Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

…. Are you sure about this?

"I’m as sure as I can be."

It’s going to hurt. A lot. Your current body has to fundamentally change-

"Yes, yes, I know!"

Apparently you don’t! LISTEN to me. …You’re going to have to fundamentally change. You won’t just be an email Addison anymore. 

"Right. ….I’ll be an actual Advertisement."

There’s no guarantee this works. I’m just assuming it will. 

"You’re frikking GOD! Anything you assume has to be real!"

I suppose you’re right. But even I am not fully aware of this world’s rules. It’s all guesswork at this point.

"Okay. But you’re still a smart guy. A smart Lightener at that!"

Flattery may get you everywhere, little Postman, but try not to oversell yourself. 

"Right, sorry! … I’m not afraid of it hurting."

You should be.

"It didn’t hurt that much when you tried altering my code."

No, but it also didn’t work. All we got out of that was the little angels. 

"They’re pretty cute, you know."

Oh I do. …Because altering you through code didn’t work, I’m hoping that altering your physical body will yield different results. Since this world is limited to my knowledge and imagination, I can translate your physical form into a doll. 

"And from there, actually change me. With any luck you and I have left, it’ll work, and I’ll come back to the Dark World looking better than ever!"

…I don’t want to make you a puppet. I’ve been there. It’s unnerving at best. 

"It’s not forever. Just until I make it big! Then you give me my–"

And I will! Just keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll do mine. 

"…You said this is how I can go to any Dark World." 

Correct. 

"Then I’ll do it." 

…. It’s going to take a few days. Possibly weeks. You’ll be conscious through most of it. And I can’t help you through it because you’ll just be… Well. No different than the jack-in-the-box or the cat stuffie. 

"…Can I still talk afterwards?"

Yes. 

"Once this is done, will I be able to move without petrifying in a few hours?"

Yes. 

"Will I still be your favorite?"

….Postman, it’ll take more than this to change my opinion about you. I’d argue I wouldn’t give this much attention to someone I didn’t like.

"Then… Let’s do it."

Alright. 

Gaster put the phone down, and closed his eyes. It was so easy to visualize his little character- downright second nature at this point- and he could feel the weight settle into his right hand. He let his eyes slide open, and he lifted his hand. 

Sure enough… There he was. A downright average Addison in the shape of a doll. Specifically a ball-jointed doll that was barely 15 inches tall. It was similar to his Human High dolls that he liked working with, except not as lanky. It was pure white, with a happy expression painted on a sharp face and punctuated by red cheeks. The hair was also white, and fluffed up like he was in a glamour rock band. The clothes weren’t too garish, just a simple black sleeved shirt and lime green slacks, and tiny white slip-on loafers. 

“How curious…” It really was amazing this had worked. Simply imagining a Darkener into a form other than its original had worked. Either the power of Imagination was stronger than he ever expected, or there were other powers at play here. 

He lifted the arms and rotated the joints, finding the action smooth. The head rotated easily, and a gentle squeeze confirmed it was vinyl. The legs moved just as well, and he was pleased to realize that the doll had waist articulation. He brought the doll closer, noticing the luminescence under the plastic skin. “Okay. No acetone baths for you, then. Don’t want to ruin that fun effect.” Out of habit, he rubbed a thumb against the face, smudging a bit of dirt. “Still. Need to redo your face.” And that smile. It was charming in its own way, but Spamton had lost too many sales and was suffering as a result. He walked to his desk, carefully plopping down in his chair and pulling himself to his work desk. Without a second thought, he bent the legs into a sitting position and balanced the little doll on the edge of a forgotten mug. No sooner had he reached for a notebook did the little doll topple over, faceplanting onto his table. “Angel’s Sake! I just put you down!” Such a pitiful little thing. 

….Right. Spamton was just a “thing” right now. Hopefully he’d stay that way during this process. It was sheer luck that he found the one Darkener who could understand him. Hell, it was even better that it was the same one who he actually liked as a character. 

….Hopefully this wouldn’t hurt him.

Gaster let out a little sigh, unaware he’d even held his breath at first. He opened his notebook, thumbing through a few pages before he found the right one. “Best to get started before either of us lose our nerve, huh?” Reaching over, he plucked the doll up and turned it over. “Just remember: you said ‘yes’. I can’t stop now, or you can never come back.” The doll’s frozen face just stared past him. “...Right. I’m talking to a doll like you can actually respond. I really must be crazy at this point.” He could easily imagine the responses that Spamton could give right then, but he shook his head. “Never you mind. Let’s get to work.” 

First things first: he had to prep the body.

This… 

This was not what he ever imagined. 

Somehow, when [Hyperlink Blocked] described this process, he was assuming it would be more like that movie the Lighteners liked. “Life of Toys”. 

So far? He was only half right. He was smaller than he’d ever been, and it was obvious he was a puppet. The way his joints were manipulated was…Angel above, it was hard to explain. His vision wasn’t the greatest, and somehow it was even worse now. All he could see was a darker than dark room, then blinding brightness of some Light. But while it was dark, he was poked and prodded. It was like the worst version of Germenses measuring him for clothes, the feeling amplified to terrifying because of how large the hands were and how unyielding they were. Even Tenna couldn't get this big! The thumb against his face was nearly half the width of his head! Then there was Light, and he could see [Hyperlink Blocked]. 

Holy SHIT he was HUGE. The Light gleamed off what counted as a face, but he couldn’t see any eyes. Maybe they were there, but the sensations were just so overwhelming! He could feel and see everything, and there was no way to filter any of it! The voice seemed to mimic both a hiccupping dial tone and a tired professor at the same time, and it was so LOUD. It rattled the inside of his head, and he couldn’t even fix it!

Within a minute, he was manipulated into a sitting position and balanced on… Okay, he wasn’t sure what. But his legs weren’t bent just right, his balance was skewed just a little too much, and he fell forward. 

And it HURT. He couldn’t pull his arms up to protect himself, and took the full brunt to his face. He wanted to scream from the pain, and scream again when the voice shook his head again. But… Heh. He can’t. He’s a doll. Dolls don’t get hurt if they get pulled on or thrown. He just toppled over! And his benefactor was loud! Just now, he probably yelled from fright, which meant that no MATTER WHAT, this man was going to be [LOUD &PROUD] and he couldn’t do [I can’t work this damn thing]!

…As he was picked up, all he could do was stare. He couldn’t understand [Hyperlink Blocked] right now. And he sure as hell couldn’t be understood. All of that knowledge paled in comparison to one, simple fact that… MAYBE… He should’ve taken into account: despite everything, he could feel it all. But he couldn’t react to it. He had absolutely no way of relieving the pain. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t scream… Even his body refused to react. Not even instinct would help him right now. 

…He was in for [you’re gonna have a bad time].

Chapter Text

Snip-! Snip-! SNP-! SniP-!

It would’ve been nice if the hair had fallen down onto the table in nice little clumps. Alas, the fair was so fine it floated around the work space and got all over Gaster’s hands. Honestly, it reminded him far too much of Dog Fur, and just how annoying it was. He tried to puff a little air on the face to clear it of the fine hair, only for a little cloud of hair and dust to puff out around him. Aaaand onto his desk. “Wonderful.” It was not. He sat the doll down on the left edge of the table, trying to brush the debris into a small pile. He’d love nothing more than to brush this all off into his hand and toss it away… But that becomes more difficult when you have huge stigmata marks on both hands. So, he had to do the next best thing. 

He got up from his chair, striding over to what counted as a kitchen in this room. The room itself was similar to what living in a studio apartment would be like: a large central area, with his desk and workspace on one side, a kitchenette on the opposite, a dividing wall that hid his bed and closet on the north side, and a large window on the south side. There was only one door, which led to a bathroom. Because, at the end of the day, he was stuck here. He made this place because the alternative was floating in nothingness and numbers. And while it’d be so, so easy to let his mind wander and slip into despair… He could not be bothered. 

No noble goals about it. He just…couldn’t be bothered.

Why waste away until he was dust?

There was no point.

He liked being alive.

Why was he up again? 

Right. The kitchen. He grabbed the electric kettle and filled it under the tap. Maybe he was feeling a bit nostalgic, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of his brother whenever he used the thing. For all his brother’s teasing and jabs about running on coffee, tea, and cream of wheat, he still got him this silly little kettle after he finished work on the Co-... Right. That. He didn’t want to think about that. Think about the stupid little kettle. It shouldn’t work, but it does, and it’s adorable. He set it on its base, flipping the switch on. He then reached up to the cupboard, finding two separate mugs and a scratched glass teapot and setting them on the kitchenette’s counter. “Which should I have today? Black…No. Red? …Maybe later. Green sounds good…” He reached up, moving a few of the small tea boxes around in the cupboard. “Oh! I thought I used all of this.” He pulled out the dark green tin, smile growing. “Gunpowder… Maybe this will help me focus.” He set it beside the teapot, nodding to himself as he finished his little set-up. 

…RIGHT. He’d meant to grab the trashcan. He should do that. He slung an arm down to grab the edge of it, striding back to the desk. He plopped back into his seat, brushed the hair into said can, he placed it next to his left side. 

Next was wiping the existing paint off. He could do that easily. Barely an inconvenience at this point. He just needed to pluck a cotton ball from his desk kit, soak it in the acetone he kept nearby, and wipe the little doll’s face. Thankfully, there was nothing around the sculpted pieces of the face, and he could toss it easily. He set the doll in the center of the desk, and looked at the notepad in front of him. There were plans, poorly drawn sketches, and the vaguest of ideas… But he needed to figure out what best to do for the little postman. Obviously, he needed a re-root of his hair. Black was a much better contrast against the white. And, just as obviously, he’d need to fix his jaw. He had some polymer clay for the teeth, and some epoxy to reattach things. His hands needed to be switched out; he couldn’t very well work on cars or fine wires or do a good handshake with typical Addison mittens. He could stand to be a little taller, but… No. He wouldn’t do that. It was part of his charm, being so small but his personality being bigger than life. 

A whistling caught his attention, and he looked over his shoulder. Ah. The water was done boiling. He stood, picking up the little doll and walking over to the kitchenette. 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. 

“Hey Spam! [Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey]!” The orange Addison scowled at the door, expecting to hear a typical grumble or snore from inside the room. On hearing nothing, she tried to knock again, crossing her arms in frustration. “Spamton! Oh my GOD, get up!” Still hearing nothing, she tried one more threat. “I’ll go get Topsie if you’re not out this [Instant Deals]!” 

She’d hoped for a squawk of some kind, maybe the comedic sounds of her sibling scrambling to get out the door, and maybe some argumentative yelling. That’s what’s supposed to happen here. That’s how it always happens on days her brother sleeps in. 

But she heard nothing. And that never happens. 

…

The grip on her arms tightened ever so slightly, her bravado sinking by the second. She reached forward again, knocking on the door again. This time, the knocks were more panicked. “Spamton? Cmon, this isn’t funny. I need your help at the store today!”

Still nothing. 

“Angel, Spam, I swear if you’re doing this on purpose, I’ll-” She tried the door knob, just to make extra noise by jiggling it, and was caught off guard by it opening. That was…unusual. 

Her worry immediately morphed into anger, swinging the door open. She’d been ready to yell again, but found the room empty. And somehow, that made her stomach drop. She took a quick look around the room, just to see if Spamton was hiding. It’d be incredibly out of character for him to do so, but… Hell, he’d been acting strange for weeks now. What’s one more? She kneeled to look under the bed, finding nothing but dirty dishes and a memorabilia box. Sentimental idiot. She tried the closet, finding it half-full. The other half was strewn next to a laundry basket, she assumed. She went to the dresser vanity, finding nothing. There was that strange landline phone on the wall, and she swore she could hear the hum of something as she walked by it, but no Spamton. She was ready to assume that her brother had snuck out at some point, and she just didn’t notice. But that theory was immediately dashed when she saw something on the center of the bed. A nice black wallet, with three white “255”s stitched on the lower left corner. 

Spamton may be acting strange, but the Addison never left his wallet unattended. If it was here, and he wasn’t? Something was wrong. She reached over, picking it up and opening it. There was some Dark Dollars, and some dark colored coins she assumed was Points. He was going between the Worlds recently… 

This wasn’t right. Spamton was gone, and his wallet was here, and-and-and… 

“Germenses!” 

She jumped up at the sound of her name, not quite catching the rest of what was being yelled. Oh Angel, she needed to get it together. She swallowed heavily, walking out of the bedroom and through the hallway. She held the wallet close to her chest, walking into the kitchen. There was Topsie, pushing her yellow hair back and using the fridge as a makeshift mirror. “I know, technically we got an hour, but apparently a Mauswheel formed in the showroom, and you know how freaked out Halred gets–” 

“I can’t find Spamton!” The statement seemed to knock Topsie off her train of thought, and she continued. “I can’t find him, and his wallet got left here.” She held it out carefully, showing the stitching on the corner to prove her statement.

“...” The yellow Addison opened, then closed her mouth, then covered it as she looked between the wallet and her little sister. “...Did he [Leave your Name and Number after the Beep] or….anything here?”

“No.” A quick thought occurred to Germenses, and she looked to the landline on the kitchen wall. Maybe he called and left a voicemail? Her face fell when she saw no flashing light. 

Topsie rung her hands together for a moment, a multitude of thoughts racing through her head at break-neck speed. After a beat, she looked up to her younger sister. “It’s possible he’s still at the TV World. Maybe he stayed a little too long and got stuck.” 

“Without this ?!” The wallet was held up accusingly, and Topsie bristled in frustration. 

“I don’t know, MAYBE!” She looked away from her sister, staring at the kitchen table. Germenses had the sense of mind to not mention that’s where their three brothers liked to sit most nights. “....Just…try. Wasn’t he getting cozy with some of the Darkeners there?” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer before continuing; it was a rhetorical question anyways. “Stay here, keep an ear on the phone. Maybe this is a stupid prank and he just wanted to freak us out. I’ll go to the shop, tell Halred and Ricoure. Maybe they know something.” It was a lot of “maybes”, but she had to try and stay positive. Or, optimistic at the least. 

Germenses nodded, swallowing once. “Okay.” She rubbed the back of her head, fluffing up her hair a bit. “If he comes back before you guys do, I’m ripping his hair out.” 

Topsie managed a small laugh at that. “Save some for me, then.” 

HOLY ANGEL THAT WAS NOT FUN. 

Was he understating it? You [CASINO SCAM] your [XXX] he was!! 

The hair cut was unpleasant, but doable. It’s hair; he was certain that it would get fixed sooner rather than later. The face wiping was tingly at first, then HORRIFYING as he lost his vision! He wasn’t even completely sure how that worked, but it upped his anxiety to [Brand-New] heights to not even see what was going on. 

THEN, on top of ALL OF THAT, he was lifted up like a toy [don’t forget, you are a toy right now. You can’t stop it, you’re just a toy to him now], and his face was on fire. 

Not just his face, but his head, his neck, even his shoulders! It felt like he’d been plunged into a hot battery acid bath! It was so, so hot, he could feel it seep into the hollow parts of his head[HAH HE was EMPTY-HEADED] and it burned! He tried to scream in his own head, unable to use his mouth 

It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!

He was pulled out after what felt like too long, and he could feel the large hands encompassing him. One around his body, and one…. OH GOD. 

NO PLEASE NO DON’T I’M SORRY DON’T DON’T DON’T–

Pop! 

“There we go.” Somehow, the hot water trick never failed to work. Just leave a doll’s head in just-under boiling water for a solid minute or two, then take it out, and the head pops off easily with a little tugging. He took a quick look at the neck peg, just to be sure it wasn’t broken. “Good. That could have been a problem if that broke.” He gently set the body down on the counter, easily picking up his mug of tea. How fortunate the seeping time lasted just as long as the head soaking did. He took a long sip of tea, breathing out a nice sigh. Once it was set down, he rummaged in the cutlery drawer for one of his screwdrivers. Yes, technically he was supposed to keep his tools separate from his eating utensils, but between his pots’ screws loosening, or his cupboard door falling off, it was good to keep one close. Holding the head in his palm, he carefully placed the tip of the screw driver in the neck hole and started to scratch out the remaining plugs. It took only a few minutes, and he was already walking back to his desk as he pulled the clumps of hair and glue out of the neck hole. Those were tossed into the trash just as he came up to it.

He set the head down a folded up washcloth, originally white but now stained with a rainbow of colors on the edge. It was best he let the vinyl air dry for a moment. He turned on his heel, retrieving both the body and his mug of tea before properly sitting down. 

This was good. He could start the arduous re-rooting task while the body dried out. He much preferred using yarn as hair, and it would make it easier to style, for both him and Spamton. 

… 

Right. 

…Angel above, he hoped the little Postman didn’t feel much of that. 

He shook his head to dislodge the thought. No. He couldn’t imagine it. If he imagined it, it would become reality. That’s how these worlds worked. No, he just needed to focus on the task ahead.

He pushed his chair back, bending at the waist so he could get to the balls of yarn underneath his desk. They were all kept in a wicker basket– it was one of the supplies that him and his brothers used, so it was best kept like this- and it was easy to find the black ball in the sea of color. Once grabbed, he kicked the basket back into its place and sat up. 

Might as well keep going.

Chapter Text

In his humblest of opinions, Gaster considered re-rooting to be both the worst and best part of customizing. 

It was the best because it really made the new doll stand out! He could pick the exact color he wanted, style it just the way he liked it… It wasn’t as if he could do it to his own hair. It invited a bit of creativity, and truly, no two styles were alike. It added personality and charm to a blank slate.

However, he did not like the lead-up to it. Cutting the yarn, unraveling it in his fingers, making sure the finicky pieces were laid flat, and repeating this process for nearly an hour? And that was before the absolute tediousness of plugging each hole.

He set down the last few strands of yarns, leaning back in his seat to stretch his arms above his head. He could feel a slight pop in his shoulderblades, and he groaned as pain blossomed from the spot. “Ow….Damn…” He didn’t think his posture was that bad. He let his arms lower, but his left hand found his nasal bridge and firmly massaged both sides. He’d been going at this for nearly an hour, and could feel he was already losing steam. This left him with a bit of a conundrum: he can’t take too long of a break, given how Spamton was already in quite literal pieces around him. But if he didn’t take one, he’d burn out like a candle and then he’d never finish. Even if Spamton was unaware, he didn’t want to prolong this process. “...Now what, Wing-a-Ding?” He could easily imagine his brother saying that exact phrase. The brat. 

…

“Come on. You have things to do. Don’t get lost now.”

