Chapter Text
He wondered if this was what it was like to die. To find yourself wading through an endless darkness, all alone.
He had never expected to go out this way: several feet deep in a dusty old basement, inhabiting a body that wasn’t his own, surrounded by his broken strings in a pathetic attempt to be freed. A sad sight to await some unfortunate employee who’d eventually stumble upon his corpse.
It wasn’t uncommon for Spamton to ponder his own mortality. Maybe unhealthily so. Before he got the call, he always thought he’d die a nobody; poor, forgettable Spamton, who had never amounted to anything. He fought against this terrible fate that had seemingly been written out for him, begging to be given a chance.
And then, everything turned on its head. The future was waiting for him; it was calling his name! And it shone, bigger and brighter than all of Cyber City. He felt invincible those days, like he was on top of the world; even if it was all a complete fabrication.
If he had died right then and there, he knew he’d be surrounded by adoring friends and fans; strangers would pay to attend his funeral, to weep for him. People would write on those stupid little postcards and letters and send them by the thousands to his company; statues would be raised in his honor, and his grave would always be overflowing with fresh flowers. He would have been cemented as a legacy that sadly, was taken much too soon.
Spamton wouldn’t have wanted to die at the height of his career, but he knew he’d be covered if he did.
He’d take that any day, over the pretty little fantasy he started entertaining when everything he had worked so hard for, began to crumble into nothing. When his sales started to plummet; when his money started going down the drain; when people began to turn on him; when his benefactor stopped calling.
Those days, when he wasn’t in the basement, down on his knees and pleading for hours on end, he would go up to the roof. More often than not, accompanied by a drink. Spamton would look down on the city which once fervently adored him, as dazzling as the first day he had laid eyes on it, and let his thoughts run rampant.
He'd take a swig of his drink, and let the familiar warmth of the alcohol cloud his mind. He would wonder what would happen if he drank another, and then another, and then another. Until he'd lose all his inhibitions, and a funny little idea would wriggle into his head. He'd climb over the ledge; feel the cool breeze hit his face and watch as everything blurred into a seat of lights. They'd spin dizzily underneath his feet, almost beckoning him.
Perhaps he'd drunkenly teeter from one end to the next, laugh from the sheer thrill and imagine how his body would look splattered onto the pavement below; dirtying their pretty little streets, just to spite them all.
Maybe he'd lose his footing along the way…
He wondered if the view was just as beautiful going down as it was going up.
But it was just a thought. He never let it get any further than that.
No, he had gone out struggling. He had failed to reach the Heaven he had long sought out. More than that, he was punished for even trying. Spamton was a fool for thinking that he would be granted the chance to bathe in that glorious light, to expect that he'd ever be given another big break, and to even hope that he could have been anything more than a puppet, ever bound by his strings.
Hell, he couldn’t even muster up the willpower to take your SOUL. Maybe if it were someone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice about doing it. But you… he couldn’t find it in himself to do it to you.
…
Death hurt more than he thought. His head was pounding, like someone had bashed it with a battering ram. Not to mention, his body felt sore. Heavy, too. There was a strange weight over his chest, keeping him grounded.
At least it was warm; soft, too. He would take that any day over the dumpster, frigid enough to pierce through his ratty clothes and plastic skin.
But a low sound broke him out of his thoughts. He could hear someone quietly sobbing and sniffing so pathetically, that he wondered if his recollections had brought out another unsavory memory of contempt and self-pity.
It seemed to be the only logical explanation, because at this point in his life, who would even bother to mourn him?
...
Oh.
Maybe he wasn't dead after all.
Spamton opened his bleary eyes, sighed, and heard the telltale flicker of a mechanism switching itself on. In a moment, the ceiling was illuminated with pink and yellow. From beside him (or above, he couldn't really tell), a shuddering gasp broke the silence. The previously unidentified weight lifted itself from his chest, but not without leaving a damp spot on it.
Spamton used his arms to prop himself up in a sitting position, and groaned from the effort it took to lift his torso off the floor. It seemed that the wires had been doing a little more than just dangling him helplessly in the air like some marionette.
Then he saw you, wide-eyed and trembling, staring at him with tear-streaked cheeks (that he inadvertently caused) as though he were an apparition. He felt something inside him twist painfully at the sight.
