Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Where were you!?” 

Today had been… bad. Worse than bad. Terrible. The worst it had been in a long while, though Tenna supposed he should have expected that, considering the way things had been going downhill lately. Ratings were dipping for the first time in years, viewership was stagnating, everything was coming apart. Everyone was coming apart. 

He could hear them, even now. Angry voices, burrowing holes into his skull every time he slowed down enough to listen. Nothing he did was enough anymore. He kept trying new things, better things, anything he could think of, but none of it worked. Asgore hardly sat down to watch his cowboy programs anymore. Asriel was never home anymore, Kris spent all day in their room. Even Toriel, ever-faithful Toriel, was watching her cooking shows less and less. Tenna couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong. Everything had been going so well. 

Today, though, was the worst it had been. The crew had been beyond disorganized, nigh incompetent, every cue late and every transition agonizingly slow. Tenna had counted three separate missed light cues, and to make matters worse, one of the contestants had been a no show! It was the lowest rated episode in years. He’d heard the audience muttering the whole time, fighting to keep his showman’s grin in place as every misaligned detail slowly chipped away at his sanity. 

And Spamton. Spamton, his cohost, his partner, nowhere to be found for the entirety of the show. Letting everything they’d worked so hard for fall apart, and for what? What could possibly be more important? What had him so occupied that he’d passed off his backstage duties for the day onto a Pippins, for heaven’s sake? 

Tenna had a guess, but he didn’t want to voice it. He didn’t want to think about it, even as he could practically taste it, feel that winding cord curling around his neck like a noose. Could hear the voice on the other side that he’d never spoken to, that voice that was somehow always, always more important than him. Than this. 

“Shit!” Spamton hissed, smoothing down his shirt to try and mask the way he’d jumped when Tenna slammed open the door to his office. The office was dark, so dark that Tenna’s screen became the brightest lightsource by default. The only competition was a small desk lamp sitting beside Spamton, casting the Addison in a warm yellow glow that barely seemed enough to illuminate the papers in front of him. A pen had been in his hand when Tenna entered. It was now on the desk, thrown in Spamton’s surprise at Tenna’s entrance, only just coming to a stop as it rolled into the base of the lamp.

“Whaddaya mean?” Spamton asked, shaking himself as he looked up to meet Tenna’s gaze. 

“You know what I mean!” Tenna snapped. “The show! Today! Where were you!?” Spamton blinked, slowly, his head tilting to the side in confusion. 

“I-I told you I was gonna catch up on paperwork,” he stumbled out. “Ten, I told you, we’re behind on this stuff! We haven’t even finalized the budget for next season!” 

“So you just up and abandon the show!?” Tenna demanded. “No warning, no-”

“I told you where I’d be!” Spamton hissed. “I got a replacement!” 

“Oh, yeah, that Pippins, right,” Tenna snarled. “And how did that go!?” Spamton’s mouth opened and closed a couple times. 

“I’m gonna guess bad?” he tried. 

“Oh, what gave you that idea?” Spamton didn’t respond, instead just gesturing vaguely in Tenna’s direction. Tenna gritted his teeth, shoving the door closed behind him so he could slump back against it. “It was a disaster, Spamton.” 

“That’s…” Spamton turned, grabbing some kind of mobile device off his desk and typing something into it. His eyes widened in surprise at whatever it was he saw. “Shit.” Tenna let out an irritated huff, tugging at one of his antennae to try and relieve some of the tension running through him. “Okay, yeah, that’s- that’s not good-”

“Not good!?” Tenna hissed. “Spamton, this is terrible!” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, shit happens,” Spamton stumbled out. Tenna wasn’t even sure which one of them he was trying to convince. “We’ll just rework some shit. Everybody has bad days, it’s-”

“I don’t!” Tenna snapped. “I can’t afford to!” Spamton jumped at the sound again, arms curling around the device the way one might hold a teddy bear. He seemed to notice he was doing it a moment later, because he tossed it down onto the desk like it had burned him. “Spamton, I-”

“Hey, look, it’s-” Spamton groaned, fingers digging into his hair. He shoved his chair back away from the desk and hopped onto the ground. 

“It was horrible!” Tenna wailed. “The transitions were off, the cues were all misaligned, one of the contestants didn’t even show up- it- I-” A burst of static shot across his screen as he curled in on himself. “And you were in here doing god knows what instead of being backstage! I-”
“Hold the fuck on,” Spamton hissed. “You think I’m just dicking around back here? Tenna, I am drowning out here!” He waved angrily at the pile of papers on his desk. “I’m trying to keep things running, but I can’t do that if I have to dig through Mount Fucking Everest every time I need to find a script!” 

“And that’s somehow my fault!? You were the one who said you could handle the administrative work!” 

“I never said it was your fault!” Spamton snapped. “But you’re acting like I’m some- some kid skipping school or something! I have shit to do, this stuff is important!” 

“Not at the expense of the show!” Tenna cried. 

“This is for the show!” Tenna wrapped his arms around himself, claws poking through his gloves and digging into the fabric of his tailcoat. Spamton was breathing heavily, fingers twitching at his side. This, too, was getting worse. What had happened to them? They used to be so… so in sync. They worked together perfectly. A flawless partnership, turning into a real friendship, turning into something more. And now… he didn’t know. They were candles, the two of them, their tempers burning shorter and shorter with every passing day. Tenna struggled to find a day in recent memory that passed without something going wrong, a tense conversation or avoided engagement, a stark reminder of how every part of Tenna’s life was slipping out of his control. 

“They’re fighting,” Tenna hissed. He saw Spamton’s expression soften, just a bit, through the fuzziness now clouding his vision. “They’re fighting and I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything! Spamton, this show is the only thing I have. It’s the only way I can reach them! And today- If today is- If the way things have been going-” A sob welled up in his throat and he tried to choke it down. Judging by Spamton’s flinch, he was unsuccessful. He couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed by the fact, by the uncertainty in his business partner’s expression. If only Spamton could feel even a fraction of what Tenna went through every day. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d care. 

