Chapter Text
“Yo, B! Pass me that bread! Bread! Pass me that bread! Shit tastes fantastic.” A flash of blue enters Spam’s vision, reaching for the bread to pass it to Audio, but a familiar pink presence quickly darts forward to lightly slap the fuzzy hand. He scoffs.
"No, Blue. Let him get it. He can do it himself if he weren’t so damn lazy.” They say, and Spam can’t see their face, but he can feel them rolling their eyes. In fact, Spam can’t see any of their faces- they're just out of view, for some reason. Despite this, he knows the exact expressions they’re making. Something about this unnerves Spam.
Audio’s eyes squint, and he scowls. “ Lazy- Lazy!? Yeah RIGHT, and just who pulled in enough clicks for this dinner in the first place. Hear me? Just who pulled in enough clicks! ‘Cause it definitely wasn’t you! It’s in your name! Your NAME! BOTH OF THEM!" He spits, leaning forward and jabbing his fuzzy orange finger at his pink chest. Audio can hear poorly concealed snickers from the other two at the table, and he shoots a look at them before glaring and failing to hide his pout at Click.
Click flutters his eyes and props a hand on his cheek in mock pride. "Aw, look at you~! Now you can reach for the bread, Citrus-Head!”
Audio growls and is about to reach for them across the table, but a yellow arm smacks him on the back of the head. Audio has the mind to at least look ashamed, as his posture slumps and he rubs his nape sheepishly.
“S...Sorry, V…Won’t happen again…”
He nods sharply at him. “Mmmhm. We both know that's a lie. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to do this already.” Video rubs a hand down his face in exasperation. "I’m too old for this.”
Click laughed lightly, bringing a hand to their mouth in surprise. “Vivi, you’re like, twenty-something." They manage, their last words trailing into soft giggles. Spam swore he heard Audio muttering something about two faces under his breath.
Video rolls his eyes, swishes his drink around in his hand loosely, and exhales deeply. “Exactly.”
Click laughs. Audio rolls his eyes and grumbles.
Video looks over to Banner, and smiles delicately. “You okay, B-2? You’ve been pretty quiet today…”
Banner gives Video a soft look, and blinks with bleary eyes. “Yeah, ‘s just…exhausting day at work...you know how it is…”
Video didn’t seem satisfied with their response. “...Did something happen?”
Click smiles over at them, and plants a hand firmly on their head. “Blue, you know you can come to us if something bothers you. We’ll listen…” He says, patting their smooth hair. Banner huffs fondly, and proceeds to smooth out the slight mess they made.
Audio seems to finally sit up in his seat, and he beams up at Banner as he slaps both his hands on the table. Video shoots him a look but it goes unnoticed. “YEAH! B, you’re like…” Audio falters, waving his hands trying to find the right words. His expression lights up and he looks Banner dead in the eye. “You’re like, SUPER NICE! SUPER NICE! How can anybody be mean to someone like you? I mean- it’s YOU!” He finishes elegantly, waving his arms forward in astonishment.
Click scoffs and rolls their eyes. “Expectedly simple, for a simpleton like you. How do you even sell anything like that?”
“WHAT WAS THAT, PRETTY BOY!?”
“Break it up, you two…I don’t want to have to pay for damages again.”
Click gifts Video with an angelic smile. Audio seethes.
“WHATEVERRRR! B KNOWS WHAT I’M SAYIN! THEY KNOW WHAT I’M SAYIN! Right B?”
Banner struggles to stop from laughing at the scene, as they drop their hand from their mouth and the tension in their shoulders loosen. They have a tight lipped smile that’s telling itself not to laugh. Spam knows there’s amusement in their eyes.
Why does Spam know this. He can’t lift his head to look at his friends. MOVE, DAMMIT! MO-
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, your point came across.”
"Yup! Don’t know how, though. You sound like a gorilla when you talk! Ohonhonhon! C’est nul, c’est nul~!” Click sings, bringing a hand up to their mouth pretentiously.
A buttered loaf is thrown straight at Click’s forehead. He gasps.
“Click Clickmore Addison! Stop instigating Audio! Audio, don’t throw things at Click!” Video snaps.
Click rubs their forehead. “Yes, Video…”
Audio sinks further back into the booth, pouting. “Sorry Video…”
Video hums indignantly, and gives Banner a smile as he waves a fork in his direction. “So, tell me aaaall about what happened at work.”
Spam can’t hear anything.