At the center of your chest, your SOUL had departed from your body, glowing brightly against the dark recesses of the basement. But it dimmed soon enough, and receded into your body. Had it been shining for him?
…Did you really care for him that much?
Spamton found himself reaching out towards you, calling your name softly. Apparently, that was all it took to turn on the waterworks again. You buried your head in your hands, choked out a sob, mumbled indecipherably. You didn't know what to do with yourself, you were so overwhelmed. And man, he panicked.
Should he say something? But what if you were still mad over the argument? Or maybe… you were disappointed that he hadn't really died? Okay, maybe not that last one.
But there you were, curled into yourself and crying inconsolably, and he was just sitting there, slack-jawed like some sort of idiot. He couldn’t trust himself to say the right thing, so he did the next best thing.
Spamton pulled you into an awkward little side-hug, and settled for rubbing your back in a surprising act of tenderness. You jumped at the suddenness of his touch, but it wasn’t long before you were leaning into his gentle touch, hiccuping softly and swiping at your face with your sleeves as you tried to focus on steadying your breaths.
You stayed like that for a little while, resting comfortably against him as you dried yourself of all your tears, and Spamton selfishly wished that this moment would last for just a bit longer.
Once you had managed to calm yourself down, you finally spoke up.
"I... when you fell, you wouldn't move. Or, or respond. And I thought..." Your voice wavered, and he could see your bottom lip starting to quiver. You inhaled sharply, urging yourself to continue. "I thought you died."
Your voice broke at the last word, and a few stray tears ran down your cheeks.
He sighed, suddenly feeling hot with shame. "I know, sweetheart. I kinda thought I had, too."
But he didn't. And nothing had really changed. He was still the same [Little Sponge] as before, only now he was drastically taller and had sprouted a pair of useless wings. Hey, at least he could turn his hands into phones. That was something of an improvement.
Your head snapped up, clearly taken off guard by the surprising clarity in his voice. It was as though the constant buzzing in his head had died down; though it was by no means gone, he could at least think more clearly.
That didn't help the sudden wave of emotions that would seize him whenever he looked at you, gazing at him so kindly. It always managed to catch him off guard. At times it felt like he was living in some otherworldly, loneliness-induced fantasy, because your tender-heartedness felt like something out of a dream. But a fantasy probably wouldn't disagree with him, and it definitely wouldn't be able to bleed.
That's right. He had...
"A-Angel! Your n0se! It was—[Accidents Happen], I swear! Let me just—" In an instant, Spamton snapped his fingers.
Just as you were about to protest and insist that you were fine, you felt something lightly patting your head. Glancing up, you caught sight of a Miniton with wings descending upon you with an apologetic smile, before dissipating into a cloud of green shimmer. You tentatively touched your nose, and your eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Did... did you just heal me?" You asked, incredulous.
Spamton laughed awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair. "Haha, yeah. Neat trick, right? I should've done that sooner. Sorry about that."
"Huh." You said noncommittally. “Thanks..."
The air grew heavy again. Everything felt awkward—stilted, and Spamton hated it. It didn't feel right. The discomfort on your face was as plain as day, and the reasons were gnawing at his mind.
Certain moments in Spamton's life were defined by their urgency. The urge to reach to the top. The urge to keep his mystery benefactor on the line at all times. The urge to keep from people seeing through him and realizing the fraud he truly was. It was that urge which took him down below, to where he was now.
He knew that he had to act, or else those opportunities would slip away from him.
Your silence gave him that same sense of urgency, and it frightened him.
Spamton exhaled shakily. "Listen, I, uh... what I told you back at the shop... I didn't mean it."
"I'm sorry."
You didn't answer right away, and in that short timeframe, his stomach felt like it was in knots as he waited in silent anticipation.
"Spamton," you started, fixating your gaze on the floor and fidgeting with your hands.
"There's something I've been... thinking about. I've been trying to avoid asking it, but I don't think I should anymore. But I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you promise me that?"
Honesty, huh? The truth really only ever served to be twisted. He didn't have to outright lie, so long as he could cut off any unsightly parts to make it palatable enough for one to stand it. But you didn't want him to pull the wool over your eyes—you wanted it all, no matter how uncomfortable or messy it might end up being. No strings attached. He'd give it to you; it was the least he could do.
