascal. Baking was their bonding thing. He liked to joke that one day he was going to make edible shoe samples just to mess with customers. Yael thought that idea was hilarious.

“Heeeey—” Yael drawled as he plopped down on one of the couches. He snatched up the TV remote, flicking it on. He shuffled through the channels. News, ad channel, gameshow, news, new gameshow ad, cartoons, aha! Movie channel. It was the credits from whatever last played. “You need any help over there Binx?”

“Definitely not from you. You have the worst timing, I'm almost done.”

Yael cackled at the jab. Yeah, I expected that. He was a terrible cook, really. He'd be more likely to set the place on fire. He always offered anyway.

“Fair, fair. So, outside the existential dread, how’s it been living with Spam Sr? He a good roommate?”

Binx huffed. The knife’s chopping sound grew louder, the wielder slicing down on the potatoes heavier than necessary. Sheesh, that bad? “It’s definitely something… He’s not that bad of a roommate, really, keeps to himself and all. Cleans up after his messes… Don’t tell this to either one of them, but he’s just a little annoying.”

“Dang, annoying? Our brother, Spamton? Can’t imagine.”

“Not like he is— was? Not in a way like Spamton. It’s a different kind of annoying.”

On the tv, some kind of mediocre movie intro played, introducing itself as ‘Tornado!’. Should be interesting enough to not need to pay attention. “That’s not vague or anything.”

“Agh, it’s just how much more vague he is!” Binx went off, finishing up chopping the potatoes rather aggressively and dumping them onto another baking sheet. He set his knife down on the counter near the sink, “He is an evasive little prick, constantly saying things without saying a thing. He offers deals to try and help with things that are just fine, butts into conversations, and for some reason he’s been trying to convince me and Spamton to come to the Queen’s Mansion, but,” He waved his hands, “conveniently forgets about it later when asked why. I just don’t get it. So, yes, he’s annoying sometimes and likely going to give me gray fur early. But, he’s not a terrible roommate.”

Yael leaned further back against the couch to offer Binx a sympathetic grimace of a smile, “Sounds frustrating.”

“It’s only been a week.” He sighed back, walking away probably to check if the oven was preheated. It must be, since Yael heard him open it to put something in. He couldn't see the oven well from the couch. “I’m sure it will all settle down. He’s been less erratic as the days go on. I imagine being homeless in the trash zone is part of why he acts how he does.”

Right, Yael forgot the note mentioned Spam Sr was homeless. It was written like an afterthought. “In the dump? Huh? Why was he there?”

“I genuinely don't know why. Spamton brought up the idea that he was too prideful to ask for help.”

“Hm.” Though Spamton was a pretty prideful person— the previously mentioned remote toss was due to losing a non-competitive video game of all things— Yael never imagined Spamton of all addisons to fall to his pride. He was a little prideful, sure, but not ‘let myself waste away in the garbage’ prideful, right? But, then again, considering the very little he knew about Spam Sr… Well, getting rich is usually how pride grows or whatever the hell. 

Then another option crossed his mind, the movie giving inspiration.

“What if we're all dead or something?”

Binx sputtered, looping around the kitchen counters seemingly just to glare at him, “Don't suggest that!”

“It's a valid possibility!” Yael floundered at him, the remote in his hand flinging out onto the couch cushion beside him. He paused to glance at it. Oops. “Unless we ask him, we don't actually know we're all still alive in the future. Maybe we are. Maybe we all got in an accident or multiple. We don't know shit, for all we know he came back to stop the apocalypse or something!”

“I doubt that. He would have said something like that.”

“You said it yourself, he's evasive. Would you if you came back to stop the apocalypse?”

“Well…” Binx turned away, hiding himself back in the kitchen behind the counters. Binx grabbed salt to be shaken on the potatoes. Soon to be delicious fries. “Depends, I suppose.”

“That’s not a no. So if even you might keep it a secret, why wouldn't Mr.Evasive? Boom. Possible apocalypse. Maybe he's actually a wasteland survivor."

“We still have no idea if that's true.”

“Eh, semantics. Speaking of Spamton, where even—”

Someone knocked on the front door. Yael looks to see, yep. 06:29 on the shelf clock. His question could wait a sec.

“I got it. You can keep doing whatever you're doing.” He jumps up off the couch to open the door for Oakley. Binx chuckled behind him.

Oakley on the other side was wearing a pretty, blue dress today, very fetching. Cool, all of them were here now. He gave her finger guns as she came in. “Hey! Look who's shown! Good to see you here on time.”

“I'm never late during visits.” Oakley gave him a side eye as she passed him.

“Yeah, that’s the— Nevermind.” He dropped his hands, rolling his eyes with a sigh. 

That was when the rest of everyone, besides Binx, decided to join in the living room. Spamton down from the stairs, Pascal and Spam Sr coming down the hall. Spam Sr split away to sit in the dining room.

“I call the first game pick!” Pascal yelled out, followed by a delayed Spamton, “Wait, wait, no! I already called that earlier! You can't just take it!”

“Too late, already did.”

“Well, too bad! I already have a game in hand.” Spamton smirked and pulled from his sleeve, Uno.

“Goddamnit.” Pascal tsked and crossed their arms as they flopped down on the couch.

“Uh, not it.” Yael waved the two off. “I already was going to play something with Spam Sr over there.”

“I'll join in Uno. I'll steamroll you two.” Oakley sat down on the adjacent couch, joined by Spamton on the floor across from Pascal. He started to deal out the deck between the three of them.

“Binx? Wanna join?” Spamton offered.

“I am still busy. The food won't cook itself, you know.”

“Ehaha, fair! Alright, we'll go from youngest to oldest.”

“Cheater.”

“You're just mad you'll always be in the middle.”

Yael walked away to the dining room, pulling out a standard card deck. Their bickering faded out of his hearing range. He sat down in a chair across from Spam Sr, taking the cards out of the deck. He shuffled the deck, once, twice, three times. “Want to play poker? It doesn't have to be a money game, we can trade information. Loser of 3 rounds spills the last things going on in his month?”

It was a pretty big starter bet, he knew. Go big or go home! They really only had time for one round anyway. Spam Sr eyed him warily for a moment. “...NO.”

Wait, really? He hoped that would have work. Placing down the deck in the middle of the table, he leaned back in his chair. “Why not?”

“I DON'T KNOW HOW TO [Click Here For 10 Free Games To Play!].”

“I thought you would have learnt Poker from being some sort of big shot.”

“EHAHAHAEH! YOU AND EV3RYONE ELSE! NO. I CAN;T PLAY.” Spam Sr's head jerked left and right with his laughter as he fidgeted in his seat. That was kind of sad, Yael figured. Poker was a great game.

“I could show you.” He offered, taking out some chips. “I was thinking about taking Spamton to learn at a casino after his birthday… Did I not do that with you?”

“I WAS TOO [[Busy Making Money!!]].”

“Well, I'll show you the basics now and next week we can play.”

“[Sounds Like A Deal]!”

Soon enough, dinner had been finished. Yael managed to get Spam Sr to learn at least the ways to win. He kept getting tripped up on how the turns worked for some reason. 

The burger and fries Binx made were delicious. After eating, despite the rough start to the evening, monopoly went great. Everyone had jokingly groaned in annoyance when Yael pulled it out of his hammerspace— he grabbed it from under the stairs earlier. Despite this, the Gradient family was competitive as fuck and half the group was predictably drawn into an argument. Oakley ended up winning, the stinker.

All in all, it was a fun end to the night before they one by one headed to bed. Some of them had work to do tomorrow.