“Ten,” Spamton said quietly, slinking over to stand in front of Tenna.
“How am I supposed to do this if I can’t trust you?” Tenna hissed, knowing he should feel guilty for the way Spamton drew back, unable to. “This show- Every detail counts, you know that! I thought you cared.” 

“Tenna, I’m trying to help,” Spamton ground out. “Look, yes, today was shit.” Tenna could see the Addison’s fingers, tugging at the cuff of his blazer, pulling out loose threads. It was a bad habit that he’d assumed Spamton had kicked ages ago. The stress of the past few months had brought it back in earnest. At this rate, Spamton was going to need to get that blazer replaced within the next few weeks. “But it’s- We’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll-”

“What!?” Tenna snarled. “You’ll ask your friend on the phone!?” Spamton’s eyes widened, body going stock still at the mention of the phone. “Who is it, Spamton!? What could possibly be on the other end that’s so important!?” His words felt thick, sobs clinging to the edges like nettles. 

“Tenna, I told you, I can’t-”

“Oh, right, how could I forget!? Your little secret. I don’t understand, why can’t you just tell me!?” Tenna wailed. 

“It’s not that simple-” 

“Do you not trust me!? Is that it? After all these years, do you still think I don’t deserve to know!?” Spamton’s leg was shaking enough that Tenna could see it. It seemed like every muscle in his body was straining to step back, but something, his pride or his anger, refused to let him move. “I don’t understand, Spamton. I thought you cared about this show. About me.” 

“I- Tenna-” He couldn’t even say it. Not even as an empty platitude. When was the last time Tenna had heard him say he cared? When was the last time Spamton said he loved him? Had he… ever? 

“Don’t you understand how important this is!?” Tenna sobbed. 

“Of course I do,” Spamton snapped. 

“Do you!? Do you really!? Because our ratings have been dropping for months and you’re not- you haven’t- I-I-” He slammed the heel of his hand into the top of his casing, trying to force his thoughts to straighten themselves out. “They’re gonna throw me out. This is it, it’s too much- I can’t- they’re gonna get rid of me and they’re gonna leave, they’re falling apart and it’s all my fault, I need- I have to-” 

“Tenna!” Spamton growled. Tenna’s head snapped up, meeting the Addison’s worried gaze. “Tenna, it’s fine, okay, we’ll figure it out!” 

“We? Who’s we, Spamton!? I barely even see you anymore!” Tenna snarled. Anger lanced through him, swirling together with the ever-present terror. Terror at the way him and Spamton were growing apart, at the way Toriel and Asgore’s arguments seemed louder by the day, at the way he only saw Kris when they passed through the living room on their way to school. It was too much, this was all too much, and there was no one he could turn to, not anymore, not when he wasn’t even sure he even knew Spamton at all anymore. 

“Tenna-”

“Why does it feel like nobody else cares anymore!?” Tenna burst out. “Don’t you see how important this is!? This isn’t just one bad show, this is my life! Everything keeps going down and nothing I do is fixing it! I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong!” He was pacing now, his claws scraping into his casing where he held his head in his hands. His antennae were pinned back and his breaths came in short, uncertain gasps. The world was unsteady, static flickering through the room and distorting the shapes until they were unknowable. 

“Tenna, you need to calm the fuck down.” 

He didn’t know what it was. The words or the tone or perhaps just the fact that it had been Spamton who spoke them. Maybe the fear or maybe the anger, or maybe that disgusting lovechild they had managed to produce, that unnamable emotion that was spreading through his body like venom. It didn’t matter what the source was, because the result was the same. Spamton hardly had time to finish the sentence before the tension in Tenna’s chest pulled taught and the string snapped. 

There was a shift. He was facing the door and then he wasn’t. His hand was clutched around something, something warm and soft and pliant under his fingers. His body was tilted differently, downwards, facing carpet instead of wall. The weight of his massive body pressed into a singular point, a warped portion of the floor. An object. Moving. 

His screen flickered and the details filtered back in. Not an object. Spamton. The Addison was lying on the floor, flat on his back, held in place by the weight of Tenna above him. A massive hand kept him pinned, large enough now that it engulfed his entire chest. Most of his body was trapped underneath Tenna’s fingers. He was moving, Tenna realized, trying to free himself but unable to get enough leverage to make any difference at all. 

“Calm down?” Tenna hissed. “Calm down!?” More of his weight shifted onto his hand and he heard, as if through an old radio, Spamton’s gasp as the pressure on his lungs increased. 

“T-Ten-” 

“No, I don’t need to calm down!” Tenna continued. “Why are you acting like I’m the problem!? Me!? When I’m the only person in this studio who seems to care anymore?” His screen fizzled with static, threatening tears. Or maybe they were already there. Tenna didn’t even know anymore. “Why does no one else care!?” 

“T-enn-a, please-” 

“This show is our life, Spamton! My life!” Dimly, he could feel Spamton’s heartbeat underneath his hand. It was fluttering so quickly that it was hard to pick out individual beats, beating frantically like a butterfly with one wing broken, trying to lift itself up off the ground. Impossibly fragile. His hand tightened without his conscious input. ] “I built this place from the ground up! I gave those Darkners a place to live, I gave them work, I gave them security! This- This is our purpose! What are we supposed to do without our purpose, Spamton!? If I can’t make them happy, what am I? What am I worth!? This show is me! Why am I the only one trying anymore!?” 

Something snapped against his arm. It felt like static, the spark of touching a metal railing. A brief tickle, so weak that calling it ‘painful,’ even to a minor degree, felt like too much of an overstatement. It was so weak that it took Tenna an eternity to realize what it was. 

It was a foregone conclusion that Tenna was stronger than Spamton. It was obvious in everything about him. In his stature, towering so high that Spamton barely reached above the knee of his resting height. In his status as the ruler of his Dark World, where Spamton was just a regular Addison in his. It followed, then, that their magic followed the same rule. Spamton was weak, even by Addison standards, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Tenna was the ruler of an entire Dark World. Reality itself bent to his whims here. Spamton’s magic was a fading candle in the face of Tenna’s bonfire, fighting to stay lit. So weak that his attacks hardly felt like attacks at all. 

