Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     “Thank you!” Frequency called after the leaving customers, waving goodbye from his shop’s entrance. “Please come again!” 

     He smiled as the customers disappeared down the empty street. It wasn’t until he’d closed and locked the door, flipped the welcome sign to ‘Closed’, and shut all the blinds facing toward the street that he let the smile drop from his face. The pink Addison then turned to examine the disarray the store was in, trying to rub feeling back into his cheeks as he did so. It had taken all his self control to be able to keep up his cheerful, customer-service demeanor with that last group of customers. They had barged in, all half a dozen of them, a mere fifteen minutes before the shop was supposed to close. The lateness, of course, hadn’t stopped any of them from ordering some of the most complicated drinks from his menu, nor had it stopped them from asking for samples of some of the take-home tea he sold. Not that any of them ended up buying anything. Even after they were long gone his blood boiled at the thought of their oblivious rudeness. 

     With a loud sigh, Frequency all but stomped over to the  backroom, to grab a fresh trash bag. Given how late it was, he’d made all the drinks in disposable cups. The customers hadn’t taken the hint, but at least it made cleaning up easier. As he crammed the paper cups and empty pastry wrappers into the trash bag, Frequency felt his phone vibrate. 

     Pulling it out, Frequency saw the notification had been an email from his oldest brother, Banner. Frequency couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he read the subject line and realized it was about work. His family was known across the city for their hard work and business savvy, but the orange Addison definitely took it to another level. It was well past ten on a Friday night, and Frequency would be surprised if Banner didn’t plan on working for another couple hours at the very least. Frequency ignored the email and shoved his phone back into his pocket, before going back to hastily picking up the trash. Banner might be content to waste his weekend, but Frequency was looking forward to getting away from his shop, even if it was only to the couch. 

     Frequency tied the trash bag close and tossed it by the back door as he walked into the back room. Grabbing a rag and some cleaning spray, Frequency found his mind wandering back to years ago, when a Friday night would have meant going to the Cyber Grill with his brothers. In retrospect, it was amazing Banner had shown up at all, even if he did spend most of the night on his laptop. Frequency tried to focus on the cleaning as he made his way around the tables and countertops, already sensing that this line of thinking would make his already bad mood even worse. But, it was too late, and Frequency couldn’t help but dwell on it. 

     Even though Banner obviously felt like the nights out were a distraction from his work, Frequency knew he’d kept going to them long after Frequency had stopped showing up. Skip had gotten fed up with the whole thing pretty soon after Frequency had, and without his gossip Frequency hadn’t been exactly sure what happened after that. It had made sense to them all at the time that Snippet would keep trying to make it work, but from what he’d heard later from Snippet, it was actually Banner who’d stuck around the longest. Frequency almost regretted not sticking around longer. He would love to have known what had been the final straw for either of them, to finally get them to realize what a pathetic loser their youngest brother was. 

     Even the act of getting angry made him get angrier, as the thought that after all this time away his little brother still managed to have this control over him and his feelings was rage-inducing. The knowledge that Spam had so easily moved on afterwards was even worse. He hadn’t seen the fights that had broken out after he moved out or how long it had taken the four of them to come back together. He hadn’t seen the fresh salt in the wound it was every time his family heard any news or rumors about him, or the worry it had caused when all the talk and rumors had stopped. 

     Before he could think about it any more, Frequency grabbed his coat and the trash by the door, then left out the back, locking the door behind him. Between his cleaning of tools while the customers lollygagged and his quick wipe down after they left, he’d done enough to clean up, Frequency decided. He’d just have to come in a bit earlier on Monday. He almost just threw the trash bag by the dumpster, but decided to be more careful and make sure the bag was completely in and the dumpster was securely closed before he left. Banner and Snippet’s shop wasn’t that far from here, and Frequency had heard them complaining about how something had evidently been getting into their trash for the past couple weeks. For tailors that might just be obnoxious, but the last thing Frequency needed was some maus or worse hanging around his shop. It’d only be a short trip from the dumpster to the cafe itself. 

     When that was done, Frequency found his mood was actually beginning to improve. The night was chilly, but not painfully so. It was the perfect temperature for a quick walk home, then a warm night spent inside. If the temperature continued to cool over the weekend, that’d be great, Frequency thought as he made his way through the lonely streets. The colder it was, the better business it meant for his hot drinks and teas. 

     As Frequency left the commercial district, he was surprised to see the streets by the Queen’s mansion were much more lively than usual. All around him were tall birds, which Frequency remembered having seen around the Color Cafe. They seemed very upset about something as they peered behind every corner, underneath every bench, and even inside of any trash cans and dumpsters they could find. All around them, too, were tasques, who seemed to also be on the prowl for something. Frequency couldn’t help but stare at the odd site. 

     “You,” a loud, clipped voice said, snapping Frequency’s attention away from the panicking butlers. “Stop right there!” 

     Frequency looked around to see a woman approaching, evidently talking to him. The woman was slim and not that much taller than himself, but even from afar Frequency felt intimidated by her. The nasty looking whip she held in one of her disembodied hands probably didn’t help.

    “Hello!” Frequency greeted. He did his best to put on his salesman charm, but the woman, as she looked Frequency up and down, didn’t seem at all impressed. “Can I help you?” 

    The woman stayed silent until she was a few feet in front of him. In the silence, Frequency noticed that all the tall birds had disappeared, but a few of the tasques approached the woman. Frequency realized this must be Tasque Manager, the Queen’s maid. Frequency had heard of her, occasionally from awed and bewildered customers. There even were a few rumors involving her and the rest of the Queen’s staff and Frequency’s youngest brother. None of the rumors were exactly nice, and Frequency felt himself straightening his posture nervously at even the thought of them.

     “You’re an Addison, are you not?” The woman asked, though it sounded more like an accusation. 

     “Yes, I am!” Frequency answered as cheerfully as he could, though he sincerely doubted that Tasque Manager was just recognizing him from an ad or his cafe. 

     “How wonderful,” Tasque Manager says, gripping her whip tighter. “Is breaking and entering now a family business?” 

     “What?” Frequency asked, shocked and instantly angry, before he could stop himself. His nerves were already too frayed from earlier in the day. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “It means that I already know about your brother,” Tasque Manager said. She began to slowly circle around Frequency, uncomfortably reminding him of one of her tasques getting ready to go in for an attack. “Are you supposed to be the distraction while he gets away?” 

     Before Frequency can answer, another voice cuts in. “Oh, I doubt that, actually.” 

     The voice seems to annoy Tasque Manger, who crossed her non-existent arms across her chest. Frequency turned to see who was talking, and was surprised that it’s someone he actually recognized. Quickly approaching was Swatch, the owner of the Color Cafe. Frequency would like to think that Swatch and he were competitors, but even Frequency knew that wasn’t true. Swatch was in a league all their own. Like Tasque Manager, they were famous across the city, not only for being one of the closest people to the Queen, but also for their suave and cool attitude while doing everything from running their shop to helping Lightners create almost anything. Frequency had always thought that their reputation was true, but now they looked almost as murderous as the maid. From the looks of it, Swatch wasn't just angry because of some rude customers, either.  

     “How would you know?” Tasque Manager snapped at Swatch as they got closer. “What, did Spamton tell your useless staff all about his plan as they opened the doors for him?” 

     The concrete use of Spam’s name made Frequency jump, a mixture of unease and anger. He had spent most of the past couple years trying not to think about Spam, only for whatever this was to happen on the one night he let himself remember. “Listen,” Frequency said. “Whatever trouble Spam’s gotten himself into, I’m not a part of it. I hate the guy.”

     Tasque Manager looked at Frequency skeptically, but Swatch nodded. “Exactly,” they said, obviously speaking to Tasque Manager. “Spamton’s family abandoned him before he even moved into Our Lady Grace’s mansion. I sincerely doubt his current situation would do much to put him in their good graces.” 

     Frequency wanted to correct Swatch on their insinuation that it was somehow one sided, but he bit his tongue. Tasque Manager gave Swatch a look that Frequency couldn’t understand but seemed to make the butler bristle even more. “What? Is it my fault he likes to talk so much? Listening is just good customer service.” 

     Despite Tasque Manager’s lack of visible pupils, it was exceedingly obvious that the woman was rolling her eyes at Swatch. She then turned back to Frequency, giving him one more critical look. “This is a waste of time then,” she finally said. “I have a thief to reacquaint with my whip. Have a good evening.” 

     Before Frequency could reply, Tasque Manager had turned around and begun briskly walking away, her tasques quickly following behind. Swatch, though still angry looking, at least tried to look more calm. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience and any accusations my colleague might have made, Mr. Addison.” They said to Frequency. “I know you have nothing to do with your brother’s actions.” 

     Frequency nodded, though it was pretty obvious that Swatch was still furious despite the apology and politeness. He knew he should just leave, but curiosity got the best of him. “What did he do? I thought he didn’t live at the mansion anymore.”

     “He doesn’t.” Swatch said, flatly. “But, after Our Lady Grace had him evicted, Spamton has managed to make quite the nuisance of himself.” 

     Frequency waited, hoping that Swatch would elaborate, but the butler only glanced around. “I don’t know what he told you, but we didn’t abandon him,” Frequency blurted out. 

     Swatch looked at Frequency. For an awkward moment, he wondered if the butler wasn’t going to say anything at all. Finally, Swatch spoke again.”I meant no offense. Believe me, I’ve tried everything to get rid of that pest. If anything, I’m impressed you managed to cut things off so cleanly that he never came back.” 

     Before Frequency could reply, a loud crack of a whip pierced the air, followed by the renewed hurry of a terrified group of Swatchlings and tasques. The noise startled Frequency, but Swatch only looked more annoyed. 

     “Uh, well, on behalf of my family I’m sorry for the troubles he’s caused you,” Frequency finally said, awkwardly. The anger from earlier was beginning to creep back in, overtaking any nervousness. He can’t believe Spam would manage to still cause his family problems even years after they’d stopped talking. 

     “The trouble he’s caused me is nothing compared to the trouble he’s causing himself,” Swatch said with a humorless laugh that sent a chill down Frequency’s back. With the anger in their eyes, it was hard not to remember the other role Tasque Manager and Swatch had, as bodyguards and enforcers for the Queen. “He’s going to-” Swatch began, but cut themself off with a shake of their head. “I apologize for keeping you for so long. Spamton’s apparent death wish isn’t your concern, is it? Good night.” 

     As Swatch turned to go toward a group of his Swatchlings, Frequency felt glued to the spot, still bewildered and angry. “Good night,” Frequency said finally, coming to his senses, but Swatch was already far gone by then. 

     Frequency hadn’t planned on spending this much time outside. The once pleasantly chilly air had turned into a coldness that sank into his fingers and face, even as he pulled his coat’s hood up and dug his hands into his pockets. He tried to quickly walk home. The strange conversation he had had with the Queen’s staff was a distraction from the freezing temperature, at the very least. Frequency couldn’t help but go over the conversation again and again in his head. 

     He was still angry, of course, at Tasque Manager for her accusations, at Swatch for their apparent belief that Spamton’s alienation from his family was anyone but Spam’s fault, and at Spam for everything. But the uneasiness he had felt had only gotten worse, even as he got far away from the two. The very fact that it was Spam he was worried for annoyed Frequency, but that didn’t make the concern go away. Both Darkners had threatened Spam, and both had looked angry- and strong- enough to mean it. That was before even considering the grotesque rumors that had circulated after Spam stopped appearing in all the ads and events around the city. Frequency and his brothers had done their best to ignore them, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t heard them any less. 

     At the time, several versions had circled around. They differed on what exactly Spam had done wrong. In one story, Frequency had heard that Spam had lost a business partner or investor and with them all their good fortune. In another, he had attacked members of the Queen’s staff. Others said he had merely annoyed the Queen with some new speech impediment or tic he had gained. Almost all the stories ended in the same, disturbing way though, with Spam, begging and pleading, being thrown into the Queen’s acid lake. 

     When he had first heard the stories, it had been hard for Frequency to imagine the calm and collected Swatch, who he’d never even seen with a single feather out of place, doing anything of the sort. But after tonight, Frequency was less sure.

     Frequency was so caught up in his thoughts and his want to get home and out of the cold, that he didn’t hear the tasque meowing until he had passed the alleyway it was in. As he backtracked to look into the alleyway, Frequency saw that the tasque was meowing at a dumpster. Frequency guessed from its clean appearance and collar that it must have been one of Tasque Manager’s pets. As he got closer, the tasque noticed Frequency and padded over to him, rubbing against his legs as he approached.

     “Aren’t you a bit far from your friends?” Frequency asked it, reaching down to pet it. The tasque liked the attention, apparently, and began to purr loudly. To Frequency’s surprise, though, the tasque left soon, though, to begin scratching at the dumpster. As it scratched and meowed, it looked expectantly at Frequency.

     It was hard to see anything clearly in the dark alleyway, but there definitely was something dark smeared across the side of the dumpster, and Frequency, already suspecting what it was, did his best to avoid touching it as he threw open the lid of the dumpster and peered inside. Immediately, Frequency knew that his suspicions had been correct. More of the dark liquid was inside, all coming out of a small body curled up at the bottom of the dumpster. 

     “Hey!” Frequency said, but there was no response. “Hey, wake up! Are you alright?” 

     The body was pale, and tiny enough that Frequency thought for sure it had to be a small child. The tasque continued to try and get Frequency's attention, head butting his legs, as Frequency tried to wake the child. When the child still didn’t wake,Frequency reached into the dumpster and lifted them as carefully as he could. 

     When he got them out of the dark dumpster, the child still hadn’t woken, though at least he could tell they were still breathing. When Frequency managed to position the darkner into the light of the streetlamp to get a better look, he almost dropped them in shock. The darkner he was holding was most definitely Spam. Even with the weird outfit and glasses, that Frequency vaguely recognized as being a very poor copy of what Swatch had been wearing, it was obviously him. Only, that didn’t make any sense. Because his little brother might have always been, well, little , but now he was absolutely tiny. He barely weighed anything, either, Frequency noticed, as he turned Spam around trying to assess what the damage was. 

     In the distance, Frequency heard faint voices. The tasque, who had flopped down on Frequency’s shoes when it realized that there wasn’t going to be more petting anytime soon, seemed to perk up as if it recognized the voices. Frequency swallowed. He wanted to just leave Spam here and to go on as if nothing had happened, and he could think of a million reasons why Spam deserved nothing less. Spam had stopped being his problem- his brother- years ago. Spam had clearly gotten himself into whatever trouble this was on his own, and from the way Tasque Manager and Swatch had acted, this wasn’t the first time either. Spam had sullied their family name again and again, from knowingly lying about his products to whatever lies he had told Swatch and whoever else might have listened. Spam had traded his family for some dumb phone that Snippet said didn’t even work. Spam apparently didn’t even have anyone to tell him that Swatch’s glasses are orange and yellow, not pink and yellow.

     The last thought slips in there, and Frequency can’t help but pause. Frequency had no trouble remembering the awful things that Spam had done, but he had somehow let his brother’s color blindness slip from his mind in the years that had passed. Before, Frequency and his brothers had always been there to help Spam pick out or differentiate between colors. The thought that no one could help him do something as small as double check a color choice now made Frequency sad, despite himself. 

     Frequency wondered what color Spam would think the acid was when Swatch threw him into it again. 

     That thought was enough to get Frequency moving again, even if he didn’t fully believe it himself. Frequency opened his coat to bundle the still very unconscious Spam into it, hopefully getting some warmth back into him. With that, Frequency quickly headed home, ignoring the meowing of the tasque. Frequency was so caught up trying to think of how he’d explain any of this to his brothers that he barely registered that the tasque was following him. 

Chapter Text

     “Snippet, calm down!” Skip groaned, not even bothering to look up from his phone. “Frequency’s fine. He probably just stopped to get a drink or something.” 

     Snippet nodded in agreement, but continued his pacing. “I know, but he usually says if he’s going to be late. What if he got in an accident?” 

     Skip snorted. “He walked to work.” 

     “Banner said he hasn’t heard from him, either,” Snippet said, defensively. 

     “No, Banner said Frequency didn’t send him his sales figures for last month yet. If anything, that proves my point. He’s busy enjoying his Friday night, something you should be doing, too!” Skip said, dramatically gesturing to his work laptop that sat on the coffee table precariously next to his propped up feet. “We can’t all be that lucky to have the night off.” 

     Snippet frowned as he looked at the computer. Its screen had fallen asleep ages ago, and the camera that held the photos he was supposed to be editing still hadn’t even been plugged into it yet, but he didn’t want to point that out to his older brother.

     “Or at least go get some sleep,” Skip said. “You look exhausted.”

     Snippet shook his head, but he knew Skip was right. He’d been busy working on a large order all week, and had barely gotten any sleep in since he had started. Not that he was complaining, of course. “I’ll go to bed when Frequency is back,” he said. 

      Before Skip could argue, though, their front door banged open.

     “No, no, no!” Frequency hissed from the front door. “Shoo! Don’t come in here! Go away!” 

     This was enough to make Skip look up from his phone, just in time to see a tasque bound in from the front hallway. All the worry seemed to disappear from Snippet’s face as he rushed over to scoop the unimpressed looking creature up.

     “Well, hi there!” Snippet said as he hugged the tasque. “Where’d you come from?” 

     “Frequency, did you really bring home a stray?” Skip yelled in the front hallway’s direction. He hopped up to get a closer look. “Huh, maybe you were right to be worried, Snippet. Something’s obviously replaced our brother.” 

     “What?” Frequency called back, with a nervous laugh. As he walked into the living room to join Snippet and Skip, he stopped. “Oh, you meant the tasque. No, I think it’s hungry or something. It won’t leave me alone.” 

     Before either brother could ask what Frequency had meant, he was already halfway across the room, carefully unzipping his coat as he walked. “Go get Banner and the first aid kit for me, Skip,” Frequency said. “Snippet, come help me.”

     Snippet gently dropped the tasque and immediately moved to do as his brother said. Skip crossed his arms, but, after seeing the serious look on Frequency’s face, he turned to go with only a mostly-annoyed, “Fine!”

     “What do you have there?” Snippet asked as he helped Frequency with his coat. “Another tasque?” He added, hopefully.

     “Uh, so, don’t freak out, but-” Frequency began, but it was already too late. His coat had already opened enough for  Snippet to see some of the blood and the small form nestled within. 

     “Who- Who is that?” Snippet asked, immediately taking the unconscious Darkner from Frequency and placing them onto the couch. The blood, Snippet could see, was mostly dried, so whatever wound or wounds it had come from had hopefully already closed or was beginning to. Hastily, he Checked them.

     “Like I said,” Frequency repeated forcefully. “Don’t freak out. But it’s- I mean, um, I think it’s-

     “Spam?” Snippet gasped as he moved the body to examine the face. Frequency had to steady Snippet while he reeled back to prevent him from falling onto the coffee table behind him.

     “What?” Skip asked from the doorway where he and Banner were entering from. Rushing over, Skip joined Snippet and Frequency. “Spam’s back? What happened to him?” He asked, his voice almost as panicked as Snippet’s had been.

     Banner, on the other hand, seemed obnoxiously calm. “Who's hurt?” He asked, gesturing toward the first aid kit still in his hands. “You or him?” 

     “Spam is,” Snippet said, before Frequency could answer. Snippet had already begun to grab for the first aid kit. “He’s- uh, the blood’s from a cut on his head, I think. One of his legs doesn’t look right, either.” 

     “His everything doesn’t look right!” Skip said, as Banner pushed him aside to assist Snippet. “He’s shrunken! What happened to him?” 

     Banner shrugged as he helped Snippet reposition Spamton to get better access to the cut on his forehead. “Did he say anything to you, Frequency?” 

     Frequency shook his head. “No. I actually found him in a dumpster like this. Unconscious, I mean.” 

     Snippet nearly dropped the gauze he had been using to clean away the blood on Spam’s forehead. “He was in a dumpster? Why?” 

     “I dunno,” Frequency said, with a shrug. “Maybe he was drunk or something, then hurt himself getting in?” 

     “How drunk do you have to be to climb into a dumpster?” Snippet asked, skeptically, before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Have you called for help yet?” 

     Frequency frowned. On his walk home, he had decided not to tell his brothers about his run in with Swatch and Tasque Manager. Really, it was the only logical decision. Swatch had already confirmed that they knew Spamton had nothing to do with his old family, so they probably wouldn’t look at the Addisons’ shops or home for a while, if at all. That would be enough time, at least, to let Spamton wake up, heal a little, and then to be on his merry way, out of their lives again and no longer Frequency’s problem. But, in his worry and haste, Frequency hadn’t thought of an excuse for why he’d bring him home and not to an Ambyu-Lance. 