He swung up from his seat, walking back to the kitchen. His earlier tea had been finished, and now he had incentive to make some coffee. He took the kettle off the base, refilling it with the tap and placing it back on the base. Nice as it would be to use his French press, he decided now was the time for the Instant Cafe Bustelo. A small spoonful…Nevermind, two small spoonfuls into his rinsed-out mug, and he’d wait for the water to boil again. While waiting, he walked over to the southern side of the living room. There was the large window, keeping back inky darkness and strings of numbers that he was certain was digits of pi. But there was also the armchair and a CRT TV. Not Tenna-oh heavens no, he was the product of someone elses’ imaginations- but a reliable box that could entertain him when his mind threatened to wander. 

He snagged the remote from the armchair, pointing it to the TV and pressing the power button. The crackling snaps reassured him that it was warming up, and he leaned against the back of the armchair as “CH 4” faded into view against the black screen. He tapped the 0 and the 3, waiting semi-patiently for the TV to react. With an audible hiss, the screen flashed “CH 3’ before the screen lit up. The image of a blue-ish meteor slowly tumbling through space accompanied the building brass instruments greeted him, and he smiled as he set the remote back down. Wonderful! He may have missed the first few minutes, and that was unfortunate, but at least he knew exactly what would be on. He hummed along with the music as he walked back to the kitchenette, whisking the whistling kettle off its base and pouring a fresh cup of coffee. 

He spared a few glances at the TV out of habit. He knew this opening credit, with the epic orchestral music and the slow shots of both space and a “star-port”, but it helped soothe the ragged edges of his mind. It was familiar, it was calming. 

And best of all, it was something to listen to while he worked.

"JUST [ACT NOW]!”

“THE HELL YOU THINK I’M DOING?!”

Topsie wasn’t entirely surprised at the yelling. It was common for her brothers to be like this, and it seemed to rub off on their youngest sister. But the battle encounter? That was a little surprising. 

Granted, it didn’t look like they were Fighting. The storefront was darkened, and a large white outline of a box atop some smaller outlined boxes floated between the two Addisons and a squirming Mauswheel. The blue Addison looked annoyed at the whole situation, and a quick look at the scuffs on his face and his visible health bar showed he’d taken a few points of damage. The pink Addison looked a few shades paler than usual, but otherwise, he looked unharmed. He had pulled his hand back as if to throw something, and a small cage flickered into his waiting hand. Or at least it would’ve, had the Maice not circle closer and brushed against his foot. 

The cage disappeared along with his concentration, and a bitcrushed screech escaped him as he took 2 points of damage. The Maice were undeterred by this, but Ricoure seemed to deflate, holding his forehead. He pulled his own hand back in a similar manner, waiting for his own little cage to form into his hand. Once formed, he tossed the cage toward the creatures. It managed to snag a majority of the creatures, and they seemed…Pleased? Sated? At least calm now. 

Not so much could be said for her brothers. 

“Great job, Hal. They’re at [100 Free Downloads] Mercy, and you wasted your turn!”

“SHUTUPIDIDN’T!”

Angel above, she did not have time for this. Straightening her posture, Topsie squared off her shoulders and confidently walked to the opposite side of her brothers. She leveled an award-winning smile to the Mauswheel, and pressed a hand against one of the smaller outlined boxes. “Spare”. The squeaking Maice broke the self-imposed circle apart in an instant, scattering out the open door like their lives depended on it. Now that the encounter was over, the outlined boxes disappeared and the floor began to brighten back up. She had half a mind to scold her brothers, but… Well. That’d have to be later. Mainly when Halred didn’t look so pale and Spamton was accounted for.

Speaking of, though, she was a little…annoyed at how Halred looked. He was still so panicked, shivering like he was caught in a blizzard. Maybe if she was in a bitter mood, she would tease him about his fear of Maice getting worse and worse. She wasn’t even completely sure what caused it, but it had been notably worse the last few months.

Now that things had settled, Ric dug around in his pocket for a moment before popping a piece of candy in his mouth. He chewed it slowly, and the scuff marks on his face disappeared in an instant. “Thanks, Tops.” It was probably the most she’d get out of him for a thank-you. 

“No problem.” She went to Hal’s side, grabbing his shoulders and leading him to the backroom. Her brother flinched under her touch and stumbled to keep up with her pace, but she couldn’t be patient right now. Once in the backroom, she forced him to sit down atop a box of merchandise. She’d turned to get the door, only to find her blue brother closing it behind him. She nodded her own thanks before crouching down to Halred’s level. His eyes were wide and panicked, and she had to look away from the manic spirals of black and neon green staring right through her. “Cmon, Hal. Cover your eyes. You’re going to make us sick.” 

He flinched at the words, bringing a shaky hand to cover his eyes. All Addisons and advertisement-like Darkeners had colored spirals in their eyes; the “hypnotizing power of ads” and all that. However, most Addisons could control when the spirals appeared. It didn’t affect their vision in the slightest when they appeared, however, looking at their siblings’ eyes too much could make them nauseous. He was in no right mind to mention that Topsie had similar rotating spirals of black and purple in her own eyes when speaking at him. 

But Ricoure was. 

“Like you are? Ease up on him.” 

She squinted her eyes closed, barking over her shoulder. “Weren’t you just yelling at him for acting stupid?!”

He bounced his shoulders in a shrug, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes. I fail to see why I can’t call you out, too.” He leaned his back against the door with a barely audible thump, crossing a leg in front of the other.

“Angel above, you’re such an instigator.”

“No, I’m a smartass. Way different.”

“Yo-you two ss-suck at thi-i-i-iss.” Halred’s voice strained to be as loud as his brother’s, and shook as badly as he did. 

The pathetic nature of it was enough to pull at whatever patience Topsie had left, and she looked up to him. “Yeah, we know.” They were Addisons. All they did was advertise. Everything else? Woefully unprepared. She reached out, putting a hand on his knee and rubbing small circles. “Try to calm down. The Maice are gone. Just have to remember to get a Tasque to come by in the future.” Halred’s shaking seemed to get worse the more she spoke, so she simply continued to rub circles on his knee and keep quiet. 

His shivering seemed to break around the five-minute mark, and he lowered his hand from his face. His eyes were still a bit manic, but at least the spirals were gone. He didn’t say anything, not trusting his voice to be steady. Topsie pulled her hand back and started to stand up, brushing her torso down. She took a small breath to steady herself, then turned to face Ricoure. “Reason I came over wasn’t just to help you two. Spamton’s missing.” 

Ric rose an eyebrow at the statement, and crossed his arms in front of him as Topsie stared at him. “Okay. And?” He rolled his eyes; clearly his sister was reading too far into things. “He’ll come back if he gets hungry.” 

“Can you not? He’s not a pet.” Her tone was more subdued, though it was hard to tell if she was genuinely worried or worn from earlier irritation. 

“And he’s not a kid. He can wander off as he damn well pleases.” His own annoyance was evident, and he squinted his eyes closed. 

“He left his wallet on the bed.” 

And just like that, his earlier annoyance lifted. He blinked dumbly at her, waiting for Topsie to admit it was a joke, that she was pulling a mean, mean prank. 

“Wwhat?!” He admittedly jumped at Halred’s sudden voice, then worked on pushing himself off the door. “You could’ve [This Way for UNLIMITED] with that!!” The subsequent argument between the two seemed far away from Ricoure’s ears, and he stared at the floor. 

Spamton had left his wallet? 

That… Okay, that was incredibly out of character. Even if they had no money or points, each Addison kept their wallets on them at all times. How could they take advantage of a deal or a sale if they had nothing to keep it in? Given that Topsie hadn’t mentioned the room being ransacked or finding a body, it was safe to assume their youngest brother left willingly…. But that seemed just as improbable. He reached into his own pocket, feeling the heavy weight of his own wallet, and the raised bumps of stitching that he knew read “0” and two “255”s in the corner. Granted, their little brother had been acting strange. Ignoring the fact he had installed a phone in his room, he’d gotten a lot…colder. Pulling away from them, refusing to go to the Grill with them… He couldn’t blame him; he got annoyed with how loud and obnoxious their siblings could be. And while Spamton was the best target for teasing- be it for his height, his bad luck, or his absolutely ragged and horrible smile- it wasn’t ever meant to be serious! It was just teasing. That’s all it was. …No. This coldness started around the same time as his luck changed, as if one caused the other. Did this mean other things would change?? Would Spamton just…

Ricoure covered his mouth with one hand and squeezed his eyes shut. He could barely hear Halred or Topsie over the beating of his fake heart in his ears, but that didn’t matter. He had to not make a fuss. No one liked it when any of them started acting strange, and he wasn’t going to make himself a target. He tried to breathe through his nose, counting the seconds as he held his breath, then released it. 

It’d be okay. Spamton would be okay. He’d be okay. 

It took a bit for him to “wake up” as it were. 

Honestly, he’d think he was still in a manic fever dream. His brain’s way of keeping him sane despite the absolute madness of what was going on. That maybe he was sick, asleep in his own bed, dosed on some terrible medicine. That his headache was the result of some illness. 

But he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing along his hairline. Not an overall “stabbing feeling” like his headaches normally felt like. But the distinct feeling of something stabbing into his head, following some imaginary line on his forehead. It was uncomfortable, but not as blindingly painful as earlier. 

He still couldn’t see, and while that still upset him, he tried to focus on recognizing what else was going on around him. 

For one, his head was being cradled in a hand. DO NOT think about where your body is, yougotyourheadpluckedlikeatomato DON’T THINK ABOUT IT. The grip was gentle, if unrelenting. And it felt…Weird. Whoever was holding him wasn’t made of metal, but there was no give to suggest anything organic. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t recognize the texture. Was this even a hand?! …Okay, it was. This was far too similar to when that overactive Tenna picked him up. Though this was certainly….bigger. 

The stabbing sensation came back, and he felt the urge to groan as something was pushed into his head. Just as quickly, the feeling was gone, and he could let his mind wander. It took a moment to realize there was some sound playing in the background. He could’ve sworn he could hear swelling music, and distant voices…

“-disintegrate this hostage!”

“With your finger?”

“With my death-ray.”

“‘S a lot like a finger to me.”

Then there was the sound of a short fight, and the hand holding him shook once. 

“Who’s that?”

“My Hero!” 

“Can we please leave now?” The hand holding him shook a few more times. 

It seemed so…damningly familiar. It reminded him so much of sitting in a large audience hall. The goofball of a TV acting out a shlocky Western on stage, mimicking the TV program that had played on his screen earlier. The fight was so simple, so basic and silly. The dialogue could jump from being intense and sincere to being the most ridiculous sound-bytes in history. And while it was rarely [Laugh Out Loud] funny, it was enough to entice a small chuckle or huff of a laugh. He had to be careful if he had any popcorn, since it’d….shake…out of his…hand…..

…

The realization of it all hit him like a freight train. 

He really was just a toy, a puppet….. [Hyperlink Blocked] was just…watching TV. Why would he be bothering watching TV while he held his head in his hands? 

The stabbing sensation came back, and he wanted to cry out this time. 

…

If he really was a toy…

Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. He tried to consider when he’d watch TV. It wasn’t often, but there was a small set that projected programs at his house. …And how his sisters would turn it on, only to go back to their work… He remembered asking Germenses about this once. It’d started as asking why she liked listening to horrific descriptions of crimes, and devolved from there. But one line she said stuck out clearly: “It’s just nice having something to listen to while you work! It’s a little more intense than just music, and it feels like there’s someone else in the room with ya.”

….

Okay. 

So he was a toy. The stabbing pains were the result of….something. …Then again…It seemed to be following his hairline. Maybe…Maybe this was the process of getting his hair back? It’d been cut earlier. And then scraped out from the inside scraped it pulled it pushed it was swallowed down his nonexistent throat…. He couldn’t feel the texture all that well. But he could feel that it was much thicker than before. 

Did [Hyperlink Blocked] remember him mentioning he hated his fine, thin hair?

…

He wasn’t supposed to be aware.

Yes, he was a Darkener, all he was was a physical manifestation of a Lightener’s imagination. Somehow,  [Hyperlink Blocked] was able to work around it. “Altering his physical body”. And…If Spamton were to be honest with himself… It was far easier to manipulate and change a toy than it would be something organic. Less gore, less mess… And it wasn’t as if he could scream or flinch. 

All he was was a toy. 

He could be discarded like one so easily. Hell, all of them could! His siblings could be deleted. The Plugboys could spark, and be replaced. Queen could become obsolete. And God, what if they actually unplugged Ten-...

…It didn’t matter. They were the manifestation of someone’s imagination. It’s not like that could be shared with multiple people. If they died, or disappeared? Who would even care? The person who made them? Nah. They’d consider it a fleeting memory of when they were young and stupid.

His musings were interrupted as he felt the hand holding him raise him up. He was jostled around, and Spamton could easily imagine he was being looked over. It made him downright grateful he had no eyes, so he didn’t have to look at [Hyperlink Blocked]. His voice still punched through his skull, though Spamton could tell he was trying to be softer. It was loud, it hiccupped, and it hurt so so much to listen to…

“☟︎♋︎●︎♐︎📫︎⬥︎♋︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎📬︎”

…It sounded like the background noise on the phone calls. He’d never addressed it, or asked about it. Honestly, he figured it was a strange artifact or hold-over from being able to talk to GOD. Anyone would think that!

…But he could recognize images in that. The joys of being an email meant he could read both words and images. Sometimes he even used them in his pitches. It was just easier that way. Maybe… 

He could decipher this. He needed his eyes back, but…Maybe he could work with this. Maybe he could understand [Hyperlink Blocked]. Maybe it’d prepare him for the future. 

…Because… If he was this insignificant… Why would [Hyperlink Blocked] call him his favorite? The same person who was holding him, changing him, it was only for him, right? He wouldn’t do this for just anyone, would he?! No, he was [Hyperlink Blocked]’s favorite!! He needed to STAY his favorite! 

He HAD TO. 

…Because the alternative was SOUL crushing. 

Chapter Text

Germenses didn’t like this. She felt restless and angry and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest hatch. Her elder sister had left hours ago, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts. She’d jumped nearly a foot in the air when the phone rang, scrambling to it in an instant to answer. But it had just been Halred, informing her that Topsie had found him and Ricoure and they were going to start searching. There was talk of one of them going to TV World, but she couldn’t remember the details. Just the promise of calling again in a few hours and the plea to stay home in case their brother returned. 

Since that last call, she had been pacing in lazy circles around the couch, then pacing figure-eights around the couch and the kitchen island. She had to get this restless energy out in some way. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, it was hard not to let her mind wander to the worst-possible scenario with her brother’s wallet in her hands. He was the smallest of them all, and even a particularly angry Plugboy could catch him off guard if he wasn’t careful. It didn’t help that he loved to antagonize everyone; granted, all five of them loved to antagonize, but she’d argue he was the worst offender. Maybe someone broke in and he was taken from their home? No, that was improbable. Spamton was loud and obnoxious on an average day, he would’ve pitched the loudest fit and alerted someone if such a thing occurred. Not to mention, there was no evidence of a struggle in his room. It really was only the forgotten wallet that had her riled up in this kind of state. 

She paused in her pacing, looking down at the simple black bifold. …She’d already taken a short look at it. Outside the currency and his stitched RGB Value in the corner, there hadn’t been anything else. She flicked it open regardless, staring at the little pockets. Maybe there was a note? A piece of a card? A folded picture? A fucking matchbook?! …But there was nothing. The Dollars and Points, and nothing else. She slumped into the couch, leaning her head back over the edge of the cushions as she groaned in frustration.

…

She missed her brother. 

She wouldn’t admit this for all the money in the worlds, but she missed the white Addison. She was the youngest of the whole set, and yet Spamton was the only one who didn’t baby her. He treated her like an equal, and even sometimes playing the fool so her own sales could succeed. He’d stand still for hours, modeling the clothes she’d make and only ask for food in payment. She’d look over his shoulder as he worked on a car, holding a light for him or passing him tools. Maybe he didn’t understand clothes and she didn’t understand cars, but neither of them complained if the other went on a rambling rant about what they liked. He would always get her the donut holes from that shop around the corner if she was having a bad day, and she’d pick up a bag of cookies if he admitted to having a bad day. He was a sentimental idiot who talked a big game about how he was going to make it big and be a BIG SHOT. But she couldn’t believe it. No one could. Because for all his talk, for all his blinding white charisma, there was one glaring problem no one liked addressing: his smile. This wasn’t her being mean, but her brother’s smile was ragged and crooked and uneven. His teeth were crowded and jutted out in weird ways, making his grin look… Not right. Maybe it was a way of balancing out how perfectly white and brilliant he was? Just a bad, unlucky smile? She wasn’t sure. But she knew Spamton got more sales on phone calls than he did in person. And Spamton knew that, too. It’s why no one was surprised when he installed a phone in his room. It was strange that he’d get calls at all hours of the day and night, but he was making bank so why should it matter?

She brought an arm up to rest over her eyes, sighing deeply though it ended with a hiccup. She’d give 500 Dark Dollars to see that stupid crooked smile right now. Probably more if the hours went on. She didn’t like being this anxious. For all she knew, Spamton would pop out around the corner, laugh at them for falling for such an obvious trick, and she’d yell at him for scaring her. Then she’d throw his wallet at him, he’d stumble to catch it, and bark at her to not throw things. That’s how these things were supposed to go. 

He’d be back. And she’d punch his stupid teeth in for making her worry. She just had to put on a brave face for now.  

…It should’ve been easy to identify what was going on with him. 

But that’d require having eyes. Which he did not have at this point in time. And his sense of touch was limited given he was just a head at this point.

He’d love to say that was a source of his increasing panic. But he’d be lying to himself if he admitted that. If he stepped back how the actual hell could you do that with no body ya DINGUS and viewed it from a more logical setting, it was possible that everything that happened since being turned into a doll was catching up to him. The stabbing sensations had finally stopped, and he swore his head felt just a little heavier than before. The texture of his hair felt rather soft and plush, if longer than he’d like. The hand holding him shifted under him, and before he knew it, he was set on something more comfortable. This time, he could recognize the texture. It was a towel! A bit of a scratchy terrycloth towel, but he’d take what he could. 

He could still hear the TV in the background, though whatever Western-sounding space drama was on earlier had changed to something entirely different. Given the jazzy tune, the boisterous voices, and the audience's cacophony of laughs… He had to assume it was a late-night Talk Show. 

…

Would-....Would Ant recognize him like this? Hell, would any of his siblings recognize him like this?? 

…Would it even matter? At the end of it all, they weren’t anything special. That…Admittedly scared him. He may not have high opinions about many, but those five were the exception! 