Tenna’s gaze flicked down to Spamton’s free hand, the magic he had managed to summon already fizzing out. Sparks flew from his hand as his fingers spasmed, trying to summon power he didn’t have. Tenna looked down at his arm and found it unscathed. The only evidence Spamton had attacked him at all was the tiniest singed line on his forearm, so inconsequential that he probably wouldn’t even need the jacket replaced. 

He felt Spamton’s chest spasm as he tried to force more air into his lungs and his gaze snapped up to the Addison’s face. The moment he looked, he froze entirely, blackened screen flickering back to life in shock. 

In their time working together, Tenna had seen a lot of expressions on Spamton’s face. Shock, surprise, happiness, anger, every emotion in the book. But never before had Tenna seen Spamton afraid. Afraid, he realized, the anger from before falling to pieces as the terror superseded it, of him. 

The Addison’s breaths came in small, hurried gasps. His eyes were wide in terror, locked on Tenna’s screen as if even blinking would cost him whatever little agency he had left in this fight. His desperate magic was still flickering around his hand, sparking off of Tenna uselessly, sputtering out as soon as it made contact, often before. His mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find his voice. Couldn’t find his voice. 

Unbidden, a memory slunk its way back into Tenna’s mind. Months ago. Maybe even a year. A better time, before the ratings started plummeting and everything fell apart. He could see Spamton in his mind, white feathers sparkling in the greenroom lights. The studio was empty except for the two of them. They were there for scripting, Tenna remembered, trying to finalize things for an upcoming special. 

He’d asked, he remembered, why Spamton never did that trick the rest of the other Addisons did, with the glowing pictures. Spamton had tried to wave him off, but Tenna had pushed, until eventually, Spamton had shown him. Had snapped his fingers and dragged his fingers through the air above his head. A bright pink advertisement had fanned out from the wake of his hand, but Tenna never got to read what it said, because moments later, it had been overtaken by glitching green and black pixels before it fizzled out entirely. 

My magic’s shit, Spamton had admitted, in the dim lights of the greenroom, in that liminal space between dreaming and wakefulness that made honesty less scary. Always was. Used to get a lot of shit for it when I was younger. 

They… picked on you? 

Gee, Ten, you make it sound like I was getting bullied by six year olds on the playground, Spamton had laughed, but there had been a bitterness to it. An underlying weight that told Tenna the descriptor was closer to the mark than Spamton wanted it to be. Doesn’t help that I’m… 

Small? Tenna had finished for him, earning himself a disgruntled glare. 

Everybody’s small to you, Spamton had reminded him. But then his shoulders had slumped and his expression had become somber and he’d nodded, once, almost imperceptibly. Guess I was just an easy guy to shove around and what not. Before. 

Aw, Spam- Tenna had reached out a comforting hand and Spamton had lightheartedly swatted it aside, a small smile reappearing on his face. 

Don’t worry about it. I’m good now, ain’t I? Nobody’s touching a big shot like your’s truly! 

I, uh… I suppose… Tenna had said unconvinced. Spamton had raised an eyebrow, urging him to go on. You don’t have to worry anymore, Tenna had said finally. You’ve got me in your corner now!

Oh, do I? Spamton had laughed. 

Yes, Tenna had insisted, and Spamton’s laughter had died down as he took in Tenna’s serious tone. No one’s ever going to hurt you again. You don’t have to worry about being small, or about your magic being weak. It doesn’t matter. Tenna had swallowed heavily, letting the cloak of half-reality the nighttime studio offered fall over him and muffle the second-guessing voice in his head. 

I’ll protect you. No matter what. 

“Oh god,” he sobbed, yanking his hand back and clutching it to his chest as if it might lash out again of its own accord. Spamton took in a massive, gasping breath, levering himself into a sitting position and curling his arms around his chest defensively. He stayed there for several agonizing moments, trying to even out his terrified breathing. 

“No, no no nonononono,” Tenna gasped, shuffling back away from him, whatever counted as his heart seizing painfully in his chest. He could hear his own voice clawing at his ears. I’ll protect you, it whispered, over and over until the echoes had all overlapped and become undecipherable. I’ll protect you. 

“I-” Spamton choked out, voice hoarse. Oh god, Tenna’s hand, had it been on his windpipe!? It had, hadn’t it? He’d been choking him. 

“Spamton- Spam I- No, god, no, I didn’t mean- I didn’t-” He curled in on himself, shrinking so quickly that it felt like he was falling. If his tears hadn’t been falling before, they were now, his entire body wracked with horrified, guilt-ridden sobs. “I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I-I-” His voice choked off and he clutched at his chest harder as if that would somehow smother the heavy sickness settling there. 

“T-Tenna-” Spamton gasped out. Tenna flinched at the sound of his voice, folding over as he tried to make himself as small as possible. How could he do this, how could he forget? He’d promised. He’d promised he’d protect him, that he’d never have to worry about it ever again. How could he do this, how could he betray his friend’s trust? I hurt you. Oh, god, this was it, wasn’t it? He’d done it now. This was the last straw. Spamton was going to leave him. Spamton, and then Elnina and Lanino, and then everyone else, and then the Dreemurrs would finally decide he was worthless and throw him out and he’d have nothing, nothing, and it was all his fault- 

He felt something settle against his side, draped over his shoulder and around his arm, warm and solid. His screen flickered back to life and he forced himself to look up, meeting Spamton’s weary gaze. The man was still clearly shaken. Tenna could see darkness underneath the feathers around his neck, bruises already forming. He was sure there were more, hidden underneath Spamton’s dress shirt. The hand on his shoulder was Spamton’s, he recognized now. It was shaking. 