"Yeah. Of course." Spamton answered.
You took in a shaky breath, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists.
"Was any of that real? All that time, were we... actually friends? Or were you just..." Your trembling voice trailed off, and Spamton felt a lump forming in his throat.
"Angel—"
"Please." you pleaded. "Please, just tell me the truth."
Spamton sighed. He knew the truth. He knew why he had accepted your offer of friendship. But things were different now.
If he admitted to you that he had pretended at the start, would it even matter that he genuinely grew to like you? Would you still choose to leave even if he didn't feel the same as before?
He remembered how betrayed he felt by his so-called friends, who dropped him one by one. Who, for all he knew, had only hung out with him to keep appearances, or out of pity, or because they all worked in the same area. Or just because, for the time being, he had something to offer them.
His pitiful attempts at making a sale at least assured them that they'd never do as poorly as he always did. It must have been an amazing ego-booster to have him nearby; a constant reminder that hey, at least they weren't that guy.
He had unwittingly fallen into the same pattern as his past companions: getting close to someone simply for your own benefit.
At one point you must have sniffed it out, and now, he was left with no choice but to tell you. He only hoped that you would hear him out.
"At the start, I was just looking out for myself. You were eager; I was desperate. And I thought..."
Spamton laughed humorlessly. "God, there's no way to sugarcoat this, Toots, and I don't think you'd want that anyway."
The words didn't come to him with ease, but maybe if he just spit it out, it would be like ripping off a bandage.
"I thought I could use you to get what I wanted."
You visibly winced at his words, and he could only watch as you tried to keep your composure in spite of it.
He wanted the ground to cave in on him, swallow him whole, suffocate him. Even so, he knew he had to continue.
"But something changed. Not you, you were still the same. I think I—God, this is gonna sound embarrassing as hell, but I really think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You were always so nice to me, you trusted me. You treated me like an actual person for God's sake!"
"Suddenly, I had something to look forward to every day. I felt... hopeful for once, and it didn't even have anything to do with this." Spamton gestured at the suit. It wasn't that he had lost interest in freedom or NEO or Heaven, but now, a bit of that light had seeped into the Cyber World. And even beneath the neon lights of the city, you still managed to burn so brightly.
"You made me feel hope. Maybe even some for myself... I mean, whenever I look at you, it feels like things won't turn out so bad."
You still didn't answer him.
"And when I say that I'm so d4mn sorry, I really mean it, Angel. I'm sorry for lying, and for hurting you, and I sw3ar that every moment [[After The Fact]] was completely real. And, if you just want me to leave you alone after this, I get it. I'll do it.."
Your gut-wrenching silence had been your only response this entire time, and honestly, he deserved it. He could see a slight tremble to your form, and you brought up an arm to hurriedly wipe at your face.
"Spamton..." Your voice, a little waterlogged, came through.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks... for being honest with me."
The two of you stayed there, waiting in the quiet.
You cleared your throat a bit. "We should, uh, probably be getting out of here."
In one swift motion, you got yourself off the floor and swung your backpack over your shoulders. Once it was properly secured, you reached out towards Spamton, a silent offer of assistance.
Spamton stared at your hand.
"Uh, this thing weighs a ton, y'know." He answered, almost shyly, but you didn't pull away.
You gave him a little half-smile. "Yeah, I figured that was the case."
The offer was still on the table. Spamton took your hand in his, focusing all of his efforts on making sure he pulled this off so that he wouldn't end up making a fool of himself. Although, it was probably too late for that.
You gave him a firm tug while Spamton pushed himself forward with his free hand, all while fervently flapping his wings. Hopefully, with your combined efforts, he could give himself a bit more momentum. Clumsily, he managed to stand. His legs wobbled, reminiscent of a newborn fawn attempting to walk for the first time.
You didn’t bother pretending like you didn’t find this whole ordeal amusing, clearly engrossed in—and thoroughly enjoying—Spamton’s battle against gravity as you chuckled softly.
“Yeah, yeah, yak it up, pipsqueak. But when I get over there, I’ll…” Spamton warned, but you didn’t pay his empty threats any mind.