     “No,” Frequency said, slowly, still trying to give himself time to think of a better excuse. “No. I haven’t.” 

     Snippet looked at him, confused and annoyed, before grabbing for his phone. Without thinking, Frequency snatched it out of his brother’s hands. 

     “What are you doing?” Snippet cried, trying to grab the phone back. 

     “I don’t think we should call anyone!” Frequency said, backing up and holding the phone out of Snippet’s reach. He could feel all eyes on him. Even the tasque, which had managed to find itself a spot on a chair by the couch to lie on, was staring at Frequency. 

     “Why not?” Skip asked, incredulously, already reaching for his own phone.

     “What if he’s hiding from someone?” Frequency said.

     Still on the couch, Banner finished applying the bandage to Spamton’s forehead. “What does that have to do with anything?” He asked. Frequency couldn’t help but be annoyed by how calm the oldest Addison was. As obnoxious as Snippet was, at least he was treating this seriously. Banner looked like he was dealing with nothing more than a difficult request. Frequency could appreciate Banner’s stellar customer service, but there was a time and place for it. At the very least, it gave Frequency an idea.

     “I’m just saying,” Frequency said, irritation slipping into his voice. “We don’t know what Spam was up to. It’s in everyone’s best interest to keep this in the family. What if he really was drunk or something embarrassing like that? Do we really want something like that associated with the Addison name?” 

     “But he’s hurt,” Skip said, doubtfully. “That has to count for more-”

     Frequency cut Skip off. “He’s a little hurt,” Frequency said, gesturing toward Spamton. “He’s not dying.” 

     Skip looked between Frequency and Spamton, obviously unconvinced. Snippet, on the other hand, looked absolutely livid. 

     Only Banner seemed unbothered by Frequency’s argument. “What a pain,” he said. “I guess you’re right, though, Freq. If he wants to see a doctor when he’s awake, we’ll take him.” 

     Frequency sighed in relief, earning another glare from Snippet. 

     “You’re kidding, right?” Snippet asked, turning to face Banner. “We’re not going to bring our brother to a doctor, when he’s unconscious and bleeding, because it might look bad. Really.” 

     “We’re just waiting so Spam can make his own decision,” Banner said. “Besides, it’s more for him than us. He’s obviously chosen to step out of the public’s eye. He’ll appreciate Frequency saving him from being in any more town gossip.”

     He’d have a lot more to appreciate than that, Frequency thought. Not that he’d expect Spam to actually say thank you for anything. 

     Desperately, Snippet looked to Skip, who, while still looking disturbed by the situation, only shrugged. “They have a point,” he said. 

     An uneasy silence hung in the room, until finally Snippet relented. “Fine,” he said, staring at the ground. Without saying another word, he had turned and was making his way toward the front hallway and up the stairs. 

     “I’ll talk to him,” Skip said nervously, before quickly hurrying after Snippet. 

     Frequency, still holding Snippet’s phone, let out another sigh of relief. From the couch, Banner was staring at him, evidently done with the first aid. Frequency could still see a faint glow of healing magic by his hands. 

     “So why’d you bring him here?” Banner asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room so suddenly that Frequency couldn’t help but jump. 

     “What?” Frequency asked, setting the phone down on the coffee table. He crossed his arms defensively. “What do you think we were just talking about?” 

     Banner laughed, but it was only the appeasing kind that made Banner so popular with his customers. “No, I don’t mean why’d you bring him here and not to the hospital, or whatever. I mean why help him at all?” 

     Frequency just stared at his brother. “Because he’s hurt?” He said, gesturing between Spamton and the open first aid kit.

     “But not dying,” Banner said.

     “Shut up,” Frequency said. “I can’t believe after all your holier-than-thou bull-” 

     “ Frequency ,” Banner said, with the barest hint of exasperation in his voice. “I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have or that I’m not glad. But, come on, it’s you we’re talking about. I’m just curious.” 

     Before Frequency had to answer, Skip came back into the room; Frequency didn’t know if he'd ever been so grateful to see anyone in his life.

     “Snippet’s okay. He wanted to sleep down here while waiting for Spam to wake up, but I told him one of us would,” Skip said, eyes darting between his brothers.

     “I will,” Frequency said. Skip looked at him, surprised. 

     “Okay?” Skip said. Frequency couldn’t help but notice he was looking at Banner, though, as if waiting for their eldest brother’s approval.

     “That’s okay. I’ve got enough work to do to keep me up for a while, so I can keep an eye on him,” Banner said. 

     Frequency balled his hands into fists. “I said I’d do it,” he snapped. 

     Banner put up his hands in mock surrender.

     Skip looked curiously at Frequency, but only nodded. “Okay,” he said. Frequency was just about to head upstairs to grab his phone charger and maybe a pillow, when Skip continued again. “So, Spam’s, um, smaller, right? I’m not imagining that?”

     “No, he’s definitely smaller,” Banner agreed. Frequency nodded.

     Skip looked back toward the front hallway, evidently watching for Snippet. When it was clear he wasn’t around, Skip spoke again, voice hushed. “So, do you think that means those rumors were true, then?” 

     Frequency’s stomach dropped, but Banner just laughed. “Which ones, Skip? I swear you used to have at least ten different stories a day you’d heard about Spam.” 

     “He means the ones about the Queen’s acid lake,” Snippet said coldly from behind Skip. Skip jumped, looking sheepish as Snippet entered from the hallway, a pile of bedding in his hands. “Don’t you?”

     “Yeah,” Skip said. “Sorry, Snip, I know you don’t like to hear about them.”  

     Snippet didn’t answer, instead dropping what he was carrying on one of the living room’s chairs. On top was a pillow, which Snippet carefully placed behind Spamton. 

     “Maybe,” Frequency said. “I mean, what else-” 

     “Let’s just ask him when he’s awake,” Banner said. He reached over to grab Skip’s laptop and apparently had no trouble logging into it. 

     Snippet nodded. “Who’s staying down here?” He asked, looking between Skip and Banner. 

     “Looks like it’s going to be Frequency and I, “ Banner said, already deep into whatever email or document he had pulled up. 

     Snippet turned to look at Frequency. Frequency grit his teeth when he saw the surprise in Snippet’s face, but neither said anything. Instead, Snippet tossed a pillow over to him. 

     While healing him, Snippet had taken off Spamton’s jacket and put it aside without much thought, but now he examined it carefully as he picked it up from the floor. Frequency watched as Snippet paid special attention to the scraps of cloth sewn to the front, wondering nervously if Snippet would somehow recognize what they were for. But Snippet didn’t say anything. He didn’t put the jacket down, though, instead throwing it over one arm as he slipped the shoes off Spamton’s feet and then covered Spamton- and part of an oblivious Banner- in one of the blankets he’d brought down. 

     Snippet looked around the room one final time, before grabbing Frequency’s now blood-stained coat from the floor. With his free hand, he scooped up the sleeping tasque and hugged it close to his chest.“I guess I’ll go to bed then,” Snippet said. “Let me know if anything changes or he wakes up, please.” 

     “Sure,” Banner said. “Night!” 

     “Goodnight,” Snippet said, still holding the laundry and now loudly protesting tasqe as he left the room. Skip gave one last glance to Spam before waving goodnight to his brothers and following Snippet. 

     Frequency sat down in the now tasque-free seat, unsure of what to say. The room seemed strangely quiet now. All he could hear was Banner typing on the laptop and the faint rushing sound of water in the pipes. Still, the noise wasn’t enough to be a distraction, as much as Frequency might want one. He couldn’t ignore the varying amounts of bewilderment, anger, and relief swirling inside of him. Before he could think too much about it, though, Banner spoke up. “What time did you say you found Spam?” 

     “I didn’t,” Frequency said, already feeling defensive. He had hoped his brother would drop the questions. “I don’t know. Maybe 10:30? 11?” 

     Banner hummed in acknowledgement. Before Frequency could ask why, Banner said, “Okay. It’s just that I sent you an email a bit before that. Should I resend it?” 

     Frequency groaned. It was going to be a long night. 

Chapter Text

     “Can you believe it?” Skip says, nearly knocking his drink over with his dramatic gestures. “All that, and she doesn’t even come to pick up the photos.” 

     Spam laughs with his brothers, but he had zoned out for most of the story. The Cyber Grill is unusually packed for a weeknight. Usually, Spam wouldn’t mind. He loves people. But tonight, Spam has a pounding headache and the roar of the crowd was making it hard for him to hear his brothers. Besides, there is something off about the other patrons, Spam realizes as turns to get a better look. It was right there in front of him, he knew, but for some reason, he can’t place exactly what was wrong.

     “What’s the matter, Big Shot?” Frequency asks with a derisive snort. Spam turns back around to glare at his brother. The five of them have all crowded into a single round booth, and Spam has somehow ended up crammed in the middle. “Already planning your escape?” 

     “I’m just looking,” Spam says, defensively. Frequency sits to his right, already almost finished with his second beer. Spam is about to ask if something feels wrong to him, too, but to his left, Skip cuts him off.

     “Come on, Spam, take it easy!” Skip says with a grin.

     On Skip’s left sits Snippet, who nods as Skip speaks. Snippet takes a long drink before saying, “Yeah, don’t worry about work now. You need to enjoy your time off, too!” 

     Spam opens his mouth to try and tell his brothers that's not what he had meant, he wasn’t looking for customers, he was looking for what was so clearly, painfully, obviously wrong, but Skip just speaks over him. “Yeah,” Skip says. “You don’t want to turn out like Banner, right?” 

     Across the table from Snippet, Banner continues typing away on his laptop. Without looking up, he says, “If you’re having trouble staying awake, you could always work on those sales reports.” 

     Confused, Spam shakes his head. “Something’s wrong,” he begins, but no one pays him any attention.

     Next to Banner, Snippet laughs. “We know, we know!” he begins. 

     “I told you, they’d be done by Monday. Unless you want me to go back to the store at 3 in the morning to get the receipts, you’ll have to wait.” Frequency says, interrupting Snippet so suddenly that Spam can’t help but jump. He cranes his neck to look around Banner to see Frequency sitting at the end of the table. His expression is smug as he stares back at Spam, like he’s just made some great joke, but Spam doesn’t get it. 

     “What?” Spam tries to ask, but everyone ignores him. Maybe they can’t hear him over the ringing of the other patrons. 

     Banner speaks, but the voice sounds distant, like Banner is getting farther away, even as he just sits there in front of his computer.

     “Yeah, I think I can handle watching him sleep while you’re in the kitchen,” Frequency says, crossing his arms. Spam feels sick as he tries to remember how long those holes have been in Frequency’s hands. 

     Spam looks around again. Even in the pitch black of the restaurant, he can still hear the cacophony of people around him. 

     “Stop!” Spam says. In the dark, he can still somehow feel his brothers’ eyes boring into him.

     Frequency mutters something under his breath as he takes another swig of his battery acid, but Spam can’t hear him. 

     “What’s wrong, Spam?” Snippet asks and suddenly everyone is far too close to him. 

     Spam tries to back away, but the back of the booth is behind him, too tall to get over. 

     “Please,” Spam begs again. “Stop it!” 

     Somehow, it had gotten even darker, yet Spam can see the outline of the phone on the wall behind him clearly. Spam tries to cover his ears to block out the loud ringing, but the cord of the phone tangles with his strings. Panicking, Spam tries to pull them free, but all he manages to do is knock the receiver off.

     Spam reels back, trying to get away from the phone and the voice he knows will come out of it. The back of the booth gives way as Spam hits it, leaving him to fall and fall and fall and

     “I thought you were watching him,” Banner said. 

     Spamton groaned as he came to. 

     “I was,” Frequency snapped. “What did you want me to do?”

     Spamton tried to open his eyes, but a pounding headache stopped him. 

     “You mean besides stopping him from falling off the couch?” Banner asked. 

     “I was across the room!” Frequency said. 

     Spamton, eyes still clenched shut, tried to shake his head. He was no stranger to nightmares, but he hated these kinds, where he was stuck between being half awake and half asleep, the most. He tried to will himself to wake up enough for the voices to stop, but, like usual, he had no luck.

     “Spam? Are you awake?” Banner asked. His voice was closer now. 

     Spamton tried his best to ignore the voice and instead tried to focus on slowly easing his eyes open. He must not have fallen asleep in one of his regular dumpsters, he realized, because wherever he was was too bright. 

     Something touched Spamton, and all his thoughts on the matter disappeared as panic took hold. Whatever grabbed him quickly let go as he flailed. Hitting the ground, adrenaline rushed through him and his eyes shot open.

     Standing above Spamton were Banner and Frequency. They were not the dream versions he had just seen, that much was clear. Frequency looked exhausted, and his clothes and hair both looked as if he had just woken up. Banner looked a bit better, but his clothes were different, much more casual than what he would have ever worn out in public. Most alarming, though, was that they were much taller now, towering over Spamton. Spamton racked his brain, trying his best to figure out how they could have possibly been here, in front of him, but all Spamton could think of was why they’d seem so much taller now. 

     “Uh, maybe you shouldn’t touch him,” Frequency said, and that was all the warning Spamton got before he felt himself being lifted off the ground. Spamton tried to kick and flail, but Banner just placed him down on something before backing up, out of the reach of Spamton’s limbs. It took Spamton a second to realize that he was on a couch that he recognized.

     “WH4T!?!?! AM I DOING HERE???” Spamton asks, eyes darting between Banner, Frequency, and the room. The furniture had been rearranged and there were some changes in decorations, but he was definitely in the Addisons’ living room. 

     Banner and Frequency both flinched at Spamton’s voice.

     “I-” Frequency began, but Banner cut him off.

     “What do you remember?” Banner asked, ignoring the glare from Frequency as he crouched down to be on eye level with Spamton. Spamton reared back, hitting the back of the couch as he did so.

     “I [fell on hard times?] OUT OF A WINDOW,” Spamton said when it became clear that Banner wasn’t going to say anything until Spamton answered. Of course, Spamton wasn’t going to say whose window it was.

     Banner looked both relieved and worried to hear that. 

     “Why are you talking like that?” Frequency asked, looking annoyed. 

     “HOW DID I GET here?” Spamton asked, ignoring him.

     “Well, Frequency said he found you hurt in a dumpster,” Banner said. He paused, as if waiting for Spamton to argue or correct him. “So he brought you here.” 

     Spamton swallowed, hard. His head hurt, his body ached, and he still felt incredibly confused and disoriented. But, at the moment, all of that was dwarfed by his panic. He couldn’t bear for the Addisons to see him like this. Spamton had always hoped he’d be able to reunite with his brothers again. At the peak of his success, in the mansion, he’d dream that they’d lose their businesses and clients, that somehow they’d realize their little incompetent brother was somehow the keystone holding the whole thing together for them, and they’d be forced to come to him, begging for help. More recently, he’d imagine something a lot more humble, though probably even more unrealistic. In these daydreams, he’d either manage to get to Neo or Mike would finally call back and Spamton could somehow convince him to have mercy, to free him from his puppet strings and the dark. Then, he’d be able to meet his family again, without worrying about being unable to say or do what he needed to. 

     None of his daydreams or fantasies had ever included anything like this, and Spamton felt a wave of new grief hit him as he realized that whatever this was was going to probably ruin any chance of them ever being friends, much less family, again. They couldn’t stand Spamton- or Spam, for that matter- even when he was doing great. There was no way they’d want anything to do with him if they witnessed just how broken he really was now. He needed to leave. 

     “Spam?” Banner asked, shaking Spamton out of his panicked thoughts. “I said, how are you feeling?”

     “[Never      so good!]” Spamton said, with a nervous laugh. He resisted the urge to slap his hand over his mouth to stop any more garbage from coming out. 

     Banner looked unconvinced, but to Spamton’s surprise, Frequency spoke up in agreement. “Yeah, he looks a lot better, honestly.” 

     Spamton looked at Frequency, confused, before nodding, frantically. 

     “You know, Spam, you shouldn’t let us keep you!” Frequency said, barrelling on before Banner could stop him. “You probably have places to be!” 

     Both Spamton and Banner stared at Frequency, who, for a second, looked almost as nervous as Spamton felt. 

     Banner shook his head, turning back to Spamton. “We weren’t sure whether or not to bring you to a doctor. Would you like-” 

     “NO!!!” Spamton said, quickly. There’d be no way he could afford medical bills, and he didn’t need anymore Darkners after him when he couldn’t pay his bill.

     “Okay, okay! No doctor,” Banner said. His voice sounded uncharacteristically strained underneath its cheery demeanor, and Spamton couldn’t help but wince at that. He hadn’t been awake for ten minutes and his brother was already tired of him. “I’ll just get you some pain meds, for the time being then.” 

     Spamton shook his head, but Banner was already up, heading toward the kitchen. A pang of nostalgia hit Spamton. He could imagine exactly where Banner was headed, to the thin cabinet that was by the fridge. There’d always been a weird overflow mix of things kept in there, from a cup full of spare change ‘for emergencies’ to a few random overflow bottles of spices and medicines.

     “Look, Spam,” Frequency began, his voice a low, urgent whisper. Spamton shook his head again. He couldn’t deal with Frequency right now. 

     “I;M LEAVING,” Spamton said. Frequency nodded, but shut his mouth as soon Banner was back in the room. 

     “It’s the middle of the night,” Banner said, handing a cup of water to Spamton as he spoke. “You need to wait ‘til the morning, at least.” 

     “You- We can’t force him to stay here,” Frequency argued. 

     Again, Banner ignored him, instead handing a couple of pills to Spamton. Spamton looked down at them, nervously. He wasn’t sure exactly what Banner wanted, or Frequency for that matter. He knew that he couldn’t tell them that he was too broke to pay them back for anything, though.

     “They’re just painkillers,” Banner said, showing Spamton the bottle when he didn’t make any move to take them. Spamton stared at the pills, debating with himself whether or not to just take them. The debate ended very quickly when he heard Banner sigh and Spamton quickly swallowed the pills. The water was cool, and Spamton downed the entire glass before he realized it.

     “Great!” Banner said. “Do you want to keep sleeping down here? Or head upstairs?” 

     It took a second for Spamton to realize what he was asking. He looked dejectedly toward the back door, briefly wondering if he should just make a run for it before he could say or do anything else. But, Banner looked serious about not wanting Spamton to leave until morning, and the pain in Spamton’s leg meant he’d probably have trouble walking to the door, much less actually running to it. 

     “DOWN,” Spamton says. There’d be no point in having someone make up a guest bed or something for him when he’d be gone in the morning. 

     “Great!” Banner says again. He looks toward Frequency, finally acknowledging him again. “I’ll stay down here with him if you-” 

     “What?” Frequency asked. “You know he’s fine. Why not just go to bed?”

     Banner shrugged, gesturing toward the laptop. “Honestly, I have so much work to do, anyway. What difference does it make if I’m upstairs or down here? You’re more than welcome to go to bed-” 

     “I don’t need your permission to,” Frequency snapped, but Spamton, much to his confusion, watched as Frequency made his way to one of the chairs in the living room. “But I’m fine staying down here.” 

     Banner shrugged, before sitting down on the couch. Spamton looked between the two in confusion, unsure of what was going on. Did Banner and Frequency not trust the other one to keep Spamton from stealing something, or otherwise being a nuisance? Their suspicion of him wasn’t surprising, but Spamton couldn't figure out what else was going on between them. 

     “Do you want anything else?” Banner asked, but he was already reaching for the laptop again. Spamton shook his head. “Goodnight, then!” Banner said. 

     Spamton just watched his brothers. He was tired and sore and the thought of sleep, even if it meant more nightmares, was so appealing, especially now that he was on something more than the ground or in a dumpster. But, Spamton had a lot he wanted to ask too. Not just about what was going on, but more mundane stuff, too. He wanted to ask about Snippet and Skip, about the family business, about the years he’d missed. As he lay back, Spamton felt a sudden urge to apologize, to say how much he’d miss his brothers, to beg them to take him back. The thought was idiotic, of course. Even if he could somehow get it out clearly without the glitch in his voice butchering his intention, it’d be pointless. It was far too late for that now. 

     With a sigh, Swatch quietly opened the door to the servant quarters, pinching the bridge of their beak as they did so. Their headache only got worse, though, as they saw Tasque Manager, wide awake, sitting on one of the couches in the shared space. Around her, on the couch and the floor, were her tasques. Swatch couldn’t help but notice that she looked rather worried now, compared to the annoyance and anger of before. Even her tasques somehow managed to look forlorn. 

     “I did not find him,” Swatch said before Tasque Manager could start. “But the Swatchlings were tired, so we are stopping for the night. I’ve made it abundantly clear to them not to fall for Spamton’s tricks again, though, and to detain him if he makes a repeat appearance.” 