“Hey. Hey, calm-” Spamton cut himself off. “I-it’s… fine,” he forced out instead. “N-no one’s dead, yeah?” Tenna let out a whimper that sounded utterly pathetic, even to him. Spamton’s trembling grip tightened around him just a bit, enough to apply a comforting pressure without being smothering. “Let’s call it a night, okay?” Tenna’s lip wobbled and Spamton’s other hand came to gently rest against his head, his thumb gently brushing some staticky tears off of Tenna’s screen. “No one’s throwing you out.” Had he said that all out loud? It was so hard to tell. 

“S-Spam, I’m s-so sorry,” he wailed. “Please don’t leave, I didn’t mean it, please, I-”

“Hey. Hey, it’s…” He saw Spamton grit his teeth, shoulders hunching in. “L-look, we just… need some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning?” I’ll see you in the morning. He wasn’t leaving. He’d be back. He’d be back, right? He wasn’t lying, was he? 

Tenna let out a soft cry at the loss of contact as Spamton pulled back, shakily getting to his feet. His legs were quivering so badly that he could hardly stand, but he managed to stumble his way to the door. He fled without so much as a second glance over his shoulder, and Tenna saw the way he curled in on himself as the door swung shut behind him. 

The light of the hallway was cut off and Tenna was left alone. With his screen turned off, the only light source was once again the weak desk lamp. Some irrational feeling bubbled up in Tenna’s chest as he looked at it and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smash it to pieces or flee from it as quickly as he could. It seemed to watch him as he sat curled up on the floor, judging him and his failure. Can’t keep your show running. Can’t keep this going. Can’t even keep a simple promise. 

In the end, he did nothing to the lamp. He just curled in further, burying his head in his arms, and pretended the light wasn’t there at all. 

Chapter Text

Realistically speaking, Tenna should have expected he’d see it again. After all, every citizen from Tenna’s Dark World had been moved to Castle Town when the heroes sealed the fountain, and the rat, despite Tenna having never seen it before, was obviously a Darkner in TV World. So of course it was here. He just wished it wasn’t. 

He encountered it late one night, far after most of Castle Town had gone to sleep. He should have been too, but he found sleep hard to come by these days. What it was, he couldn’t quite say. Missing home. Waiting to be adopted, to be wanted. Watching his former employees move on and begin to enjoy life in Castle Town while he just… couldn’t. He should be grateful to be alive at all, but he couldn’t stop feeling sick. His arms hurt like hell. 

So he abandoned his room that was too sparse to feel like his and stepped out into the streets of Castle Town, listening to the quiet strains of music from the few shops that operated around the clock. He had no destination in mind, but moving felt better than lying in his bed thinking, so he let his feet carry him wherever they chose. He ended up finding his way to the street just outside the Color Cafe, an open stretch of cobblestone road that stretched down to the gateway the Lightners came through. 

And that’s when he saw it, scurrying out from behind one of the buildings and into the street, clutching half a stale bagel in its hands.

The thing was unmistakable. Tenna had never seen another Darkner like it, and he doubted he ever would. It was small, its short stature accentuated by the ratty blazer it wore, at least a size or two too big. The blazer was clearly ancient, stitched back together with multicolored pieces of thread, as if the thing had repaired it itself with whatever scraps it could find. Long, dirty hair hung over its shoulders, slicked back with some kind of oily substance that only did so much to hold things in place. Its body was doll-like, solid and scuffed. The nature of the cracks creeping along its face told Tenna it was made of something brittle, plastic or porcelain rather than wood. 

It froze when it noticed Tenna in the road. Its head clicked around agonizingly slowly, the dual-colored lenses of its glasses meeting Tenna’s gaze. It was completely still as they stared at each other, save for the almost imperceptible way its hands were shaking. Was it… afraid of him? He supposed it made sense, considering how much bigger he was. And the whole… foam thing. The clarity of hindsight informed him that he’d probably overreacted. The thing hadn’t seemed hostile, he’d just been in a bad state. Still was, frankly, but far enough removed from that specific incident that he could recognize that this little rat probably hadn’t meant him any ill will. 

“You,” he breathed. The little puppet flinched back as he said it, hands curling protectively around the small piece of food it was still holding. Had it scrounged that out of the trash? That would explain its filthy appearance at least.

“Y>>(OU-” the puppet repeated. Its voice was almost painful to listen to. It was loud, and its words seemed to be filtered through layers of static. Listening to it was like trying to watch a movie in the middle of a thunderstorm, the signal cutting out or coming through distorted. 

“[[Recall]]?” the puppet continued. Its voice was different now. A bit clearer, but entirely different from before. It was like the thing had switched channels midway through its sentence, snatching a sound bite from an entirely separate program. What a peculiar way of speaking. Tenna was remembering it now, from their first encounter. He hadn’t really been paying attention back then, too caught up in the panic of… everything. 

“Um. Sorry, what do you mean?” Tenna asked. The puppet’s jaw tightened in irritation. 

“Y.OU. REMM33MBER. ME [Call now!]!?” it snapped. 

“Oh!” Tenna said. “Yes, of course I remember you!” The puppet froze, mouth falling open in shock. One hand loosened from where it had been gripping the bagel protectively, twitching out in Tenna’s direction. Whatever gesture the puppet was aiming for was lost to Tenna, the little guy unable to fully commit. It was shaking even more noticeably now. “You. You were backstage, right?” Tenna choked out. 

Instantly, the puppet’s expression hardened and it shrank back again, head snapping to the side as it tore its gaze away from Tenna. 

“[Right as rain],” it spat. Somehow, even through the cheery interjection, its anger was palpable. Probably about the foam. 

“Hey, um, since you’re here…” Tenna stumbled out. “I wanted to apologize for… you know…” The puppet looked up, tilting its head to one side. With how stiff its features were, it was hard to read, but Tenna was pretty sure he detected something judgemental in its gaze now. “The foam,” he said finally, voice small and uncertain. The puppet scoffed, but Tenna could see the line of tension still running through its shoulders. It was nervous about something, still. It seemed conflicted, though it was hard for Tenna to tell. It reached down, its fingers tugging at the fraying sleeve of its blazer. The gesture was… agonizingly familiar. Tenna shook his head sharply before the memory could properly form. 