He wanted Topsie to yell at him and scold him before fussing with his hair. He wanted to share a smoking break with Ricoure and talk about nothing. He wanted to watch a movie with Halred and bicker about car stuff. He wanted to share a bag of cookies with Germenses. And…God, he wanted to look up at Tenna again. That shining star that never teased him or made him feel small. They were just as important as him! They couldn’t be…Just…Toys…..

His musings were interrupted by hiccupping garbage noise echoing through his empty hah that kills me still skull. Despite hearing it over and over again, he couldn’t get used to the sound of it. He felt himself be lifted and something scratching at his left eye.

It should have hurt. It really should have. But it simply felt dull and aching at this point. A hysterical bubble started to form in his non-existent detached throat that would never escape; was he just so hurt, so out of it that his sensation of pain just…VAnIshED?! ANGEL ABOVE, Why couldn’t he have had THIS SOONER?! Been spared ANY of the BURNING, the TWISTING, the STABBING?! WHY?! 

JUST….Why?

… Oh wait. [Hyperlink Blocked] had told him just that. 

“…. It’s going to take a few days. Possibly weeks. You’ll be conscious through most of it. And I can’t help you through it because you’ll just be… Well. No different than the jack-in-the-box or the cat stuffie.” 

In all his panicking at his current state, he’d legitimately forgotten that. He thought [Hyperlink Blocked] had been playing around when he said that. He’d been far too focused on the allure of changing, of becoming something completely different, that he skipped over the [Terms and Conditions]. Like an idiot.

All too-suddenly, the world was bright again. He wanted to blink it away, but he could not. It was still fuzzy, and his eyesight seemed to have suffered from being gone for the last few hours days weeks he wasn’t sure but it was too long. But it was enough to realize the white face in front of him. The same one that he’d seen at the beginning of this ordeal. [Hyperlink Blocked]. Just as quickly, his vision was impeded by…Was that a pencil?? The absurdity of it all finally overrode his fear, and he couldn’t help a small laugh in his mind. That’d explain the scratching sensation!

Wait, now was his chance! He could finally see again, and now he could witness [Hyperlink Blocked]. 

…

Or maybe shrink like Tenna on a bad day because those blackened voids that mimicked eyes were bearing down on him and he was back to terrified. He wanted to look away, to break eye contact. [Hyperlink Blocked], GOD, was staring into his very SOUL. And it was all-encompassing. [Hyperlink Blocked] wasn’t just the voice on the phone, he was this huge Monster. Someone who could pull his head off his neck, and it didn’t automatically mean death. Someone who asked to borrow his voice, and somehow only Spamton reaped the rewards of it all. The eye contact broke only for a moment, the pencil being pulled away, the large white face turning and scowling at something far away. Spamton couldn’t tell what exactly, but it was far away. Then the eyes were back on him, a pencil of a different hue coming back into view and scratching along his brow. If he had to guess, it’d be along his eyebrows. 

He was starting to wonder if that “can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs” bit was applicable to him right now. He’d been broken and pulled apart, but now he was being pulled together. Painful as it was, he was being put back together. And it was with a purpose. 

“🏱︎❒︎□︎♌︎♋︎♌︎●︎⍓︎ ⬧︎♒︎□︎◆︎●︎♎︎ ♓︎■︎♎︎♓︎♍︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎ ⬥︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♍︎◆︎⧫︎📬︎ 👎︎□︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♋︎■︎⧫︎ ⧫︎□︎ □︎❖︎♏︎❒︎📫︎♎︎□︎ ♓︎⧫︎📬︎”

Oh! Now he could see it! The hiccupping dial tone was accompanied by pictures flickering in his mind, who could have guessed? It was bizarre, but no less so than his current situation. He wanted to shiver the feeling of the pencil scratching down his chin, starting at the oral commissure and going til the hypoid bone. …Wait. How did he know that? Wasn’t it just the corners of the mouth and the point where the chin met the neck?

“✋︎ ❒︎♏︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ♋︎❍︎ ⬧︎□︎❒︎❒︎⍓︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎📬︎”

…Wait. Wait a moment, he recognized that! Not all of it, but… The diamond with the various squares… “Sorry”. Sorry for what?

A blade entered his vision not too long after he considered the question, the sharp tip resting on one corner of his mouth and glinting in the light. 

Ah. That.

Gaster had to admit he was hesitant to do this at first. This wasn’t the first time he’d cut into a Human High head before, but he really, really didn’t like it. Vinyl was so unforgiving, and if his blade wasn’t sharp enough, it’d ruin the whole head. And he only had one white Addison head to work with… So, he’d procrastinated. His shows had finished, and the “Late Night Show” continued on in the background. While he didn’t like watching said show, he kept it on. It reminded him of late nights when he had to continue working, his brothers complacently watching as they started to doze. 

…He wondered if they missed him. With his poor luck, probably not. And even if they did, would they recognize him if they saw him again? This whole apartment, even his being… It was held together by Desire and Determination. A Desire to be what he remembered as Normal, and a Determination to stay like this. Fueled by Spite or Imagination, he did not know which and he did not care which. 

Rubbing a hand over his skull, he sunk down into his chair. “Suppose I can’t put it off anymore. Might as well give you some eyes first.” He picked up a light brown pencil, using an exacto-knife with a fresh blade to sharpen the tip to a perfect point. Blowing a bit of air on the pencil, he set the knife down before grabbing the doll’s head. He held it close, delicately and carefully filling in the outline of the eye mold and making a small iris and a larger pupil in each eye. It did give Spamton a bit of a doe-eyed expression, but he could change that with some decent eyebrows. He set the pencil aside, grabbing the dark grey pencil to sketch eyebrows into place. He smiled gently as he pulled the head back to look. 

It wasn’t a complete face-up, not by any sense of the imagination, but Gaster at least had an expression to work with. Spamton would be the envy of any Addison once he was done. … Though. That did mean they were coming to the part he’d been dreading. “P︎r︎o︎b︎a︎b︎l︎y︎ s︎h︎o︎u︎l︎d︎ i︎n︎d︎i︎c︎a︎t︎e︎ w︎h︎e︎r︎e︎ t︎o︎ c︎u︎t︎.︎ D︎o︎n︎'︎t︎ w︎a︎n︎t︎ t︎o︎ o︎v︎e︎r︎-︎d︎o︎ i︎t︎.︎” He carefully drew three lines on the head; two were from the oral commissure on either side of the mouth, and one along what would’ve been the hypoid bone. It was similar to the jaw on a marionette. He picked up the exacto-knife, already prepped with a fresh blade, and placed it on the corner of the mouth. 

…Okay, maybe drawing the eyes back on had been a poor decision on his part. Now it really felt like Spamton himself would be aware and watching him as he cut into his mandible. He sighed, quietly apologizing to the disembodied head. “I︎ r︎e︎a︎l︎l︎y︎ a︎m︎ s︎o︎r︎r︎y︎ f︎o︎r︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎.︎” But, in for a penny, in for a pound as they say. 

Taking a small breath to steady himself, he ever so carefully pushed it into the vinyl. 

He repeated the motion at the marked lines, then followed the curve of the doll’s upper lip to detach it from the head. Once the piece of vinyl fell onto his desk, he could let out a sigh of relief. “Oh good.” He supposed having a fresh blade had made things easier. He set the head down on the handtowel, then picked up the chin piece. ….Oh hells, he needed his glasses for something this small. Setting the knife down, he reached over to the left side of his desk and plucked up a pair of green-rimmed reading glasses. A simple flick of the wrist extended the temples, and he set them on his face. From there, it was easy to cut and shave off the molding of teeth. 

It really was a shame. He rather liked Spamton’s crowded and ragged smile. But he’d requested the change, and it was necessary moving forward. Though… Now that he had it in his hand… He did notice something else. The point of the chin was fairly pronounced. Fairly average for an Addison, but… 

He held the square against Spamton’s face, leaving a small space to imitate where the teeth would be. And sure enough, it looked incorrect. Giving Spamton the smile he wanted would throw the balance of his face off. 

But, there was an easy solution for that. He set the chin piece against his pointer finger’s second knuckle, holding it taut with his thumb and middle finger, and carefully cut the point of the chin off. It was messier than he hoped, and he hissed when the tip of the blade scraped against his bone, but he managed to flatten the chin significantly. All it needed was a bit of polymer and epoxy glue to hide the damage and make it like new. Speaking of, though…

Where was his clay? He stood up and began to search the surface of his desk, lifting up the odd box or tool for a better look. With that unsuccessful, he crouched down to look under the desk, still pulling at the occasional box or drawer. A solid fifteen minutes of looking made him start to mumble and curse under his breath. Thirty minutes made him sweat and start to throw things onto the couch. Forty-five minutes into his search, and he was ready to throw his chair into the window, the void be damned. 

This wasn’t good! His jaw locked into place as he flitted between the various spots around his desk; it probably looked like he was searching, but at this point, he was starting to spiral and was just moving back and forth between spots. He couldn’t leave Spamton like this! He needed to be efficient with his time, and not having his damned clay was messing with that! “Where in BLAZES is it??” He tried to stand up, only to have the back of his skull collided with the underside of the desk. Firmly. 

Gaster sunk to the ground with more cursing, his hand rubbing the forming goose-egg on his skull. He probably lost a hit point or two from that, he was certain. “...Fantastic. Just what I need.” That’s what you get for rushing! …Right. He was rushing. He couldn’t do that. Rushing meant his work suffered. Tilting his head, he noticed a small glass jar on the desk’s lower shelf. He’d seen it a few times in his searching, but now he had a chance to properly look at it. It had a white clay-like substance in it, but he couldn’t quite read what was written on the side. And there was something, but it was just Sharpie on the glass and covered with tape. He snagged it easily, falling back to sit on his rear as he read the marker: “Cold Porcelain Clay”. 

… He began to crawl out from under the desk, setting the little jar on the desk and resting his chin on the edge. Loathe as he was to switch materials mid-way through a project, if he couldn’t find the polymer, this particular clay would work better anyway. He leveled a quick look at the doll head, staring at him amongst all the up-turned supplies atop his little towel. “What say you, little Postman? Mind if I use this instead?” He tapped the little glass jar to emphasize what he was referring to. “...Right. Can’t talk. Especially not now.” The morbidity of the joke was enough to make him smile, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. It was likely very late for him. It’d explain his mild loopiness and the fact he was talking to a doll that couldn’t respond to him. He rolled his head back, staring at the ceiling as he groaned. “...Okay. I’ll glue up your hair on the inside, then head to bed. If I stay up any more, it’ll be to both our detriments.” Swinging his head up, he pulled his glasses off and set them beside the doll’s head. “This is a Kindness, I promise you that. Just… Please be patient with me.” 

He stared at the doll, imagining the varieties of responses that Spamton could give. …God, barely a day without speaking to the Darkener, and Gaster was already missing it. 

He really needed to sleep.

Chapter Text

Spamton G. Spamton was an impulsive guy. He knew this about himself, and everyone who’d ever met him knew this as well. Did it lead him into some awkward or dangerous situations? Oh, absolutely. He had to buy or beg his way out of trouble more times than he could count! He’d woken up in alleyways, a stranger’s house, his siblings’ storefronts, and even the Queen’s courtyard at one point.

But standing on a catwalk above boiling, hissing lava?

This-... This was admittedly a new one. 

The heat was sweltering already, and he pulled up an arm to wipe away the forming sweat on his brow. It reminded him of a dry sauna, and he could feel his clothes sticking in uncomfortable ways. He instinctively knew he was here for a reason, though he couldn’t remember said reason. Simply that it was important. He just wanted to get back to his pleasantly cold home, maybe bother his siblings, maybe work on a puzzle, anything other than being here. He made the mistake of looking down, and intense vertigo gripped at his stomach as he backed up a few steps. He then ran for the edge of the catwalk, pinning himself against the metallic wall. Who in their right mind built on top of LAVA?!

Oh right. They were inside a mountain. He should remember those kinds of things. 

Spamton pushed his hair back with one hand, pulling at the end as he looked around helplessly. Where was everyone? He spun on his heel, looking around the small area. He called out for anyone, and listened to it echo uselessly around him. Where was everyone? He walked up to the door, waiting a beat for it to slide open before running inside. 

He kept running along the corridors, barely turning on a dime around corners and occasionally jumping over the odd Monster. Everything seemed to be an obstacle that he had to vault, solve, or power through. He didn’t even fully realize why he was running at first, but then red lights started to flash around him. An emergency was happening, and he was running to the source. He had to make it! He had to get to the end! If he didn’t, then bad things would happen! 

There! An elevator! Its door opening, and the light of [heaven] shining through it! 

He ran harder. His strides got longer. His heart thumped harder in his chest hatch. He was only a few feet away when his foot caught on something, making him stumble and lose his balance. He ate shit instantly, landing on his left cheek and skidding across the floor a few inches. Despite the pain, he scrambled to get back on his feet, throwing himself into a dazed run. Spamton couldn’t stop, not for a second!

Seeing the elevator doors start to close made his heart ricochet in his chest hatch, and a final burst of adrenaline finally flooded his system. He vaulted over the elevator’s threshold, and the momentum made him slam into the wall with an audible SMACK. He groaned as he slid down to the floor, rubbing at his forehead. He hissed on feeling a crack on the right side of his forehead. That was sure to bleed, but he couldn’t focus on that now. He pulled himself up with the handrail, then turned to lean against the back wall of the elevator. Thank goodness. He made it. 

The immediate relief he’d had from making it turned to dread as he looked past the closing doors. A small little Orange Addison was standing in the middle of the hallway. Germenses. A soft orange light against all the chaotic blues and flashing reds. She looked so scared, how did he miss her? She tried to yell something, but the doors snapped closed, cutting his little sibling off. 

…

He tightened a fist by his side. He couldn’t stop now. 

She would have to forgive him. Or forget him. Either or. 

The elevator began its descent without issue. Hell, despite the alarms going around him, he could say that the damned thing was cooperating. Until it wasn’t. The light in the elevator was suddenly cut. The blinding white light was instantly pitch black. He barely could see an inch in front of his face, and the world immediately felt claustrophobic. How could anyone see in this darkness? He tried to feel around for the elevator buttons, but he yelped as the elevator jumped, then dropped down a foot. Horrible realization of what was going to happen washed over him just as the elevator began to fall.

He screamed as the weightlessness lifted him from the ground, but it was drowned out by the elevator’s own metallic screeching. He was falling…

                  Falling…

                          The ground would kill him, but he fell to meet it…

             NO PLEASE

        SOMEONE

    PLEASE HELP

HELP M

Gaster immediately woke up with a start, gasping an unneeded breath as he swung up. He could feel his SOUL, or what counted as it, fluttering in his ribcage like a frightened bird. He fisted the sheets with both hands, reminding himself he was grounded. However fake this place was, he was grounded. He forced himself to cough, to force himself to breathe as the last remnants of the dream faded from his mind. 

…

It took a few minutes, but eventually his mind settled. He rolled his head back to look at the ceiling, then glare as if the popcorn ceiling had personally earned his ire. It wasn’t uncommon for him to have nightmares, but it rattled him regardless. Each and every time he thought he was getting better, his subconscious had to remind him he was unsalvageable. How Gaster had left his little siblings behind. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to stand. There was a few audible pops as bone realigned back into place, and more pops as he began to stretch. Even his hip popped on his way to the restroom. 

After enjoying a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes, Gaster walked into the living area to survey his mess from last night. Sure enough, supplies were everywhere, and his little Postman was in pieces on his desk. “Damn.” He made an immediate bee-line for the kitchenette, grabbing the kettle. “Give me but a moment, little Postman. I just need some caffeine to perk me up.” He easily filled the kettle and put it on its base, then turned to his cupboard. For today? Given how bad of a wake-up he had? He’d stick with the tea. He pulled out a dark grey tin, labeled “Breakfast Tea”, setting it to the side before picking up the teapot from yesterday and handwashing it. It didn’t take as long as most people expected, and he set a towel down on the counter before setting the teapot down. 

Huffing out a bit of air, he walked to the desk. If he wanted to get work done, he needed a clean space. That’s just how this worked. He put away materials under his desk, gathered up Spamton’s pieces to put on the little stained towel, and began to wipe down his workspace. The whistling kettle interrupted him for only five minutes, but he came back with a fresh mug and the steaming teapot to put on the left side of his desk. He then plucked up the doll’s head, staring at it. “...Despite what I look like, I actually don’t know how best to make a pair of dentures for you. You need a good smile. The best, even.” He kept the head cupped in his hand as he paced the room, looking at nearby bookshelves that hadn’t been there before. “I have some anatomy and osteology books.” He crouched down ever so slightly, pulling out a thick textbook and tucking it under his arm before grabbing a second, even thicker textbook.

He’d just set them on the coffee table, then set the doll head on the couch beside him as he started to look through the books. Despite knowing these books like the back of his marred hand, Gaster was unsatisfied. Yes, the references were of good quality, and they’d help him make the mouth, but… The smiles were as bland and boring as could be. 

No. He promised Spamton a good smile. To turn his luck around. 

He rubbed the base of his neck, then rolled his head to the side. He couldn’t get stuck on this. Cold porcelain clay would take a while to dry, and he had to start as soon as he could. He stood up, grabbing both the head and the osteology book and setting both on his desk. He’d been ready to just power though and heh “wing it” when a singular picture caught his eye and stopped him dead in his tracks. 

A picture he passed every single morning, but he’d somehow missed it this time. It hung right beside his bedroom, and he’d look on it whenever he felt the creeping darkness at the corners of his mind. He held out his hand, hearing a soft computerized ding. The picture frame glowed a soft cobalt blue at the same time. He flicked his wrist toward himself, and the picture frame immediately shot from the wall to float in front of him. It was easy to grab then, and Gaster’s smile turned soft. 

He was so glad he remembered and kept this. He wasn’t in the picture himself, but he had taken it, so he could remember the lead-up to this picture. It was Christmas, and everyone had come out to the tree. Not many Monsters were even aware it was Christmas, but he’d been close with Asgore and the only living human, so… Information was shared, shall we say. He’d managed to find the perfect gifts for them, and had hidden them under the tree. His younger brother, the middle of the three, had opened up a trombone case and started laughing hysterically. Apparently he hadn’t expected Gaster to follow through on a bet and couldn’t stop laughing. His youngest brother, a lanky little troublemaker, had ripped the wrapping paper off a book and was damn near starry-eyed with it. “Advanced Puzzle Construction for Critical Minds.” It’d taken months, but he’d finally found a book to help his little brother’s growing interest with puzzles. 