When he finally felt confident enough to take a step forward without worrying about falling flat on his face, the both of you made your way back to the first floor. It wasn't a long trip, per say, but it was severely lacking. No light-hearted banter, no casual conversations; nothing.
At every chance he got, he took a passing glance at your face. You stared down at the floor, eyebrows furrowed together, lost in your own head.
What he wouldn't give to know your exact thoughts right now.
. . .
Spamton spotted the silhouette of the doorway; the faintest shreds of light only grew brighter the closer he got. It couldn't compare to the blinding brilliance that was Heaven, but it sufficed for now. He had managed to crawl out of the darkness still intact, and with you right beside him. But would you still stay after what had happened?
He was about to ask, but a familiar voice interrupted him before he could continue.
"Spamton?!" Tasque Manager staggered back, utterly dumbfounded. She stared up at him in horror, mouth agape as she tried to process Spamton's new form. Once she got over the initial shock, she finally took note of you, standing beside him so casually.
"Hey, [Whiskers]."
"Hey, Tasq."
You and Spamton turned your heads towards each other in unison, eyes wide, almost as if silently asking the other: you know her?
When Spamton glanced back at Tasque Manager, he took note of her sharp gaze as she carefully examined you. There was a certain glint in her eyes, one she always got whenever she was thoroughly inspecting a room, searching for any speck of dust that her trained eyes had somehow missed. The longer she stared, the tighter her grip on her whip grew.
He turned to study you in the same manner Tasque had; no longer shielded by the shadows of the basement, Spamton could now see you clearly.
Your face was slightly flushed, eyes still reddened and puffy from crying. There were dark splotches near the collar of your shirt, and on your sleeves, as well as some dried blood above your lips. Your clothes had gotten dirty, and frankly, you looked exhausted.
Guilt crawled up his back, winding tightly around him like those wires had. He knew he was to fault for your current state, and it seemed as though Tasque had arrived at a similar conclusion. Seeing you in such a state of disarray, while exiting the same closed-off area at the same time as him? Spamton could already hear Tasque's shrill voice ring through, blatantly accusing him.
Even if her insinuation wasn't accurate, his sullied reputation and affinity for getting into all sorts of trouble did nothing to help his case.
Their relationship was... complicated. Tasque Manager was always a bit of a short fuse, like him. This meant that during his stay here, they had a tendency to get on each other's nerves. Safe to say, the best option was usually to stay out of each other's ways. They spoke on occasion, when it wasn't related to the disarray of his room, and had at the very least learned to tolerate each other. But more importantly, he had never found himself on the receiving end of her whip.
There was a first time for everything, he supposed. Her ears lay flat against her head as she stomped forward, wielding her weapon in an iron grip. Spamton inhaled sharply and began readying his arm cannon, raising it in Tasque's direction; he wasn't about to take this lying down, especially with these new upgrades at his disposal.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a second!"
Before Tasque Manager could get any closer, you stepped in front of Spamton, shielding him with your body. Putting one hand up, you beckoned at her to stop. With the other, you gingerly pushed Spamton's cannon arm down.
Your eyes flitted between them both.
"What's with all this tension? C-can't we just talk this out?" You suggested, hoping that you could maintain this stalemate for just a moment longer.
Tasque gripped your arm, "Listen, if he's done anything to you, anything at all, just say the word and I'll— "
“Oh, now you’re just pulling stuff outta your—”
You let out a groan in exasperation. “Guys, c’mon.”
You gently settled your hand over Tasque's shoulder, smiling apologetically. "I think there's a bit of a misunderstanding going on. I promise I'll explain everything later. But, ah, I do have a small favor to ask."
She quirked an eyebrow at you. "Yes?"
"Do you know if there's a way for us to leave more..." Your eyes darted towards Spamton, then back at her, nudging your head slightly in his direction, "discreetly?"
The Swatchlings were keenly aware of Spamton's irregularly scheduled break-ins. But now, with his newly-added height and gaudy armor, it would be impossible to lose sight of him. The last thing he needed was a bunch of able-bodied birdbrains on his tail, so he was grateful that you had asked.
Tasque Manager set her mouth in a grim line. She didn't answer straight away, mulling over your request while you waited with bated breath. After a good while, she heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her muzzle.