It sounds garbled, and far, far away. Sounds like underwater speech.
...And much like underwater, Spam Addison can’t speak.
He can’t speak, or hear, or see.
And he struggles.
“What about you, Spam?”
What? He doesn’t remember opening his mouth.
He feels puzzled eyes drill holes into his brain- feels the stares leak through him.
“Why aren’t you making any sales, Spam?”
Spam’s head feels heavier than it should.
He finally gathers the strength to lift his head.
The room is pitch black. There are no more lights or customers. The only color in the room are his friends, staring down at him with alert eyes.
He feels like he’s two feet tall, and his friends’ bodies tower over him and it suffocates him.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Spam can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and he can’t move but his hands are already clasped tight around his neck.
“Come on. You know time is running out.”
STOP.
STOP. STOP. STOP. Stop, stop, stop it, stop it stop it stop it-
"Come on, you know you can always come to us."
Long arms stretch over his face-ready to grab hold-and stop abruptly.
Spam flinches at the abrupt stop.
Slowly, he opens his eyes and peeks at the room.
Everything is back to its normal color. Like none of that had just happened.
Spam’s eyes slowly find their way towards his coworkers’ faces.
Anger flashes hot in his brain.
“Poor Spam…” They whispered amongst themselves.
Spam knows that look.
Poor Spam.
Poor Spam.
POOR GOD DAMN SPAM ADDISON.
POOR USELESS SOUL
POOR PITIFUL LITTLE.
Thing.
Spam lifts his head up again.
His coworkers’ faces are gone.
The next time Spam opens his eyes, he sees a dark room-No- His dark room. There’s an impossible lump in his throat, and he’s drowning in his own cold sweat. He licks his lips. It’s dry, and tastes of salt. He can hear crickets chirping just outside his window. If he were anyone else, he might’ve hated the sound. And, perhaps, he could say he really did hate it at some point. But with his constant night terrors, the sound keeps him awake-keeps him alert. And most importantly, keeps him from the deafening silence that comes with being alone.
He wouldn’t say he was completely alone, no. He has his... coworkers... that would be more than willing to stay up to keep him company, But he doesn’t need their pity. He doesn’t need their cast glances or soft tone as if anything more than that would scare him away.
Spam isn’t fragile. He can handle it. He can handle truths that burn, because he faces that truth- that...that burn every single goddamn day. He’s used to it. In fact, it doesn’t even feel like a burn at this point. More like the kind of buzz Spam feels when he’s drunk and on the verge of passing out.
He doesn't care what they think about him…he doesn't. He'd be completely fine if they just straight up told him they didn't need him anymore-hell, he'd welcome it even! He...he doesn't…
Fuck, god, fuck… who is he kidding. He's not good at anything at all. Not even at lying to himself.
Spam squeezes his eyes shut and tries to concentrate on the noises that play for him just beyond his bedroom window.
...The cars are a lot quieter tonight. Spam wonders why this is the case.
Spam can’t find any reasons as to why.
After lying in bed listening to the nightlife ambience for around fifteen minutes, he decides that he won’t be going back to sleep any time soon, and slides out of his blanket. His breath hitches and his fingers freeze as he realizes which blanket this is.
...He averts his eyes from the multicolored patches on the quilt as he sluggishly moves to replace it with a standard white blanket. It's dirty and slightly off colored, but he doesn't care. His hand clutches the quilt tightly, before he sighs and shoves it into his closet.
Dragging his feet across the floor, he makes his way through the door and is immediately assaulted with a suffocating crash of silence toppling over him. The weight of it keeps him paralyzed for minutes on end, and Spam remembers that he has to breathe but can’t quite find the strength to do so.
The silence stabs through his heart and through his mind, and he’s left with a piercing headache.
He drags himself through the hallway and explores the rest of the home with unease. None of his coworkers are awake. It’s just him. Alone. In the dark…
Spam enters the kitchen, and it feels desolate; the deep night and blue hue from the window seeps and coats it in a beautiful crystalline ocean shade. There are parts that glisten and sparkle at certain angles and god why are there tears welling up in his eyes?
Spam sucks in a breath and reaches above the counter to pry open one of the cabinets. He finds what he was looking for and pops the painkillers into his mouth and swallows.
He turns and sits on the mock marble countertop and buries his head in his hands.
And he cries.
It’s silent, but it’s agonizing because it doesn’t stop. Why is he crying? He’s fine. Spam’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. There’s nothing wrong.