The picture was rather sweet. Two skeletons, one clad in a blue hoodie and the other in dark orange flannel, in front of a Christmas tree. The one in a blue hoodie was holding a trombone in one hand and his forehead in the other, stuck in a moment of unbridled joy. The other in the dark orange flannel…Holding up his brand new book and beaming with the most perfect smile Gaster had ever seen in his life. 

…

Gaster settled down into his chair, setting the picture near the back of the desk, where he could easily see it and reference it. He picked up the doll head, looking between the white Addison and the similarly shaped skull in the picture. Maybe this was dangerous, or at the very least wrong. But… “That’s the smile that you deserve. I’m sure Papyrus wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it a bit. …He’s my brother. The coolest skeleton I know. Maybe only a little cooler than Sans. Certainly more than me.” 

Chapter Text

Ricoure hated going to the TV World. 

Well… Okay, maybe he should be more clear. 

He didn’t hate TV World itself; he actually really liked the place. The ambiance and general feel of the world spoke to him. Yes, the snowy fields and empty paths were cold and desolate, and staying out there felt far too open and exposed. Anyone and anything could sneak up on you. But then you’d make it to the glittering stage and theater, like a mirage in a desert, and you’d forget how lonely you just were. He’d argue that it was similar to Cyber World in small ways. Like the cameras constantly monitoring you without necessarily judging why you were there, and the blinding lights and blaring sounds that deafened any thoughts in your mind. …Okay, maybe not everyone could understand why he liked this world, but…Well, it reminded him of a casino in the best possible way. And he really did like the entire World, from the coldness to the lights. There was enough familiarity for him to be comfortable, and enough novelty for him to explore and enjoy it all. 

However. 

“Set timers on your watches. We’ve now got two hours, and it’s less if we start an Encounter.” 

He scowled at his wrist, tapping a few buttons on his watch and watching the count-down already start. He couldn’t really explore or enjoy the world like this; a looming deadline like this rested at the back of his mind and made him instantly restless. It didn’t help that he’d seen both Topsie and Spamton start to petrify in the past, and….It scared him. Even if it was temporary, it was horrifying watching the life drain out of them, their bodies losing their luminosity, and the horrifying stillness of stone. He’d never admit it; he’d rather be considered the “angry stoic asshole” than divulge any sort of fear, no matter how justified.

He swallowed once to settle his nerves, breathing out slowly as he faced his siblings. He couldn’t lose his patience just yet. “Cool. Now where should we start?”

His sister was the one who spoke up first, frustratingly enough. “Give us a second, damn!” 

Ricoure leveled a small glare at her, but Halred just as quickly held out a hand between them. With a soft Ding, a map pixelated into being above his palm. “Should definitely start with the studio, obviously. Spam mentioned there was a room for guests, both visiting and local. And if he’s been here a while, maybe someone moved his petrified ass.” The pink Addison smiled, the mischievous tone in his voice not quite reaching his grin. “There’s also a mail room, so that’s worth checking out.” He held the map out to Ricoure, pointing at the two rooms and letting them glow a soft pink color. 

Topsie spared a glance at the map, but then looked towards the Studio’s entrance. “I can try and talk to Ramb. He has eyes and ears all over this place, maybe he’s seen Spamton… And if not, he’s still in the main green room. Everyone congregates there.” She began to wring her hands together, clearly anxious about the unspoken statement she’d left hanging. 

Everyone congregates there, including Mr. Ant Tenna. 

Ricoure really, really wanted a smoke now. He didn’t care how bad it was for him, he needed something instant to calm his anxiety. “....Right. Tenna.” The Lord of TV World. A ruler of a Dark World. Maybe it was a stereotype, but every ruler in each Dark World had some kind of idiosyncrasy that made them stand out in some way. For example, King Spade was notoriously stubborn and abrasive, but he was also terrifyingly ruthless with ally and foe alike. Queen was nonsensical and oblivious, but if she had her sights on something, she could be scarily efficient at completing a goal. Mr Tenna put on a friendly and charismatic personality, but Ricoure seriously doubted that his rumored “tempermentalness” was all there was to the ruler. 

Hell, he could name a weird quirk right now! A Big Shot like Tenna, who could hire anyone he wanted, had started working with Spamton of all Addisons the last few weeks, both in person and over the phone. And as unfair as that was, Ricoure could actually admit he understood the reasons why! 1. They were still in different Dark Worlds, so the correspondence with phones made sense. 2. Spamton was a better salesman on the phone than in person because of his general appearance. Practice made perfect and all. 3. The few times he had gone over, Spamton seemed to know the place like the back of his hand. He could get around quickly, so there was no threat of petrification if he was careful. And 4. Spamton seemed to be the only one who knew how to speak to Tenna, and was the only Addison that the ruler listened to. It was enough to turn the blue Addison green with envy, but at the very least, this was a recent development. Spamton was notoriously unlucky, so he shouldn’t be this jealous that his little brother was getting some kind of windfall. But, to the problem at hand… This meant that someone had to ask a temperamental, size-changing Ruler of a Dark World that his favorite exclusive Addison was missing, and the reason it was so odd was because he’d done something so phenomenally un-Addison-like and left his wallet behind. He doubted the guy would be able to understand how uncharacteristic that was. Or, worse, he would understand, and then they’d have a panicked ruler turning TV World upside down for him, and the Lighteners would notice. And ooooh, he didn’t want that kind of attention!

Halred seemed to be thinking similarly to Ricoure, and his uneasy smile turned to a grimace as he looked down to the floor. “...With any luck, maybe he’ll be busy and won’t notice us?”

Ricoure scowled at him, crossing his arms across his chest. “I don’t like it either, but we can’t ignore him. He likes Spamton, and if he sees any of us, he’ll either ask us how the idiot’s doing, or he’ll get all flustered and tell us where to find him.” He flapped a hand as he continued, unable to keep still as he thought aloud. “It’s been a whole day since that little freak’s been missing, so those are the only two options Mr. Tenna’s got. I highly doubt that Snaggletooth would willingly go to other Worlds, so we would need to be careful expanding a search.”

His younger brother gave a similar scowl, bristling with indignation. Not at Ricoure’s logic, but... “Quit calling Spam names. That’s not helping things.”

“Oh please. He can tell me to stop himself.” Ricoure could feel irritation fluffing up his hair like feathers, and he tightened his arms across himself. “Because he’s a fucking idiot for taking off like this. Or for getting taken. I don’t know which at this point.”  

Topsie bristled in a similar manner, already starting to raise her voice. “God, Ricoure, just for ONCE could you shut-” 

“Yeah, I know, ‘just fucking [FORCE SHUT DOWN]!’” He whirled around, angry orange spirals forming in his eyes. “I KNOW! You DON’T have to KEEP [Set a reminder] about it!” The dripping venom in his voice punctuated the accidental Ads in his speech, and it seemed to startle his sister into silence.

…

Fuck.

He turned away, already starting to walk to the entrance. He hadn’t meant to sound that mean. He hated being mean. He hated being angry. He hated this. He hated all of this. He hated being angry at his siblings. He hated that he could never shut up. And Angel, he was losing his patience…. “I’ll check the rooms. Meet back here at the hour thirty mark.” He didn’t wait for a response, but he could hear the shuffling of his siblings’ feet behind him. The fact they kept a decent distance between him fed the growing guilt in his stomach. He was a horrible person. Why anyone liked him or put up with him was an absolute miracle. The only ones who did were related to him, and even they got tired of him. He could never keep his mouth shut. Made him a useful Addison, but a terrible person. It was easy to put on a face and pretend to be a friendly person if you were selling something. In that way, he was similar to his youngest brother. And the two of them only got along on every other business day. 

One thing was for certain though… Once he saw his dumbass brother, he was going to scream at him until his voice ran hoarse for making him this worried and this angry. Then he was going to hug the little white Addison until his hatch creaked and his joints popped, because despite it all, he missed the little shit. And that, he was not afraid to admit. 

He pushed open the entrance door and started to walk in, patting his face with both hands. Put on a good face, Ric. You’ve got shit to do.

At some point, Spamton was going to get used to this. That was a downright horrifying notion, getting used to…ANY of this, but he felt like he had no choice in the matter. It just kept happening!

How was he now? 

Well, he had no mouth, and he could not scream. HAhehhaaheehaaH. …That was a poor joke. No matter how accurate it was. 

At the very least, it didn’t hurt as much anymore. It was viscerally uncomfortable, not being able to feel the bottom half of your face, but there was no throbbing or burning pain to accompany such an injury. Maybe there was some benefit to being a toy after all. 

He didn’t want to continue down that existential road, so he’d focused his attention on watching [Hyperlink Blocked]. His eyesight was still fuzzy and blurry, but anything was better than being blind. And better yet, he was starting to actually comprehend [Hyperlink Blocked] as well. Spamton had noticed his God’s booming voice turning soft whenever it was directed to him. He’d watched the large white hands carry books and tools that could easily squash him and toss what he assumed was a huge chair out of his eyeline, but then turn around and cradle his head so gently. It seemed to strengthen his belief that, for some Angel-forsaken reason, [Hyperlink Blocked] liked him. That maybe Spamton truly was a “favorite” of his. If what [Hyperlink Blocked] said earlier was true, he was going to get the best smile in the world! 

What on earth he did to deserve that, he had no clue. He was abrasive, unlucky, and an overall pain who could never keep his mouth shut. HAHeehaahaheha! OKAY, the irony is not lost on my current situation!

Still… It was interesting to watch [Hyperlink Blocked] work. He’d pulled out what looked like pieces of white [Saltwater Taffy] from a glass jar and had rolled it in his fingers and the edges of his hands. Made sense, given the notable gaps in his palms. After a little bit, he had picked up what remained of Spamton’s chin and pushed some of the tacky clay against the “inside” of the chin piece. His current angle didn’t provide a great view of everything, only that [Hyperlink Blocked] was holding his disembodied chin with two fingers, and that he was using a long metal tool on it. If Spamton HAD to guess, it was some kind of screwdriver with a wooden handle. It was long, the tip was metal, and could do a decent amount of damage if jammed in somewhere. With that out of view, he decided to focus on [Hyperlink Blocked] himself. 

Those large black eyes were rimmed with a bright green, which took Spamton a little too long to recognize as glasses. The absolute size difference between them kept catching him off guard! Those same eyes seemed to hold a small white light that acted similar to pupils. He couldn’t quite tell if the being had irises, but he’d assume yes. Earlier, when he had stared at a faraway wall, the white pupil had grown into a pair of concentric circles, and the white had shifted into a brilliant cobalt blue color. It reminded Spamton of watching his siblings’ eyes shift from black irises to swirls of black and some bright color, just a difference in shape. It’d gone away after a moment, dimming back to a singular white point as he stared at a large wooden panel in his hand. Those white pupils were now focused singularly on the absolutely miniscule piece of plastic between two fingers, only breaking occasionally to look at one of the large books or that wooden panel from earlier. Spamton was just glad that unwavering focus wasn’t directed to him this time; it was unnerving to have God himself stare you down. 

After what felt like too long, [Hyperlink Blocked] lowered the little piece of plastic and set it down right beside Spamton. He didn’t bother to look; he was afraid he’d recognize exactly how it looked and did not need the fearful panic of seeing the inside of his mouth. He’d already been woken up from a nightmare that tested his fear of falling, and he [100% GUARANTEED] that if he saw this, he’d have one of those awful “teeth-falling out” nightmares. 

….Though… The more he thought about that weird nightmare from last night… The more it felt real. Maybe he was losing his mind; he was a pulled-apart toy that God was stringing back together, who WOULDN’T lose their mind at this point? But he clearly remembered cracking his forehead over his right eye and busting open his left cheek in the dream. And [Hyperlink Blocked] had black cracks over those same areas. 

What that meant he had no idea. But it was something to consider. 

He watched as [Hyperlink Blocked] manipulated the other clump of [Saltwater Taffy] in his fingers, rolling it between his fingers before forcing it into a small shape. It was hard to tell at first, but it looked like a thickened half-circle to his untrained eye. [Hyperlink Blocked] grimaced, and all Spamton could do was stare as he was picked up again. The half-circle was jammed into what was his mouth, and he felt an instinctive urge to gag. It was hard to ignore, and logic didn’t seem to help him recognize THERE WAS NOTHING THERE WHY ARE YOU GAGGING?! IDIOT! But it was pulled away just as quickly, and [Hyperlink Blocked] gave a little hum. 

“☝︎□︎□︎♎︎📪︎ ♑︎□︎□︎♎︎📬︎ ☟︎□︎◻︎♏︎♐︎◆︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ♌︎♏︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ⬧︎❍︎♋︎●︎●︎📪︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ♎︎❒︎⍓︎ ❑︎◆︎♓︎♍︎🙵●︎⍓︎📬︎”

Okay. “Good, good”… Something something “small”... “Dry”... That last word ends with a period, is 7 letters… “Quickly!” He said “Dry quickly”! 

That was promising! A bit more of this dumb waiting game, but progress was still progress. And he was figuring out this hiccuping dialtone of a language the more he was exposed to it. 

A bright light was flicked on, and Spamton could swear the light shifted a bit before it focused in on him. Or, at least, his piece of chin and the strange little half-disk on the towel. 

“✋︎ ♑︎◆︎♏︎⬧︎⬧︎ ✋︎ ⬧︎♒︎□︎◆︎●︎♎︎ ♏︎♋︎⧫︎📬︎ ☠︎□︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ ●︎♓︎🙵♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ◻︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎■︎⧫︎📬︎”

Oh great, this shit again. Um…. “I”. Something that ends in 2 “s”s… “Eat”. …The rest is garbage until “present”. …Wait, is he making a present? 

Spamton wanted to groan, or shake his head, but settled for a long groan that echoed in his mind. Progress. He had to focus on that. Progress was still progress. 

Gaster leaned back in his seat, rubbing the base of his neck as he spun the seat around. Logically, he had to wait for this small amount of cold porcelain to dry. With his lamp on it, that would take an hour at most. And since he hadn’t eaten since….Actually, when had he eaten?

… An embarrassed pink blush colored his cheekbones after a moment of thought. Last thing he ate was 3 hardboiled eggs yesterday. And that was before he’d gotten on a call with Spamton. 

…He’d argue that technically, he was a skeleton. He had no stomach. He rarely felt “hungry”. But that explanation didn’t help in explaining how he could feel cold and warmth, or how he could perk up from a cup of coffee or tea. Or how he was even blushing. Magic was bizarre that way. And, if he was honest with himself, he had a hard time remembering to eat on a normal day. If he was focused on a project, he would go days without eating, only realizing an issue when his HP started to tick downwards. There was also the explanation that he didn’t “need” to eat anymore, he was on a different plane of living, but it could pass the time and he could pretend to be normal a little while longer.

Popping up from his seat, he wandered back to the kitchenette and pulled the pantry door open. He grabbed a simple loaf of bread with one hand and a half-empty jar of peanut butter with the other, kicking the door closed. The items were set on the counter, and Gaster opened the fridge to pull out a small jar of strawberry jam.

A few minutes passed as he went through the motions; opening things up, mixing the peanut butter and jam in a bowl, spreading it on the bread, making a few sandwiches… It was dull and tedious and he HATED it. God, he hated eating. The fact it was as necessary as sleep annoyed him to no end. He took a plate of sandwiches to the living area and set it on the coffee table, only to flop onto the couch. 

….

He turned his head to the TV, just quietly staring at it. There was no drive or motivation to put something on, but a lingering restlessness settled over him. He should do something. He literally had food right in front of him, and a project that he could return to. But he felt numb. Almost paralyzed. It was at complete odds with the restless energy his mind wanted to indulge. He had time now, he’d always needed more time for things… He could read anything, watch anything, work with anything, eat anything, and yet his body refused to cooperate. Nothing sounded enticing to read or watch, he couldn’t work on anything else less he leave Spamton in pieces, why bother to eat when he has no stomach??

He WANTED to do something! He NEEDED to do something! 

But his mind wouldn’t let him! 

It was downright comical. He rolled onto his side, staring at the food in front of him. …He should eat. He didn’t want to, but he should. It was an annoying contradiction; he was feeling apathetic because he hadn’t eaten in so long, but the very idea of eating turned his stomach. 

….

It was easy to imagine his brothers being around him. He didn’t want to indulge the fantasy, but it was hard to stop his train of thought once it got started. His younger brother would flop on the couch beside him. His youngest brother would be scolding him. Sans would steal one of the sandwiches, just to annoy him. Then Papyrus would yell. Or would he smack the sandwich out of Sans’ hand? Either would be amusing. Either would be…preferrable. 

….

He reached out, grabbing a single sandwich and biting the corner off. He had few tastebuds in which to enjoy the flavor why bother this is imaginary and the texture was pretty soft and tacky why do you try there’s no point. He would’ve stayed there, just slowly eating in order to keep the motions going. Even as his stomach turned. 

…He hated this. He wanted his Postman back.

Chapter Text

You know, it was probably for the best that her brothers had stormed off. Well, Ricoure had stormed off. Halred had hung back, looking like a kicked puppy and staying by her side until he noticed a particular room and took off. Either way, she was glad they’d taken off. Both of them were being emotional wrecks, and frankly, that wasn’t productive! She couldn’t understand why Ric was so on edge, or why Hal was playing peace-keeper. …No, wait, that was a lie. She knew why. Her brothers defaulted to this kind of behavior whenever tensions ran high. And of course Germenses took after both of them. Didn’t mean she had to like it. At least Spamton had the sense to just go with the flow and finish the job before losing his temper. But of course, he had to be the one missing right now.  

There’d be time to be mad or worried once there wasn’t a deadline looming over their heads. At least their youngest sister was at home, no doubt stewing and getting restless, but she was safe. Ricoure getting angry helped no one, and Halred getting timid helped even less.

And honestly, to Topsie, the way they were acting? It was two shades short of being insulting. She was just as scared and furious, but you didn’t see her losing her temper. Why her siblings got the luxury of being temperamental, she’d never know. 

That being said, she did have to pull herself together. She straightened her posture, pulled her shoulders back, dusted off her front, and glanced at the reflective surface of a metal door to make sure her smile was efficiently wide enough. If she was going to go through this madhouse, she had to put on a good face, afterall! Even if it was fake, shiny plastic was still shiny. She could be captivating if focused on, but not too distracting. Her goal was to look for her fellow Addison. Once she felt her reflection looked decent enough, she pushed the door open and started the long walk towards the Green Room. 