     To their surprise, Tasque Manager didn’t argue.

     “Did you see if any of them had one of my tasques with them?” She asked. “Runtime hasn’t gotten back yet.” 

     Swatch glanced around the moping tasques, briefly wondering how Tasque Manager managed to tell any of them apart. “No,” Swatch said. Tasque Manager frowned, so before they could stop themself, Swatch added, “Would you like us to go look for it?” 

     Tasque Manager shook her head. “No, you’re right. Everyone’s tired. Besides, Runtime’s always been a little trouble maker,” she said, with an oddly fond tone for a woman known throughout the city for her merciless whip. “If she’s not back here in the morning, I’ll look for her myself.”

Chapter Text

     One moment Frequency was watching Spamton and Banner on the couch, trying to figure out if Spamton had actually fallen back asleep yet, and the next he was opening his eyes to see Banner standing in front of him, holding out a mug with two tea bag strings wrapped around the handle. Frequency took the mug, biting his tongue to stop himself from saying anything when Banner just grinned at him as he turned back towards the kitchen. Frequency had thought he had only closed his eyes for a few seconds, but a glance out the window proved him wrong; it was already light out. Across the room, Spamton was awake, too, staring blankly at his own mug.

     “Uh, how are you feeling, Spam?” Frequency asked, taking a sip of the tea. He could have made it better himself, of course, but he appreciated the thought. 

     Spamton glanced at him suspiciously, and Frequency just rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why he bothered. Before Frequency could say anything else, though, Banner was back. More awake now, Frequency noticed that Banner had apparently managed to already change into fresh clothes while Frequency was still asleep. Perfect , Frequency thought to himself.

     A part of Frequency wanted to stay down here until Skip and Snippet were up, if only to prove that he, too, could play whatever dumb game Banner was playing where he wouldn’t let Frequency be alone with Spamton. In the end, though, the thought of a shower to wake himself won out and he decided to be the bigger person about it. It didn’t really matter to him if Spam and Banner spoke, anway. No matter what kind of virus or brain damage Spamton might have, Frequency seriously doubted it could be bad enough to make Spamton think telling his oldest brother about breaking and entering into the Queen’s mansion was anything approaching a good idea. Even if he did tell Banner, it’s not like he’d know that Frequency had known about it. 

     So, after downing the tea, Frequency stood, stretching his back as he did so. “I’m going to go shower,” he said. Unsurprisingly, Spamton didn’t say anything, but Banner nodded, before sitting down on the couch next to Spamton. Before Frequency had even completely left the room, he could hear Banner already beginning to speak to Spamton with a hushed voice. Frequency glared back at him, but Banner only smiled when he saw that Frequency was looking at them.

     Frequency trudged up the stairs, deciding that maybe he, in fact, wouldn’t be the bigger person. When he was up the stairs, Frequency pounded on Snippet’s door. Until they were nearly adults, Frequency and Snippet had shared the room, meaning that the doorframe was all but ruined from being slammed too many times. By the second knock, whatever resistance the frame could still give was gone.  

     “Huh?” Snippet said, groggily, as the door swung open enough for Frequency to see him still in bed, arms wrapped around the tasque from the night before. Frequency frowned. He’d forgotten that it was still here. 

     “Spam’s up,” Frequency said. When Snippet just continued staring at him, Frequency added, “You said you wanted to know when he was.” 

     Snippet stared at Frequency for a second more before recognition registered in his younger brother’s eyes. He all but jumped out of bed, rushing past Frequency with a quick, “Thanks!” The tasque, seemingly annoyed to have lost its oversized heating pad and pillow, meowed angrily at Frequency. 

     Frequency slammed the phone back onto the receiver, cursing under his breath as he did so. Spam looked up from where he sat on the floor surrounded by paperwork, to watch Frequency’s fuming. 

     “Another prank call?” Skip asked. He was sitting at the one desk that fit in the cramped back room, nervously sketching as they waited to leave for their meeting with the new, expensive potential client Banner had found.

     Frequency nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s the sixth one this week.” He glared at the phone. “It creeps me out.” 

     “What happened?” Spam asked, eying the phone nervously. No one had explicitly told Spam that he couldn’t answer the phone anymore, but somehow his brothers always ended up being there to pick any calls up before him, all the same. 

     “Somebody’s been calling us, as a joke, I think,” Skip says. “They never say anything, though.” 

     “Maybe it’s a problem with the phone?” Spam said. Frequency rolled his eyes at the eager look on Spam's face as he said it, as if he’d just provided some great answer none of them could have ever thought of on their own. 

     “Unless the phone’s laughing and breathing into its own receiver as it calls us, I don’t think so.” Frequency said. Spam seemed to visibly deflate.

     Skip set his pen down, frowning. “Is that what you think that sound is? Laughing?” 

     “What? Yeah, of course. What else could it be?” Frequency asked, suddenly feeling even more on edge. 

     Skip shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought it was screaming? Maybe crying? I thought that was the joke, you know. Like one of those scary faces the Lightners love to surprise each other with, just with sound instead.” 

     Frequency shuddered. “Ugh, that’s even worse then.” 

     “What’s worse?” Banner asked, popping his head in from the front room.

     “Nothing,” Frequency said. “Are you ready to go?” 

     “Yep,” Banner said. Skip nodded and stood, grabbing his sketchbook and pen and stuffing both into his bag.

     Spam began to get up, but Banner spoke, stopping him. “Actually, Spam, would you mind watching the office while we’re gone?” 

     Spam looked like a baby tasque that had been left out in the rain. Frequency grabbed his jacket, wondering if Spam would actually argue with Banner this time. Spam was a lot of things, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to miss what was happening. What kept happening. Unsurprisingly, though, Spam only nodded. “S- Sure! I’ll just finish this up!” He said, gesturing toward the piles of unsorted papers on the floor next to where he had been sitting. 

     Banner looked relieved. “Thanks, Spam! You know, you’re a real lifesaver for doing all that.” 

     “Yeah, thanks, Spam!” Skip said, looking less nervous. 

     “No problem!” Spam said as Snippet and Banner were already turning to leave. “Good luck with the meeting!” 

     Spam watched Frequency as he double-checked everything was in his own bag. “Don’t look at me like that,” Frequency snapped. Only Spam would manage to turn a situation where he got to stay in their office and do something as easy as sorting papers by himself while his brothers all had to go to try and impress some dumb executives into a bad thing for himself. Besides, it wasn’t Frequency’s responsibility to stand up to Banner for Spam.

     Frequency was out the door before Spam could reply.

     “The line’s still busy,” Snippet said, frowning at his cell. He sat in the passenger’s seat next to Frequency. 

     They had just pulled up in front of their office. The meeting had, to Frequency’s own shock, actually gone very well, and Frequency’s brothers had decided to go out to get drinks to celebrate. Snippet had, very graciously, considering it wasn’t his car, volunteered the two of them to pick up their youngest brother and to make sure that the office was locked up for the night. 

     “Maybe he went home already?” Snippet said. Frequency seriously hoped not. From the looks of it, every light in the tiny building was still on, and the receiver was off the phone. Neither of those facts would do a lot to get the others to give Spam more responsibility, something he so obviously, desperately desired. 

     Sighing, Frequency unbuckled his seat. “I’ll go check,” he said. “I need to grab my stuff, anyway.” 

     When he got to the door, Frequency was surprised to see it was locked. Maybe Snippet had been right, after all. As he unlocked and opened the door, though, Frequency noticed that Spam’s jacket was still hanging on the coat rack. 

     “Hello?” Frequency called out, as he headed toward the back room. Even more surprising, this door was locked, too. Frequency hadn’t even known the door had a lock. In the sixth or so months they’d had the building since moving their business out of their living room and garage, they’d become very aware of how hot it could get with five people in one cramped building, so the door was hardly ever even closed. 

     “Spam, it’s me,” Frequency yelled as he knocked on the door. Just as he was beginning to turn back to go get Snippet to call Banner and ask where the key could be, Frequency heard some movement behind the door.

     “Sorry, sorry! I was busy with the paperwork and didn’t hear you,” Spam said, wearing a wide grin that belied any real feeling of regret, as he opened the door and stepped aside for Frequency to enter the room. 

     Frequency paused when he saw the stack of papers on the floor, which looked basically untouched since he’d left. Spam, who looked absolutely elated compared to the last time he’d seen him, didn’t seem to notice Frequency’s confusion. “Did Banner or Skip call you?” Frequency asked. 

     Spam shook his head. “Nope! There haven’t been any calls since you guys left.” 

     Frequency nodded, still feeling uneasy even as he could see Spam was fine. Before he could forget, though, he headed over to the phone to make sure the receiver was hung up properly, wondering how he could have made that mistake earlier. 

     “How’d the meeting go?” Spam asked, but Frequency didn’t answer. He looked between Spam and the phone, which was still warm to the touch. 

     Frequency sighed as he finished towel drying his hair, willing the memory to go away. He had many, many regrets in his life, but ignoring that caller was by far the worst. He hadn’t changed his mind about the guy being a creep, but he’d definitely dealt with worse behaviors in important clients and customers. And whoever the caller was, they definitely were important. After that night, Spam had spent nearly every free moment attached to the phone, and his career sky-rocketed from it. Why Spam? What could he have possibly done or said to impress the caller, when the guy wouldn’t so much as say a word to the rest of them? But, this morning, as Frequency stared at himself in the mirror, he felt a surprisingly different kind of regret. 

     The sound of scratching at the bathroom door brought him back to reality. Frequency grabbed his dirty clothes to throw into his hamper and then opened the door. Immediately the tasque came in to scout out what Frequency had clearly been hiding from it for the last twenty-so minutes the door was closed. 

     “I LIKE IT.. IT’S D3FINITELY [one-of-a-kind]!!” Spamton said, giving up on getting any more distance between himself and Skip. Skip had managed to scoot closer and closer with the laptop until Spamton was basically trapped between the couch’s armrest, the laptop, and a very eager Skip. 

     Skip nodded eagerly, before moving on to the next picture. Spamton had agreed to look at Skip’s new ideas out of a mix of curiosity and nostalgia, but mostly out of a wish to not talk about any of the things Snippet and Banner wouldn’t stop asking him about. But now, staring at what must have been the thirtieth iteration of this one ad, Spamton found himself almost wishing he’d just answered their questions instead. He could faintly hear the two of them talking in the kitchen while they made breakfast, which Banner had decided Spamton needed to stay for, and he had no doubts from their hushed tones that they were talking about him.

     “I knew you would! I’ve missed having someone with ACTUAL TASTE around,” Skip said with an over-exaggerated glare in the direction of the kitchen. It was an obvious joke, but the words were close enough to what Spamton wanted to hear that he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something stupid. Mercifully, Skip set the laptop down on the coffee table, though he didn’t move to give any more space to Spamton. “So, what have you been up to, after leaving advertising?”

     “wHAT?” Spamton asks, before breaking into a nervous laugh. “WHO SAID I WASN’T [Number 1 Rated Salesman1997] ANYMORE?”

     Skip laughed awkwardly at his brother’s apparent joke. “Oh, well, I just don’t see your ads anymore. Or, um, hear anything about you anymore.” 

     Spamton didn’t say anything, any warmth he’d been feeling toward the conversation was replaced with suspicion. Was Skip mocking him? He’d done his best to hide the worst parts of his fall from the heavens from his ex-family, but there’s no way his family hadn’t heard at least some of the rumors about his sudden failures. 

     “Besides,” Skip said, either unaware of or ignoring Spamton’s suspicion, “if you wanted to keep advertising, you’d have come back here, right? If I were you-” 

     The sound of the front door opening and a sudden blast of cold air from the entryway caused Skip to stop mid-sentence. Both Spamton and he looked in the direction of the front door as they heard someone loudly shut it, followed by loud yowling from outside. Before either could react, Snippet was rushing in from the kitchen. 

     “Oh no, did Runtime get out?” He asked nervously, looking around for the source of the cries. He disappeared into the front hallway. The door was opened again, and going by the sudden lack of cries, Snippet had managed to rescue the tasque. 

     “You can’t have named it yet,” Frequency said, defensively, as he followed Snippet into the living room. Snippet glared back at him, holding onto the tasque tightly as if Frequency might make a grab for it out of Snippet’s hands.

     “I didn’t,” Snippet said. “ Runtime’s name is on her collar. Learn to read.” 

     Spamton thought Frequency looked strangely nervous as he stared at the tasque, but he couldn’t imagine why. Spamton, having had far too many run-ins with both stray and way, way too well trained ones, didn’t like the creatures, but even he wasn’t bothered by the mere fact of one being in the house with him. 

     “So, it’s already got an owner then?” Skip asked. Snippet shrugged as he petted the tasque. “That’s too bad then.” 

     “What, were you hoping for a pet?” Frequency huffed, sitting back down on the chair he had slept in the night before. 

     “No, but from the sounds of it, Banner and Snippet could have used it,” Skip said. 

     Banner, who had apparently come in to see what had happened, snorted. “If you mean the maice, It’s a bit late for that,” he said. “Snippet already started leaving them cheese.” 

     “Yeah,” Snippet said, looking a bit embarrassed. “Besides, look at Runtime. She’s a lover, not a fighter.” 

     “Did you leave out traps, Snippet?” Frequency asked, incredulous. 

     “Of course not!” Snippet said. “I just felt bad that some poor maice were wasting time looking in our trash when all there ever is papers and cloth scraps.” 

     “I thought you didn’t even believe it was a maus,” Skip said, looking up from the couch to Banner. 

     Banner shrugged. “Well, if we didn’t have any before, we do now. From what I’ve seen the plates you’ve left out have been practically licked clean.” 

     “That’s so gross!” Frequency complained. “How do you think your neighbors will feel now that you’re inviting vermin to come by.”

     “I think they’re cute,” Snippet said. Runtime seemed to disagree and began to struggle until Snippet dropped her. 

     “They live in the trash!” Frequency said, pushing away the tasque as it tried to jump on his lap. 

     For a moment, the fact that Spamton was sitting in his old home, surrounded by his bickering brothers, was surreal enough that Spamton didn’t realize what they were talking about. It wasn’t until his mind seemed to catch up to their conversation and what they were saying that Spam finally noticed he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore.

Chapter Text

     “WH3R3’S MY JACKET?” Spamton asked, looking around the living room. 

     “Your jacket?” Snippet said, uncertainly. “Um, it was pretty- well, there was some blood on it, so I threw it in the washer last night. It’s in the dryer now.” 

     Spamton nodded, before carefully getting up. 

     “I don’t think it’ll be dry yet. Are you cold?” Snippet asked. “I can go grab some more blankets, if you’d like!”

     “N  TH4NKS. JUST [[Don’t Buy This Jacket!]],” Spamton said as he made his way toward the stairs. 

     “Oh, um okay! Let me just grab it for you then,” Snippet said, rushing past Spamton. “You don’t need to be up.” 

      “That’s okay,” Banner said. “We were about to eat, anyway. He doesn’t need it now.”

     To Spamton’s annoyance, Snippet stopped and nodded, looking relieved. Spamton tried to move past him, but Snippet blocked the doorway. “That’s probably for the best,” Snippet said. “It’ll be dry soon, I promise!”

     “I;M NOT HUNGRY.!!” Spamton said, and, to his own surprise, it wasn’t a lie. Banner had made him take more painkillers when he’d woken up, and those had helped his leg and the pain overall, but his head was still aching to the point where he felt nauseous. 

     “You need to at least try to eat something,” Banner said, turning to go back into the kitchen as he did so. “You’ll heal quicker if you do!”

     Snippet followed Banner into the kitchen. Skip snorted. “Oh right, you wouldn’t know,” he said sarcastically, turning to look at Spamton. “But Banner’s become quite the medical expert.” 

     Frequency looked at Skip in confusion, apparently not getting the joke either. Frequency shook his head and turned to look at Spamton. Spamton watched as Frequency seemed to have trouble deciding on what to say. “Hey, we should probably talk about last night. Alone,” Frequency finally said, his voice quiet and surprisingly urgent. 

     It wasn’t quiet enough, apparently, though, as Banner appeared in the doorway’s kitchen. “Whatever you want to talk about can wait until after breakfast!” He said with a practiced cheerfulness that made Spamton wince. Spamton needed to get to his jacket, and, even if he could guess that Frequency just wanted to tell him to get lost, he was curious to see what exactly was making Frequency so nervous. Yet, Spamton found himself following Banner into the kitchen, a familiar urge not to disappoint his eldest brother eclipsing the reasonable thoughts in his head. 

    Despite his annoyance, Spamton felt himself relax a little when he was in the kitchen. The oven had been left cracked open after the biscuits had been taken out, filling the whole room with a kind of home-like warmth Spamton wasn’t used to. That, combined with the smell of the fresh food, seemed absolutely heavenly. 

    “WHAT’S FOR [balanced Brekfast!]?” Spamton asked, watching as Snippet went over to grab him a plate.

     “Biscuits and gravy!” Skip said, happily, looking over Snippet’s shoulder at the food on the stovetop as Snippet piled food onto plates. As Snippet finished, Skip turned to grab something out of the fridge. 

     Snippet brought over two plates, setting one in front of Spamton. He sat down next to Spamton, staring at him nervously. 

     “TH4Nks,” Spamton said, but clearly that wasn’t enough to convince Snippet.

     “If you don’t want it, um, I could make something else!” Snippet said, his voice bordering on hysterics, already standing up again to look through the pantry. “You could have cereal, eggs, um, I could make some pancakes or waffles, um, toast, um-”

     “Snippet, stop ,” Frequency said, sitting down across from Snippet had been, but he looked almost as nervous as Snippet did. “He’s fine. Just sit down and eat so we can be done with this, please.” 

     “[$!?!],” Spamton agreed, confused. “THIS  GREAT.” To prove his point, he quickly began eating, ignoring his nausea and the nagging feeling that this was some sort of trap or trick. 

     “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to pancakes,” Skip said as he sat down beside Frequency, but Snippet ignored him, instead taking his seat again. Skip frowned but didn’t seem surprised. Now that he was sitting, Spamton could see that he had grabbed a bottle of sauce from the fridge, which he quickly drowned his food in.

     “Oh God, what is that?” Frequency asked, eyeing the black sludge that dripped out of the bottle in alarm. 

     Skip shrugged, turning the bottle upright so Frequency could see the label. “It’s a freebie I got from one of my clients.” 

     “ Xtreme Ghost Pepper in the Machine Hot Sauce ,” Frequency read aloud, looking as if he might start gagging. “That- I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that unappetizing.” 

     “Is it any good, Skip?” Snippet asked, though from the look on his face it was clear that he doubted it. Even Spamton, who wasn’t exactly used to luxury dining anymore, didn’t think he’d want to try it. Skip didn’t seem to mind, though, as he went back to pouring more of it onto his food. 

      “Let’s find out!” Skip said, eagerly grabbing his fork after he put the bottle down. 

     Banner frowned. “You know, it’s careless to do that before even tasting the food, much less the condiment itself,” he chided. “Haven’t I told you about the guy who didn’t get hired-”

     “Because the interviewer saw him salt his food before tasting it?” Skip groaned, pausing as he lifted the fork to his mouth. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned it a couple times before.” 

     “Almost as many times as the guy who failed his interview because he stole the butter,” Snippet laughed. 

     “I ALWAYS L1K3D THE [[#1]] ABOUT THE [lovely canidate]  WHO [RAN] L4TE TO THE INTERVI3W BECA    TH3Y STOPPED TO HELP. the HOM3LESS [sponge],” Spamton blurted out. His brothers looked at him in surprise.

     Snippet nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah! Then the ‘homeless’ person ended up being the boss! That one’s so nice.” 

     “They’re all so fake,” Skip complained, picking back up his fork. “You don’t really believe in them, do you, Banner?” 

     Banner shrugged. “The point isn’t if they’re real or not,” he said. “They’re like, I don’t know, fables. Lessons.” 

     Frequency laughed in a sarcastic way that set Spamton on edge. Spamton stared at his plate, but he could still feel Frequency looking at him. “They clearly didn’t work then.” 

     “Don’t you dare-” Snippet began, his previous worry creeping back into his voice, but Frequency ignored him. 

     “What?” Frequency said. “Do you think Spam was thinking about your dumb story when he was promising Lightners money that he didn’t have or things that weren’t even possible? Or was it when he was scamming our customers?” 

     “Shut up, Frequency,” Skip said through a mouthful of food, but Spamton couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at Frequency or if he was just beginning to choke from the hot sauce. 

     “THaT S …NOT-” Spamton began, but his voice began to glitch out, giving Frequency ample opportunity to talk over him. 