"Yes, I do." Tasque conceded, "But know that I'm only doing this to return the favor. I'm grateful for your help earlier today, but I cannot always do this. I'm sure you understand."
You beamed at her words, and she could not help but find herself reciprocating with a gentle smile of her own.
"Yes, I do! Thank you! Er, again." You added sheepishly.
Tasque gave a slight nod and walked towards the wall opposite from the doorway. She spotted a small electrical outlet that reached just below her knees, and proceeded to insert her plug-like tail into it. A short current of electricity passed through her tail, but she appeared unfazed by it. It only took a couple of seconds for a passageway to open up beside her. She quickly unplugged her tail and let it swish comfortably behind her. Tasque looked back, ushering you and Spamton over.
There was no hiding the pure delight and childlike wonder that overtook you at the sight.
“Whoa. How do you know about this?”
Tasque Manager winked slyly at you. “The maids know everything, dear.”
Spamton's eye twitched, overcome with the desire to blast this overgrown fleabag into the next century. But there were more important matters at hand, like getting the hell out of dodge. It could wait another day.
You entered the newly-added entryway, with Spamton following closely behind. At the end of the passage, there was a large door. It was painted in the same teal shade as the walls, if not slightly discolored. Its handle looked worn with age, and there were a couple of jagged claw marks over its bottom panels.
The moment you opened the door, he had immediately recognized where Tasque had led the two of you: the back alley of the Mansion. He recalled the many times a burly Swatchling would toss him out here to “avoid disturbing the patrons of this fine establishment”, or some other stupidly overused excuse they’d throw at him.
Appearance-wise, it was nearly identical to every other alleyway, save for a few details. For one, Swatch always made sure to keep the dumpsters locked up tight in hopes of discouraging any unwanted visitors (ie. him). And two, there was always a startling abundance of Maice back here. The sound of the door opening must have spooked them into hiding, however. It was almost completely silent, save for the incessant buzzing of an old lightbulb that hung overhead.
He looked up at the gridded sky, which was colored a deep indigo; it had gotten late.
What was he going to do now?
Even though his previous form was small, at least he could fit comfortably into the dumpsters. There was always a decent amount of space, given that he piled up the garbage far off into the corners. But right now, he'd be lucky if he could manage to squeeze himself into one sitting down.
He considered his shop, and arrived at a similar conclusion.
But he'd come up with something, right? Of course he would. It's not like he had much of a choice.
A tug at his arm briefly brought him out of his own thoughts, and he promptly looked down (that was something he'd have to get used to).
"Um, hey... I just wanted to say that I'm sorry too."
Spamton cocked his head to the side, clearly confused.
"About what?" He asked. He couldn't possibly fathom what you would be apologizing for.
"I just," You looked up at him, almost pleadingly, as you struggled to find the right words. Nothing came out for a moment, and you sighed in dissatisfaction, your gaze returning to the ground.
"I dunno. Maybe I should've done something differently... and, for yelling at you. No one wants to listen to the person who's yelling at them."
Spamton simply shrugged. "Hey, don't worry about it. In all honesty, I wouldn't have listened either way."
He lightly tapped his head and offered you an easy-going smile.
"See this? Hard as a rock?"
He expected one of two things: a roll of the eyes, or a small snicker. Alright, Spamton was bracing himself for a third one; that, perhaps, you wouldn't even react at all.
But he didn't expect your breaths to sputter out into full-blown laughter. Unrestrained; wholeheartedly. It was infectious. He found himself laughing alongside you, as the two of you took turns adding in your own little interjections and snarky little comments until his stupid little joke spiraled into its own nonsensical thing, completely detached from the original. Until you were both doubled over, gasping for air in between peals of laughter.
It wasn't even that funny to begin with. But as oxygen began to flood back into his brain, he realized that what he felt most of all, was relief. Pure relief. The tension had finally broken; this moment felt wonderfully familiar, and even if he had parted from it for only a couple of hours, he never wanted to see himself without it again. Without you.
Spamton held on tightly to this moment; to your unabashed laughter, to your sincere smile, to the fact that you've shared it all with him. He committed it to memory and tucked it away. For a rainy day, he thought to himself.
This brief period of peace granted him the courage to ask you his own question. Clumsily, but sincerely.
"So, are we still... friends?"