She stood a head above most of the Darkeners here, with the only exception being some of the Shadowguys and nearly all of the Zappers, which made the act of looking for Spamton much easier. She just had to be subtle about it. Afterall, her little brother was brilliant white, with a black shirt and green pants. If she saw all black, it wasn’t him. If she saw flashes of red against white, it wasn’t him. If she saw nothing but green, it wasn’t him. If she saw anyone taller than her, or wear any sort of “wrong” color, then it wasn’t Spamton. Thankfully, no one had been eager to stop her wandering through the studio. A few of the Pippins had scurried away from her, a handful of particularly brave Shadowguys had crooned catcalls at her oh Angel her little brother was going to owe her BIG for this, but most had simply ignored her, only giving a courtesy glance at the fact there was movement nearby. Plenty were busy, running around with papers or props, and one odd Shadowguy had run by with a toolbox. Thankfully, she didn’t see the TV World’s Lord anywhere. She’d gotten a bit nervous at a few Zappers materializing out of thin air to block off a few doors, but a sweet smile and tiny wave seemed to put them at ease. Despite this, she couldn’t help the growing worry in her stomach as time passed. A quick look at her watch told her she’d been looking for a half hour already. Where in the World could her idiot wannabe-hot-shot brother be?? She swallowed at the sight of the Green Room, desperately trying to settle her nerves. It helped no one to be this anxious. She just needed to keep her cool.  

As she swung the doors open, Topsie gave a quick glance at the space, noting the empty couches and the gaudy doors and the plastic plants in the corners and small TVs and the vending machines… It was almost amazing how little this room had changed. Then again, that was something she liked about TV World; it was never stagnant, but it definitely moved slower than Cyber World. She loved her home world, but it changed at break-neck speed, happy to leave others in the dust. Here though? It felt like you could breathe. She let her gaze wander to the familiar bar, expecting it to be empty. 

Instead, there was a slumped figure at the bar, with a bright white head, a black back, and green around the legs. Her fake smile dropped in an instant and her heart nearly fell out of her chest hatch. Her mind immediately conjured an image of her brother from the past, drunk as a skunk, passed out on the bar counter without a care in the world, and overlaid it onto the present sight before her. 

…Of course he was out drunk. Of course he’d stay here with no wallet and not even bother to try and call them! For an asshole who did most of his sales on the phone, he couldn’t be BOTHERED to call? How [Double Dog Dare] HE?! Did he have ANY IDEA HOW SCARED SHE WAS?!? HOW SCARED [Friends and Family Discount] THEY WERE?!

Her chest shuddered with a deep breath, and her mouth snapped open as she readied a scream, ready to tear into her selfish, stupid, SLEAZY LITTLE-

Only for the Pippins to sit upright and wave lazily to whoever was behind the bar. 

…

Her heart still fluttered in her chest hatch, though now unwelcome adrenaline was racing through her system. The righteous anger turned into righteous irritation in an instant. It was just an odd-colored Pippins. Some little Dice Darkener who had the misfortune of having a similar color palette to Spamton, and who was now the reason Topsie was visibly shaking. He had let his arms hang by his sides, and she’d mistaken the half-cloak and the sleeves for green pant legs. That brought her no comfort, but at least-... Fuck, she didn’t know anymore. She was unGodly angry still, with a growing shame at where her thoughts had originally gone. How could she think her little brother would be that callous? Why was she so quick to insult him?

“‘Eyyyyyy Raaambo!” The dice’s arm slapped against the counter, his head rolling to the side. Topsie decided she hated this Pippin right now; ignoring the unintentional similarity to her brother that riled her up, she could not tolerate the drunken slurring and despicable display. The sheer lack of dignity or self-control just grated and sheared what was left of her patience. Not that the dice could tell. “Gimme another…Ahh what is it? Aaaaahhh…. Footlong!” The Pippin had a vivid green blush on their face, which only accentuated the bewildered look they had. Either he was a lightweight, or he’d drunk more than he realized. Topsie was assuming the former. 

The dizzy laugh after a moment’s hesitation was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

She was damn near vibrating in fury now. She didn’t even realize she was holding her hand open by her side, or the magic racing though her arm. But she did hear the soft sound of a small Pipis forming in her palm. She could start an Encounter. And while there was a little voice telling her to stop… An even louder one demanded that she absolutely ruin this poor excuse of a die so help her-

“Ah think you meant ‘yard-long’, luv. And not a chance.” The familiar voice was an immediate balm on her nerves, splashing cool water on her hot temper. Topsie felt the tension in her spine unwind, the Pipis disintegrating in a cloud of small pixels. “You oughta head out, Battat. It’s late.” The bartender leaned across the counter, an easy smile on his face as he patted the Pippin’s shoulder twice. “Stroker and Steven are prolly worried ‘bout ya. You promised Pluey you’d go home tonight.”

Said Pippin didn’t seem to take kindly to that, and tried to bat the hand away. “I’m Fiiiiiinnne….” He’d started to turn in his seat anyways, waving an arm to the air. “‘Ssss not like we got work tomor-...” The Pippin, who she was assuming was named “Battat”, seemed to lose his train of thought the moment he turned to face the yellow Addison and realized the bartender wasn’t his only audience. And while she wasn’t threatening to start an Encounter anymore, she could only imagine how angry and fluffed she looked. His blush seemed darker after a few agonizing moments, and he quickly spun his chair in the opposite direction. Apparently the fear of God, or at least Topsie, had sobered Battat up enough for him to know that now was the time to be quiet. She still leveled a glare at the back of his head as he shamefully walked past and out a door on the opposite side of the room. …From what she remembered, that door went straight to the snow. 

Good. Maybe the cold would sober his dumb ass up.

A soft chuckle echoed in the room, settling the frayed edges of her mind. God, it figured he still would be on call tonight. Probably for the best. “Ah… My favorite Postie. How are you, love?”

Her yellow LEDs in her skin brightened, similar to a blush, and she pushed some of her fluffed-up hair back down. “...Could be better, Pet.” Her lights brightened as she realized the nickname had slid out and she started to stammer. “Sorry, I-Ramb! I meant-...! ….It could be better….Ramb.” Oh God, she was as bad as her siblings. Hiding her face in her hands only made the Plugboy laugh again, though he had the sense to not comment on how bright she was. He quieted after a second, and Topsie took the moment to gather her thoughts and pull her hands down. “...It’s been a rough night.” 

Ramb’s response was to pat the counter three times. No teasing, at least not tonight. Just an invitation. “Come take’a seat. I can make ya somethin’, but you oughta have some water first.” He turned away only for a moment, grabbing a clean glass and the drink gun, filling it with sparkling static water. Her favorite. 

Angel above, he never changed. 

She strode over, propping herself against the bar and sliding into the seat. She barely had time to push some of her hair back before he’d placed the water down for her. Ever the efficient bartender, he pulled a rag from his apron and started to wipe down the bar counter where Battat had faceplanted moments ago. “Is it a Cosmo kind of night, or an Old Fashioned kind of night?”

She picked up the glass, slamming it back and finishing it in exactly three gulps before setting it back down. “It’s a [Enhance Safe Browsing]-FUCK.” Her fist slammed down on the countertop, and instant shame washed over her. She was such a hypocrite and she hated that about herself. “...Dammit.” She shook her head, letting her anger boil over the embarrassment of an Ad placement and lingering shame. As much as she hated herself in the moment, she should be honest with her sweet Plugboy. “...It’s a Corpse Reviver kind of night.”

Ramb continued to wipe down the counter, seemingly nonplussed. Well, anyone else would assume he was unbothered. Topsie could see him purse his lips just a little tighter than usual, his shoulders raise an inch out of place, and his paw fist the rag a little more than usual. “...Ah see.” He flipped the rag over his shoulder, then leaned against the counter, resting his weight on his elbows. Professionalism be damned, he couldn’t leave his favorite Addison alone like this. “Well… That kind of drink’s gotta wait. Shouldn’t have somethin’ that strong if you’re feeling that kinda way, Topsie. …What’s goin’ on, love?” 

The gentle prodding was just enough for her. He knew that. She could be defensive and petty and spiteful and loud, but a soft Plugboy coaxing with a gentle, genuine tone? She was so weak… She sighed deeply, resting a single mitten finger on the edge of her glass. She was so damned weak. She swallowed once, not looking up as she admitted what had weighed on her mind this entire time. “I think something’s happened to Spamton and I’m scared he’s hurt.” 

….There it was. Out in the open. The single thought that fueled her fear. She was a hysterical idiot, worrying like this over something that had been discovered only hours ago. But Ramb didn’t judge her. Didn’t ask her why or start immediately prodding her for answers. He simply reached across the counter, holding one of her mitten hands in both of his paws. She should be judged. She was getting hysterical and panicky over her brother being gone, not even fully “missing”, just GONE. Thankfully, his calm voice could cut through her worried thoughts like a warm knife. “...I’m sorry, love. …Tell me what’s goin’ on. Lemme help you, Tops.” 

“...Okay.” 

Halred was seriously considering the life choices that led him to this point. 

Granted, there was plenty he couldn’t control. Being made an Addison! Being one of the surviving five in the set of 28 colors. Being smack dab in the middle of said five. Having terrible microzoophobia. Having siblings who oscillated between being fiercely loving and absolute shit-heads as quickly as a pedestal fan. Feeling like he had eleven thoughts running through his head with all the speed of a Tasque with zoomies. And, of course, the fact he was as emotionally stable as a house made of saltine crackers. 

So, with all these facts stacked against him, he tried to be the pleasant one. The one with a sweet smile, ever so happy to talk about movies or shows, being able to make custom tea just by looking at someone, and quick to encourage others. Sometimes he branched out, trying to entice customers with sales through gentle words or flirting, or trying to settle his siblings’ nerves when the teasing or fights got too bad. Whether or not he succeeded was a different matter altogether, but he tried his damnest. Either Topsie and Ricoure would yell at him for butting in, or Spamton and Germenses would yell at him for trying to lord over them. He’d just rebuff the words with a smile or an equally sharp word. But they were his siblings; he was allowed and even expected to be this kind of way with them. 

What the hell was he supposed to do here? Trapped in an encounter with one fiery-tempered twig of a Darkener on one side and an icy fluffball on the other, throwing attacks at each other and ignoring the pink Addison who had gotten legitimately stuck  in the Encounter box. He wasn’t technically part of the fight, but he could barely dodge all the moon shaped and teardrop shaped bullets being thrown, and he couldn’t get a moment to breathe!

It didn't help that they were both yelling at each other, so he couldn’t get a word in edgewise!  

“You just want to rain on my parade!”

“You do that ALL on your own, you annoying little sheep!” 

“ExcUSE YOU?!”

“YOU ruin YOUR OWN segments with your ‘woe is me’ act!” 

“At least I’m not on some stupid HIGH HORSE and practically BEGGING for the Boss to look at me!”

“I’m a SUN, that’s where I’m SUPPOSED to be!” 

“You’re HALF A MOON, at BEST!”

….You know, Halred had already had one panic attack today. Really, what was one more at this point? The only reason he resisted the urge to spiral was an echo of his sister’s words from earlier. “We’ve now got two hours, and it’s less if we start an Encounter.” Even if he didn’t start the Encounter, he was still participating in it, which meant his limited time in this World was going to deplete even faster. And he’d barely managed to get into this mail room before being rudely sucked into a fight. Without warning, a stray teardrop slammed into his stomach, knocking him backward into the corner of the Encounter box. It knocked the wind out of him, making him double over as he took the 15 points of damage, but at least he JUST missed the little moon whizzing above his head. 

He needed to do something. He didn’t have much in HP and he was already faltering. 

…

Well. When all else failed, confusion was a hell of a distraction. And he knew JUST the pop-up to baffle them into stopping. Swinging his arm up to the top of the box, he summoned all the magic he could muster into a single Pop-up Ad that unfolded into view. The ad itself was huge, taking up most of the Encounter Box, and the exit button was hidden in the corner by virtue of being light grey against the light grey background. Little heat marks radiated off the sides of the ad, and the words flashed between black and white. 

[HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA]
[Click below to see MORE] 

Both Darkeners yelped in surprise, their fight immediately stalled as they FINALLY realized the Hot Pink Addison pinned against the bottom of the Encounter Box. Both seemed to struggle before slapping the Spare boxes in tandem. Halred was instantly dropped to the floor, taking yet one more point of damage to rub salt in the wound. That was fine. At least he wasn’t in a Fight anymore. He just had no real desire to get up right now. If he got into ANOTHER encounter today, he was going to lose it. Honest to Angel. He was going to start throwing Pop-Ups and Pipis if he got pulled into another Fight. 

“OH MY! Are you okay??” He could hear the fluffball come closer to his side, and felt a tiny hand poke the middle of his back. Even through his shirt, her hand was frigid!

“Oh gosh, oh no, oh no, I need to get-Shoot, I have something here!” He could hear the rustling of pockets and the clicks of an Inventory opening up. 

“How in the World did you get stuck there?” 

His strained yell was barely muffled by the ground. “I DON’T KNOW. I JUST WALKED IN AND GOT PULLED IN.” He tilted his head to the side, squinting at the blue fluffy Darkener. She at least had the decency to look embarrassed at his expression, and he pulled his arms under him to start pushing himself up. It took significant effort to keep his eyes closed, less they notice his spiraling eyes. 

By the time he was sitting on his rear, the fiery Darkener was sheepishly fucking HAH offering what looked like a TV Dinner the size of his palm to Halred. “Dreadfully sorry about that… I guess we were too swept up to notice you’d come in. Here. For your health…” As irritated as he was, Halred could at least acknowledge they were being apologetic and trying to make up for it. It was a nice change of pace from doubling-down. 

He took the TV Dinner, eating half of it in one bite and feeling the healing effect hit his system like a shock. He glanced at his health bar, and was relieved to see if was back to 100%. He finished off the TV Dinner with one more bite, and started to stand up. His mind raced as he straightened up, and quickly took stock of the situation. These two Darkeners stood out against the others he’d seen so far. Maybe they were higher up on the hierarchy. At the very least, they were stronger than other Darkeners here, if those stupid bullets were anything to go off of. And they looked appropriately worried and embarrassed from pulling an innocent Ad into their fight… Maybe he could use this. He just had to Act. “Thank you for the Consumable. I’ll still have to let my Associates know that this can happen to any of us.” He held a hand to his forehead, ever the picture of a Concerned Addison. “God, I hope Spamton doesn’t have to deal with this, too.” 

A gleam of recognition flickered in their eyes and the fluffball jumped to her feet. “Wait, you know our Mailman?” Hook, line, and sinker. NOW he’d get some progress. 

“Of course I do. He’s an Associate of mine. I know we look different, but we’re both Addisons.” He cracked an eye open, noting the mild worry growing on their faces. If his eyes were spiraling, then they weren’t saying so. And if they were… Might as well use the hypnotizing effect he was born with. “I don’t suppose you two can lead me to his room?”

The fiery one held up both hands in a placating manner as he responded. “We can! But he’s not scheduled to work today, so I doubt he’d be there…!” 

Okay, that was good information to have. Spamton wasn’t expected to be here, so no one would have checked his room yet. But Halred was honestly having a hard time telling if the worry on their faces was from “getting caught fighting with an Addison stuck in the corner” or “Spamton was hiding out here and they were keeping it under wraps”. …Either way, having more information was good. And he could look for clues around the room. “Well, I can still leave him a note to find for when he does come back. We have such different schedules, and it’s so hard to get him off the phone, you know.” 

Both nodded, shrugging a shoulder to the side. Apparently they’d seen Spam on the phone just as much as Hal did. The fluffy one beckoned them to follow her out of the mail room, clicking the door closed behind her. “Here…. Lanino, you lead.”

“Excuse you?” The fire resting on Lanino’s shoulders seemed to flicker once. Oh GOD, Halred was going to slap someone if they started another-

“You’re better at directions than I am.” …Oh? “And we’ve already wasted enough of this nice Ad’s time. So you lead.” She crossed her arms in front of her, decidedly not engaging in any eye contact. 

That seemed to throw the fiery one off kilter, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh… Sure. Yeah.” He looked up to Halred, beckoning with a hand before leading the way. “The guest room’s a bit of a walk, but it won’t be more than ten minutes. This way, please.” 

With Lanino leading the way, Halred kept pace behind him. The icy fluffball followed as well, keeping to Halred’s side. After a little quiet walking, she finally spoke up. “I didn’t get a chance to mention it, but… I’m sorry about pulling you into our fight as well.” 

Halred waved a hand, an easy smile on his face as he lied through his teeth. “Quite alright. Water under the bridge.” He was still angry about it, but it was hard to tell if it was the audacity of the fighting that upset him, or if it was bolstered by the reason he was here to begin with. But he had to be pleasant. He wouldn’t get any information or help if he was angry. 

She smiled in relief, her hands fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “Alright. …I suppose we should properly introduce ourselves then.” She tapped her chest once, looking up to Halred. “My name’s Elnina, and he’s Lanino. We’re-... Well…”

“We’re the Junior Forecasters” was Lanino’s helpful interjection. “She’s the meteorologist, and I’m the weather broadcaster.” …Okay, Halred had NO idea there was even a major distinction between Weather Forescasters, but kept his mouth shut. “We work right under Mr. Tenna’s second-in-command, Mike. What about you?”

Oh goodie. His turn. “Well, my name’s Halred. I already told you I’m an Addison and an Associate of Spamton.” 

Elnina spoke up this time, asking “What do you mean by Associate? I don’t mean to pry, I’m just curious.”

Well, Halred couldn’t say the truth! Usually saying you were an Associate was enough to imply that they worked closely together, if not under the same company. There were far too many untrustworthy Darkeners out there who would bother and hurt him if they felt slighted by one of his sales. And the idea of them doing the same to his siblings made him sick. It had happened once when they were little… Spamton and Germenses had been operating a sparking lemonade stand with fluctuating prices, and unintentionally upset a pair of Swatchlings. His little sister had yelled for her brother, who was then jumped and pecked on the head so hard he had bled. Both Halred and Ricoure had come in swinging and squawking, scaring off the other birds. But… It still left a bad taste in their mouths that things had escalated so quickly. So, that night, Topsie had made them link hands and swear on Qwerty that, if they were out doing business, they’d say they were Associates and nothing more. To keep them safe. Very few people knew they were siblings, and most Darkeners assumed they just worked under the same company and were sibling-like. He was pretty sure the only person who knew they were related was Topsie’s old flame, but that was a special case.

“I mean, kind of as the name implies! We work under the same parent company, and have been for years~! He didn’t check in this morning and I drew the short straw to check on him.” Utter lies, but it looked like Elnina bought it. He supposed there was little harm in telling the truth now. “I know he liked coming to this World, and I can see why. It’s really stunning here.” 