     “Not what?” Frequency asked, standing up as he spoke and making his way past Skip and toward the door. “Let me guess, if not then, you were definitely remembering some dumb morality lesson when you quit and left the moment you had even the smallest amount of success.” 

     “Frequency, stop!” Snippet begged, now standing, too. Frequency ignored him and was soon out of the kitchen. Snippet looked apologetically at Spamton before following after Frequency. 

     “Well, fantastic, Frequency’s already found what he’s going to be mad about today,” Banner said brightly, looking behind his shoulder at Snippet as he left. Looking unconcerned, he turned back to his food. “Besides, who said anything about morality? It’s just about getting a job.” 

     Skip was too busy trying to breathe to answer. “IS IT THAT [[burning]]?” Spamton asked him, nervously. 

     “It’s actually- I’m actually- I’m a bit disappointed, honestly,” Skip gasped, trying to discreetly wipe away the sweat from his face as he spoke. “It’s- It’s like a med- medium at best.” 

     Banner got up, heading behind Spamton toward the fridge. From upstairs, Spamton could begin to hear yelling. That, combined with his brothers’ cooking and his childhood kitchen, were so weirdly familiar to Spamton that he could almost ignore the panic that had been in him since he’d woken up last night and pretend that this was normal.

     Unfortunately, Skip had to ruin the illusion, though. With a still very wheezing sounding laugh, he said, “I guess getting excited over a couple of free bottles of hot sauce must seem silly to you, Spamton.” Spamton stiffened, but, even as he was still gasping for air, Skip didn’t sound mocking or confrontational. If anything, he sounded wistful. “If even a fraction of all the gossip that used to go around about you was true, this must be nothing.” 

     “Don’t say that!” Banner laughed from behind Spamton, causing him to jump. “You’ll make me feel old. I remember when you’d get so excited to even get a business card, Spam. I thought you were going to die of happiness the first time you got to keep some logo pens from one of our clients.” 

    Spamton frowned, but he couldn’t exactly deny it. Banner placed down two glasses of milk on the table, one in front of each of his brothers. Eagerly, Skip began to drink his, giving Banner an opportunity to grab his now ruined plate of food and the hot sauce bottle before Skip could make the same mistake twice. Skip looked annoyed but was too busy drinking to argue. 

    Spamton began to get up, but Banner stopped him. “Even if you’re not hungry, shouldn’t you at least try to drink something?” Banner asked, nudging the glass closer to Spamton. 

     Finishing his glass of milk, Skip cut in. “Oh, I remember that! That and the time you wouldn’t leave Freq alone until he gave you some ‘magic’ rings he’d gotten from a customer. Poor Snippet had to beg him to give them to you.” 

     “H3 ONLY. GAVE. 0NE,” Spamton corrects before he can stop himself. It had been the first time Mike had been annoyed with him, or at least the first time Spamton had realized it, because he couldn’t get both the rings Mike had wanted. Years later it still made Spamton’s stomach drop to think about the disappointment in Mike’s voice. In his desperation, he’d begged and offered everything he could think of to Frequency to get him to give the second one to him, but that had, of course, only made Frequency all the happier to keep it from him. 

     “You didn’t miss out on much,” Banner said, still waiting for Spamton to drink the milk. “Frequency couldn’t even pawn any of them, from what I remember.” 

     Skip nodded, grabbing the plate that had been Frequency’s and digging into it. 

     “You and Snip should use them for your new winter stuff,” Skip said to Banner, through a mouthful of food. “That kitschy style is coming back!”

     Banner laughed. “Snippet would absolutely kill me. He’s all in on his new ‘muted’ palette this year and making everything into an ‘understatement’. I can’t imagine a snowglobe would do much to enhance that.” 

     Spamton sulked, staring at the glass. The rings weren’t dumb or tacky like his brothers seemed to think, or Mike wouldn’t have cared so much for them. Mike hadn’t liked any of the other Addisons- he’d called them hopeless and incompetent. Over time Spam had come to agree with him, and this, Spamton thought miserably, was a perfect example of why. 

     Banner still didn’t move, so Spamton reluctantly took a sip from the glass. For all the times he’d daydreamed and hoped and imagined being with the Addisons again, he was very, very eager to leave now. His head hurt, he was pretty sure something in his leg was either pulled or sprained, and he definitely didn’t need any more reminders of his many past failures. He wanted nothing more than to return to his makeshift shop or one of his dumpsters to curl up and wallow in self-pity until he felt good enough to make another attempt to get to the basement and make use of his new keygen. The fact that he had no idea why he was here or why his brothers were acting so weird only made Spamton feel more on edge about the entire thing. Only Frequency was acting as he’d expected, but that only made it all the stranger that he was the one who’d found him and brought him here. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he was missing here, that this was all some trick to get revenge on him, or that his brothers somehow thought he was still worth something or he could somehow be valuable now. Either way, Spamton didn’t want to stick around and find out. 

     Satisfied, Banner walked back across the kitchen, dumping the plate in the sink and putting away the hot sauce. Spamton looked around the nearly empty table, before turning to talk to Banner. “[VALUED COSTUMER], M4y GO??? SINCE M3AL IS OVER????” 

     Still eating, Skip frowned. “We haven’t seen you in years,” he said. Spamton realized that it was the first time since he’d seen him this morning that Skip seemed to actually acknowledge this as a bad thing. Skip sighed, placing his fork down and looking Spamton in the eyes. Spam looked away. “I get it. I mean, we were real assholes before you left, and we’re really sorry.”

     In his quest to look anywhere but at Skip, Spamton glanced back to see Banner, whose back was to him. He’d seemed to have frozen as he was beginning to do the dishes until he suddenly turned to look at Spamton, who quickly turned back around to look at his plate. 

     Skip continued speaking, either not noticing or ignoring Spamton’s discomfort. “But, we didn’t- I mean, it doesn’t matter what we thought, we were wrong. But you know we didn’t imagine you’d just, you know, never speak to us again.” 

     “Y0U’RE THE ON3S WHO [Stop! Drop! Roll!] TALK    TO ME,” Spamton said, glaring down at the table.

     “I know,” Skip sighed. “And I’m really, really sorry. But- I don’t know. That was years ago. I just- I don’t know. I really wish you’d not rush out of here.” 

     Spamton didn’t know what to say. He felt like he did before he had met Mike, where a thousand words were spiraling through his head but none of them came even close to what he was thinking and feeling and no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be enough. The feeling of Skip’s and Banner’s eyes on him only made the words quicker and harder to grab onto, and soon the silence was lasting longer than it comfortably could.

     “Or, you know, at least don’t rush out of here until you tell us what happened last night,” Skip said, with an awkward laugh. “We’ve all been dying to know.” 

     Spamton knew it was a joke, but that didn’t stop him from getting angry. Could that be the actual reason they were letting him stay here, or even paying any attention to him? Skip, Spamton knew, had gone to far greater lengths for a piece of gossip or out of just plain boredom, and he wouldn’t put anything past Banner if Banner thought whatever Spamton was doing was going to affect his business. Snippet would have been harder to convince, but that could be why he was so nervous. The more Spamton thought about it, the more it made sense, and the angrier he got.

     Snippet came back into the kitchen, looking apologetically around at his brothers. “Sorry about that,” he said, with a nervous shrug. “Frequency’s just, um, worried about you. I think.” 

     “[Doubt].” Spamton said, crossing his arms. His mood improved a little, though, when he saw that Snippet was holding his jacket, neatly folded, under his arm. 

    Snippet seemed hesitant but handed it over when Spamton began to try and grab it from him. Quickly, Spamton unfolded it, turning the front around to face him, so that neither Snippet nor Banner could see the brightly colored rectangles he had sewn onto it. Spamton’s worry, anger, and confusion morphed into a manic glee as his hand wrapped around the keygen as he reached into the pocket and he realized that it hadn’t fallen out or gotten lost while he was running away from the Swatchlings or Tasque Manager yesterday. Without even thinking about what it would look like to his brothers, Spamton pulled out the keygen.

     Immediately, Spamton felt his heart sink. Before, where there had been two steady green lights, there was only one pink light blinking irregularly. Spamton slammed his thumb onto the keygen’s button, but nothing happened. He tried again, and then another time. On the fourth try, finally, something happened, but the hologram that appeared was incomplete and distorted. It splintered and cracked, and each time Spamton hit the button the ‘key’ only got worse and worse until it was barely recognizable as what it used to be anymore.

      “Oh, no,” Snippet gasped, and Spamton’s eyes snapped up to see Snippet looking almost as distraught as Spamton felt. “I”m so sorry. I thought I had checked- I didn’t think there was anything in your pockets.”

      Spamton laughed, but he wasn’t sure why. Snippet flinched back. 

     “I don’t know what that is, but I’ll replace it!” Snippet said, his words rushed and desperate, and the tone only made Spamton angrier. Without thinking, Spamton threw the broken device on the table and stood up, shakily. Even standing on the chair and even with Snippet shrinking back, he still wasn’t any taller than Snippet. 

     “WHAT     y0u DO???” Spamton yelled. “WHY?!? WOULD YOU dO TH4T???”

     “Spam, calm down,” Banner said, trying to put a hand on Spamton’s shoulder. When Spamton almost lost his balance trying to shove the hand away, Banner stepped back. “It was clearly an accident.”  

     “N0 IT!!! WASn’T!!” Spam said. The Addisons clearly thought he was still the same idiot he had been before, ready to believe whatever they said or do whatever they asked. 

     Skip laughed, but it sounded forced. “Spam, you’re not making any sense. Why would he break it? He- We don’t even know what it is! He was just trying to help.” 

     “I;M NOT STUP  . YOU [[flat broke?]] IT ON PUPROS3.” Spamton said, shaking his head. Skip had stood up now, too, and was making his way to Spam’s side of the table, where Snippet and Banner already stood. Even through his rage, Spamton began to feel trapped. 

     “No- No, I didn’t!” Snippet said. “It’s okay! No one’s calling you stupid, I just-” 

      “Y3S YOU D1D!” Spamton shot back, balling his hands into fists. Snippet couldn’t lie to him, he remembered. He and Snippet had been sitting in this very same room, after work. Frequency and Skip had already stopped talking to him for anything outside of what was absolutely essential for work. But that had been okay. Great, even. Mike had loved it, had loved the story about Frequency getting so mad that he almost started crying and when Spam had described the expression on Skip’s face when Spam had talked one of their clients into using Spam’s design instead of Skip’s. But Snippet- Snippet wasn’t supposed to be like that. “YOU SA ID! R3MEMBER! YOU SAID.. YOU SAID I WAS SELFISH AND STUPID AND JEALOUS AND and!” 

     Even in his panic, Snippet looked confused. “What? I’d never- I don’t remember that happening, Spam, but I’m sorry! Please just calm down!”

     Spamton shook his head again, hard enough that his headache worsened enough for him to feel dizzy. Even as Spamton said the words, they sounded wrong, but he was too angry and hurt to really think about that, especially as the memories from that night were pulling him under. It had started out bad enough- Spamton had told Snippet to stop talking to Mike. Or, no, that couldn’t be it. It was the other way around. Snippet had told Spamton to stop talking to Mike. Only, he didn’t know who Mike was. Snippet had called Mike a bad influence like he was some bad kid Spam had started hanging out with at recess and not the genius he was, and that had set Spamton off. 

      “Okay, let’s all just take a deep breath,” Banner tried again, stepping in between Spamton and Snippet. Spamton stepped back as he got closer, and for a second, while his foot was still in the air, Spamton was sure that he had messed up again, that his foot wasn’t going to hit the wood of the chair but instead plunge into the icy cold and burning, hellishly hot acid behind him. His leg hit the wood too hard because of this, causing the dulled pain to start acting up again, and Spamton had to grab onto the back of his chair not to completely fall. One of his brothers was talking again, Spamton realized, but he couldn’t hear them over the beating of his heart. 

     “YOU,R3 lying!” Spamton spit out, gripping onto the back of the chair. “T3RRIBLE.. YOU SAID YOU HATED OUR [One Big; Happy Family]..” But that wasn’t right, was it? Something was wrong, but Spamton was too caught up in his anger and disgust. “YOU SAID YOU SAID YOU SAID YOU NEVER REALLY L1K3D ANY OF US.” 

     Spamton looked around at his brother’s confused faces, until understanding seemed to dawn on Snippet’s face. Spamton felt hopeful, for a second, that he’d just come clean, but Snippet shook his head. With disgust, Spamton realized that his brother was actually crying. “Spamton,” Snippet said, voice meek and soft in a way that made Spamton want to scream. “That’s not what happened. I think- I think something’s wrong.” 

     “[$%^$] UP!” Spamton said, stomping his good leg helplessly. He wished he was back in his dumpster, where he could punch the metal walls endlessly without worrying about breaking anything but himself, or back in his shop, where he could at least try and talk to Mike again. Mike had warned him about all of his brothers. He’d said they’d try and lie to him, to keep him from leaving. But, that’s not what had really happened, was it? Again, Spamton shook his head, trying to forcefully clear his thoughts. His eyes darted nervously between his brothers, who all were staring at him as if he were crazy. “YOU’R3 ALL I HAD!! SAID WAS I DIDN’T [like new] THE PERS0N Y0U WERE B3COMING ANYMOR3 AND THEN YOU. AND THEN YOU. AND THEN YOU.” 

      Before Spamton could continue his repetition, Snippet was speaking again. “That’s what I said,” he said sadly. “Don’t you remember? I didn’t- I’m so sorry. I didn’t-” Whatever else Snippet was going to say was lost in his blubbering. 

     “What happened?” Skip asked, his own voice too loud and angry, looking between Spamton and Snippet. “That doesn’t sound like Snippet at all, Spam.” 

     Before Spamton could think to answer, more words were spilling from Snippet’s mouth. “It was the last time we talked. I- I was just trying to help. I didn’t say I didn’t like him! Or anyone! I just meant- I said I didn’t like the person he was becoming. Then he said he didn’t like me! Or any of us,” Snippet said between sobs. “I don’t know why he’s saying this. I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

     “N0THING’S WRONG!” Spamton laughed. He couldn’t think at all, too torn between feeling revolted and guilty over Snippet’s tears, between confusion and certainty over what had happened that night, and between his blinding anger and the growing fear as his brothers seemed to get closer and closer to him, blocking off any way for him to get to the door. He tentatively took another step back, only to find his foot teetering on the edge of the seat. 

     “It’s okay. Whatever happened, happened,” Banner said. Spamton wasn’t sure if it was the words themselves, the far-too calm tone he said them with, or the fact that Banner was reaching out to try and grab a hold of Spamton again, but something made Spamton snap. Before he even knew what he was going to do with it, Spamton was grabbing the empty glass from the table.

     “Hey, Snippet, couldn’t help but notice I’m hearing a lot of yelling, but not a lot of you telling anyone else they’re ‘self-centered’ a-!” Frequency began, walking into the kitchen, his arms crossed. Spamton saw the glass hit him in the face before he realized he had thrown it. 

     Everyone seemed stunned for a second as the glass bounced off Frequency’s forehead and shattered loudly as it hit the ground. For one amazing second, Spamton was happy, sure he was stuck in a nightmare and would wake up back in his dumpster again because Spamton knew the glass had been empty, yet a red liquid had spilled onto Frequency’s face. It wasn’t until Frequency was backing up and falling against the wall as he began to cradle his head in his hands that Spamton realized it was blood. 

     Spamton opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of what to say. Snippet and Skip rushed over to Frequency’s side. 

     “Frequency!” Snippet said, trying to pry Frequency’s hands away from his forehead to get a better look at the wound. “Oh, oh no.” 

     “Are you okay?” Skip asked. 

      Frequency groaned in response. “What the fuck?” He said, sounding genuinely bewildered in a way that made Spamton want to start crying himself. A choked sound came out of Spamton, and Frequency looked up at him, his eyes widening. “Banner, grab him, he’s going to-” 

      Spamton couldn’t hear the rest of what Frequency said as a too bright, ear-piercing static overcame him.

Chapter Text

     “Thanks,” Frequency mumbled as the nurse removed their hands from his forehead. The pain was gone, mostly, but Frequency felt simultaneously drained and jittery from the magic. He rubbed the now healed over wound as the nurse watched him. When it became clear that Frequency wasn’t going to keel over or combust or whatever they were worried about, the nurse reached into one of their pockets and handed Frequency a lollipop. 

     “You’ve been very brave,” they said, solemnly.

     Frequency couldn’t help but snort, but he smiled as best he could and thanked them again as they showed him out of the office and to the waiting room. 

     Skip had had to all but drag Frequency into the doctor’s office when they had gotten here, and Frequency had been too stunned still to really get a good look at it. As he entered the waiting room, Frequency’s suspicions were confirmed. This was most definitely a pediatrician’s office. Not a great one, either, from the looks of the peeling tile on the floor or the scattered toys that looked old enough to have been from the ARPANET. The room was empty, at least, save for Skip and Banner.

     Banner, unsurprisingly, had his phone pulled out, but his thumbs nervously hovered above the keys, darting around without actually pressing anything. Skip sat on the floor near him, hunched over a child-sized table. As Frequency got closer, he could see Skip was intently working on a coloring page that featured some cartoon Ambyu-Lance warning kids about the signs of a memory leak. Skip didn’t look up until Frequency dangled the candy in front of him. Eagerly, he snatched it out of Frequency’s hands, looking above Frequency’s eyes as he did so.

     “Doesn’t look too bad,” Skip said. “Does it still hurt?”

     Frequency shook his head, sitting down in a nearby chair beside Banner. He didn’t look up. Frequency glanced around the room again, double-checking that it was empty. 

     “Banner-”

     An electric bell chirped, and Frequency glanced behind him to see a pair of Darkners walk in. Frequency swallowed his words, instead saying, “It’s fine. Have you heard anything about Spam or Snippet?”

     Banner just stared at Frequency for a second, uncomprehending. It gave Frequency the chance to glance at Banner’s phone and see he had been texting Snippet, but before he could read anything specific, Banner had snapped the phone shut with enough force that Frequency wondered if he might have accidentally broken the thing.

     “Snippet’s doing better!” Skip said, without looking up. “He calmed down a lot. He even sent us a pic of Runtime in a bowtie he made.”

     Frequency reached for his own phone, only to realize he had left it at home. Not that he had any particular interest in seeing the dumb tasque or anything like that, of course. 

     “Spam’s alright,” Banner said. “Raid kicked me out, but I know she was able to treat his leg and head a bit. He was pretty beaten up, though, so he still needs time to completely heal.”

     “Raid?” Frequency asked, pointedly ignoring Banner’s choice of words.

     “Yeah, a friend,” Banner said, distractedly, as he stared at the door that led back to the offices.

     Frequency scoffed, “What would a doctor at a place like this need advertising for?”

     Skip looked at Frequency with an almost disbelieving expression. “You know, it is actually possible to have a life and friends outside of work, Freq.” 

     “What? I know that,” Frequency said, defensively. “I’m just shocked that Banner does.”

     “What do you know?” Banner said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “You spend all day working then come home until you have to go to work again. Do you even have any friends outside of our family?”

     “Excuse me?” Frequency asked. Banner’s tone had been amicable and calm, but the words made both Skip and Frequency stare at him in surprise. 

     Banner looked as if he was going to reply, but when Banner glanced behind Frequency, all hints of tiredness or annoyance were instantly gone from his face. “Hi there!” He said, and Frequency turned around to see him looking at a child who was trotting over from the reception desk where an older Darkner was checking her in. 

     The child paid no mind to Banner or Skip, instead coming up to Frequency, who smiled nervously down at her. “Hi?” He asked more than said. 

     “Can I see your teeth?” The child asked. Frequency grinned wider, looking desperately at Skip, who looked just as confused as he was, for help. In doing so, Frequency had inadvertently fulfilled the child’s request, so she grinned back at him happily, showing her own teeth, or what Frequency assumed was her version of teeth, anyway.

     “I use my CDLGATE toothbrush every day like you said to!” The child says, eagerly. 

     Frequency glanced between the child and his brothers, unsure of what to say or what was happening. Luckily, Banner spoke up for him, “I remember that one! Snippet wrote the jingle for it, I think.” Banner attempted to half-hum, half-mumble the song himself, which miraculously the child somehow recognized if her enthusiastic nodding was anything to go by. 

     “Oh, you just recognize him from an ad,” Skip said, laughing. “For a second I thought this was a friend here to prove Banner-” 

     “That’s great!” Frequency said, cutting Skip off with a quick glare only he could see. “It’s always nice to see,” Frequency began but stopped himself mid-sentence, unsure of how to proceed. She was too young to be a happy or satisfied customer , and fan felt wrong. 