He mentally braced himself, awaiting your refusal. Awaiting the harsh loneliness that would ensue. Awaiting the pitiful walk back to the Trash Zone, with the knowledge that he had lost his only friend for having acted thoughtlessly.
"Yeah." You replied simply, without missing a beat.
…But it never came.
Spamton opened his mouth to reply, caught off guard by the certainty in your tone, because clearly, nothing could be that simple. It wasn't that he suspected any ulterior motives from you, but it was a difficult habit to break when he came from a world where nothing was ever truly given freely.
Still, you managed to beat him to the punch.
Your face hardened. "Listen, I'm aware that what you did was pretty scummy. And it hurts, especially coming from you."
He couldn't find it in himself to meet your eyes. But he noted the gentleness in your tone as you picked your next words.
"But, you apologized. And I forgive you. That's really all there is to it."
"...Really?" He squeaked out, still swimming in his own disbelief.
"Really." You reassured him, looking up at him with sincerity.
"But, I do need some time to just deal with... everything, y'know?" You gestured vaguely with your hands, before bringing them up to rub circles into your temples.
"Let's just go home, okay?" You rattled off without much thought to your words, already heading towards your destination.
Spamton paused. Wait, go home? As in, with him?
The thought had his cuckoo-heart slamming against the inside of his chest, threatening to pop out. His hand splayed against the armor, mentally cursing himself as he ensured that it stayed inside, where it belonged. He quickly caught up to you (with his height, it only took him a few steps), your response running circles in his mind.
"Go [[Home]]?" He repeated.
Your steps faltered for a second before you froze in place, your face going flush with color. Panic flashed over your eyes.
"I—I mean! Uh! It's where I live, obviously, but I mean, you—it's pretty late, so you can come over if you want, I dunno. Just offering, if that's okay."
Once you realized that you had begun to ramble, you stopped yourself and groaned in frustration.
"I'm tired, okay? It's been a pretty long day. Don't judge me if I'm not making any sense." You griped, clearly running on fumes at this point.
He chuckled, not in a mean-spirited fashion, but mostly because he couldn’t help but find your antics a bit cute.
“I didn’t even say anything, Angel.” He answered in a teasing lilt.
“Yeah, yeah. But you thought about it, didn’t you.” You countered, and Spamton’s only response was a small hum.
The two of you set a course for your place; this time, together.
While his first instinct was to decline your offer—because really, the last thing he needed was handouts—he concluded that you were only trying to be friendly.
It was only for one night, so surely he wouldn’t be imposing. Plus, a bit of some good ol’ fashioned [[Genorisity]] never hurt anyone.
"Y'know, I think I'll take up your offer. It sounds like a pretty good deal to me." Spamton answered with a crooked little smile.
Your face instantly lit up at this.
"Oh? You're lucky I got a bunch of extra covers, then; I got them at this sale, and they're super comfy." Despite keeping a casual tone, the new spring in your step was undeniable.
Spamton didn’t put a name to this feeling just yet. He still needed to build up a bit more courage before he could admit it to himself. But, at the very least he could move forward with the knowledge that he was no longer alone. No, he had you. A strange Lightner who fell from above, who chose to befriend him of all people. And worst of all, who had managed to sneak your way into his heart.
Perhaps it was luck? Fate? An answered prayer of his? Or maybe someone, somewhere had slipped up, and this occurrence, which never should have happened, managed to come into fruition despite all the odds.
Whatever the case might have been, he was still here, with you.
You were his friend.
Did he want more?
…Admittedly, his heart fluttered at the thought. Was it selfish to hope for more?
But he didn’t want to force you into something you might not be the slightest bit interested in. He couldn’t afford to lose you.
Either way, he was grateful enough to just stand by your side. He didn’t have much to offer you, but he would give you everything that he had. He’d try his hardest, for your sake.
Spamton looked up, his additional height providing him a fresh perspective of the city. These were still the same old buildings as before, twinkling underneath the same gridded sky he was greeted with day in and day out.
Tomorrow was littered with uncertainty, with loss and with conflict, and with a world that would keep on turning no matter what he did. Whether he was at the top of the world or at the bottom of a dumpster bin.
But tonight, he'd be with you.
A genuine smile spread across his face.
Cyber City looked especially beautiful tonight.