“Oh thank you!” Elnina smiled brightly, clapping her hands in front of her. “If you don’t mind me asking, since we got the time, what do you sell?”

Good. GOD. He couldn’t have ASKED for a better introduction. He held out his hand, a smaller Pop-Up materializing over his palm. “I’m actually a bit of a romantic! I’ve got movies, shoes, tea, anything you could want!” He could’ve sworn that Lanino had jolted at the pitch, but he kept his attention on Elnina. He could slip into being a salesman and pretend things were okay for now. Maybe he’d fall apart once they got to the room. But for now? He could at least try. 

“GOD-...Fucking… ANGEL!” Ricoure tried to spin the little wheel on his lighter, and it continued to click uselessly. Each click failure just added fuel to his temper you can’t even get a stupid lighter to work it’s no wonder you’re just a failure until it boiled over. “JUST FUCKING [Work From Home]!!” He threw the cheap lighter onto the ground, watching it break apart into three-and-a-half pieces. The temporary rush he got from throwing the damn thing died as he realized he now had no lighter, had no way of lighting up, and he was a fucking failure. 

It was enough to bring him to angry tears. And more than enough for him to scream his wordless frustration into the sky until his voice glitched out. It echoed long after he exhausted his breath, and he fell backwards against the wall of the building. 

It just wasn’t fair. 

He’d been looking for over a half hour now. All the little nooks and crannies he could find, all the places that most TV World Darkeners didn’t like to frequent. He’d seen Topsie a few times, but she hadn’t seen him. He couldn’t find Halred, but he’d mentioned going to a secret mail room, so he shouldn’t be too surprised. Admittedly, Ricoure had gotten pretty discouraged after checking the 30th empty room, so he decided to take a quick smoke break. He’d gone outside, quickly checked the perimeter, and stopped on the opposite side of a dumpster to pull out a pack of smokes. And then his lighter had to fail on him. Leading to him losing his temper like he was a fucking child. 

He ground his hands against his eyes, angry at everything but especially his own tears. He could feel himself breaking down into little pieces as he slid down the wall, hiccupping and sobbing against his mitten hands. It wasn’t fair! Where was Spamton?! Why did Topsie choose now to be a mean bitch about it?! Why did he have to get hit pushing Halred out of an attack earlier? Why did Germ get to stay home and they had to go looking? He just wanted to be home, standing on the back porch that overlooked over Cyber City, smoking a pack with his dumbass white brother and laughing about things that didn’t matter. He may have called Spamton an idiot snaggletooth, but he’d take it all back if he just showed up right in front of him right now…

He pulled his hands down, quietly begging to anyone to listen. “Please… I can’t find him…Someone help me find him…”

But nobody came. 

He didn’t know why he expected that to go differently. Maybe he was an idiot to be optimistic. Scratch that, he WAS an idiot. He sniffled wetly, resigned to the fact that he was not only an idiot and a failure, but he looked like an absolute mess. He wanted to not care, but he did. He pulled the sleeve over his hand, wiping at his eyes before wiping his nose. If nothing else, the liquid was stinging his eyes. He snagged the almost-forgotten cigarette on the ground before standing back up, unable to stop the little hitches in his breathing. Could this night get any worse? 

The back door was suddenly kicked open, making Ricoure jump before ducking back down behind the dumpster. Though, as the Addison, looked up, he wondered if that had made even the slightest bit of difference. An angry, quickly growing CRT TV object head Darkener had squeezed himself out the door and was literally spitting mad as he walked a few feet from said door. Only then was he patting the front of his tailcoat, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath before pulling out a package of cigarettes from one of his inner pockets. Ricoure could see how shaky the Darkener was, and hear the buzz of electricity that threatened to discharge at any moment. Then he could hear the mumbled curses increase in volume, and actually understand what the TV was saying. “...just LEAVE if they’re going to bicker like a pair of children! I get enough of that screaming and yelling from the parents, I DON’T need it in MY studio!” He stuck the cigarette in the side of his head, most likely in a vent if Ricoure had to guess, before rummaging in his pant’s pocket. “Couldn’t be bothered to just run off to another room, no it HAD to be in the Studio!! God!!” Only a few seconds passed before he found what he wanted, pulling out a little box and growling as he pulled out a match and struck it. He lit the end of the stick, tossed the match to the ground, and ground his heel against it with a little more force than was necessary. He threw his arms to his sides, TV pointed to the sky as he let out one single expletive. 

"."

WONDERFUL. Not only was it Tenna, it was a Royally Pissed Off Tenna. 

It really was unfair. 

Just as the TV seemed to simmer down, Ricoure was quickly looking for any kind of exit. Something that would get him out of this place and not incur the wrath of a fucking World RULER. Just as he was about to consider scaling the building to flee, Tenna spoke up again. “What the?” Every wire in his body was live and bright and ready to bolt, and he looked towards the Lord of TV World. Who was crouching down and observing the broken pieces of a lighter that certainly hadn’t been there hours ago. 

This was how he died. This was how Ricoure died. Even crouched, Tenna was twice his height! He was going to die, and his body would turn into a trash can at this point. Tenna was turning his head to face him, and Ricoure both felt and heard his heart slam against his chest hatch. 

He could barely think straight as Mr. Ant Tenna’s screen looked directly at him, feeling as though a spotlight was pointed at him despite the sharp nose and sharper teeth still visible. Silence lingered between them, with only the slight hum of electricity on Tenna’s end and the thudding of a heart against a hollow chest cavity for Ricoure to accompany it. It stretched uncomfortably long before Tenna hopped to his feet and turned to the side, adjusting his already perfectly placed tie. “I-... I’m so sorry you had to witness that. I had no idea someone else was out here.”

Ricoure stayed stock-still. That… That was so fucking normal. No screaming, no overreaction, just… NORMAL. But maybe if he moved, he’d break the illusion. 

Tenna stayed right where he was, only reaching up to grab the cigarette from his vent and pulling it down to his screen. “Usually I’m the only one who comes out this way. Everyone else smokes outside of the Green Room.” Maybe Tenna was only speaking to fill the silence, but Ricoure could feel his anxiety lessen with each word. Nothing too intense, but…Maybe he wouldn’t be killed by the Ruler of a Dark World? He was no longer as sure of his death as he was five minutes ago. “Can’t blame them. Smokes and a strong drink are the way to go after a long day. …You need a light?”

…Given the stories he’d heard about Mr. Ant Tenna, Ricoure was genuinely beginning to wonder if any of them were true. Obviously the Darkener was loud and let his temper get the better of him, but… “Um…Yes. Please. I uh… My lighter doesn’t work.” 

“Before or after it met with the ground?”

Before the Addison could respond, Tenna swung his arm toward him. It took Ricoure a second to realize he was being tossed a little box. He reached up, catching it in his palm rather easily before pulling it down. It was a TV Time branded matchbox. HOLY SHIT it was Tenna’s TV Time branded matchbox. “Um… Thank you, Mr. Tenna.” 

The TV flapped a hand to him, his voice gaining back a little bounce. “Oh please, no need to be so formal. Last I checked, you don’t work for me, so you can just call me .”

“Right… Thank you. T e n n a. ” He could feel an Ad ready to slip out if he talked more, so he refocused his efforts on lighting up. He stuck the cig in the corner of his mouth, freeing up his hand to take out a single match. With one smooth motion, he struck it against the side before lighting up the end and flicking the match flame out. Once the matchbox was safely in his pocket inventory, he breathed in the noxious smoke….And breathed out. The relief was instantaneous, and any earlier tension seemed to disappear like steam. 

Tenna blew out his own plume of smoke, and Ricoure could swear the TV had shrunk a foot or two. “May I ask who you are? I may be a bit presumptuous, but… Aren’t you an Addison from Cyber World?”

God help him. …Well. The TV seemed to be relatively sane and stable. And he supposed he owed the Darkener some answers. He’d given him a matchbox afterall. He nodded once before actually speaking. “I am.” Oh God, that wasn’t nearly enough tit-for-tat. He had to say more. “Name’s Ricoure.”

“Ricoure…” The TV screen flashed his name, the letters rearranging themselves into the word “Courier” before Tenna’s surprised face flashed back. “You wouldn’t happen to know Spamton, would you?”

Holy shit, this was going better than he expected.

Chapter Text

As much as Gaster loved laying on the couch, paralyzed with both restless overstimulation and the crushing guilt that he wasn’t doing things, he really needed to actually get up. He’d managed to eat both of his sandwiches, with a minimal amount of crumbs on the couch or the floor, so he’d consider that progress. He didn’t necessarily feel better, but it was still something for his nonexistent stomach to process. He turned to lay on his back, propping one foot against the couch arm rest and the other staying on the ground. It was fairly comfortable, and the weight in his stomach settled nicely, so he stared up at the ceiling and planned his next steps aloud. “Alright. Need to do the second pass of his teeth. If I spend an hour on that, and another hour for drying… Another one for paint and drying… I could reattach his jaw tonight and let it dry overnight. That’d mean Spamton’s face-up would be tomorrow morning, and if I’m careful… I can have him back tomorrow night.” He pulled a hand up to his forehead, massaging the old crack on his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Just need to get up and actually do it.” A task easier said than done. No matter the amount of logic he spouted, he was still whim to his over-active mind and his understimulated body. So glad to see some things didn’t change when I got stuck here.  

…What would he do if his brothers were here? They’d been at the forefront of his mind all day, no doubt because of that damned nightmare. His race to the CORE had mimicked history pretty well, but looking back to see his younger siblings? Definitely his mind trying to guilt him even further. … He could indulge his imagination. What was a little more guilt or shame? He closed his eyes, heaving a deep breath as he counted to five. He knew what one of them would say. He pointed a finger to the ceiling and lilted his voice to mimic him. 

“GET UP YOU LAZY BONES. I WANT TO SEE WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!” … Damn. Still stuck. He let his hand fall onto his stomach, and adjusted his voice into a deep warble. 

“come on, winga-ding. you really wanna lay down and not finish? where’s the fun in that?” 

…Still nothing. Not even a hint of urgency. Now he just felt like a fool; mimicking his siblings, reminding himself of his…current situation. The fact he wouldn’t see them again. As if this place wasn’t punishment enough, here HE was torturing himself. 

…

Spamton may be conscious, but at least he wasn’t being hurt or in pain. This realm was Gaster’s. He created it, it was dependent on his whim, his imagination, and his desire. And he’d never desired the Addison to feel any of this. So he wouldn’t. Simple as that. Granted, they had no real way to communicate right now, and it was still possible, but… No, no, there was a difference between being aware and… What he could only describe as “locked in syndrome”. But if Spamton was aware… Then he shouldn’t make his favorite Postman wait longer than necessary. 

The thought alone was enough to make his SOUL pound and his eyes shoot open. “Right. Back to work.” He swung himself up into a sitting position, then to his feet, reassuring himself. “You have a plan. Just stick to it. You can make it to tomorrow night.” It never failed; he could never motivate himself to just get up and do things, but the moment it affected someone else entirely? A completely different story. 

Gaster sat at his desk again, picking up the chin piece and the beginnings of a maxillary jaw. He hummed approval at the clay’s firmness before setting the chin piece down again. He continued to hum as he pulled out more clay, rolling it between his fingers until it resembled a snake. He pressed it against the jaw piece, gently pinching and forcing the clay together. It did have the added effect of flattening the shape into something that resembled a row of teeth, but he still had a lot of work to do with shaping. 

“Let’s see how it looks.” He picked up Spamton’s head, maneuvered the piece inside the vinyl head, and held it in place. A quick look between the doll and his brother’s reference picture confirmed he was on the right track, and he carefully maneuvered the piece out. “Already looking good, Postman.” 

The little head had no response. It only stared ahead with barely-sketched-on eyes.

…God, Gaster was certifiably losing his mind today. Usually he had much longer than this. He reached to grab his smallest ball-end sculpting tool, and he couldn’t help but fill the silence. “I’m sorry. I have no idea if you can understand me. Or if you’re even aware.” He turned his attention to the jaw piece, carefully indenting each tooth. Somehow, he couldn’t stop trying to fill the silence. Insane or not, he couldn’t stand the silence. He imagined Spamton couldn’t either. “Very few people, Monsters or otherwise, can understand me. Or, at least understand my speaking voice.” He set the tool down, opting to use the tip of his thumb to flatten the bottom edge. He hummed his approval before picking the stylus right back up and shaping the finer, more subtle details. After a few moments of shaping, getting into an easy rhythm now that the clay was actually resembling teeth, Gaster huffed a small laugh. 

“You know, I had to learn sign-language when I was little. Where I lived, enough people ‘spoke’ or could ‘read’ sign, so it was expected that you’d learn. Made perfect sense to me. …But then…” His easy smile fell as he thought back to his childhood. The adults cringing at his exuberant voice and telling him to quiet down, other children bursting into tears or covering their ears when he spoke, and all Monsters passive-aggressively insisting he speak with his hands rather than his voice. No matter how old he got, the reactions given to a small Wing Dings trying to speak up would always upset him. 

“...I used to be loud. I used to be excited and happy telling anyone who’d listen about my grand ideas and how I’d accomplish something great. But there’s only so many times you can handle being told how grating your voice is. Or that I should sign instead of speak, making it easier for everyone else. Don’t mistake me, I’m glad I learned. … But I hate that it was forced on me. I could speak just fine. Everyone else had a voice, but mine wasn’t ‘right’ so that made me wrong. And it added the connotation that I was stupid. And small, stupid children are saddled with the responsibility of being the one to accommodate those around them.” Old bitterness rolled off his tongue, but it was replaced with fondness in an instant. 

“But my brothers could understand me when I spoke. They never had trouble. And they loved listening to me talk.” Gaster’s smile returned, and he recalled a few memories. “Papyrus, the youngest of us, sounds just like I did as a babybones. Sans and I always tried to encourage him to stay as loud as he wanted. This did lead to a nontrivial amount of times where we’d ‘yes and’ off of each other until we were practically screaming at the other. It drove Sans crazy, and he’d threaten to drown us out with a trombone more than once.” 

He held the jaw piece up to the light, examining it from different angles before holding it up against the framed photograph. Sure enough, it was perfect. At least from the front. Gaster’s own smile tilted downward as he pulled his hand back. “….Then, I lost them. I lost a lot of things… And very few even remember I exist. I was thrown through time and space. I’m a forgotten name and a hint of shadow that lingers in the corner of your periphery. ” He flipped the piece upside down, molding the back of the teeth in downward strokes, which also secured the previously-two pieces of clay. It wasn’t terribly difficult, but he had made it harder for himself not doing this first; he didn’t want to undo his previous sculpting on the teeth by grabbing it wrong or pushing his fingers against the moldable clay. He’d have to remember this when doing the chin piece. 

He continued to shape the back, occasionally flipping it around to check on the front again and again. It took a bit for Gaster to speak again, his voice softer than before. “I am forced to stay in this Void, and I am only able to interact in darkness. Meaning it’s near impossible to do anything in the Light World. But your world is quite literally a Dark World, shrouded in my realm and given life by collective imagination. So imagine my happiness when I found I could visit the Dark Worlds… And my crushing dismay when I was limited to the Dark Worlds’ shadows. Few could even see me and no one could understand me.” He paused, his mind lingering as he thought about that time. “It was painful. I figured it was just part of my ongoing punishment. And maybe it still is. …I tried to call others. It’s easy enough to activate a phone and speak through it. But no one could understand me. Second verse, same as the first, but now no one could see me. I couldn’t even sign. There was no one I could communicate with..” He swallowed heavily as he finished the last downstroke and set the tool down. “My voice was just called ‘garbage noise’. A glitch. Wrong.” The jaw piece was set down on the little towel where Spamton’s head rested. 

Gaster rubbed at the back of his neck before reaching over and grabbing a little more clay to roll between his fingers. He had not yet looked at Spamton’s face while speaking, and the usual pleasant feeling of tacky clay against his boney fingers felt more irritating than he liked. He didn’t like this roller coaster of emotion he was riding, going from pleasant memories to sad, happy stories to the horrid weight of his current circumstances. But he was as helpless to his mind’s wandering as a shepherd-less flock of sheep was to a wolf. There was nothing he could do to stop it… But he could re-direct it. He could remember something else that was pleasant. Like his and this doll’s first meeting.

“But then there was you. You… The only one who responded to me instead of any variation of ‘what is this?’” His fingers stilled, the corners of his mouth peeking back up. “You. An Addison whose name alludes to a type of email that no one likes or respects.” He turned his head to look at the little Addison. “You. My favorite little Darkener. Stubborn and loud and wonderful. You could understand me. And then you let me speak through you. I could interact with others again. I wasn’t forced to be alone anymore. And I could be loud again.” Gaster reached down, brushing a thumb against a vinyl cheek. “You have so much potential, Spamton. You can understand someone who talks in symbols. You have a good company of Addisons. You’ve caught the eye of different rulers. And you could sell salt to a slug if you so wanted.” His grin sharpened, fueled by the promise of ambition. It was the trait he shared with the Postman; not quite determination, not quite perseverance, but unbridled desire to advance farther than anyone expected. It may have faltered being in the Void, but it was this trait that steered him to creating the CORE in the first place. And it was a trait he whole-heartedly wanted his favorite Darkener to keep.

“There’s no doubt in my mind, Spamton. You can be a BIG SHOT.” 

“You. An Addison….” He couldn’t understand this part, dammit all. Wait, there it was again! “…. You. My favorite… Stubborn and loud and wonderful. You…understand…Let me speak through you. …interact with others again. I wasn’t….alone… loud… You….so much potential….symbols…company of Addisons…caught the eye…rulers….sell…if you wanted.”

“There’s no doubt…..Spamton. You can be a BIG SHOT.”

If he was able to, he’d puff out his chest and scream in thanks. It still was difficult to decipher everything that this huge being was saying, but he was getting it piece by bitcrushed piece. He could understand at least. [Hyperlink Blocked]’s complicated history with his own voice, the fact that GOD apparently had siblings, the fact he could be even louder! And then the admission and sorrow of…[Something in the Way]. His voice had gone so soft it was actually bearable to his ear, but he’d been so vague! Apparently he was part of the shadows in the Dark Worlds? That was… Well. Unnerving, but it made a weird form of sense.

As he spoke about not being understood…Spamton felt genuine sympathy for him. He may have been an Unlucky Snaggletooth holy SHIT he hated being called that he hated it so much, but he had as silver a tongue as any Addison. Even with the odd Ad-Read that snuck into his speech and his mind, he was comprehended. There was never a question about what he said. Other than the incredulous. But… The isolation of not being able to communicate? That was a sobering, horrible thought. 