     The child didn’t seem to mind the awkward end of the sentence, at least. The other Darkner at the desk called her back over, waving apologetically at Frequency and as she did so. With a pout, the child headed back to the other side of the room. 

     “It was nice to meet you!” Banner said after her, waving at the parent as he did so. 

     When he was sure the other two Darkners were sitting far enough away that they couldn’t hear him, Frequency sighed. “I hate when that happens.”

     Frequency half expected one of his brothers to make another joke about his antisocial behavior, but Skip only nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s weird how much kids see our stuff.”

     Banner laughed, but there was that weird edge to it again. “Come on, you’re beginning to sound like Snippet. She was excited to see you!” Banner joked. Skip tried to say something else, but Banner just continued on. “Please, do tell me about the dystopian hell we’re helping to create by making kids remember to brush their teeth.” 

     “That wasn’t what that ad was for,” Skip said. “And you know we don’t just mean that one ad.” 

     Before Banner replied, the door to the offices swung open and a woman walked towards the brothers. 

     “Is everything okay?” Banner asked before the doctor could even speak. 

     The doctor, who Frequency assumed must have been Raid, nodded. “Yeah,” she said, though she seemed perplexed. “Actually, let me see your hand, Banner.”

     “Okay?” Banner said, letting the doctor examine the fingers and joints on his hands.

     “Huh,” she said, still holding his hand in her own. “When I was looking at your brother's hands, he got really alarmed. He kept telling me they were always like that.” 

     “Like what?” Skip asked, staring curiously at his own hands.

     Raid shrugged. “I don’t know. His joints are much more visible than yours and there are some obvious signs of damage, but- I mean, that’s hardly the strangest result from his, um, accident.” 

     “Accident?” Skip asked. “Did he say anything about it?” 

     “No,” she said. “I’m just going off of what Banner told me. The injuries are from battery acid, right?”

     “That’s only what we’ve heard,” Skip said. “Is that what it looks like to you?” 

     Raid shrugged. “Probably. We don’t see lots of acid burns , honestly. Mostly just concerned parents who didn’t lock up their supply well enough or have teens messing around with it. It’d make sense though. Banner’s shown me some of your brother’s old ads and photos, and I don’t know what else could turn him from that into, uh, this,” she said, gesturing awkwardly at her own face. 

     Frequency cringed at the thought. “Did he say anything about what happened to him last night?” Frequency asked.

     Raid looked at Frequency suspiciously. “No,” she said. “Is there something you forgot to mention?” 

     “No, I’m sure Banner told you the whole of it. I found Spamton in a dumpster on my way home from work last night. I brought him home. We brought him here,” Frequency said. He hoped the implied ‘and have regretted every one of those decisions’ was coming through loud and clear. 

     “Was there any broken glass around the dumpster?” Raid asked.

     “Not that I noticed,” Frequency said. “It was dark, though.”

     “What buildings were around?” Raid continued, her eyes narrowing.

     “I don’t know,” Frequency said. “It was dark.” 

     Raid looked past Frequency at Banner skeptically.

     “You know what?” Frequency snapped, turning to face his brother as well, “I don’t know what you think happened, Banner, but it’s not true. I didn’t fight with Spam last night. I found him like that. And I don’t appreciate you going around telling people that I beat up on someone literally half my size.” 

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Banner said. He sounded and looked genuinely hurt at the accusation, and that only made Frequency more aggravated. Here Banner was, the biggest, best liar Frequency had ever even heard of, not believing Frequency. Even worse, he had apparently told the doctor and nurses about it. 

     “I mean, does it even look like he was attacked? He said he got hurt falling out of a window. How would I do that?” 

     “You could have thrown him out of a window!” Skip said, helpful as always. When he saw the look Frequency gave him, Skip put up his hands defensively. “I don’t think you did, though! Obviously!” 

     “Thank-,” Frequency began, but Skip kept talking.

     “I mean, even if Spamton’s smaller, he could probably still take you. Honestly, you’d have looked way worse if it was a fight.” 

     Frequency glared at Skip again, who only shrugged.

     “I just don’t understand why you’d bring him home with you, and not straight to an Ambyu-Lance or a hospital,” Raid said, crossing her arms. 

     “In retrospect, I should have,” Frequency lied. He didn’t want to have this conversation again, especially not with some stranger. “I was shocked, I think, and just did the first thing that came to mind.” 

     Even Skip was looking a bit skeptical now. Frequency wanted to pull his hair out. He couldn’t tell them the truth. He didn’t trust a stranger not to go turn Spam in if he really was in any trouble, and he was too deep into his lie to tell his family. Worse, if this all turned out to be some misunderstanding, he didn’t think he could live with the embarrassment.

     “So, is he done?” Frequency asked. “Or did you come out here for something else?”

     Raid shook her head. “No, I’m not done with him yet. He wanted Banner to come back, though.” 

     Banner stood up so quickly that by the time Frequency looked back to see him, he was already on his way to stand next to Raid. “Really?” He asked, his voice earnest and desperate in a way that made Frequency cringe. 

     Raid sighed, before waving goodbye to Skip. She turned to follow Banner, who was already almost to the door, and the Frequency and Skip were alone again. 

     Frequency could just make out her saying, “Wait, Banner, we need to talk first!” before the the door shut behind her. 

     Frequency sighed, crossing his arms. He reached for his phone, before remembering again that it wasn’t there. Dejectedly, he looked at Skip. “So, do you have any more of those coloring pages?”

     Spamton stared at his feet as they dangled off of the side of the examination table. It was the first time since he’d gotten to the doctor’s office that he’d been left alone, and while he enjoyed  the peace, he felt empty in a way that he didn’t like. The anger and panic from before weren’t gone, but both seemed pointless and far off now.

     He knew, logically, that there were some very important things he should be focusing on right now. Like how he’d get enough money to get another keygen when he had used up all his money on the first, now broken one, and no one in Cyber City in their right mind or not would hire Spamton anymore. Or how he’d managed to get around with his leg still messed up. The doctor, at least, had mostly healed the wound on his forehead, but falling again had hurt his already damaged leg. The doctor had used healing magic and had him try walking around a bit on his own, but it was difficult, and Spamton doubted he’d have much luck climbing into dumpsters or running from Swatchlings until it was better, and who knew how long that would take. 

     Spamton watched the door. When the doctor had finished asking all the questions she insisted she had to ask everyone but felt weirdly accusatory- Do you have any thoughts of hurting yourself or others? Do you feel safe at home? Do you ever hear voices or see things that aren’t really there?- Spamton had asked her to bring Banner back. The two seemed to know each other, and the doctor had obliged. Maybe she thought it was cute or sweet or something that Spamton wanted his big brother there with him. He doubted that she’d find the real reason all that endearing. 

     Instead of letting his mind drift more and more into the emptiness, Spamton tried to focus on what he’d do next. If Banner hadn’t left yet, Spamton was fairly positive that Banner would be too worried about what it might look like for him not to come back if the doctor asked him to. Spamton had tried to tell the doctor and the nurses that he didn’t want treatment, that he couldn’t afford it, but they hadn’t understood what he was saying. 

     He was getting more and more used to that. Sometimes it felt like he was speaking a language only he understood. Lately even he didn’t always understand what he was saying, but he couldn’t even acknowledge that to himself without risking a complete panic attack.

     Assuming he hadn’t left yet, Spamton was fairly sure that Banner would be too embarrassed to not pay his bill when it became clear that Spamton couldn’t. While he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of owing Banner money, especially not after he and the rest of his brothers had been acting so suspiciously, it would sure beat owing an Ambyu-Lance or her clinic. Banner, at least, had been easy to avoid since his eviction. The Ambyu-Lances, Spamton had learned, could be absolute nightmares when they were on the prowl. But, after he checked out, Spamton figured it would be pretty simple to get back on track of his original plan to just find some dumpster or another to hide in until he was better healed and had time to think of a new plan to get to NEO.

     The door finally opened, and both Banner and the doctor came in. Both were smiling, but was something off enough that it made Spamton wonder if maybe he’d made a mistake in asking Banner to come back.

     “IS FR3qU3NCY [stable]???” Spamton asked, nervously wondering if that was the cause for the apparent tension. 

     Raid, holding some papers in her hands, nodded. “Yeah, he’s great. One of the nurses was able to fix him up.” She didn’t seem too concerned about him, and Banner seemed to barely register the question. 

     Spamton nodded, still wary. Before he could stop himself, he asked Banner, “4RE u OK?” 

     Banner looked completely blindsided by the question. “What?” He asked, his smile going from only pretty obviously fake to absolutely, without a doubt fake. “I’m great! But, I’m the one that should be asking you that!” 

     Spamton stared at him, unsure of what to say. It bothered Spamton that Banner was acting like this. Even Snippet was a better liar than Banner was right now. Did Banner really think he was fooling the doctor with whatever ‘protective older brother’ act this was? From the half-concerned, half-annoyed way she kept looking at him, it was obvious that she knew something was up. Even when Spamton was at the peak of his fame, he had always kind of had a begrudging respect for Banner, despite Spamton proving him wrong with every success he had. 

     Before he cut off Spamton, Mike had acted worried about it, joking that Spamton had been brainwashed by years of watching his family’s failure of a business and telling him he needed to think for himself. But then Spamton was alone, spending his nights praying to a broken robot and waiting by a phone that never rang, and he couldn’t help but admit that Banner had been right. It had hurt to think that Banner, the talented salesman and his old boss, had been right about him. It was absolutely agonizing to think that this nervous, pathetic wreck had been right about him, instead. 

     “We’re almost done here!” Dr. Raid said, pulling Spamton out of his thoughts. “I just have a couple things to go through with you before you can be discharged.” 

     Spamton nodded, and so the doctor began going through her list. Spamton let Banner answer most of her questions for him, considering the doctor seemed to have trouble understanding Spamton and, though she didn’t realize it, none of what she was saying would actually matter. Whatever pharmacy she sent the scripts to or whatever kind of crutches she recommended were utterly meaningless to Spamton, and it's not like he would have answered truthfully about having someone around to help or if he’d be able to do his job until his leg healed. 

     Finally, as she finished talking about different nutritional drinks and supplements he should use to treat the malnourishment she said he had- something that had seemed to annoy Banner- and the importance of fat and protein in his diet, Spamton thought he might actually be able to leave soon. Before she could finish her lecture, though, the doctor stopped to glare at Banner. 

     “Really?” Raid asked. Spamton turned to see Banner on his phone, too distracted to even notice Raid’s sarcastic tone. “Banner!”

     Finally, Banner looked up. “What?”

     “Is whatever you’re working on really more important than your brother?” Raid asked, crossing her arms. Spamton laughed, but neither of them paid any attention to him. 

     “Snippet texted me,” Banner said, looking back at the phone as he did so. “I- Uh, fuck.”

     “Is he alright?” Raid asked, when it became clear that Banner’s trailing off was the end of what he was saying.

     “Yeah,” Banner said, shaking his head. “Yeah, he’s, uh, fine. I need to go. Or, no. I need to talk to you, then I need to go.” 

     Spamton felt a spike of panic- both over his plan failing and over whatever had happened to make Banner so nervous. The doctor nodded, though. 

     “That’s okay,” she said, sounding nervous herself, before standing up and gathering up the papers she had brought in. “I was just finishing up, anyway.” 

     “WH4T;S [No Wrong Answers!]?!?!?” Spamton tried to ask while the doctor was busy doing that, but Banner didn’t answer. He glanced at Spamton, looking as if he was almost afraid of his youngest brother, but then he was back to staring at the phone. 

     “Do you want to try walking again?” Raid asked Spamton, who nodded quickly.

     Banner was still staring at his phone as Raid led them out to the waiting room. He didn’t seem to be replying to anything. From the little glances Spamton had gotten as they left the room, it seemed that Banner had been staring at the same text this entire time. He had a lopsided, nearly panicked smile that looked completely out of place on his face. 

     “It was nice to finally meet you,” the doctor said, awkwardly, as she opened the door to the waiting room. Spamton nodded, but he wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d have much preferred to not have ended up here. 

     “Just- uh, give me a sec,” Banner said, before turning to face Skip and Frequency. Skip was too preoccupied with some drawing to acknowledge either of his brothers, but Spamton could feel Frequency’s eyes on him. Nervously, Spamton eyed the door, wondering if it’d be best to just make a run for it, but Banner put a hand on his shoulder before he could seriously consider it, pushing him toward the other two. 

     “How’s he doing?” Frequency asked, still looking at Spamton but speaking to Banner.

     “FIN3,” Spamton said, defensively. He stared at Frequency’s forehead, his eyes tracing the raised cuts. Spamton was relieved it wasn’t worse. He had had trouble remembering exactly what had happened, and had already started to imagine it much worse than it had been, apparently, picturing a gaping wound with splinters of broken glass and gallons and gallons of blood. Spamton was relieved, though he doubted Frequency was any less mad at him about it.

     Frequency stood up, still studying Spamton. Spamton took a step back, only for his bad leg to give out in a burst of pain and Banner, still distracted by the phone, to tighten his hold on him as he flailed back to prevent Spamton from completely falling.

     “The leg’s still a work in progress,” Raid said.

     Frequency looked annoyed. “If you’d have listened to me when I told you he was going to fall-” Frequency began, but Skip cut him off.

     “Did you get Snippet’s text?” Skip asked Banner, beginning to stand up himself.

     Banner nodded. 

     “What text?” Frequency asked, crossing his arms. 

     “Snippet found Runtime’s owner!” Banner said, way too rushed to sound as casual as he obviously intended it to. “He just texted us to let us know!”

     Skip looked confused, but didn’t say anything else. Spamton turned to see Banner, apparently out of his stupor, quickly typing out a text.

     “HOw 1S H3?” Spamton asked, nervously. 

     Skip shrugged. “Okay. I mean, yeah, he was always going to be sad to have to say goodbye to the tasque, but what did he expect? We all saw she had a collar.” 

     Frequency spoke up before Skip could continue. “He’s calmed down a lot since your tantrum.” 

     Spamton glared at Frequency, but felt a little better. 

     Skip frowned, but a buzz from his phone quickly distracted him from saying anything else. Spamton turned to see Banner shoving his own phone back into his pants’ pocket. 

     “I need to talk to Raid about a couple things,” Banner said, addressing his three brothers. “Why don’t you two take Spam-” 

     Spamton shook his head. “I’M GOing [[Homerun!]].” He said as firmly as he could. 

     Banner still had a hand on Spamton’s shoulder, and Spamton couldn’t help but flinch as the grip tightened, though Banner didn’t argue. “Yeah, why don’t you guys give him a ride to his home, then.” 

     “I C4N [Walk. Don’t Run],” Spamton said, still feeling panicked from Banner’s weird reaction to the text he got, even as Banner seemed to calm down. The feeling only worsened when, without warning, Banner released his grip on Spamton, causing him to flail as he almost immediately lost his balance as he was forced to put his weight back on his bad leg. Banner quickly grabbed hold of him again, but his point was clear.

     “Hey!” Raid called, hurrying back to Spamton’s side. “Be careful!” 

     “Does he need a crutch or something?” Skip asked, also coming closer to get a better look at Spamton. 

     “NO!!!” Spamton said, feeling the beginning of panic take hold again as the three crowded around him. At least Frequency was keeping his distance, but he was still staring at Spamton in a way that made his skin crawl. 

    “Yes,” Banner said. “It’s on the to-do list.” 

     Skip nodded. He squatted down to get a better look at Spamton. “Okay! Freq and I can give you a ride, then. Sound good?” 

     Spamton shook his head, looking between the three Darkners that surrounded him. “NO NO NO NO  I DON.T N33D-”

     Frequency, still keeping his distance, interrupted Spamton. “Come on, just this last thing then you’ll never have to see us again,” he said. Spamton would have argued, but the pang of guilt he felt when he watched Frequency grimace in pain as he held a hand against his forehead stopped him.  

     “F1NE!!!” Spamton said. 

     Skip smiled, grabbing a hold of Spamton’s hand as he stood back up. Spamton tried to pull away out of his grip, but Skip didn’t let go. Skip’s hand covered all of Spamton’s, but he didn’t notice or comment on the hole in the center of Spamton’s, at least. 

     “Okay, let’s go!” Skip said, staring expectantly at Banner. When Banner didn’t move, Spamton turned his head to look at him, too, only to see that he was staring at his phone again. 

     “Banner,” Raid said after a moment, tapping on his hand, which still gripped Spamton’s shoulder. Even with the hint, it still took Banner a second to realize what the others were waiting for. 

     “Oh,” Banner said, carefully letting go of Spamton. This time Spamton was able to stand on his own, albeit a bit shakily. “Sorry.” 

     Skip began to move toward the door, slowly and watching Spamton carefully. Impatiently, Frequency moved past him, and was out the door, presumably heading for the car. 

     “See you at home!” Skip said. “Oh, and nice seeing you again, Dr. Raid! Thanks for all the help!” 

     “It was nice seeing the two of you!” Raid replied, but Spamton was too preoccupied to look back. As they were about almost out the door, though, Spamton heard her begin to speak again, her voice quieter and more worried. “Banner, it’s going to be okay. You need to calm down.” 

     Spamton tried to look back, but the door was already closing behind them. If Skip had also heard, he showed no interest or curiosity in what the doctor had been saying, instead focusing on trying to pull out his car keys from a tangle of headphones and wrappers with only one hand. 

     The sinking feeling was back, and Spamton found himself actually gripping tighter on Skip’s hand, happy to have anything to ground himself with, even as awkward as it was. Nervously, Spamton reached up with his free hand to readjust his bowtie, only to freeze when he remembered it wasn’t there and hadn’t been in years. So, instead, he tried his best to focus on the positives. He was feeling better, and the doctor hadn’t even remembered to bring up the bill- meaning even if she did have to track him down he could rightfully say it was a mistake, which would at least buy him some time. Hopefully. This weird, sad reunion he had been pulled into with his brothers was almost over, and he’d be back on his own soon, away from the traitors and the sadness they brought up. But, as Skip helped Spamton get into the car, Spamton could only really wonder if he’d just seen Banner for the last time, or if the last memory he’d ever have of Snippet was watching him cry as he tried to help Frequency stop the bleeding Spamton had caused.

Chapter Text

     “WH4T?!?!” Spamton asked, crossing his arms as he did so. He was annoyed by Frequency and Skip, but it was also a cold, miserable day and Spamton didn’t know what had happened to his jacket after he and Snippet had argued. Spamton knew he deserved a lot worse than a stolen jacket, but he couldn’t help but wish he had put it on first before checking the pockets.

     “What do you mean ‘what’?” Skip asked, craning his head to see the entire building they stood in front of. Beside him, Frequency went between glaring at Spamton and nervously looking around him.  

     “WH4T DO [want]?” Spamton asked. “Y0U C4N [[AOTUMN LEAVES]] NOw.” 

     Skip shook his head. “Don’t be like that, Spam. Ton. Uh, Spamton. We just want to make sure you get inside safe and sound, then we’ll be out of your hair!” 

     “NO!!!” Spamton said, but he wasn’t sure why he bothered. At this point, it’d be weirder if any of his brothers actually listened to him.

     “Did you lose your keys or something?” Frequency asked with a hushed voice. Spamton wondered if Frequency realized that the hunched over, whispering guy that kept looking around was way more suspicious looking than the guys just having a conversation. 

     “TH4T;S NOT YOU’R3 [Going Out Of Business Sale!].” Spamton said. “JUST GO 4waY.” 

     “We will!” Skip said, finally looking away from the tall building and back at his brothers. “As soon as we know you’re home safely. How do you think we’d feel if we just left now and then the elevator’s broke or something and you can’t even get upstairs!” 

     Spamton shook his head, hard enough to make Skip frown. “I DON’T      u IN MY HOM3,” Spamton tried. 

     “Well, we didn’t want you in ours either,” Frequency shot back, apparently forgetting he was trying to be quiet.

     “I D1DNT W4NT [[to]] BE TH3RE EITHER, Cungadero ,” Spamton argued. “WHoSE [faultless treadle]  IS TH3T?!?!?” 

     Frequency looked like he was going to snap, but instead he looked over to Skip. “I’m going to the car. Do what you want,” he said, turning around and walking back to the parking lot. Spamton glared after him. 

     Skip seemed unbothered. “If you’re really locked out let’s just go ask him for help.” 

     Spamton glanced behind him to where Skip was looking to see a worryingly familiar doorman stalking over to them. When it had become clear that Skip wouldn’t just drop him off anywhere, Spamton had picked this location. The whole block consisted of apartments, so Spamton had hoped it would be believable enough that he lived in one of them, even without giving an exact address. Besides, with so many people around, there were plenty of places to hide and dumpsters to search through, so Spamton had thought it would be a nice place to heal up at. It’s where he had first ended up when he had first been evicted from the mansion, until some of the building's owners and staff had begun to notice their pest problem and had chased off Spamton and everyone else unfortunate enough to be in a similar situation. But, that had been years ago, now. He hadn’t seriously expected anyone to remember him on sight.