“Um, what were you-” 

“Hey! Half-pint, you over here!?” Tenna broke off, half-formed question forgotten at the sound of Susie’s voice. What was she doing in Castle Town this late? 

“I didn’t see him- Oh!” The group rounded the corner and Tenna saw that it was all three of them, Kris, Susie, and Ralsei. It occurred to him suddenly that Susie was missing her fun glasses. Her fun glasses that looked… awfully similar to the glasses the puppet wore. Had it stolen them? Was that why Susie and the others seemed to be looking for it? 

“Oh, hey, Tenna!” Susie greeted. She glanced between the two of them curiously. “What’s up?” 

“Oh! Um, just, going for a walk!” Tenna squeaked out. He glanced down at the rat, only to find that it had vanished from its spot in front of him. A quick scan of the area revealed that it had scurried over to the heroes, placing itself just behind Susie, almost like it was using her to shield itself. Was it really that afraid of him? He hadn’t meant to hurt it, just… scare it away. It wasn’t like the little guy was completely innocent either! It shouldn’t have been backstage like that. 

“What’d you run off for?” Susie asked, directing her attention down to the puppet. It held up the half-a-bagel by way of answer. 

“IM [Don’t starve] OUT HERE!” it announced. It punctuated the statement by throwing the bagel into its mouth and seemingly swallowing the thing whole. Susie snorted, rolling her eyes in a way that seemed almost fond. So maybe the rat… didn’t steal her glasses? They certainly seemed to know each other. In fact, they seemed to be on relatively friendly terms. 

“You know, we can always get you something to eat,” Ralsei said gently. “You can just tell us.” 

“[[Kromer]]?” the puppet asked eagerly. 

“Uhm. Not that,” Ralsei said, earning himself an exaggerated pout. Out of the corner of his screen, Tenna thought he saw Kris cover their mouth to hide an amused smile. What? 

“Um. Sorry, do you all… know this… creature?” Tenna asked. Kris tilted their head, eyeing Tenna with a harsh, indecipherable look in their eyes. It took everything he had to keep himself from squirming. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Susie said. The puppet in question wilted back behind her, almost as if remembering Tenna was there. “We’ve kinda been stuck with him since Cyber City.” 

“O-oh. So he’s… with you?” Tenna asked. Since Cyber City? They’d visited Cyber City before coming to see him, he knew that. So did that mean he’d been with them the whole time? Did that mean- Were they there? Backstage? Did they see!? 

“Yeah. He’s my glasses most of the time, though,” Susie explained. Tenna had no idea what that actually meant, but he didn’t voice the question. “Pretty sick, right?” The puppet let out a nervous giggle. Its laughter was uncanny, like the skipping of a record. It was also almost familiar, in a way Tenna couldn’t quite place. Objectively ugly, but laced with something almost endearing underneath it, once his brain managed to filter through the layers of static and the way the puppet’s voice stuttered like a looped recording. 

“A-anyway, it’s late and you two really should be heading home,” Ralsei said. He looked down at the puppet uncertainly. “Um. You can stay here if you’d like. I can always bring you with me if another fountain opens?” He let out a nervous squeak, turning to Kris. “If that’s okay with Kris!” Kris just shrugged unhelpfully. 

Tenna found his gaze drifting back down to the puppet, who had taken to shifting nervously from foot to foot. He shot Tenna a furtive glance, freezing when he saw Tenna looking at him as well. There was something about him that was nagging at the edges of Tenna’s mind, a discomfort that he couldn’t quite place. Something about the way the puppet tugged his sleeves. The way his hair desperately wanted to be slicked back into a style Tenna knew all too well. The faint white peeking out at the roots of that same hair, signaling that he dyed it. Dyed it black. 

“Hey, shortstack, you good?” Susie asked. She glanced down at the puppet, then up at Tenna, her brow drawing in confusion. Kris’s gaze flicked back up to Tenna, eyes narrowing. Ralsei wrung his hands. 

“Maybe we should leave,” Ralsei suggested. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about!” The puppet let out an ungainly shriek of static, his head snapping around to stare at the prince.

“We… do?” Tenna breathed out. Did they? Do we? He stared down at the puppet, feeling his throat tighten as he really took in the figure in front of him. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. This puppet was alien, foreign, a stranger to him. A Darkner the likes of which he’d never seen before. This was no Addison. You’re not- 

“You can meet back up with Susie tomorrow!” Ralsei squeaked out, not even waiting for the puppet to respond before he was pulling Kris and Susie away. Tenna could sense the nervousness radiating off of him. He’d clearly picked up on the strange, unspoken tension in the air, because he looked entirely too eager to leave. 

“Wait, hang on, what about-”

“Come on!” Ralsei insisted, cutting Susie off. He tugged her away, ignoring her weak protests. The puppet whirled, watching them leave. His body quivered with fear, but for some reason, because he was unwilling, or perhaps unable, he didn’t chase after them, instead staying rooted to the spot. Kris shot the puppet an uncertain look and Tenna saw him meet their gaze. They opened their mouth to say something, then thought better of it. The puppet, stiffly, dipped his head. Worldlessly, Kris returned his nod before turning and hesitantly following after their friends. Leaving Tenna alone with whoever this was, because it couldn’t be-

The puppet’s head jerked around to face Tenna and he felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. He could see his own terror reflected back at him in those pink and yellow lenses, an uncertainty weighed down by years. The alien nature of the puppet seemed to fall away, revealing all of the undeniable details. What other Darkner did Tenna know that dyed bright white hair black? What other Darkner picked at the cuffs of his sleeves until they frayed? What other Darkner’s presence would feel so horrifyingly heavy? 

“S-” His throat tightened around the name, choking the life out of it before it could escape. Still, the puppet clearly heard him, because his head snapped up, a sudden intensity radiating off of his body. “It’s you,” Tenna forced out. Somehow, that was easier to say. Something vague, less concrete than that foul name that refused to form on his tongue. It was still enough to make the puppet flinch back, teeth grinding together angrily. 