It reminded him of the night he’d first spoken to [Hyperlink Blocked]. 

It had been so unassuming, so absurdly normal and calm. The store’s phone rang, and he’d bolted up to get to it. Halred had been closer to it, but he had bodychecked his brother to the side before grabbing the phone. His brother’s annoyed expression made him want to laugh, but he had used a polite [Customer Service] tone when saying “Hello”. 

The tired voice that responded with its own greeting. “Hello. Can you hear me?” It’d been so normal. Maybe dreary, a bit weary, but it was as clear as day. 

“Yes sir, I can hear you fine! How can I help you today?”

“I-... Wait. Say that again?”

He remembered rolling his eyes, and repeating his words. 

He also remembered the sudden panicked laugh through the phone, cut off by the sound of something hitting a wall. And he remembered the next words so clearly. 

“How very, very interesting.”

The rest of that evening sped by like a blur, and he could only recall the basics now. Talking to [Hyperlink Blocked] for longer. Halred leaning in to try and catch what was being said, only to pull back in confusion. The promise to call back later. And, of course, the weary voice tacking on that if they saw an odd looking Hare or Rabbit, to kill it. He’d hung up quickly after that. The whole interaction had been odd, and then the voice had ended it by saying he had to kill something?? With no explanation or anything?! It’d soured his experience talking with the voice. Before he could even finish processing the interaction, his pink brother had pulled him to the side, asking why he was talking to a glitching soundboard. He’d argued it was a normal voice, and the two had argued until their sisters intervened. Business as usual. 

A week later, an influx of Plugboys had immigrated to their Cyber World. All of them spoke of a terrible Virus that had broken and fractured their world, and they were forced to jump ship. Not everyone made it. Queen, for all her eccentricities, had taken charge of her new subjects’ appearance and mandated that more Ambyu-Lances were to be made. It had been crowded for a few days as storage and homes were built from code. But for Spamton, he remembered the following weeks as being one of his busiest. The new Darkeners were desperate for goods, and even an ugly, unlucky Addison like him sold out his entire stock. But he also remembered the Plugboys talking around him, scared of the Computer Virus that had displaced them. How it had snuck into their world on a disk. How it infected the very heart and structures of their world, turning it to dust. How it was called a “Wild Hare”. And later, as he was leaving the storefront to return home, he could hear a Plugboy telling her children to watch for the odd-looking black and blue Hare. Her husband had mumbled how they should’ve killed the thing when it arrived a week ago.

That had peaked his interest. This strange voice that had barely warned him of a threat. He, and his World, had been ridiculously lucky that it had avoided them. But it had been close… So he had called [Hyperlink Blocked] back. Then he kept calling. Over time, their relationship had grown. He still considered the voice to be overly cautious sometimes, but the voice simply reminded him that it knew more than he did. It should’ve been insulting, but Spamton could honestly not disagree. [Hyperlink Blocked] was the Creator of Dark Worlds. Of course he would know more. And yet, he spoke only to Spamton. 

And now, here he was. Broken into pieces, in a truly staggering amount of pain, and his body being rearranged. But he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned. That was the one thing that [Hyperlink Blocked] had always been upfront with him about; even if it bordered on excessive, he would always try to warn Spamton. He’d warned that it could hurt, that it could take a while. But he also promised that he’d be able to go to other worlds. 

Spamton was pulled out of his musing at the same time he was picked up again. He had barely managed to not choke or gag on the upper set of teeth being shoved into his head, and he inwardly cringed at what he’d feel next. 

What he felt was his chin slotting back into place. It didn’t feel completely right, but it was more bearable. It felt much heavier than before, and he noted that his mouth rested lower. There was a slight burn where he felt the tip of his chin shaved down… He really would stand out from the other Addisons with this face…. As quickly as it had come, his chin was pulled away again and he was placed back down on the towel.

“✋︎🕯︎❍︎ ⬧︎□︎❒︎❒︎⍓︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ❒︎♋︎❍︎♌︎●︎♓︎■︎♑︎📬︎ ✋︎ ❍︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⬧︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ⬧︎□︎ ◻︎♓︎⧫︎♓︎♐︎◆︎●︎📬︎ ✋︎⧫︎🕯︎⬧︎ ♌︎♏︎♏︎■︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ✌︎ ❒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ■︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎📬︎ ”  

“I'm sorry for rambling. I must sound so pitiful. ... A rough night. ”

Spamton didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. He hated the silence. It was nice to listen to someone, even if he couldn’t always understand what was said. And [Hyperlink Blocked] had kept working the entire time. As hurt as he was, the [Salt-Water Taffy] had to dry. He had to wait. It was rather funny that GOD was a workaholic, but it was better than the alternative right now. He looked up as best as he could, watching the huge white hands work. 

He just had to be patient. [Hyperlink Blocked] had given him quite a bit of information. Maybe he’d offer more. GOD was obviously desperate for company. And if Spamton was the only one he could talk to, then that meant he had exclusive rights to anything that he’d do. Maybe he’d slip and say something else that Spamton could use. Once this ordeal was over with, he could ask [Hyperlink Blocked] to explain the most obscure things to him. Or even just things. Why he and his siblings had features of birds and dolls but they had no wings or pullstrings. Why the Light World was the way it was. Why Tenna could control TV World with far more power than any other Ruler could. Why the Prince seemed to know everything about the Lighteners. His GOD would get the company he so obviously desired, and he would get knowledge in return. 

He had all the time to think about it now. And if he let his mind wander to the Addisons or TV he left behind, he’d [Give Up]. And who would that help? No. He needed to turn to [Hyperlink Blocked]. No matter the amount of knowledge or power or reality he held, at the end of the day, he could see the Creator for the desperate, kind Monster he was. And that was easy for him to work with. 

“Yes, I know Spamton! We’re-...Associates.” The familiar lie slipped past his lips as he looked up to the giant TV. 

The edge of Tenna’s faceplate rose, similar to someone raising an eyebrow, and he balanced his cigarette between two fingers. There was a beat before he smirked and held up his hands to motion air-quotes. “Oh please. ‘Associates’ don’t have matching names. And ‘Associates’ don’t risk their necks traveling to neighboring Dark Worlds for another without good reason.” 

Crap. Ricoure tried desperately to keep a poker face, but his luminescence betrayed him. He was as bright as a headlamp. 

Tenna chuckled, letting one hand go into his pocket and the other raise his cigarette to the screen. “It’s alright. I can keep a secret.” He started to walk over to the wall, spinning on his heel at the last moment so he could fall against the building. Ricoure had to strain his neck to look up at the man, but he kept his stoic expression. Luminescence be damned, he wasn’t going to let his face crack. “...I won’t deny and say I’m not curious. But you also don’t seem keen on sharing. That’s fine, I don’t mind.” The Addison swore he saw the ruler shrink down an inch at the last sentence. Maybe Ricoure was reading into it too much, but that alone seemed to imply that the TV was lying. A white lie, to be polite, but a lie regardless. “...But I would ask why you’re here and not in Cyber World. Is there something I should be worried about?” 

Ricoure breathed in a drag of smoke, blowing it out in one long plume before answering. He could be polite as well. “He-... He was acting a little strange last night. And he didn’t come into work today.” He reached into his pocket, rubbing his mitten fingers against the faux leather of his wallet. “Dumb b-[I wanna be a Real Boy] even left his wallet behind.” Oh thank God and Angel for that Ad-Read interrupting him. He really needed to watch his language around others. He thumped his fist against his chest hatch, hearing his heart rattle once before looking back up. “This world is one of his favorite places to be, so… Wanted to check here.” 

A dusting of pink flashed across Tenna’s screen, and his smile grew wider. “Oh…Is that so?” 

It was almost too easy to stroke the Cathode’s ego. He swung his hands outwards, motioning to the purple cliffs and snow ahead of them. “Oh definitely! I’m a big fan of your World as well. It’s a [Wonderful Life] place to [be there or be square]. The Lights, the Sounds, everything comes together and I always leave happy!” He prided himself on watching the TV grow a full foot taller with the praise.

“WELL WELL.” Tenna looked downright chuffed, adjusting his already perfect tie. “Always glad to hear what others think of my World~!” 

Ricoure grinned, taking another drag while he considered his next words carefully. “That being said… Did you happen to see him today? Or hear from him? He doesn’t always share his schedule with-” He motioned air-quotes like Tenna had- “his ‘Associates’.”

The edge of Tenna’s faceplate curved downward, much like a frown, and he crossed his arms tightly. “...I did speak with him a few days ago. But he asked me not to share.”

Oh? Ricoure’s posture straightened up, and he narrowed his eyes slightly. The hell was Spamton doing? He forced himself to smile, using his free hand to comb his hair back. Just as he’d been ready to beg, borrow, plead, anything to get a scrap of information…

“, he only asked me to not share with .” Tenna flapped a hand in front of himself, taking a quick puff to settle himself. “He said nothing about his crew, or his ‘Associates’.”  

Oh thank Angel. The blue Addison swallowed heavily, a mixture of anticipation and relief fueling his luminescence again. He tried to squint his eyes closed, tried to will his body to go back to a neutral state, but he wasn’t having the best luck. Another long drag helped loosen the springs in his body, and his luminescence dimmed. 

“Though maybe don’t mention it when you see him next.” Tenna’s voice took on a slightly nervous titter, and he pulled at the knot in his tie to loosen it. 

“He won’t hear it from me, I can guarantee you that.” His smile remained, his tone friendly. Spamton would hear A LOT of things the moment Ricoure saw him next, but he could keep Tenna’s involvement out of it. 

“Well… Last we spoke, Spamton mentioned he wanted a few days off.” The large TV paused to finish off his cig, crushing the end against the brick of the building. “He didn’t give much in details… Just that he was going to try something new and it’d take a few days.” He flapped his free hand in front of him again, fanning the remaining smoke. “He was a little cagey about it, but he’s also been working on a car back in Cyber World, so…” He shrugged his shoulders, his open palms emphasizing the movement. “...Honestly figured he was working on it again. He gave me no reason to assume anything bad was going on.”

That….Was reasonable. Even if the bright red car that was resting on bricks in their back yard hadn’t been touched in weeks, Spamton loved working on that thing. Taking a few days off to just focus on it was a decent cover. …Well, except for the secrecy. “Then why keep it a secret? Or, at least give you pause in sharing with me?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” The TV tilted his head downward and looked directly at the confused Addison. 

“...Tell me what?”

“One of the ShadowGuys broke into his car last time he drove out here.”

“I’m sorry, [WHAT]??” 

Just like that, Ricoure’s face finally cracked. He looked absolutely murderous, his eyes now spinning spirals of toxic orange and his hair fluffed out to twice its size. The SECOND he found that Darkener he was going to WRING their NECK LIKE [A HALF-PRICED CHICKEN CUTLET]!!

Tenna immediately held his hands out in a mollifying manner, the beginnings of static starting to form on his screen as he stammered. “Let me assure you, that Darkener was immediately ! A-and Spamton’s car was fixed before he left! Free of charge! But SINCE then, he’s… Well, he doesn’t want other irritated Darkeners to know where he is!”

…Breathe, mother fucker, breathe. You’re upsetting the only Darkener who’s helped you out out here. Ricoure took a deep breath, holding it for 3 seconds, then released it for 5. He repeated the motion two more times, then reached up to smooth his hair back down. Maybe Topsie was right… Maybe he was an emotional wreck. Couldn’t even keep it together in front of the Lord of TV World. Fucking failure. 

“....Okay… Okay. My-... My apologies for my outburst.” He looked down to his cigarette, now crushed in his palm, and scowled as he threw it to the open dumpster. “...I had no idea.” He was being polite again. There was one night he could recall where Spamton drank more than usual at the Cyber Grill, saying he’d gotten into a fight that mussed up his rental, but he hadn’t spared any details on the matter. And no one had pushed for more details. “... If he didn’t say it to you, thank you. That was kind of you.” 

It was Tenna’s turn to look a little nervous, like he was expecting a worse reaction from Ricoure. He had certainly shrunk down a few feet again, now only twice the Addison’s height. “It’s alright.” Ricoure knew that was a bold-faced lie, but he was being polite. “I’m just surprised he didn’t say anything.”

You and me both. For some reason, that was the part that upset him. Even… Even if they butted heads and fought… Spamton would still be his little brother. He’d always go to bat for the white Addison. So why…?

“OH! Are you alright?!”

Ricoure was yanked out of his downward spiral by Tenna’s sudden yell, jumping a foot in the air. “I-” 

“Your hand!!”

His hand? The Addison looked down at his hands, and froze at the sight. Either his timer was faulty, or his stupid outbursts had cut his time short, or he was picking up some of his little brother's bad luck. His left hand was starting to turn grey and petrify. “....Oh [Click Here for Hot Singles In Your Area].”

Chapter Text

“...And that’s the long and short of it.”

“I see… Well. I doubt what I’ll say helps matters. But I heard through the loom that Spamton was taking a few days off. He ‘implied’ that he’d be getting a new look for something. Thought it was for that hotrod of his or maybe getting new clothes with Germenses.”

Topsie huffed a small laugh. She’d swear her brother was a damn poet when it came to lying. “I’d take him working on that junker if it meant he was home.” 

“I know.” Ramb deflated with a heavy sigh, his voice softer just for her. “I’m sorry, Poppet. I wish I had better news. I swear he forgets I’m here half the time, and is hyper-aware the other half. If I knew where he was, I’d tell you. Even more so if he's leaving his wallet unsupervised like that.”

“…Between you and me, Pet, I think Ric and Germ are taking it the hardest.” 

“Wha’ makes you say that, love?” 

Topsie pushed a curl of hair back, leaning her chin on the heel of her hand. “Well…Germ was the first to notice. And you know how close Ric and Spam used to be… Maybe still are… Angel, I don’t know anymore.” She sniffed once, letting her eyes wander to the wall behind the bar. It shouldn’t have drained her energy to just relay the day’s events to her favorite Plugboy. But relaying the day’s events had forced her to re-experience the torrent of emotions for a second time, and that had sapped her glow. It made her so, so grateful for Ramb being here, even for a moment. She could admit things to him that she’d never breathe to her siblings. …Like the question that lingered on her tongue. 

She could never, ever ask this to them. It would sound like she was guilt-tripping them, or trying to control them in a passive way. But the Plugboy knew her. He’d know she was sincerely troubled as she spoke it. “...What if he just left? Got tired of dealing with us, or hated us so much that he just… Took off.”

Topsie could handle it if Spamton wanted to spread his wings. But if he hated them… Hated her? …Her heart couldn’t take it.

Ramb’s brow furrowed, and his grip tightened around Topsie’s hand. “Hey now, Poppet… Don’t think like that.” His voice was steady and calm, and he leaned in to try and catch her eye. “Ya’ honestly think someone as loud, or as dramatic, as him wou’ take off without a word?” Topsie had to admit, he had a point. “Are we talkin’ abou’ the same Addison who almost started a Fight with a Poppup cuz he got spooked?” He grinned at the memory, and lifted one paw to motion to the ceiling. “Or how ‘bout the time he was slighted by Tasque Manager, so he wen’ over wit’ a shop vac full a’ Tasque Mint and blew it all o’er the entrance to Queen’s mansion?”

Oh Angel, she remembered that! She almost laughed at the recollection, instead turning her head so she was leaning her mouth against her palm. It did little to disguise her mirth given her shaking shoulders. From what she recalled, that had been such a mess to deal with, both metaphorically and literally! Though, in Spamton’s defense, the Tasque Manager had just let her Tasques chitter and pounce and attack every Addison, Swatchling, and Poppup that came near. The Darkener had so little control of her Tasques in the beginning! It’d just been Spamton that had just been the one to…. “air his grievances” in such a public manner. If she could be so diplomatic~.

“An’ let’s not forget the time Hal and Germ started tossing him back ‘n forth like a volleyball. That’s still the best version of a Doppler effect I’ve ever experienced.” 

Topsie’s shoulders bounced as she laughed into her hand. She remembered that sight well; if ever she felt bad and needed an instant laugh, she would just think back to that afternoon and replay his back-and-forth squawking in her head. Out of the five of them, Spamton was always the most “reactive” out of all of them. He would give the best reactions to teases and jabs, so of course he was the usual target. After a moment, she let her hand fall to rest on the counter. …As grateful as she was that her Pet, her darling was here… Her brother wasn’t. She shouldn’t feel happy. She shouldn’t be happy or enjoying anything, and yet here she was. 

She reached up to rub at her eyes, the sudden wave of guilt threatening to overwhelm her. “I should be looking for him.” She wanted to pull her hand out of Ramb’s grip, but he tightened it ever so slightly. 

“You are, Poppet.” Ramb continued, cutting off Topsie’s attempt at arguing. “You found me. And you know I will always keep an eye out for Addisons. But running yourself ragged like this? Snapping at the others? Almost ready to start a fight because someone irritated you?” He sighed, tilting his head to her. “I know you, Tops. You’re worried, and that can com’ ou’ as anger. Please… Don’t turn that anger to yourself.” 

Topsie swallowed at that last statement, looking upwards to the ceiling as if that’d help settle any forming tears. As overwhelming as it was to be told the honest truth about herself, she was helpless to stop her heart pounding in her chest hatch. “...It’s very hard not to.”

“I know, love. I know.” 

The silence settled between them, only the Green Room’s background music breaking it. Topsie tightened her mitten hand around his paw this time. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know.” Ramb repeated. “I’d…rather you stayed, too. But…” He didn’t need to list the reasons; she knew them already. Hell, she listed them herself. “...I’d love to see you again. When you can come…”

Those last four words soured her mood instantly. 

Topsie finally pulled her hand back, then pushed herself from the bar to stand. Of course… She had to be the one to visit him. It wasn’t as if he was completely bound to the rules of this World, he could come back, he simply didn’t want to, it was the way things were-… No. She shouldn’t go down that mental path; she was already upset, thinking about their old arguments wasn’t going to help matters. “Why can’t you come?”

His easy smile dropped as he pulled his paw to his chest. “...Tops, you know I can’t. I have a job here… I can’t just take off when I feel like it.” 

“Oh yes… Because it’s so hard for you to even attempt it. Not even bothering [Ask your Parents before going Online] to come home for a bit.” She started to brush her shirt down, building herself back up to the Cool, Collected Addison she had perfected. She noticed the flash of hurt cross Ramb’s face, but it was gone in an instant. He similarly started to straighten back up, adjusting his apron with an easy motion, and pulled the rag off his shoulder. He was building himself back up to the Nonplussed Bartender persona that Topsie knew so well. The guilt came creeping back in; he’d taken time to talk with her and here she was throwing it in his face. God, why did her anger have to strike him? 