     Spamton stepped back, nearly stumbling over his bad leg again as the doorman got closer. “L3t’S GO- Let’s go check ON FR3QUECY.” 

     Skip looked confused, but when Spamton started to try and walk away without him, he nodded. It took only a couple strides for him to get ahead of Spamton, where he stopped and grabbed his hand again. Spamton was going to argue, but an angry voice from behind the both of them interrupted him.

     “I thought we told you to not come back here,” the voice said. Spamton glanced behind to see the doorman walking up to them. Skip didn’t stop walking, or even turn around. 

     “I- I THINK- I THINK- I THINK-” Spamton said, but even he could tell his words had become incomprehensible in his panic. This seemed to only annoy the doorman more, who didn’t stop until he was close enough to almost touch Spamton and Skip. Skip stopped walking, at least, and turned around. 

     “Hi!” Skip said. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

     The doorman glowered at Skip, but spoke to Spamton. “You were warned to stay away.” 

     Spamton stepped back, trying to look for the best place to run to with his hurt leg. He didn’t want to get in a fight when he was already hurt, especially not when Skip was watching, but he didn’t exactly like his chances of running away right now, either. 

     Skip let go of Spamton’s hand suddenly, causing Spamton to teeter again. Skip stepped up to the doorman. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re confused,” Skip said, sounding anything but sorry. 

     The doorman didn’t look very intimidated. “I’m not talking to you, sir,” he said, the last part spit out more like an insult than a sign of respect. 

     “I W4S [JUST SAY NO] L3AV   ,” Spamton managed to get out, but the doorman either didn’t understand or care.

     “Is this really how you treat customers?” Skip asked, eying the doorman’s uniform. “What if we were about ready to go in to look at renting a unit?”

     The doorman laughed. “I really doubt your friend could afford any place here, considering the last time we found him he was sleeping in one of our dumpsters, sir .” 

     Spamton froze. He couldn’t see Skip’s face, only that of the smug doorman’s, and Spamton wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. For a second, Spamton was sure he was going to faint again, but Skip’s laugh came as such a shock that it cleared away the incoming static.

     “Like I said,” Skip said through his laughter. “You’re confused. Whatever, though. We were leaving, anyway.” Skip turned around so quickly that Spamton could see the doorman step back in surprise. Spamton looked between Skip and the doorman. He knew he felt something at Skip’s reaction, he just wasn’t sure what it was. Relief that they were leaving or that maybe Skip really did believe the doorman was confused? Resentment that Skip didn’t seem to be the least bit surprised by the accusation? When Skip grabbed onto Spamton’s arm again, practically pulling him along at his angry pace, Spamton settled on fear.

     “Fine,” the doorman called after them. Skip stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around. “But if I see you around here again, you won’t even be limping away, Spamton ” 

     The phone rang, and Spamton had to resist the childish instinct to pull the covers over his head to hide from it. He managed to pull himself to the edge of the bed and sit up enough to answer it by the third ring.

     “Hello!” Spamton said, as cheerfully as he could manage while speaking with a busted lip and broken nose. 

     The line was silent for long enough that Spamton started to wonder if maybe he had misheard and answered the wrong phone. He began to reach across the bedside table for his regular phone to check the caller ID when Mike finally spoke. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHAT HAPPENED?”

     “Oh, sorry, I had a pretty busy day,” Spamton said. “I’m still working on-” 

     “DON’T TRY TO LIE TO ME,” Mike said, his voice clearly unamused. 

     “Lying?” Spamton asked, his voice breaking with a fake laugh. “I’m not lying! I- I-” 

     “STOP STUTTERING,” Mike said, and Spamton almost flinched at the disappointment in his voice. “I THOUGHT WE WERE WELL PAST THAT.”

     “Sorry,” Spamton said. He wanted to argue, or at least explain that it wasn’t his fault completely. But, he couldn’t risk angering Mike again. He’d only started talking to Spamton again a couple of days ago, after almost a full month of silence. Spamton didn’t know how he could possibly survive that again. “I’m sorry.” 

     Mike sighed. “TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE DATA.” 

     “I haven’t gotten to it yet,” Spamton said, taking deep, deliberate breaths to avoid stuttering or misspeaking again. “I’m sorry.” 

     “AND WHY NOT?”

     “I- I had some other business,” Spamton said. “I’m sorry. I just- I’ve fallen on some hard times since, um, when we stopped talking. I just needed some money, but, um-” 

     Spamton was grateful when Mike finally cut him off, stopping the inelegant rush of words from his mouth. “ENOUGH.” 

     Mike didn’t say anything else for a while after that, and Spamton didn’t dare to speak a word, either. He braced himself for whatever Mike was going to say, knowing he deserved whatever was coming and a thousand times worse. So, when Mike’s voice didn’t come out as angry or disappointed, Spamton thought he might actually start crying in relief. “YOU’RE OKAY. JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.” 

     “I couldn’t pay rent, so I used one of those old tricks you taught me. I approached a couple businesses about needing to fill some spots in a made up directory, but, I guess one of them was on to me. Or something. They made a formal complaint to the Queen.” Spamton admitted. He left out the part where they were kind enough to teach him a lesson that ended up with him having to drag himself back to his room in the mansion with a broken nose and bruises that Spamton prayed were just bruises. He didn’t want Mike to think he was feeling sorry for himself again or, even worse, trying to get Mike to feel sorry for him. 

     Mike sighed again, but this time it sounded more sympathetic, like when they first started talking. Mike hadn’t realized how annoying Spamton was back then, and had been much more patient and understanding because of it. “OH, SPAMTON,” Mike began, and his voice was so nice, so kind. Any amount of broken bones would be worth the feeling he got when Spamton heard the fondness in Mike’s voice. For the first time in a long while, Spamton actually thought that everything had to have been worth it. Then Mike spoke again.

      The car door opened, snapping Spamton back to reality. “I told you you were freaking him out,” Frequency said over his shoulder, offering Spamton a hand as he spoke.

     Carefully, Spamton stood up, trying to look past Frequency as he did so to figure out where they were. All he could see, though, was a still very unhappy looking Skip glaring in his and Frequency’s direction.

     “Really? I’m the one upsetting him? Not the fascist-” Skip complained.

     “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but let it go , Skip. He was just confused like Spamton keeps saying. It’s someone else’s problem” Frequency said, closing the car’s door behind Spamton. Spamton looked around. He was surprised to see he recognized the place. It had been a couple years, but they were definitely standing in front of their old office building. It was a small building wedged between two bigger ones. It had been an odd spot for an office, but Spamton supposed it was much better suited for its current role as a cafe or whatever Frequency called it.

     “Confused? He knew-” Skip began but stopped himself after a quick glance at Spamton. “If Banner or even Snippet were here they would have-” 

     “WHY r W3 [HERE AND NOW]?” Spamton asked, nervously, trying to change the subject. 

     Skip, noticing him again, looked surprised. “We’re getting coffee!” 

     “I need to get some paperwork for Banner,” Frequency said, his hand awkwardly hovering behind Spamton as they made their way to the door. “Uh, are you alright? You kind of zoned out for a bit.” 

     “N3VER BE   B3TT  ,” Spamton said, as flatly as he could. “I D0N;T KNOW [THE WHOES WHO] TH4T GUY WAS 0R HE WANTED.”

     “Yeah,” Frequency said. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that.” 

      Spamton laughed nervously. Frequency carefully stepped in front of him and Skip to unlock the shop’s door. 

     “Glad I have my keys, at least,” Frequency laughed to himself. Spamton crossed his arms, defensively. Frequency just rolled his eyes at him as he opened the door. 

     “TH1S LOOKS!!!” Spamton began searching for words to describe the interior of the cafe. It was still obviously the same room it had always been. But the white paint had been covered with dark, deep grays, and all the furniture had changed from the modern- if mostly second-hand- stuff they had moved in with to an assortment of couches, stools, and tables. Even the lights’ shades had been replaced with darker ones that made the room look dim even in the middle of the day. “DIFF3RENT.” 

     “Yeah! Frequency really outdid himself,” Skip said, sounding a bit more cheerful now. Frequency didn’t say anything as he made his way around to the back of the counter and began to gather up a pile of receipts stuck by the register. “Can you make me a frap- uh, one of those frozen latte things, Freq? With chocolate and caramel, please!” 

     Frequency looked annoyed, but nodded. Carefully, Spamton made his way across the room, looking at everything as he went, happy to have a distraction from what had happened this morning. Plus, Spamton couldn’t help but be curious. As he made his way to the backroom, Frequency stopped what he was doing to stare at him. “What do you want, Spam?”

     Spam narrowed his eyes, but felt a bit guilty as, this close, he noticed the cuts still visible on Frequency’s forehead. “I’M JUST L00King,” Spamton said, quickly averting his gaze.

     “To drink. What do you want to drink, Spam?” Frequency asked, gripping onto the receipts a bit too tightly. 

     “Or eat!” Skip chimed in. He had already managed to flop down onto a couch and looked incredibly comfortable as he typed away furiously on his phone. Frequency looked at Skip, who shrugged. “It’s okay, Snip said not to rush, so we have plenty of time.” 

     “D0N’T W4NT [[Everything must go!]],” Spamton said. It was kind of true.

     Frequency didn’t say anything, he just turned to go into the back room. Spamton followed him before he could close the door in his face. 

     This room had changed much more. Some kitchen hardware had been installed, like a giant fridge and some counters. The room had always felt cramped, but now it was outright claustrophobic. Frequency didn’t seem to mind as he made his way to peer into the fridge.

     “You can wait with Skip, if you want,” Frequency said, but Spamton didn’t move. Instead, he made his way back to the wall farthest from the door, to get a better look at everything. The flooring had been replaced, but the walls were the same. Spamton laughed when he realized that even the broken phone jack near the corner of the far wall was still there. “Y0U N3V3R fixed ThIS???”

     Frequency paused from pumping some syrups into his blender to glance back to where Spamton was looking. For a second, Spamton was worried that he had accidentally set Frequency off again, but Frequency actually looked a bit sheepish when he realized what Spamton was talking about. “I never got around to it,” he said. “There was a second wall jack in the front room, so I just got a wireless one for it.” 

     Spamton nodded, still staring at it. He could practically still see the little black cord that had connected the phone to it, or the phone itself, always looking out of place on the desk next to the clean white copy paper and whatever other office supplies were lying around. The same little desk it had always been on was still there, flush against the wall, but now the desk was covered in bags, jars, and tins, all full of different tea leaves. Spamton reached for one of the drawers to investigate further, but Frequency interrupted him.

     “You can have anything in the fridge,” Frequency said as he did something with the espresso machine. Spamton internally debated whether or not to do so. He didn’t really want to end up owing Frequency anything, but, after eating this morning he was hungry again. While saving up the keygen, he’d stopped eating as much as possible. But, that was the annoying thing about hunger, Spamton had learned in his past couple years. If he stopped eating, he could kind of get used to it, eventually, but the moment he ate something again, the hunger was worse than it had been. 

     Besides, Spamton justified to himself as he slowly made his way to the fridge, it’s not like Frequency would sell anything left over from the last week, right? He was basically just saving Frequency from taking the trash out. When Spamton opened the fridge, though, he was disappointed to see it mostly was full of drink ingredients like syrups and milks. In one of the drawers there were a couple apples, some yogurt, and a prepackaged salad.

     “YOU D0N’T   LL [FOODSTUFFS]?” Spamton asked as he grabbed an apple. 

     “Not really,” Frequency said. “I wasn’t going to even sell drinks, but people kept coming in seeing the sign about the tea and expecting it, so. . .” Frequency trailed off with a shrug.

     “DO you L1K3 IT?” Spamton asked between a mouthful of fruit. 

     Frequency frowned at him. “Yeah, mostly. It gives me an excuse to get out of doing most of the boring stuff for the business. Plus, I don’t have to pretend to care about the importance of a ‘readable’ silhouette for clothes or whatever now that I don’t work with Snippet and Banner all day.”

     “Oh, a silhouette is just like the outline of something,” Skip said as he walked into the room, putting away his phone as he did so. 

     Frequency glared at Skip as he poured the espresso into the blender. “I know that,” he said, sharply. 

     Skip stared at Frequency’s coat before looking skeptically back up at Frequency’s face. 

     “Shut up,” Frequency snapped before Skip could say anything. 

     “Oh, you’re eating!” Skip said instead, turning to look at Spamton as he finished off the last of the apple’s core. “That’s great! Banner said he got- said the doctor told you to make sure you eat more, right?” 

     Frequency, returning the blender to its base, stared awkwardly at Spamton. “Sorry I don’t have anything more filling, then.” 

     Before Spamton could reply, the blender was on again, drowning out anything he might have said. Spamton opened the fridge and grabbed another apple from the drawer. Before he closed the door, though, he grabbed a can of whipped cream, mentally congratulating himself for such a good idea. Genuinely grinning, he shook the can and sprayed a giant dollop of whipped cream onto the apple before taking a giant bite out of it. He repeated the process again, before he realized the blender had stopped.

     “Uh,” Frequency said. Spamton looked up to see Frequency staring at him, looking more than a little unnerved. 

     “WH4T?!?” Spamton said, his mood falling. Frequency had said he could have anything. If he didn’t want him to take seconds he should have said so. 

     Frequency shook his head, taking the blender off its base again. Behind him, Skip looked up from his phone again. “See? I told you, you need to be selling pastries or something! Look at what a demand you have for sweets.” 

     Frequency banged the blender against the counter, pointedly ignoring Skip as he did so.

     “Or pancakes, at least,” Skip added, unbothered by the lack of attention. “Imagine how well that would go with your tea!” 

     “I don’t think I could fit anything else back here,” Frequency said. Spamton could guess from the look on Frequency’s face that this was far from the first time they’d had this conversation.

     “or BAGELLS!” Spamton added, too busy eating the whipped cream and apple to think better of it. Spamton couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a nice, fresh bagel. It’d been a while since he’d even found one in the trash, thanks to those three robots who kept stealing them before Spamton could find them. 

     “I’d need even more space to make fresh bagels, that, again, I don’t have ,” Frequency said, pouring the contents of the blender into two cups.

     Spamton finished the second apple. He’d suggested the same thing to Swatch once, too, for the Color Cafe. Swatch had explained, in depth, how long it took to make them, but had at least said they’d consider it. 

     “What about cookies? Or muffins? Cake? You’d just need an oven, right?” Skip asked, eagerly grabbing one of the cups as Frequency finished pouring. 

     “Really not looking to expand,” Frequency said as he tried to hand the second drink to Spamton. Seeing Spamton’s expression, Frequency tiredly added,  “I swear, Spam, if you just ate half a can of whipped cream but won’t even try my drink we are going to have a problem.” 

     Spamton gave in and took the drink, more out of hunger than any intimidation or worry, but Frequency seemed pleased all the same as he started cleaning up. Skip finished his drink in a couple swigs as Spamton took a sip of his own.

     “So,” Skip said, tossing his cup into a trash can that clearly didn’t have a bag in it yet. “Do you want to go home and… look for your keys?” 

     It took Spamton a second to realize Skip was talking to him. “No,” Spamton said. “I’LL GO oN [[my style?]] OWN.”

     “Snippet would literally murder us,” Frequency said, glaring at an oblivious Skip as he did so. 

     Skip laughed awkwardly, gesturing toward his phone to Frequency. “Banner, too, with how he’s been acting.”

     Frequency looked confused, but turned back to Spamton. “Besides, aren’t you, uh, worried that someone would know to look for you at your home?”

     “What?” Skip asked. Spamton looked up, also curious about what Frequency meant. When he looked back down at the latte, he was surprised to realize he had almost finished the entire thing. As much as it pained him to admit, Frequency had made a good drink. 

     “Nothing. Nothing!” Frequency said, giving Spamton a look that would probably seem knowing if Spamton actually had any idea of what Frequency was talking about. “Whatever. Just come home then we can talk there.” 

     Spamton shook his head, but he knew he wouldn’t win the argument. Besides, he was too nervous to go back to the same apartments he had told Skip he lived in, and he couldn’t think of a good excuse for why he’d lied. 

     “FIN4,” Spamton said. “I     TO SAY [bye] TO SNIPP3T THEN I’LL [[It’s a homerun!]].” Spamton waited, expecting one of the others to get angry at the reminder of what happened that morning. Or, even worse, for one of them to say how pointless it would be. Instead, Skip just looked happy he’d agreed, and Frequency actually looked guilty, though Spamton couldn’t guess why. 

     Frequency slammed the car door when he was out, instantly regretting the decision when it just made his headache all the worse. Skip, getting out of the driver's side, winced sympathetically as Frequency rubbed at his aching forehead. 

     Frequency looked around the driveway, trying to brace himself for whatever came next. There were no extra cars in the driveway or on the street, but Tasque Manager could have easily walked. He glanced at Spamton, who hadn’t gotten out of the car yet. Frequency really, really wished he had been able to talk to him about anything, and briefly considered just doing it now. But Skip was already coming over to the passenger’s side of the car after getting out of the driver’s sleep, and Frequency lost his nerve. 

     Skip looked at Frequency curiously. “You know,” Skip said, sounding uncharacteristically awkward. “You’ve, uh, handled this all very well.” 

     Frequency laughed nervously. “I’ve had a lot worse than this,” Frequency said, gesturing toward his forehead. 

     Skip paused as he was beginning to open the car door for Spamton, who looked as if he was considering making a run for it from the other door. 

     “Not that,” Skip whispered, opening the car door. Spamton tried to shove Skip’s hand away as he tried to stand up, but Skip had to grab onto Spamton anyway to keep him from falling. While Spamton was trying to regain his balance, Skip mouthed, “the texts.” 

     Frequency felt his blood go cold. “You mean what Snippet said about  the tasque’s owner?” He asked, too nervous to remember to keep quiet. Spamton looked at him, confused.

     Skip sighed in annoyance, shaking his head. “Let’s just get inside-” he began, speaking aloud this time.

     “What texts, then?” Frequency asked, unable to keep the anxiety from dripping into his voice. “I can explain whatever she said, just-” 

     “WH4TS [[wrong]]?” Spamton asked. Behind him, Skip shook his head again.

     “No, seriously, whatever it is, I can explain,” Frequency said, moving to block Skip from walking up to the front door.

     “The jacket!” Skip angrily whispered. Frequency didn’t understand, but Spamton apparently did. He pitched forward, trying to shove Skip’s hand off of him in the process. 

     “You didn’t tell me about any texts about a jacket!” Frequency said, trying to grab Spamton before he managed to topple both Skip and himself. 

     “ST0P ST0P ST0P,” Spamton yelled. Frequency looked around nervously to see if any of their neighbors had noticed the quickly escalating scene. 

     “I thought you saw Snippet’s texts! Or Banner’s! Or mine for that matter!” Skip said, his voice practically a yell now. When Spamton tried to kick him, Skip added a pleading, “Stop! I’m just trying to help!”

     “I DON’T NEED YOUR [please help please please help],” Spamton yelled, his voice beginning to become staticky when, giving up, Skip just picked him up.

     Frequency again glanced around. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people watching, he thought miserably as his eyes were drawn to every window and car on the street. “I don’t have my phone,” he hissed.

     Skip looked at him, surprise written all over his face. “Oh,” he said, the surprise quickly turning to sadness. “So you don’t know about the cloth-” 

     The front door opened, cutting Skip off. 

     “Wh- what are you guys doing?” Snippet asked. Spamton, still struggling to get out of Skip’s hold, looked back to see him standing in the doorway, his hand still gripping the door for dear life. Spamton stilled when he saw how upset Snippet was. Despite Skip saying he’d calmed down, Snippet looked even more distraught than he had this morning.

     Skip laughed nervously, but Frequency was the one who spoke up first. “Just heading in,” he said, making quick strides past Skip and Spamton and toward the door. “You okay? I thought Banner would have been able to calm you down.” 

     Snippet stared at Frequency, hurt written all over his face. “What?” He asked, his voice wavering.

     “Uh, so, turns out Freq left his phone here this morning!” Skip said, moving toward the door himself, still awkwardly carrying Spamton, who was too distracted trying to figure out what was going on to argue. “I didn’t know, or, uh, I would have told him more.”

     “TOLD   WH4T?” Spamton asked, before Frequency could. Spamton instantly regretted it when Snippet turned to look at him, giving Spamton a full view of his sadness. Spamton began to struggle again, feeling a terrible mix of sadness and worry. Snippet had always been overemotional, sure, but Spamton had seen him better composed at funerals. Was this really just over the fabric he had taken? 

