Chapter Text
If you asked any other darkner about the youngest of their family, they would likely tell you about the day that they were born, or about how they were obsessed with this or that, or how their smiles lit up the streets and their laughter mended broken SOULs. Blue Addison, however, was different. If you asked Blue about Spamton, he would probably laugh and dodge the question. If you bothered him enough, he'd say that Spammy would grow up to be a big shot. Nothing more, nothing less.
Some would ask: ‘But why? Why don’t you say more about him?’ And he would just shrug and smile and walk away with a laugh. If he were feeling particularly mischievous, he would add a nervous wobble to his smile and mumble that Spamton wasn’t a name that they talked about in Cyber city, or stand deathly still and silent until whomever it was left, thoroughly scared and confused, or maybe even a little amused by the event. After all, Spamton was barely as tall as most people’s knees, what harm could the little guy do? His nickname was Spammy for God’s sake, and Spammy was perhaps the least threatening nickname that most darkners had, or would, ever hear.
Blue couldn’t help but agree. Spamton was probably the least frightening string of sentient malware that he had the misfortune of becoming attached to, but the mystery hooked people’s attention and reeled them back in to click again, just to see what sort of stories they could unlock if they kept returning. Of course, the stories he told were blatant lies, but the lightners didn’t have to know that. They just had to sit there and remain enthralled by the faux backstory they discovered if they dug deep enough into his code.
That was the joy in being such a simple advertisement. He could have as much fun as he wanted, and no one would know the difference unless they went searching through his code. As far as he was concerned, however, that was very, very illegal.
As enjoyable as the storytelling was, however, it was just that. Stories. He would never be the hero he made himself out to be, and Spamton would never be the corrupted file that he saved. In a way it was comforting to know that nothing he coded was real. He wouldn’t be a very good hero. He would be one who lied about his achievements until he was falsely hailed as one. What kind of hero used petty tricks and lies to make themselves look better? What kind of hero lied about their own family for their own gain? Not a very good one, that’s for sure. But for now, it worked, and that was enough reason for him to continue.
It had to be, because if it failed then they’d be back to begging for clicks at every corner. But that was in the past. And if Blue had any stay in it, it would stay that way.
Now, in the present, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the tiny monochrome advertisement at his side, and the tingling sensation of being clicked. Spamton was uncomfortable. He could see it in the way he tensed, and his smile shook. Blue sympathised. The first time he’d been clicked he’d frozen in place and held his breath until the feeling passed. It had felt as though his very SOUL were being crushed within someone’s fist. But he had been alone. Parents at work and siblings not yet born. Spamton was surrounded by people who would destroy the world for the ones they loved, and he was one of the ones they loved. Hopefully it wouldn’t be as nerve-racking if he had his brother with him. Nonetheless, a tiny hand reached up for his own, and he gripped it tightly. Spamton smiled in appreciation.
“...Thank you, Blue.” Somehow, Spamton’s voice seemed even smaller than usual.
“No problem, Spammy, I’ve got you.” He hoped he sounded as sincere as he was being.
Thankfully, Spamton relaxed. There were still twitches or gasps of discomfort, and sudden tightening of the grip that the younger had on his wrist, but Blue’s words seemed to have calmed him just enough to take the painful edge off. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he could’ve ever hoped for. Of course, that didn’t erase his fears. Spamton was barely old enough to be able to advertise in the first place, and his code wasn’t the most stable. It would be easy for him to get a virus if the wrong person were to click at the wrong time. Even being clicked too many times in one day was a threat to his health. But Spamton had begged to come with him to advertise, and to hell if he could resist that nervous smile. He was probably just overreacting anyway. Spamton was strong, as short and awkward as he was. It would take more than a virus to knock him down. Hopefully.
“...Blue.” The tremble in his voice sent that wall of hope crashing down.
Blue fought to keep the anxiety from his tone. “Spammy.”
“...I want to go home.”
And dammit if that sentence didn’t break his heart.
“I know you do, Spammy.”
There was a pause in the conversation. Spamton breath hitched as if he were going to cry, but the expected tears never came. It was as unsettling as it was relieving. Crying was one way to get on the bad side of the other advertisements. ‘Pity clicks’ they called it. ‘Pity clicks’ were a cheap tactic to manipulate lightners. ‘Pity clicks’ usually involved crying or screaming. ‘Pity clicks’ were a disgusting excuse that older advertisements used to try to justify why they were too cocky too accept that they weren’t always going to be the best in Cyber city. But Spamton was a kid, and he didn’t need to know about ‘pity clicks’. He should get the chance to enjoy advertising before he was forced into the mould that the other ads grew up in.
“...When can we go home?”
Blue glanced up at the clock above the city’s centre. 13:37. Still four more hours to go. Normally he’d be frustrated. Why did you ask to come here if you can’t even complete a full shift? But it was his first time on the streets. His first time having to deal with the ache of his SOUL being toyed with like a stress ball. And he had to admit that ten hours of that without building up an immunity to the pain was asking a lot of him. He was surprised that it had taken him so long to ask, if he was being honest.
“Do you think you can hold out for another half hour?”
“...I think so.”
He ruffled Spamton’s hair with his free hand. The irritated glare he received in return was all it took to send him looking away and stifling laughter into his hand, much to Spamton’s dismay. Blue could practically hear the ‘It isn‘t funny! Shut up!’ that he knew the shorter ought to be thinking. He could practically feel the pillow that would inevitably be thrown in his face when he went home.
Ten minutes passed.
“...Blue.”
“Spammy.”
“...Has it been half a hour yet?”
He turned to Spamton with a careful eye. He looked miserable. Shaking and sweating and squinting with half-lidded eyes that begged for comfort. But his code was still intact, and thus, they couldn’t leave until the hour was up.
“Not yet, Spammy.”
“Oh…” The distress in that single exclamation felt like Blue’s very SOUL was being ripped from his chest and torn apart. “...How much longer?”
He looked at the clock. Then back towards Spamton. “Thirteen minutes.”
“Oh…”
Spamton released his grip on Blue’s wrist. And in that moment, Blue wanted nothing more than to shun the lightners doing this to him. Didn't they know how painful it was to get clicked? And as a child nonetheless! Actually, now that he thought about it, they probably didn't. They probably weren't trying to do any harm. He sighed and turned his attention towards comforting the younger. Spamton liked Swatch's café, right?
“If you can make it for just ten more minutes we can all go up to Swatch’s for dinner, okay?”
That’s all it took for Spamton to shake himself off and return to the excitable advertisement everyone knew him to be. Well, not as excitable, and certainly not as animated, but enough to shake off the 'wet stray tasque' look that he'd had beforehand.
"...Thank you!"
God. Blue's bank account was going to hate him.