She should apologize. 

“I-.... Your number hasn’t changed, has it?”

Ramb tossed his head once, but didn’t look up to Topsie this time. “Nope. Still the same.”

Just say you’re sorry. “Good.” She started to turn away; just looking at the hurt Plugboy would break her all over again. But she could promise something. “I’ll…I’ll call you when things settle.” 

“As you like.” 

Topsie wasn’t fully sure how, but Ramb’s short, polite responses when he was upset hurt worse than if she’d been yelled at. Though, she supposed she deserved it. She started to brace herself, ready to stand up and get back to work…

Only to jump at the tinny voice of a familiar Ruler echoing through the Studio and the lights suddenly shutting off. 

For a single instant, Topsie couldn’t see past the tip of her nose. It was as if the entire World had gone pitch dark.

Only for it to illuminate with a single CLICK!

Halred was not having a good time. He thought that he had been doing fine now that he was no longer in a fight or dealing with bickering Darkeners. However, it seemed as though his joke of a second panic attack was nearing its punchline. His heart was clattering in his chest, and it was getting harder and harder to keep a smile on his face. But he couldn’t break character. He was “The Nice One” and “The Pleasant One”. Snapping on someone else would shatter that image. And Angel knew how that’d affect his work. Once they’d finally arrived at Spamton’s unofficial room, Halred had felt a jolt of intrusive Dread wash over him. Logically, he already knew his brot-Associate wouldn’t be here! But maybe, just maybe… His frozen body would be. Could he handle seeing his little brother’s lifeless-

His shaky hand gripped the doorknob as he said his goodbyes to Lanino and Elnina. He just had to keep it together a few more minutes. THUD. Okay maybe a minute. He just had to pretend everything was normal, that doing this was normal, that he was walking in an Associate’s room and not his younger brother’s room. THUD THUD. God, why couldn’t they just leave?! It’d been easy enough to lie and smile and sell trinkets to the junior forecasters on the way here. And given how combative they were to each other, he’d assumed they’d be eager to bolt once they were at the Guest Room’s door. 

Instead they stayed for a few minutes. First to bicker at each other, then to thank him for his patience, compliment him on something he couldn’t catch. THUD THUD THUD. Whatever it was, Halred couldn’t concentrate over the sound of his heart pounding in his chest hatch. He quietly wished for his heart to stop thudding so loud. With a small flourish, he swung his free arm like a showman, thanking the weather pair for their kindness what kindness throwing me around and hurting me?? THUD. Before the illusion could break, he quickly stepped inside the room and closed the door, locking it with the deadbolt.

THUD THUD THUD. It was safe to let the illusion break now. He let his smile finally drop as he leaned against the door and slid to the floor. His mind wanted to flee, his heart wanted to fight, and his body just wanted to freeze. He’d been doing so good, why couldn’t his body just relax?!

THUD THUD. The sheer force of his heart throwing itself around a small space made Halred bow over in pain. His voice whimpered out pathetic curses. “Fuck me… Angel Above, why… Oh God, oh fuck….” 

THUD THUDTHUDTHUD. He swallowed a breath and clawed at the buttons of his shirt to open it. “Cmon, cmoncmon….” THUD THUDTHUD. He fumbled with the latch on his chest, cursing as his fingers shook. Stupid mitten hands… He finally managed to curl a finger under the latch, popping it loose. 

With a final THUD his chest hatch snapped open, and a little pink heart lurched into the air. It trailed a similar pink chain that was attached to Halred’s spine, and the movements tensed whatever slack the chain originally had, making the Addison gasp in pain. It kept bucking in random directions, flitting around like a frightened bird with a string around its ankle. All the while pulling its scared Darkener along for the ride. Halred tried to push himself up with his hands, get some purchase, only for the heart to jerk forward and knock him to the floor once more.

HAH. Isn’t this fitting?? Can’t even control yourself.

“UNG-! FUCK!” Halred clambered to his hands and knees, scrambling to close the distance and grab his panicking heart. It dodged his frantic grabs, glowing brightly with each “heartbeat”. “GET!” Miss. “BACK!” Dodge. “HERE!” It yanked itself upward, throwing Halred on his back and pulling the pink chain taut. He squalled as he felt the intrusive pull on his spine and the following throb of hot pain. “STOPIT!” He seized the chain with both hands, yanking it down hand-over-hand in short, painful bursts until he could grasp the frantic heart with a tight grip. It pulsed in his hand like a scared bird, threatening to jolt away again if given an inch of leeway. “GOTcha, you little SHIT…!” He pushed himself upright to sit, catching his breath despite feeling like he was being crushed.

You can’t do anything right. You can’t talk to too many Darkeners without feeling overwhelmed. You can barely sell anything. Why bother trying?

Halred gritted his teeth as he clapped his other hand over the vulnerable pink heart. It couldn’t speak. It was just his own dumb mind telling him things…

You just ride on the coat-tails of your siblings. You’re nothing but a scaredy tasque. A fifth wheel in the whole scheme of things.

You were the last one to see Spamton and now he’s gone.

It’s your fault everyone’s upset. 

He tightened his grip over the heart, feeling the familiar crushing feeling throughout his whole body now.

You should’ve said something. 

You could’ve noticed something.

And now it’s your fault he’s probably d-

CRACK!

…..

The pain was instantaneous. The pink Addison choked on a breath, feeling a sharp ache spread across his whole torso. He cracked his eyes open to look down at his heart…. Both hands were still holding it, pinning it against the hardwood floor, though now the heart was sporting a small crack at its bottom point that spider-webbed up an inch. It wasn’t fluttering anymore, or fighting his firm grip. It barely pulsed with light. He’d smashed the fight out of it.

“...Dammit all…”

The feeling of being Absolutely Overwhelmed was immediately replaced with Shame. He promised he’d stop doing this. Topsie was going to kill him if she saw this… And the worst part of it all? He cracked his heart, and for what? Because he was throwing a tantrum? Because he couldn’t handle how badly the day had gone? Because he missed a little brother who didn’t even like him? How was that any different from normal? Why did he hurt himself like this? 

The last question was too hard to think about, and he shook it out of his head. 

He couldn’t stop now…. Angel knew if there was someone outside the door, listening to him scream and yell like a dumb child having a tantrum. All because his stupid heart wouldn’t stop pounding. ….He wanted to throw it against the ground. Break it even further… But he couldn’t. All that’d do would hurt him more, make him more pathetic and pitiful than he already was. And what would be the point? His heart was already quelled.

He placed the cracked heart back inside his chest hatch, letting it hover near his spine. It stayed still and quiet as he gathered the slackened chain to shove back inside. His hands shook as he closed his chest hatch, and somehow got worse as he tried to button up his shirt back up. The Shame intensified as he tried to pull himself onto his feet, and the sharp ache from before wracked his body. How fantastic. Now, for a moment of anger, he’d feel the pain of a cracked heart translated as chest pain for the rest of the day. Though he supposed it was a fitting punishment for being a stupid Darkener who couldn’t control his own heart. 

“...Cmon, dumb-dumb. Might as well do something right today.” He smacked his cheeks twice in an attempt to refocus. On the plus side, Halred didn’t see a petrified little Snaggletooth anywhere in here. At least no one but him was privy to that tantrum. The room was pretty spartan, with only two items that even indicated that Spamton had been in his room. One was the black rotary phone on the right side of the vanity. A bit odd, but that seemed on-brand for his unlucky little brother. The other was a Polaroid photo that was taped to the vanity’s mirror. He couldn’t see it clearly, so he walked over to check it over. 

The photo was a nice one. It had been the day all five of them had moved into the house…. A grinning Spamton was front and center, an arm slung over a laughing Ricoure’s shoulders. The background had a not-quite-adult-yet Germenses balanced on Topsie’s back, the two sporting similar smiles. He could remember this. He’d taken the picture.

…

“Heh.” Small tears began to bead at the corners of his eyes, no doubt swirling black and neon green. Ugly, angry Jealousy settled in his stomach along with the earlier Shame. Here he was, driving himself crazy with guilt and worry… For someone who didn’t even acknowledge him. Who didn’t even want to be reminded of him. Then again, Halred wasn’t anything special. He swallowed back a sob, a tired, hysterical laugh escaping him. “Why do I even bother?”

The ache in his torso pulsed, the pain snapping him out of his downward spiral. He wiped at his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even so it wouldn’t catch and hitch. He started to open drawers, looking for some kind of paper or pen to use. He’d managed to get a TV Time branded pen in the first drawer he opened! But his luck faded as each subsequent drawer had something OTHER than a pad, or something to write on. His luck faded further as he realized he was losing feeling in his right foot. A quick look down proved his worry true: he was starting to petrify. His foot all the way up to his mid-shin was now a light grey, rocky texture. He guessed that Fight had taken more out of him than he thought. Or maybe his “tantrum”.

“Well, ain’t that fuckin’ typical.” He stood upright, kicking the last drawer closed with his petrified foot and snapping his fingers. A small pad of paper appeared over his open palm in a flash of pixels, and he caught it easily. Though, standing in front of the vanity, he could help staring at himself in the vanity’s large mirror. 

There was no sugar-coating it: Halred looked like a mess. Scuffs on his face, his hair starting to loosen out of his ponytail… His shirt was missing a button, and his usual pink glow was dimmed. Then there was the obvious marks under spiraling eyes that exposed that he’d been crying… He let his eyes drift to the happy picture next to his reflection, emphasizing all the more how he didn’t belong. Or, at the very least, how his little brother didn’t even want to be reminded of him. The fact he was slowly turning to stone was just icing on this horrible cake. His heart pulsed in his chest once, no doubt subdued by the crack that would take a few hours to heal. 

Why did Spamton, of all Addisons, get to be in a place like this? He was the unlucky one, the Snaggletooth, the angry one. Why did he get special calls that boosted his sales? How was it that he could charm the most finicky of customers while Halred struggled? Why was his little brother the one who could fix anything if given a manual and a tool set, while he couldn’t do anything useful? And… All four of them were worried for Spamton. Would anyone be worried if Halred disappeared? What if he was locked away, unable to scream, unable to escape… Would anyone come for him?

…

Halred looked away from his reflection, not wanting to consider the answer. He probably didn’t have much longer in this place. 

Instead, he set the pad of paper down and started to scribble a note.

Spamton,

Where the hell are you you selfish prick?

He tore off the page and balled it up in his hand. That wasn’t helpful. …He took a calming breath before trying a second time.  

Spamton, 

It’s been a whole day since you disappeared. 

Hopefully we find you before you get this. 

If not, CALL US. Everyone’s freaking out 

looking for you. You better have a good

explanation for where you’ve been. 

Also, you suck making us worry like this.

-Halred

He pocketed the pen, then the balled up piece of paper. He’d dispose of that bit of anger in a less conspicuous location. Just as he was about to turn from the mirror, he could hear the slightest echo of a voice commanding something….

And just like that, all the lights snapped off. He jumped at the suddenness of it all, throwing his hands up in front of him to protect from-... OKAY, he didn’t know WHAT? But anything could jump out in this darkness! Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long as the lights were back on with a loud CLICK!

He blinked a few times at the blinding light assaulting his vision, then reared back as he realized he was no longer in the dressing room. He was now in a Green Room, with far more people than he was just seconds ago. He stumbled backward, babbling questions under his breath before tripping over his dead foot. He expected to hit the ground, but met resistance against his back. He wanted to jump again, but he recognized the yellow mitten hands grabbing his shoulders and the sharp voice bringing him back to reality. “Easy, Hal, easy…!” 

Topsie? Wasn’t she in a different part of the studio?

“Oh wow, that’s… That’s a trip….”

Ricoure? When’d-?

“Sorry about that! But it looks like you three need to get back to the Cyber World, pronto!” That voice was achingly familiar… Loud and tinny, with a bit of urgency. “You can borrow my car!” 

…..OH. Right. Tenna. Ruler of TV World. He could do whatever he wanted in this World. Like teleport them all to one room. 

…You know, at this point, why not? The petrification was already up to his knee. He should take whatever he got.

As Gaster dipped a thin paintbrush into a cup of muddy water, all he could think was “Thank GOD this part was over”. The part that took up most of his time for the last two days was finally done! For the most part. Gaster leaned back in his chair, pulling his arms past his head and stretching his spine out until he felt a small pop in his lower back. The relief felt glorious and he groaned as he went limp over the edge of the seat. 

Wonderful. Despite the bad wake-up, the baring of his SOUL to an inanimate doll, and re-visiting old memories, he actually felt pretty accomplished! Both the maxilla and the mandible were finished being sculpted, the clay had dried for long enough, and he’d just finished painting both pieces. The colors weren’t too outrageous; the teeth had a nice white sheen to them, the sculpted tongue was a muted grey, and the gum-lines were a darker grey. Fitting for a mostly-white Addison. Now all he had to do was wait an hour for the thinned acrylic paint to dry, then he’d finally reattach his Postman’s jaw. Then, he could clean up, find some decaffeinated coffee to relax with, and fall asleep. Then, he’d be able to complete what he considered the “fun” parts of customizing tomorrow morning! Like doing the face-up, or styling the hair! He had a wonderful idea of what to do with Spamton’s eyes, giving them a hypnotizing effect without using a typical Addison spiral. 

Although…Since he had a second wind, he could do something else tonight… Oh! He could try dyeing the Postman’s clothes. A bleach bath for his black shirt could turn it into a rusty brown that could compliment the new eye colors he was going for. And it’d be easy to dye the pants black. Ideally, he had wanted to give Spamton a brand new set of clothes. Maybe a nice black suit, with a knit turtleneck underneath. But… Well. He couldn’t make Spamton wait this long. He was completing a customized doll in what felt like record time and it still felt like he was making him wait too long. Besides, Gaster remembered that one of his Addison siblings was a seamstress; she’d probably enjoy making a new outfit for him as much as Gaster would. And she’d have a better handle on his measurements and style. For now, updating his current clothes with a simple dye job was a decent enough compromise. And it would take an hour at most to do before drying overnight.

He tilted his head forward, looking at Spamton’s body. Right. All his attention had been towards the head, and he’d neglected the body. To be fair, Gaster wasn’t going to do any major body modification. Spamton had agreed to changing his smile, his hands, and some cosmetic touches. Anything more than that would be him overstepping, and scaring the Darkener away. Gaster swung his arms forward, pulling himself back to sitting up straight before carefully picking up the loose body to look over. 

It looked just like a typical Human High doll body, with sculpted features and ball-jointed limbs. A careful observer would notice it was a little on the shorter side, but there were other dolls that same height if not shorter. No, the major difference between Spamton’s imagined form and a typical Human High doll was the chest hatch that took up a quarter of his whole torso. All Addisons, and even a handful of their predecessors, had hatches in their chests or backs. In Spamton’s case, it was dead center in his chest. As Gaster looked closer, he could see the tiniest of latches keeping the hatch door closed. It was surprisingly tempting. 

“I wonder… What does your heart look like? Is it like a SOUL?” Would it be a physical heart, or would it be an image of one? Darkeners certainly didn’t have human-like biology, but maybe they were more like Monsters? Would it be Red with Determination? Or, given the Postman’s personality, would it be more Purple and Persevering? It’d be particularly ironic, given Spamton’s selfishness and “Sleazy Salesman” act, if he was Yellow for Justice. But then, maybe it was white like the rest of him. So many theories, and so many ideas! And right at Gaster’s literal fingertips. A quick slice of the exacto-knife would open him up. The more he considered it, the more enticing it was. After all, how often would he be able to see what made the Addison tick?

In the end, his conscience won out and he shook his head once. “No, no. It may be interesting, but with our size difference and your body’s state, it’d be far too easy to break the latch. Maybe once you’re back in the Dark Worlds, you can show me.” It’d probably be an easy ask, given how Spamton seemed oddly acquiescent to him and him alone. “I don’t mind waiting to learn. Though, to stray back on topic, your body is a little dull. By means of color at least. You could do with some body blushing. I can do that once your head is reattached.” 

His eyes fell on the little hands, and he sighed. “Suppose I should trade out your hands now before I forget.” He passed the body into his right hand, reaching to the left side of his desk and pulling open a drawer. He dug around in said drawer, humming in concentration until he pulled out a clear container. “There we go!” The container was the size of a large kitchen matchbox, and the taped label on top read “Hands and Arms”. Probably a bit morbid if taken out of context, but he’d done plenty of full doll modifications and it seemed a waste to toss perfectly usable pieces. Like the little white hands that looked similar to an Addison’s size, only having separated fingers instead of the mittens. 

“Bear with me here.” Gaster held the body in his right hand, the index curled around the right arm to keep it still while his thumb and other fingers curled around the torso. His left hand reached for the wrist, firmly pinching at the base of the joint. He just needed to pull once, and-

CRIK!

….Well, he was holding the hand between two fingers. But… The plastic had cracked at the end of his forearm. 

“Oh… That’s not typical.” Gaster’s eyes narrowed at the sight, setting the hand down and carefully maneuvering the broken forearm. It didn’t seem to interrupt the arm’s movement, but…. 

He stood up, quickly walking over to the kitchenette again. The kettle was filled and placed on its base, then clicked to life as Gaster scowled. “I suppose it’s better I found out now as opposed to tomorrow. What little luck I’ve got left…. I definitely need to bring out that epoxy glue then.” He started to grab a mug, setting it in the sink while he waited for the water to boil. “...How strange though.” He leaned a hip against the counter, scowling down at the cracked forearm. “I’ve done this plenty of times. I’ve had hands that were difficult to pull out, and maybe the occasional one thrown across the room. But they’ve never cracked an arm like that… Usually that’s reserved for the neck peg. Or the occasional leg joint.” It… No. He shouldn’t worry. This realm followed his imagination as law. This…This was an odd little hiccup. “N-no matter. Like I said, easy to repair. It just needs to dry overnight.” He’d still use the hot water for the other hand’s removal, just to be safe…. “It’s a shame. I didn’t want to ruin your arm or its glow… Sorry for that.” 

He stood against the counter for what felt like forever waiting for the kettle to finish boiling. Or, at least long enough for his mind to wander back to his earlier ideas. The coloring, the styling, the dyeing… The clothes… Spamton’s sibling…

….

He hoped that Spamton had prepared things beforehand. Usually the Addison was good at planning excuses or improvising rationalizations. Surely he’d warned his Company of Addisons and his work that he’d be gone for a bit. It wasn’t as if Gaster could go out and check right now, but… He hoped no one was worrying. That no one, including Spamton, was hurt. 

He tossed his head again, trying to dislodge the thoughts from forming. “Stop overthinking things. Things are fine.”