     When Skip was through the door, he set Spamton down carefully. Spamton wobbled on his feet, giving Snippet enough time to close the door before Spamton could make another run for it. Spamton looked between his three brothers, uneasily. Frequency seemed to be just as confused as Spamton, but even with him there was an edge to it that made Spamton feel like he’d just been trapped. 

     “I W4NT [[two is better than one]] LEavE,” Spamton said, as assertively as he could. “N0W!!!” 

     Skip gave him another look that made Spamton feel unbelievably small. “I know,” he said. “But, we’re already here, let’s just talk with Banner and Snippet, first.” 

     With that, Skip turned to walk into the living room, but Snippet grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait. I wanted to warn you guys,” Snippet whispered, pausing mid sentence to think of what to say. “Uh, Banner is really upset.” 

     Frequency snorted. “Coming from-” 

     “No, like really, really, actually upset,” Snippet said. “I didn’t- don’t know what to do.”

     Skip looked between Spamton and Snippet with a shrug. “Come on, it’ll be fine!” 

     Frequency, looking pretty nervous himself, swallowed loudly. “Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with.

Chapter Text

     Spamton found himself being led into the living room all the same. It was different seeing it now, in the middle of the day, then it had been last night or in the morning. In the corner of the room, there was a pile of bags, all of which cheerfully thanked the reader for shopping at CSV Pharmacy.

     “Hey, Banner, what’s up?” Skip said, casual as ever. Spamton turned to see where Skip was looking. Banner stood in the kitchen doorway, still staring at his phone like when they had left. 

     Banner nodded in acknowledgment, walking across the room and taking a seat by the couch. Looking a bit relieved, Skip followed suit, pulling along a reluctant Spamton, too. Snippet joined the two of them on the couch, leaving only Frequency standing, nervously, still by the door. 

     “So, uh, what did I miss?” Frequency asked, his eyes darting between his brothers and the coffee table, where Spamton could see Frequency’s cell phone, still plugged into its charger. More concerning, though, was Spamton’s jacket lying next to it, unfolded and with Spamton’s less than stellar handiwork with the colored shapes sewn on front and center. 

     Banner looked over at Frequency, face still weirdly blank. “Why don’t you just sit down and we can all talk about this?” 

     “Look, whatever happened-” Frequency began, but Banner shook his head before cutting him off.

     “Frequency, sit down and be quiet or just leave,” Banner said. Spamton was surprised, but Frequency looked almost relieved to be told to shut up. Silently, he made his way to the last open seat and sat on the edge of it, reaching across to grab his phone. 

     The five of them all sat in silence for what felt like eternity. When he couldn’t look at any of the others anymore, Spamton found himself watching Frequency, who stared intently at his phone, until Snippet finally broke the silence.

     “Spamton,” he said, and Spamton knew from the way his voice broke not to even try and look him in the eyes as he spoke. “Your doctor had some concerns about your health. And how it’s deteri- changed in the past couple of years.”

      Spamton wanted to groan. He knew that his health wasn’t really what this was going to be about, but if no one else wanted to broach the real issue he wasn’t going to be the one to. “I D0N’T KNOW WH4T YOU;re TALK AROUND TOWN!]ING  ABOUT.” 

     Frequency laughed, looking up from the phone. “You can’t be serious. You’re injured, can’t speak anymore, and, oh yeah, you’ve shrunken.” 

     “THAT’S TH4T’S UNIMPOR    ,” Spamton said, glaring as best he could. 

     Frequency, at least, looked unnerved from the glare. “Oh, and, you can’t stop fucking smiling. That’s not good, Spam, regardless of what Ban-” 

     “Shut up, Frequency. You’re not helping anyone by acting like an-” Skip said, turning away from Spamton to face Frequency.

     “Don’t fight!” Snippet said to them both. “Spamton, we’re just worried, we just-” 

     “If you don’t want to tell us what happened with the acid, that’s fine,” Banner said, not even seeming to notice that he was interrupting Snippet as he spoke. Spamton looked up to see Banner’s eyes boring into him. “But that’s not what Raid was talking about.” 

     “I SA1D   fine,” Spamton said, resisting the urge to squirm as he felt four pairs of eyes staring at him. “I’M FIN3 I’M FIRE I’M F1RE”

     “Obviously you’re not!” Banner said, with enough force to make Spamton jump. “Raid said that you’re malnourished- starving - and look as if you haven’t had any medical treatment in years!” 

     “SH3’S LyiNG,” Spamton blurts out before he can think better of it, his temper flaring faster than he could control it. “YOU’RE [[Lie Before You Buy]]!!.”

     Skip tried to rest a hand on Spamton’s shoulder, but Spamton just shoved it off. “It’s okay,” he said, hand still hovering awkwardly near Spamton. Spamton wanted to kick him again. Had he known the entire time they were gone? Had Skip just been humoring him? “We just want to help.” 

     “What?” Frequency asked, putting down the phone. “Are you kidding me? You’re homeless ?” 

     “NO!!!! ” Spamton said. “I T0LD YOU I live-” 

     “Wait! So that guard or whatever that threatened you was serious?” Frequency asked, his eyes wide and angry. “And you knew Spam might have actually been there, Skip? And you just let him threaten Spam?” 

     “Let him what? What did you want me to do? Get arrested and leave Spam with you?” Skip shot back. 

     “Someone threatened you?” Snippet asked. Spamton didn’t have to look up to know that he was beginning to cry again. 

     “NO!!?” Spamton said again, but Frequency and Skip were already too much into their argument to pay any attention to him. “I T0LD YOU HE W4SN’T TAL     ABOUT [me, myself, and I]. I T0LD YOU.”  

     “Spam, shut up-” Frequency almost yelled. 

     “Don’t talk to him like that!” Skip yelled back. “Why can’t you even just pretend to care about him or any-?” 

     “Don’t say that!” Snippet cried. 

     Spamton shook his head, trying to block out all the voices around him. “I’M I’M [[Number 1 Rated Salesman1997]] NOT H0MEL0SS OR ST4RV    OR!!!,” Spamton said, staring at Banner as he spoke. 

     Without saying anything, Banner pulled out his cellphone and held it out for Spamton to take. Nervously, Spamton stared at it, unsure of what Banner wanted.

     “Okay,” Banner said, speaking over his yelling brothers. “Then prove it.” 

     “I TRI3D TO-” Spamton began, looking at Skip and Frequency for backup. They were too distracted to notice. 

     “Just call your landlord, then. Or the building’s office. A neighbor. Anything.” Banner’s voice was still even, but Spamton couldn’t help but flinch back all the same, refusing to take the phone. 

     “I D0N;t KNOW ANY ON THE [[SPINNING TOPS]] of my HEAD,” Spamton said, defensively, still staring at the phone nervously. “WHO KN0WS-” 

     “Fine. Give me the name of the building or complex and I’ll look the number up myself. You can tell them you’re locked out.” Banner said. 

     “I- I D0N’T WNAT TO,” Spamton said. Banner finally pulled the phone away, and even in his rising panic, Spamton felt better when it was gone. “I DON’T H4VE TO T3LL YOU ANY.” 

     “Just admit-” Banner began, sounding genuinely angry, before cutting himself off with a sigh. “Fine, fine. You’re right, you don’t have to tell us where you live if you don’t want us to know. Then why not call someone to pick you up and take you home?”   

     Spamton swallowed. His hands were balled into fists so tightly that he could feel the joints on his hands strain. 

     “You’re kidding. You can’t even do that, can you?” Banner said, the same near hysteric edge that had been threatening to come out all day. Without warning, Banner was standing. Skip, Frequency, and Snippet all quieted as he did so, curiosity and concern on their faces. 

     “I DON’T [[please stop please please I want to stop]] TO,” Spamton spit out. “WHY D0ES IT M4TTeR?” 

     “What is wrong with you?” Banner asked. “It matters because you- you’d rather live on the streets than just come home!”  

     “WH4T?!!!?” Spamton asked. 

     “Banner, calm down,” Snippet said gently, getting up, too. “This isn’t helpful.”  

     “Fuck off,” Banner snapped in Snippet’s direction. He turned back to Spamton. “I didn’t believe Raid when she told me. But then- then I get home and Snippet’s in fucking tears-” 

     “Yeah, you obviously really care about Snippet’s feelings here,” Frequency muttered, crossing his arms. 

     Banner glared at Frequency. “Because he just looked at your jacket and realized that you had sewn the fucking cloth we’d thrown away a week ago onto it.” 

     “IT was IN     DUMSPT3R!” Spamton argued. “I DID N’T ST3AL IT.”

     “Oh, oh no,” Frequency said, his voice surprisingly sad for how angry he’d been. “You were the maus? Does that mean Snippet’s cheese-” 

     “NO!!! NO!!!! NO!!,” Spamton said, desperately, but it was too late. Realization seemed to hit Snippet like a brick to the face, and he stumbled back, placing a hand over his mouth as he uttered something between a whimper and a laugh. 

     “I didn’t- I forgot about that,” Snippet cried. 

     Skip was standing now, too, trying to steady Snippet who was staring at Spamton in horror now. 

     “I DON’T KNOW [WHAT] YOU’RE T4LKIG AB0UT,” Spamton tried again. 

     “Of course you don’t,” Banner mocked. Spamton turned to look at him nervously. “You- You were what? A couple of feet from our office? And you couldn’t just come in and ask for help? Just say hi? You really hate us that much?”

     “Y0U’RE TH3 ONE WHO [[abandoned]] ME!!” Spamton tried to yell.

     “Banner, seriously, man, you need to calm down,” Skip said, turning from Snippet to Banner.   

     “What was your plan even? You obviously can’t get a job like this,” Banner said, getting closer to Spamton as he gestured at all of Spamton. “Were you just going to let yourself die to prove a point?” 

     “WhAT???? NO!!” Spamton said. “I H4D A GREATEST PLAN UNT1L YOU DEST ROYED MY KEYG3N!” 

     “That- That was a keygen?” Frequency asked. “That- Spam, those aren’t legal! Like at all! Where’d you even get one?” 

     “I- I-” Spamton began, furious at himself for saying that. Banner looked even angrier now.

     “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Skip said, frowning as he placed a hand on Banner’s shoulder. Banner swatted it away without turning away from Spamton. Spamton took his eyes off Banner for a moment to glance at Snippet, who had sat back down and held his head in his hands as he sobbed.

     “I can’t believe you!” Banner said, now so close to Spamton that his legs were pressed against the couch. “I- I don’t even know what to say! How could you possibly be so dumb to use something like that?” 

     “ST0P IT ST0P IT St0P IT IT STOP” Spamton yelled back. “You HAVE NO ID3A WHAT    TALKING ABOUT! IT W0ULDN’T HAVE MATT3RED-” 

     “Spamton, stop, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Skip said. 

     “No, come on. Tell us why you breaking the law wouldn’t matter, Spam,” Banner said. 

     “WHEN I              , IT WOULDN’T HAVE M4TTERED!! THE [[Barrier to the sky!]] WOULD HAVE B3EN [[broken]].” Spamton yelled.

     “The what?” Snippet asked, voice still weak.

     Spamton nodded eagerly. “YES YES YES!! I WILL BE BIG THEN TO BR34K IT! THEN [NOTHING BEATS THIS] WILL M4TTER! BECAUSE HEAVEN!” 

     To Spamton’s surprise, Snippet only looked more upset. 

     “Heaven? What? Do you mean you’d have been dead?” Frequency asked, looking at Spamton as if he were crazy.

     Spamton looked around at his brothers, unsure of what they weren’t getting. “NO??!! NO DOn’T BE [DUMB]!! AliVE NOT B3 TR4PPED UNDERGRO UND!” 

     “Spam, you’re not making any sense. You’re not underground,” Snippet said, pointing toward the window out the back.

     Spamton shook his head again. “WH4T ARE Y0U [[say it’s not so]]? I’D BE FR3E ABOVE THE D4RK!” 

     “Free from what?” Banner scoffed. “It hardly seems-”

     “Banner, enough! He’s obviously not mentally well,” Skip said, grabbing Banner by the arm and trying to pull him back from Spamton. Banner didn’t even seem to notice. 

     “He was obviously well enough to know where our new office is! And well enough to hide from us for four whole years!” Banner said, fully yelling now. He was towering over Spamton, who had pushed himself as far back into the seat as he could.“Not to mention, well enough to make up some dumb plan!” 

     “That doesn’t actually sound like a sane thing to do,” Skip said as he again tried to pull Banner away from Spamton. “Banner, you’re not helping! You’re scaring-” 

     “Get off me!” Banner said, turning to shove Skip back as he said it. Spamton watched as Skip stumbled back, nearly crashing into a panicked Snippet as he did so. 

     “HEY! D0N’T-” Spamton began, but he stopped when Banner turned back to look at him, something in his eyes making Spamton pause. Suddenly, Spamton wasn’t in his old family living room anymore, looking up at his oldest brother. He was craning his head back, looking up and up and up, surrounded by the dark as it closed in around him and

     “Get away from him!” Skip yelled at Banner, but his voice was barely audible over Spamton’s hysterical pleas. Banner didn’t move an inch, but this time he put up zero resistance when Skip pulled him back, away from Spamton. Still holding onto Banner, Skip watched as Snippet darted forward to be next to Spamton. “Guys, give him space!” 

     “It’s okay, it’s okay!” Snippet cried.  “Spam, please calm down!” 

     “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Spamton cried, oblivious to Snippet or anyone else around him. When Snippet tried to gently force Spamton’s hands, which were clasped together above him, Spamton finally acknowledged him, but it was only to direct his begging, which was only getting less coherent as he went, toward Snippet. Snippet stepped back, looking as terrified as if Spamton had attacked him. The thought jolted Frequency back to action as he quickly scanned the area for anything Spamton might use as a makeshift weapon again. At the very least, Frequency thought, they could consider themselves lucky he hadn’t used any magic yet. 

     Frequency glanced back to see Skip let go of Banner and make his way back over to the couch, putting himself between Spamton and Snippet as he did so. Banner didn’t move, but Frequency wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. 

     “Okay, okay!” Frequency said, ignoring Skip’s sudden glare as he spoke. Frequency got up, going to stand with Banner on the side of the room away from Spamton. “We’re giving him space. What now?” 

     Skip swallowed, and Frequency got a sinking feeling that Skip didn’t actually know what to do either. “Let’s give him a second-” 

     “Spam, stop!” Banner said, so suddenly that both Frequency and Skip jumped in surprise. “Stop- Just stop. Please. I didn’t mean- I didn’t know this would happen!”

     “Banner, this isn’t the time!” Skip all but hissed, turning his attention back to Spamton, but Banner continued talking.

     “You- I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Banner said, again, and Frequency stepped in front of him to stop him from going right back to where he had been standing. “You know that, right?” 

     Frequency turned around to see Spamton was back to ignoring all of them in favor of staring at the ceiling. Even with his glasses on, Frequency could see Spamton’s eyes dart rapidly around, searching for something that wasn’t there. 

     “Spamton, what are you looking at?” Skip asked, pulling both Frequency and Spamton’s attention to him. Frequency was going to argue with his approach, but he quickly shut his mouth when Spamton started talking again.

     “Skip?” Spamton asked, his voice sounding even worse than usual. 

     “Yep!” Skip said. He sounded cheerful, but Frequency noticed he was still keeping his distance. 

     “S-” Banner began, but Snippet quickly cut him off, whispering something to him that Frequency couldn’t hear. 

     “WH4T ARE YOU DO1NG HEAR?” Spamton asked, having moved from looking up to looking down, all over his body.

     “Uhhh,” Skip began, looking between Spamton and his other brothers. “You know. Just whatever.” 

     Frequency rolled his eyes, but Skip was too focused on Spamton to notice. Behind him, Snippet pulled Banner out of the room, whispering to him as they left. 

     “YOU SH0ULDN’T [B3] HERE,” Spamton said, still not looking up at Skip or Frequency. Frequency considered following Banner and Snippet but was too worried that any more movement would break whatever calm trance had fallen over his youngest brother. 

     “Oh,” Skip said. “I can leave, then.” 

      “NO!” Spamton said, finally looking up. “PLEASE DON’T He;LL,” He said, but realization seemed to hit him halfway through the sentence. “WH3RE’D M1KE G0?” 

     “I don’t know,” Skip said, with a shrug. “Do you, uh, want help finding him?” 

     Spamton looked so upset for a second that Frequency couldn’t help but brace, waiting for the yelling to start or for Spamton to throw something again. But Spamton managed to keep himself from getting that extreme, though his voice still crackled with static as he spoke. “TH4T’S A [[bad]] IDEA. HE D0ESN’T L1KE YOU.”

     Skip laughed. “What? Are you sure? Everyone likes me!”

     Frequency cringed, but, to his surprise, Spamton laughed. “YEAH! THEN FREQ WOULD SAY SOMETHING ABOUT HOW HE DOUBTS THAT.” 

     “ What ?” Frequency asked. Spamton looked over at him, seemingly surprised to see him. Behind him, Frequency heard the garage door open again, but he was too confused to look away from Spamton to see who it was.

     “Why would he say something like that?” Skip asked, sounding just as lost as Frequency. “How’d he know?”

     Spamton looked nervously between the two, the panic from before replaced with obvious confusion. “W0ULDN’T HE??? TH3N SNIPPET WOULD GET M4D nd [[telltale]] HIM T0 BE nice.” 

     “What did Frequency do now?” Snippet asked, coming up from behind Frequency. Frequency glanced back to see that Banner hadn’t returned with him.

     Spamton nodded. “Y3AH, L1KE THAT!!” 

     “Uh, okay!” Skip said, before mouthing ‘just go with it’ to his brothers. “What would happen next?” 

     Spamton, in an almost complete reversal from how he’d been acting mere minutes before, looked thoughtful as he considered what to say. “W3’R3 ALL AT HOME?. S0, SK1P WO4LD BE AV0IDING DOING ANY W0RK IN THE [[LUXURY STUD1O]],” Spamton said. “SO, TH3N BAN nER-”

     “Hey, hey! Forget Banner!” Skip said, when the previous hysteria seemed to be coming back to Spamton. 

     Quickly, Frequency agreed. “Yeah! Forget him! Heaven knows I try to.” 

     “Hey!” Snippet said, quietly, looking over his shoulder at the closed door to the garage. 

     Spamton glared at Frequency. Or Frequency thought he did. With Spamton’s permanent smile and glasses, it was hard to tell. “Y0U’RE N0T doING [[THIS]] RIGHT,” Spamton complained. 

     “What?” Frequency asked, looking at Skip and Snippet for help. “What am I doing wrong?” 

     “YOU’re N0T ACTING LIK3 HIM,” Spamton accused, crossing his arms. Frequency, despite his still racing heart, had to try not to laugh at the petulant display. 

     “Like whom?” Frequency asked, managing to pull off the saint-like feat of ignoring Skip’s rolling eyes. 

     “FR3QUeNCY!! You’rE NOT ACTING LIKE FR3qUENCY!!!” Spamton snapped. “YOU’RE B3ING TWO NICE AND”

     “Spam, I am Frequency!” Frequency said before he could fully consider if that was a good idea. “What do you think is going on?”

     Spamton shook his head. “NO   AT 1S WRONG.!. BANN3R WAS YELL1NG [BUT] I WAS- I WAS JUST [with] MIK3 BUT THEN SK1P WAS HERE AND H3RE W4S HERE.”

     Frequency started to tell Spamton that he was wrong, but Skip was talking first. “That sounds really confusing and upsetting to go through, Spamton,” he said. “Frequency isn’t trying to be difficult. We all are here to help..” 

     Spamton laughed again. “WHY W0ULD YOU B3 IN… BE IN A,” he said, before pausing as he looked around the room again. “IN MY- IN…”

     “We’re home, Spam,” Snippet said, so gently that Frequency wasn’t sure if Spamton could actually have heard it. But, Spamton stared at him in disbelief all the same.

     Spamton shook his head again but didn’t speak when he turned his head to see the pile of bags from the pharmacy. Spamton seemed to freeze, first staring at them and then down at his leg. Carefully, Skip got closer to Spamton as the silence dragged on.

     “NO NO NO!!!!” Spamton said, but the anger and energy from before were gone. “THIS ALL. THIS ALL WAS JUST S0ME [[bad deal!]] NIGHTM4RE. OR AN0THER DUMB D4YDREAM.” 

     Skip shook his head, kneeling down to be closer to Spamton’s level while still giving him space. “It’s not, but that’s okay!”