“TOOK YOU [[Lengthwise]] EN>OUGH,” the puppet hissed. Tenna’s artificial heart stuttered and he took a step back. 

“No,” he breathed, backpedaling as quickly as he could. “No you’re not.” 

“WHATS THE [State of matter]!?” the puppet spat. “GOING [[Congenital blindness]] IN YOUR [Good old days]!!!??” 

“No,” Tenna forced out again. “Y-you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t come back now, like this, not eleven years later.” The puppet let out a long, grating laugh and Tenna could hear it even more clearly now. He knew that laugh. Late nights in the studio after everyone had gone home, rehearsals running overtime, tucked away in the corner of an unfamiliar bar and several drinks deep. He knew that laugh. It had never sounded quite so bitter. 

“[Seeing is believing] WHAT EVER YOU WANT, T-T-[Trash heap],” the puppet that couldn’t possibly be familiar snarled. His head snapped around to look over his shoulder, gazing in the direction the kids had vanished in. Tenna could see the potential energy racing through his body, a single, fraying string holding him in place. He didn’t want to be here. Why he seemed unable to make himself flee, Tenna didn’t know. 

“You’re lying,” Tenna hissed. 

“LY!ING?” the man in front of him shot back. “LYING? THATS [Get rich quick] COMING FROM [[You]].” Tenna’s good antenna shot up, and he felt his claws dig into the palms of his clenched hands. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean!?” he demanded.
“YOURE THE [One on one] ALWSSSYAS [[Liar liar]] TO YOURsEL F,” the puppet snapped. “YOU HAVENT [Change your ways] A [Bits and pieces].” 

“Shut up!” Tenna screamed, voice echoing through the empty streets of the town. In the past, the man before him would have flinched back at the noise, fear flashing across his normally confident features. The thing in front of him gave no reaction, save for a slight tightening of his jaw. “Y-you’re- You’re not- You can’t be-” 

“JUST GET IT [Over and under] WII>>@#THH!!!” the puppet snarled. “[@#$&]ING SAY IT, [Cathode]!!” 

“You can’t be him,” Tenna sobbed. “You’re not.” 

“THEN WHERE. IS. HE!?” the puppet that couldn’t be who Tenna knew it was demanded. 

“I don’t know,” Tenna wailed. 

“YES YOU DO.” The puppet stared up at him, heaving ragged, creaking breaths. His voice was desperate, his hands half-outstretched in front of him, caught in limbo. Tenna could feel himself shaking. His good antenna was pinned back as far as it would go. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be him. Yet the evidence was piling on by the second, the similarities drowning out the differences. He could hear a familiar voice underneath that radio static. He could recognize the slope of that jaw, puppet-like and gaping though it was now. He knew that face. He knew that man. 

“No,” he sobbed again, the realization finally breaking free of the flimsy dam he had built up in his mind and flooding his body. Spamton, his mind provided, and the name slotted over the puppet perfectly. Spamton. Spamton, back after eleven years and looking like hell. Spamton, who had finally decided to show up after Tenna had lost everything. Spamton, who abandoned him in his time of need. You left. You left me. 

“THIS IS [[You’re pointless!]],” Spamton spat. His body jerked around, whatever had been holding him there snapping free as his resolve shifted. It took Tenna a second to realize what was happening. He was leaving. They had only just reunited and he was leaving again, running away just like he always did. Something ignited deep in Tenna’s chest. Something old and bitter and far too well-worn for ‘anger’ to be a sufficient descriptor. It was the feeling of being abandoned at his lowest. Of being treated like he was incompetent by the one person he’d believed he could rely on. Of letting someone in only to be betrayed. It was deep and black and seething, and it had a single-minded focus in that moment: Spamton did not get to just walk away. Not this time. 

Tenna sprang forward, giving the puppet no time to react. His hand seized around Spamton’s chest, growing as he moved to match the sick feeling bubbling up inside of him. He heard a crack as he slammed the puppet into the wall of the building he had been standing beside and he wasn’t sure if it came from Spamton or the brick or both. His claws sprang free and he felt the cold night air whistle over exposed fangs as he pressed closer. 

“Are you serious!?” Tenna bellowed. “After everything you did to me, you’re going to run again!? You haven’t changed a bit, Spamton.” The name cut from his mouth with all the bitterness he could muster. It dripped with the leaking residue of a corpse left years to rot, poisonous and disgusting. A fitting name, for the man who had abandoned him. 

“ME??” Spamton shot back. “M>E!##3EE!!!??? YOU [[Serious savings]] WNAT TO [Lay the blame] ME!?” Tenna’s grip tightened on Spamton’s chest, forcing him further against the wall. Trapping him completely, because Spamton had never been able to measure up to him, not when it came to this. And he was going to hold him here until he got some goddamn answers because how dare he show up like this, no explanation, no apology, not even an acknowledgement. No, he wasn’t dodging the consequences this time. 

“Last I checked, I wasn’t the one that abandoned everything we built together!” Tenna growled. “YOU LEFT ME.” 

Rage burned through every piece of his metal skeleton, coursing through his wires. His mind was replaying the scene on loop, scattered fragments of a phone left hanging and a contract half-signed. His fingers curled tighter, claws scraping against the wall. There was no escape now, no way for Spamton to break free. When it came to raw power, Tenna had always held the upper hand, and he held it now. He waited for Spamton to cry out in pain, screams hidden behind layers of the new static coating his voice, to finally yield and give Tenna the explanation he deserved. He didn’t. 

Agony lanced through Tenna’s arm and he let out a shriek as he felt electricity overload through every delicate mechanical part there. His servos seized and his arm jerked painfully as he stumbled back. Exposed wires sparked where his arm had been torn into, the shredded sleeve pulled back to expose the mechanisms underneath. 