...So why does he feel something pushing down on his body and crushing him? What’s there that’s making it so hard to breathe? What did he do to deserve something like this? Why was he born like this? Why-
Spam shudders a sigh and rubs his hands up and down his face but doesn’t remove them.
... God, what the hell was he doing?
“...What the hell are you doing?” Spam jumps and his breath catches in his throat despite all the mucus building up. He recognizes it as Click’s voice, but the usual sarcastic tease is gone-replaced with something unfamiliar. Spam still doesn’t remove his hands from his face.
He doesn’t want to know what he’ll find if he looks at their face.
“...Spam?”
His breath hitches again in response. He’s not used to Click using his name, let alone saying it so softly.
He feels Click walk over warily. Spam closes in on himself ever so slightly. He hears Click stop in his tracks at his response, and they clear their throat and place a hand on their hip.
“Trying to ransack the fridge again, hmmm?” He says with feigned playfulness. Spam doesn’t respond, he just shifts his hands into fists.
“Fuck, uh- Where’s Viv when you need him?? Alright, uh-” Click clears their throat and wrings their hand around their wrist. Slowly, he moves toward Spam, until he appears at his side. Spam can only catch a glimpse of part of their back, so he reluctantly removes his hands from his face, placing them on his sides for comfort.
Click sighs, and from the corner of Spam’s eye, he can see them cross their arms.
“Look, uh. You know I’m...n-nevermind.” Click shakes his head. “Something’s clearly bothering you, and...you know if...it’s...a person, I...I can take care of them.” They exhale.
“Only we’re allowed to mess with you, okay? Unless...you don't want us to. And...I know I’m not...the most emotionally available of our family, but. I’d do anything for you guys...anything for you. You know that, right?”
Spam doesn’t answer.
He can feel them shift slightly against his back. “I’m...sorry.”
“...What?”
Click startles at the sound of his brother’s whisper, but settles quickly. They shift uncomfortably. “Uh. Y-y’know for...for not being super easy to talk to, I guess. I’m not...I’m not Blue, or-or Vivi, or...hell, even Audio is better at communicating than I am. I...respect them. I respect you. I just...wanted you to know that.” They inhale, and clasp their hands together on their lap. “I’m just sorry if...I hadn’t made that very clear to you, or...everyone else. If...anything I said upset you then, I-I’m sorry.”
There was silence for a moment, and Click had accepted that, but then a hoarse whisper could be heard from the little Addison.
“What?”
More muffled whispers came from him, so they attempted to move their body toward Spam to hear better, but before they could, he pushed them away.
“D- Don’t. I don’t want to-look-” Spam’s words trembled and caught in his throat, grabbing the soft fabric of his sibling’s pyjamas. Sensing the alarm in his demeanor, Click moves back away from him and instead leans their back against his.
They hear Spam repeat what he had tried to say earlier.
“Th...thank you. And...you’re better than you think. A-at comforting...”
...You just don’t know it yet, he thinks.
Click, despite himself, feels tears well up but swiftly blinks them away and composes himself. “Never thank me for something that needs to be said.” And there was a comfortable silence that draped around them.
Click breaks it first.
“...You had a nightmare?”
“...Don’t...wanna talk ‘bout it.”
“You...want...anything, then?”
Spam is about to shake his head when he remembers the dry feeling scratching his throat, and so he nods weakly. As Click gets up from the counter and back onto the floor, Spam twists his body away from theirs as they walk past him. He can feel the bright blue light encompassing his entire back as they root through the fridge.
They place a glass of water beside him, and take a seat at the small wooden table. Spam takes a sip of the cold water and remembers how good it feels to find his voice again after waking up from a nightmare.
After chugging the whole glass, he sets it down on the sink beside him and sits on one of the chairs at an angle where he wouldn’t be able to see Click’s face even if he kept his head up. For extra measure though, he kept his head buried in his arms.
He can feel Click staring at him, so he pretends to fall asleep...until he does.
When Spam awakes, it’s to the sight of a pink fluffy head buried in their arms, sleeping. A yellow beam envelopes their peaceful body, and he can vaguely see specks of dust in the air that are made more visible within the light.
It’s completely silent. Yet, this time, he doesn’t feel nauseous at the sound.
Spam feels the familiar texture of a quilt he swore he hid away. He doesn’t look down at it, but he tugs it closer to his body, and this time he falls asleep willingly.