Spamton, no longer held up by Tenna’s grip, dropped to the ground with a small thud. He landed, shakily, on both feet, darting away from the wall and back out into the street the instant his shoes connected with stone. Tenna could hear him gasping as he tried to regain his breath. Sparks flickered out from his left hand as residual magic faded away. Tenna turned his head to look at the wound on his arm, then back up at the puppet. The puppet that had caused it, because there was no other Darkner in that street who could have attacked him. It wasn’t possible. It was the only explanation. 

Spamton hesitated for only a moment before he seemed to remember himself, turning on his heel and attempting to flee down the street. 

“You can’t be serious!” Tenna screamed. Magic gathered in his arm, concentrating in his fingertips as he flung his hand out towards Spamton. The puppet’s path was blocked with falling stars that screamed towards the ground like bombs, exploding outwards in a shower of sparks when they collided with the stone road. Spamton redirected, scrambling out of the way of the attack, gasping as stray sparks bit at his face. 

“You are not getting away from this! Not now, not after what you did.” 

“WHAT I DID!?” Spamton shouted back. “WHAT DID I [Do it yourself]!? SHOW YO UA LITTLE [Genorisity]!? HELP [Fix it up] YOUR [Miserable] [Disgusting] [Failing] LIFE!?? I DID [[Everything]] FOR Y!#*(>>>@#*$OUOU!!!!” 

“For me, huh!?” Tenna spat. “For me!? Do you think I’m an idiot, Spamton!? The only person you ever cared about in the slightest was YOURSELF!” He lunged towards Spamton, a line of misdirected white light shooting out from where his foot connected with the road and towards where Spamton stood. The puppet just barely managed to dive to the side before the ground was split in two, jutting up unnaturally as the attack formed halfway. Tenna gasped, drawing back. Wait, I didn’t mean- I didn’t do that on purpose, I just- 

The air by Tenna’s head shifted and he ducked down too late. Pain shot through his skull as something crashed into the side of his monitor. Sparks flew across his vision, screen snapping to black with the shock. Another blow hit him in the knee and he buckled under the force of it, nearly falling to the ground. On the third, he finally managed to recover from his shock and jump back, summoning another volley of glowing stars to try and knock Spamton’s magic out before it could connect. 

The magic was like nothing he’d ever seen from the man. His spinning mind finally recalibrated, realizing that what he was looking at was words, shooting through the air like striking snakes. Most moved too quickly for Tenna to read. Those he was able to get a look at were nigh illegible, like the glitches in Spamton’s voice put into written form. But they were solid, and they hurt like hell. 

When Tenna’s vision refocused, Spamton was already running, leaping over the gash in the ground Tenna had produced earlier and attempting to make an escape down another street. Tenna surged forward, a string of star-shaped magic firing from his hand. It hit the ground and ricocheted off of it, gaining momentum as it slammed against the walls of the buildings around it. He saw Spamton look over his shoulder, knew the puppet saw it coming, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge. 

The Rimshot slammed directly into Spamton’s back, knocking him to the ground. Garbled static poured from his mouth, barely even decipherable as a cry of pain. Tenna straightened up, his breaths hissing past his fangs as Spamton tried to push himself to his feet. 

“You,” Tenna hissed. “How dare you!? Were you ever going to tell me the truth? Or were you just going to run away again and pretend nothing ever happened!?” 

“HA. HAEHAEHAEHHAEHAE. THATS [Rags to riches],” Spamton spat. “I WAS [Ready set] TO [[Extending the olive branch]], AND AaLL I GO T FOR IT WAS [Seafoam].” He shoved his arms underneath himself and levered himself up onto his hands and knees. His face was dirty when he turned to look at Tenna, singed from the magic he hadn’t managed to dodge. A fresh crack extended across his forehead, but no blood dripped out. He had bled, before. Red, but too bright, an off-center attempt to mimic Lightner physiology. Now there was nothing but a dark crack in unyielding plastic. 

“Really? Really!?” Tenna snarled. He could feel the magic crackling underneath his skin, desperate for release. “After everything you did to me, you’re complaining about a bit of foam!? You’re lucky I didn’t tear you to shreds! Even that would be nicer than you deserve!” 

Something changed in Spamton’s demeanor then. His expression darkened, literally darkened, the color in his glasses fizzing out as it was superseded by buzzing static. His hands clenched on the stone below him, a crackling sound emanating out from his body. His entire form seemed to be shifting, small glitches blipping across his body and distorting pieces of him. Tenna took a step back feeling, through the sea of disgusting, oily rage, a spark of real fear. 

“TEAR ME [[To shreds you say]]?” Spamton hissed. “TEAR. ME. TO SHREDS?” A loud, wailing laugh escaped his mouth. “A BIT [[Better late than never]] TO THE [Birthday party] ON THAT O>NeEEE, [Old buddy old pal].” Spamton stumbled to his feet. Tenna could feel the energy radiating off of him, so forceful that he gagged at the sensation. It sparked from every part of his body, glitched out but undeniable. 

To a Darkner, magic was everything. It was a manifestation of who they were, their deepest, most unnameable emotions. The Lightners had a saying, that the eyes were the window to the soul. For a Darkner, that window was their magic. Most of the time, magic was more controlled, solidified into a concrete attack that kept the latent energy to a minimum. But in moments of high emotion, when attacks became harder to formulate and magic became unconstrained, it could fill the air like miasma, the raw core of a Darkner’s soul leaking out into the world. 

In the past, Spamton’s magic, on the few occasions Tenna had gotten to see it, had felt a bit like how lemons taste. At least, that was how Tenna had described it anyway. It was always bitter, this angry sharpness to it that Tenna couldn’t find a source for. But there had also been a sweetness to it, once one got past the caricature of himself Spamton presented to the world. An underlying softness that no one ever got to see. In the past, Spamton’s magic had been harmless, and Tenna had loved that about him, the way his power showed the kindness inside him that he always tried to hide. His magic didn’t need to be strong. Tenna’s was plenty strong enough for the both of them. 

But here, on the darkened streets of Castle Town and with the weight of over a decade hanging above them, Spamton’s magic didn’t taste kind at all. 

It tasted like blood. 

There was a distorted shriek, the only warning Tenna got before the pain ripped through him, Spamton’s dispersed magic binding itself back together and slamming into his chest. The magic that hit him was solid but exploded on impact, a shockwave of excess power firing through the street like the blow of a hand grenade. The force of it knocked Tenna back. He barely managed to stay on his feet. 

“ME!?” Tenna ducked to the side, just narrowly dodging another assault. “OH I [[Get it now while sales last]]! ITS ALL S>>pPPAMMTO#@(N”””S [Fault line], ISNT <IT?” Something collided with the same hand Spamton had hit before and Tenna felt it short circuit, momentarily terrified that it would lose function all together. “YOU NEVER [@#$*]ING [Oil change]! ALWAYS EVERYONE. ELSE’S. FAULT.” 

Tenna tried to summon another attack but found himself too disoriented to aim it properly, too focused on trying to avoid Spamton’s attacks. Something clamped down on his arm, hard, and he turned to find himself covered in a crawling mass of distorted digital mimics of Spamton’s new grotesque appearance. He concentrated his magic in his arm and let a flurry of stars burst outward from it, throwing the things off, but it was no use, there were too many, how are there this many!? 

“TOO [@#*$]ING SELF [Obession] TO.>#> GIVE A [*#&@] ABOU T ANYBODY ELSE!!!” This shouldn’t be possible. Spamton just didn’t have this much magic to expend, Tenna knew that. Spamton’s magic was weak as they came, he’d told him that. He couldn’t even maintain a singular pop-up. A fight like this? Against Tenna!? 

Another jolt of pain, this one from his leg as another grenade-like attack slammed into it. He spun on his heel, flinging a desperate swirl of magic directly at Spamton, throwing everything he had into the blow in the desperate hope that it would make this stop. 

Tenna’s magic crashed uselessly into a sudden wall of black and green pixels. His good antenna shot up in recognition as white sparks bounced off of the shield. Pop-ups, completely overtaken by that all-too familiar corruption. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the way Spamton’s only ever attempts at summoning the most basic Addison spell had always been drowned in corrupted black and green before fizzling out completely. 

Except these didn’t fizzle out. They were solid, a shield without a single faultline to weaken it. They vanished only with a wave of Spamton’s hand, a deliberate command rather than a failure, a level of flawless control that would have been impressive for any Darkner. It was impossible. It was horrifying. How did you learn to fight like this?

Why did you learn to fight like this?

“EVERYTHING I ‘[[Do it]] TO YOU!?’” Spamton snarled. His glasses were still entirely static, rage roiling off of him in waves of unfocused magic. His body stuttered with glitches and his voice sounded like it was pulled from a broken megaphone. Tenna’s anger was ebbing as Spamton’s grew, like they were drawing from the same shared supply and couldn’t maintain the feeling while the other claimed it. The residual anger was withered away, smothered by some terrifying combination of fear and grief. 

“EV>>@#,ERYTo39..*HING II!#&>>@#$&@^!(***#((iI_ 0___ >>>><-_  II DI>.>#@<<<DD>>??!????” His speech was becoming almost incomprehensible. Tenna had never seen him this angry, not once. Not when they argued over scripts, not when the crew pissed him off. Not even when Tenna had nearly killed him. When they’d fought a century ago and he’d barely been able to muster enough magic to tickle the CRT’s arm. 

“EVERYTHING,” Spamton choked out. His voice snagged in his throat like a jacket catching on a protruding nail. The last few solidly formed attacks fizzled out around Tenna as the rolling boil of his power became too unruly for him to tame into a manageable form. “EVERYTHING.” He still wasn’t bleeding, but there was liquid dripping down his face now. It slipped from underneath his glasses, black and oozing as it trickled down his cheeks and fell to the cobblestone under his feet. It was so alien a gesture that it took Tenna far too long to realize he was crying. 

Spamton fell, suddenly, plastic cracking against the stone as he dropped to his knees. The oppressive weight of his magic lifted, slowly and uncertainly, his power finally spent. Tenna remained where he was, body tensed and arm raised defensively. Everything hurt. He could feel the agony of exposed wires all over where Spamton’s magic had torn into him. His limbs ached with exertion. His soul ached with something worse. 

“Everything.” Even the static in Spamton’s glasses was gone now, replaced by complete, consuming darkness. Black, not like the reflective surface of a powered-off TV, but like the vast darkness of a chasm with no visible bottom. His hands shook where he tried to wrap them around his body. The tears that looked like oil had stained lines along his face like smudged mascara. 

Something forced Tenna to his knees as well. The pain of the battle. The weight of the past. The suffocating realization that everything he’d believed for years had always been far too simple to be the truth.

“Why?” he sobbed. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you trust me? Why do you hate me now? Why did this happen to you? To us? Spamton answered none of those questions. He said nothing at all, the only sound emanating from him the continuous static buzz he seemed to bring with him everywhere he went. 

With the adrenaline, or whatever equivalent Tenna had, finally fading, the true weight of how beaten down he was hit Tenna like a lead weight to the back. His entire body throbbed with pain. He wasn’t sure he could even stand again if he tried, certain that the attempt would rob him of the last dregs of his strength and send him crashing back down. 

Spamton had done this to him. Spamton. Spamton, who hadn’t been able to summon a simple spell for longer than a few seconds. Spamton, who was small enough to fit in Tenna’s palm. 

Spamton, who hadn’t even been able to muster enough strength to push him back all those years ago, when Tenna’s finger pressed against his throat and a hand nearly as big as his entire body pressed his ribs close to cracking. Somehow, eleven years later and looking like hell, he’d beaten Tenna within an inch of his life. 

A Darkner’s magic was a reflection of who they were. What they’d been through, how they felt, the deepest parts of themselves that they tried their best to hide. They could use their voice to lie all they wanted. Magic didn’t lie. 

Do you really hate me that much?