     “NO IT’S NOT!! YOU- N0NE OF YOU W3RE [[supposed]] TO KNOW ABOUT THIS. ANY OF THIS,” Spamton said, and Frequency felt panicked himself when he realized Spamton was actually crying now, tears slipping down from underneath his glasses over his smile and off his chin. “I D0N;t W4NT THIS TO BE R4AL!! THIS C4N’T BE REAL!!” 

     “I’m sorry,” Skip said. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. But we’re happy you’re here at least.” Skip paused to slowly reach over and, after no signs of resistance from Spamton, carefully hugged his youngest brother. “I really missed you.”

Chapter Text

     “So, what now?” Frequency asked, holding back a yawn as he watched Snippet carefully take the glasses off of a sleeping Spamton. Snippet had just gotten back from checking on Banner, and if the fresh tears in his eyes were anything to go by, that hadn’t gone well. 

     Skip shrugged, careful not to move Spamton, who was curled partially next and partially on top of him. Snippet examined the glasses before setting them down on top of Spamton’s jacket. “Banner picked up some of the stuff the doctor told him to,” Snippet whispered, gesturing toward the forgotten pile of bags in the corner. “I’m going to put that away and make a list of what else he might need.” 

     “I’ll help,” Frequency said, standing as he spoke. Snippet still looked miserable, but he nodded as they both went to grab the bags and begin unpacking them. “Uh, sorry about earlier, by the way.” 

     Snippet looked confused. “Oh! No problem. Or, thanks, I mean. Honestly, I had forgotten we had fought. That feels like ages ago.” 

     “Yeah,” Frequency agreed. The two fell into an awkward silence as they went through the bags. After a while, Skip managed to untangle himself from Spamton enough to reach for the remote and flip the television on, breaking the silence with the sounds of ads and some low-budget sci-fi movie. 

     “I hope Runtime’s doing alright,” Snippet blurted out as he and Frequency were putting some nutritional drinks into the fridge.

     It took Frequency a second to remember who that was. “I bet she is,” Frequency said, doing his best to hide the dread that he’d somehow managed to forget about amid the shock and anger. “What exactly happened with her, anyway?”

     Snippet looked surprised. “I forgot to tell you!”

     Frequency couldn’t help but smile when he saw how happy Snippet looked for a second, even as Frequency felt panicked.  

     “Runtime’s Tasque Manager’s pet!” Snippet said. “You know, the maid? She works for the Queen, and came here herself to pick Runtime up!”

     “That’s great,” Frequency lied, placing bottles of medication into a cabinet so Snippet couldn’t see his face. He thought over his next words before speaking. “Was she nice?” 

     “She was so happy to see Runtime again, it was so sweet. And, she really liked the bowtie I made him, too! She even showed me some pictures of her other tasques so I could think of some accessories to make for them, too!”

     Despite himself, Frequency laughed. “What? Aren’t they dangerous? They’re used to guard the mansion!”

     Snippet scowled at him, but it was the familiar, joking one Frequency was used to. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like nice things.” 

     Frequency had seen the picture of Runtime in her new bow after he got his phone back and, from the look on the tasque’s face, Frequency had a very good idea of how much she didn’t like ‘nice things,’ even if he wasn’t about to tell Snippet that. 

     “Did she-” Frequency began, but he was unsure of how to ask the question he wanted to ask.

     “She mentioned you, actually,” Snippet said, and any levity was gone from his face. “You saw her and Swatch on your way home from work last night, right?”

     “Yeah,” Frequency admitted. 

     “Why didn’t you tell us?” Snippet asked.

     “With everything else that happened, I guess I forgot,” Frequency said, forcing his voice to be as casual as it could be. “It wasn’t a big deal, really. I mean, it was cool, I guess. Swatch used to even be a customer of Banner and yours, right? So I wasn’t exactly starstruck or whatever.”

     Snippet was frowning. “Did seeing them have anything to do with Spamton?”

     Frequency shook his head, almost dashing out of the kitchen to get more things to put away to avoid having to actually look at Snippet. 

     “Frequency!” Snippet whispered harshly, following behind him. From the couch, Skip looked up. “Just tell us what happened!”

     Frequency swallowed. He wasn’t sure how much Snippet knew and just wasn’t telling him to catch him in a lie, or how much Tasque Manager might have figured out while here. He was sad, angry, and most of all exhausted , and, for an absurd second, all he wanted to do was tell his two brothers everything. To make his problem all of theirs.  

     “I don’t know for sure what happened,” Frequency tried.

     “Then just tell us what you do,” Snippet said.

     When Frequency didn’t answer, Skip cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

     “Frequency met Swatch and Tasque Manager last night when he found Spamton,” Snippet answered. 

     “Not when! I ran into them, then I found Spamton,” Frequency said, crossing his arms even as he heard how weak of a correction that was. 

     “So you knew they were looking for Spamton, then,” Snippet said.

     “Yeah, I did,” Frequency admitted. “But it didn’t seem like a big deal, and I wasn’t going to walk all the way back to tell them, so…” 

     “Why were they looking for him?” Skip asked, his eyes wide, though Frequency couldn’t help but think he looked more curious than nervous. “The keygen?”

     “No,” Frequency said, forcing a laugh. “Just something dumb. He apparently tried to trick some Swatchlings or something into thinking he was Swatch?” 

     “What?” Skip asked. “Why?” 

     Frequency laughed with a noncommittal shrug. “Ask him when he’s awake.” 

     Snippet still looked suspicious. “She asked me if I’d seen him.” 

     Frequency’s heart sank to the floor. “And what did she say when you said you’d-” 

     “I said I hadn’t,” Snippet said. Seeing the guilt on Snippet’s face, Frequency thought that he might actually kill Spamton. Or maim him, at least. Snippet couldn’t even jaywalk, and here he was getting himself involved in all whatever this was because of him. 

     Skip looked stunned. “Why’d you do that, Snippet?” 

     Snippet looked desperately at Frequency. “I don’t know! I just panicked. And I figured if you had a good reason to have lied then-” 

     “I didn’t,” Frequency said, wincing at the confused, hurt look Snippet gave him. “Lie, I mean. Technically, I just didn’t go back and tell them.” Before either of his brothers could speak, Frequency continued, keeping his voice low as he kept an eye on the still sleeping Spamton. “But, I think that was the right thing to do.”

     “I don’t know,” Snippet said, staring at the ground. Skip looked curious enough to listen, though.

     “I just- I don’t know. I was worried about what they’d do to him,” Frequency whispered, forcing the words out even as his brain screamed at him not to embarrass himself like this. “I just got worried that those rumors, uh, all of the ones about how he ended up like this, might have had some truth to them when they came to who hurt him.” 

     To Frequency’s relief, Skip nodded. “I hope not, but better safe than sorry, right?” 

     Snippet looked absolutely panicked, though. “That’s terrible,” he whispered. “I mean- I’m glad you did, but, God, I don’t even want to think about that. Tasque Manager seemed so nice, and Swatch and their subordinates are always so polite. Do you really think anyone could really do something like that?” 

     “If not, what’s the alternative? Do you think he just fell into the acid?” Skip asked, his voice almost inaudible as he stared nervously at Spamton. 

     “I don’t know!” Snippet said. “But if it is true, then do you think he’s in danger now? What if Tasque Manager saw something here?”

     “What could she do if she did? She’d have to have him arrested, right? We’ve advertised enough lawyers to have ample numbers to call if that happens,” Skip soothed. Frequency knew he was talking to Snippet, but felt himself calming down, too, even if he was still annoyed at Skip. “Besides, there’s no point worrying over something that might not have happened. After Spam’s feeling better we can just ask him ourselves, okay?” 

     Snipped nodded, though he still looked completely unnerved by the whole thing. “Okay,” he said, wavering for a second before going back to finish putting the supplies away. Frequency stayed by the couch though, staring at Spamton and Skip.

     Skip watched him, waiting, before exasperatedly turning his attention back to the television. 

     “I don’t think Spam was lying when he said he’d hurt himself falling out of a window,” Frequency whispered, finally. “I- The butlers and tasques from the Queen’s mansion were looking for him, so I guess he ran away from them when caught. Maybe he hurt himself escaping after getting in with his disguise?”

     Skip snorted. “Do you really think his disguise worked though? Besides, if not for getting in, what would the keygen have been for?” 

     Frequency shook his head. “I don’t know. They both threatened him, though.”

     Skip finally looked a bit perturbed by this. “They what? Swatch and Tasque Manager?” 

     “Yeah,” Frequency said. “I don’t know how serious they were, but- I don’t know.” 

     “It’s okay,” Skip said, a bit too quickly. “We’ll figure this out, alright?” 

     Frequency wanted to argue, but he just shook his head. “Anyway, I just wanted to say- uh, I’m sorry for not telling all of you about everything sooner. I swear, I didn’t know about anything else. I thought he’d just go home in the morning and I could warn him-” 

     “Frequency, stop,” Skip sighed, and only then did Frequency realize his voice had been getting louder and louder as he spoke. “It’s okay. Everything’s worked out fine, right?” 

     Frequency nodded, though he wasn’t sure if it had. 

     “Why don’t you go get some sleep yourself? We’re fine down here,” Skip said.

     Frequency nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or something else, but for once being told what to do didn’t bother him. 

     Spamton hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he was suddenly woken up by a ringing doorbell. Groggily, he looked around. He was on the couch, covered in blankets again. As he remembered why he was here and the fear, regret, and embarrassment of earlier came rushing back, Spamton buried his head under the blankets, willing himself to fall asleep again. 

     “Pizza’s here!” Skip called from somewhere behind the couch. Spamton peeked out from below the blankets in time to see Skip rushing toward the front hallway. Spamton sat up as voices drifted in from the front door, the only part of which Spamton understood was, “No, no, come in!” 

     “Sorry, did he wake you up?” Snippet asked, causing Spamton to jump. Snippet was sitting across the room, folding some sheets, but he stopped when Spamton shook his head. “You slept for a couple of hours, at least! It’s probably good you’re awake, so you can eat something and take your medicine.” 

     Spamton just wanted to go back to sleep and pretend none of this had ever happened, but Snippet was already headed toward the kitchen. 

     Spamton looked around again, double-checking this time that he was actually alone. He wasn’t surprised about Frequency. After Banner had left and Skip had calmed Spamton down, Frequency had looked like he could have fallen asleep on the spot. Banner, Spamton thought bitterly, wasn’t much of a surprise either, but that didn’t stop it from hurting any less. 

     Quickly Spamton tried to compose himself as footsteps approached from the front hallway accompanied by Skip’s and a stranger’s unintelligible voices. Spamton snatched his glasses off of the coffee table and did his best to smooth back his hair. His whole being ached to just run and hide- he was in absolutely no way ready to meet a stranger, mentally or even physically- but his logical mind told him to just shut up and deal with it. He couldn’t annoy Snippet or Skip right now. 

     “Guys!” Skip said, holding two pizza boxes with one hand and enthusiastically using the other to motion at the other Darkner. “You won’t believe it! Singleton is here!” 

     “Um,” Snippet called, walking in from the kitchen. “A friend of yours?” 

     Skip looked at Snippet in surprise as he set down the pizza boxes on the coffee table. “Singleton is my old boss! Remember? From when I was a delivery driver?” 

     The Darkner in question, a short, round plugboy, smiled warmly as he waved at Spamton and Snippet, doing an admirable job of hiding his surprise at seeing Spamton’s new appearance. “You guys have to remember me!” He said. “Skip used to bring the bunch of you around after school.” 

     Realization seemed to flash in Snippet’s eyes.

     “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry! Of course, I remember you, Mr. Singleton!” Snippet said. “I don’t know how I could have- You remember, Spam, right? We’d all hang out at your restaurant while Skip did deliveries for you and Banner was at work.” 

     Skip nodded, opening the top box and grabbing a slice. He sat down, motioning for the others to grab some, too. “Those were the days,” he laughed through a mouthful of food. “What are you doing running deliveries, though?” 

     Singleton shrugged, sitting down, too, much to Spamton’s hopefully hidden annoyance. “My daughter runs the place now, mostly. I just step in when we’re low on people.” He sighed, grabbing a piece of pizza himself. “Which is all too often, unfortunately. Wish we could find half as hard a worker as you, Skip.” 

     Skip laughed. “Man, I was always surprised by people who would just not show up. I guess I had too much fun to think of it as actual work.” 

     Snippet looked at Skip in surprise. “Really? I thought you appreciated getting to be an artist, now.” 

     Skip shrugged. “No, I really liked it. It was fun seeing all the different types of Darkners out there, even the assholes. And then when you were done for the day, you were actually done. I think I was a better artist then, too, just doing my own thing off the clock. I don’t even know if you can call what I do for our business art, to be honest.” 

     Singleton grinned. “Well, you know, you’d always be welcome back!”

     “I would, but, you know,” Skip said, glancing over to the garage door as he said so. Spamton was surprised to see that Skip really did look like he meant he’d actually want to go back, too. Spamton was still very much a kid when Skip had been a delivery driver. He remembered from that time how exhausted and miserable Banner had looked on the rare occasions he’d see his eldest brother between his jobs and sleep. Skip was naturally more jovial, but Spamton had just assumed Skip was secretly just as miserable on the inside.

     “Well, at least it’s been nice to see you’ve all made something of yourselves,” Singleton said. “I see your ads around a lot!”

     Skip winced, but Spamton wasn’t sure why. Singleton didn’t notice. “I never see you in any of them, though, Skip. What’s up with that?”

     Skip laughed, waving his hand as if shooing something away. “Oh, you know, they’ve got to keep me behind the camera. If not, my admirers would constantly be knocking our door down.” 

     Singleton laughed, but Snippet just rolled his eyes. 

     “What have you been up to, Spammy?” Singleton asked. Spamton flinched. It had been a long time since he’d heard that childish nickname. “I used to see you all over the city! In newspapers, magazines, TV, you name it.” 

     “Um-” Snippet began, but Spamton interrupted.

     “I [R3TIR3 ERLY NOW!]” Spamton said. Singleton looked confused but didn’t say anything.

     Skip nodded quickly. “Yep! He decided to get out of the whole business!” 

     Snippet looked concerned, but Spamton nodded, too. 

     “Well, good for you!” Singleton said, still sounding a bit weirded out by Spamton’s glitch. “I’m glad to see you’re back with your brothers. After you left Skip wouldn’t stop coming around to mope. It was bad for business.” 

     Skip stared at Singleton as if the man had just betrayed his deepest, darkest secret. Spamton laughed, but even he thought it sounded bitter. Nervously, he glanced at his brothers, but both seemed to be focused on Singleton. Neither of them looked very happy, anymore, though. 

     “It’s been so nice to see you again, Singleton!” Snippet gushed before either of his brothers could say anything else. “I’m sorry it’s been so long, it’s, um, it’s been a strange couple of years.” 

     Singleton nodded, seeming to finally notice the tension in the room. He stood up, stretching his back as he did so. “It’s been nice to catch up! I hope you guys all stop by again, sometime.” 

     “We will!” Skip said, standing up to walk Singleton to the door. As they left, Spamton could see them beginning to whisper. 

     Snippet walked over to Spamton, though he was still staring toward the front hallway door. “Sorry about that,” he said, quietly, handing over a glass of water and some pills. Spamton looked at the pills skeptically.

     “Uh, that’s the pain killer, an anti-virus, and some vitamins! All on the doctor’s orders,” Snippet said, pointing at each pill as he talked. Reluctantly Spamton took the medicine. 

     “That was nice!” Skip said, walking back into the room as he did so, seemingly oblivious to Snippet’s nervousness as he did so. 

     “Yeah,” Snippet said unconvincingly. “It’s been a while like he said. Too bad he came by now, though, or it would have been good to catch up.”

     Skip shrugged. “Yeah, we should really go by sometime like he said. It’s hard to believe it’s been so long since I worked there.”

     “Yeah,” Snippet agreed, thoughtfully.

     Skip nodded. He finally seemed to notice Spamton’s discomfort with the topic, though. “So, how are you feeling, Spam?” 

     Spam was getting tired of being asked that question, too, but it was a better topic, at least. “GRE AT! [[where]] IS EV3RY   ?”

     “Frequency went to bed, and Banner’s working!” Snippet said, in a falsely cheery voice. Quickly he added, “Do you want some pizza? Or something else to eat?” 

     Spamton nodded appeasingly and reached for a piece of pizza. It didn’t look too appetizing, but Spamton couldn’t think of anything that actually did. “TH4NK Y0U.” 

     Snippet nodded. “Okay! Um, that’s great that you want to eat! I think.” 

     Skip laughed, getting himself another slice, too. “How could it not be?”

     Hours later, as Spamton tried his best to swallow back another round of dry heaving as saliva pooled in his mouth, Spamton wondered why exactly he had thought to trust Skip with anything medical. He couldn’t completely blame him, though. The first piece had been hard to get down, but by the end of the night, he had nearly single-handedly finished one of the pizzas. It had almost been worth it, too. Spamton couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that much to eat, and it had actually tasted great. Spamton might not have remembered Skip’s old boss, but he definitely remembered eating there as a kid, before they were all mature or well off enough to go to the Cyber Grille. There was something comforting in the melted cheese, doughy crust, and warm-

     Spamton barely made it to the toilet before he was throwing up again, too miserable to even acknowledge the knocking on the bathroom door.

     “Spamton? Are you doing any better?” Snippet said, his soft voice carrying through the door. “I’m going to come in, okay?”

     Spamton only groaned in response. The door opened as Spamton stood up, flushing the toilet as he did so. “I [MAD] A MisT4KE.” 

     “Sorry! I told Skip the pizza was a bad idea,” Snippet said, placing a cup down on the counter. Spamton smiled weakly when he saw how nervous Snippet looked.

     “IT WAS [[FUN FOUR THE WH0LE F4MILY]]!!!.” Spamton said, reaching for the cup and filling it with water to rinse his mouth with. He felt too sick to try and hide the fact that he needed to stand on his tip-toes to do so.

     Snippet walked across the room to look through the linen closet. “I made up your bed,” he said. “Uh, hopefully you’ll be able to sleep soon.” 

     “TH4Nks;” Spamton said, rinsing his mouth for a second time as Snippet pulled out some plastic bins to paw through. “WHERE [am] I SL3 3PING?”

     Snippet looked back at him in confusion. “Your bed? Uh, just give me a sec, I’ll go find a toothbrush for you.”

     Spamton nodded, still unsure of what Snippet had meant, though. He assumed that Skip had moved back into their old shared room after Spamton moved out, after years of complaining about the cold and spiders in his basement ‘studio’. If not, iJt would be nice to sleep in his old bed in his old room, but he also didn’t want to think about what it would mean if they hadn’t changed the room. Were they really so unsurprised that he had failed that they had known better than to change his room when he’d be back in a couple of years? 

     “Here you go!” Snippet chirped as he walked back into the bathroom and handed Spamton a toothbrush. With its bright colors and small size, it was obviously meant for children. Noticing Spamton’s confusion, Snippet added, “It’s from a client we had a while ago.” 

     “TH4NKS,” Spamton said, unwrapping the toothbrush.

     “Are you feeling any better?” Snippet asked, opening a drawer to get Spamton some toothpaste.

     “  [BIT],” Spamton said. In truth, he was still nauseous, exhausted, and having to quickly get to the bathroom when he first realized he was going to be sick had caused his leg to start aching again. Plus, Spamton was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to keep any pain medication down anytime soon. But, he wasn’t going to whine to Snippet about it. “4re YOU DOING OK4Y?”

     Snippet laughed. “I’m great! Just happy to have you back.” 

     “I was doing better when I was asleep,” Frequency grumbled from the hallway, causing Spamton to startle back. Snippet glared at the doorway as Frequency emerged. 

     “Sorry, I had to get the toothbrush from Freq,” Snippet said to Spamton. “He hoards this type of stuff.”

     “I’m sentimental,” Frequency corrected with a shrug as he pushed past his brothers to open a drawer under the sink. “Sue me.”  

     “4 A T0OTH BRUSH?” Spamton asked. Frequency glared at him, and for a second Spamton panicked, but Frequency just shook his head.

     “No. Snippet wrote this dumb jingle for the ad and I performed it. Learning it and practicing it with him was actually pretty fun,” Frequency admitted, looking almost bashful as he spoke.    

     Snippet beamed. Frequency pulled out a couple of bottles of medication from the drawer before heading back toward the door. Snippet grabbed his arm to stop him.

     “Don’t you have something you want to say, Frequency?” Snippet asked, sounding like a teacher coaching a delinquent student.

     Frequency rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, Spam. I… Missed you. I guess.” 

     “Y0U DIDN;T,” Spamton said, earning a hurt look from Snippet. “BUT [[thank]].”

     Frequency didn’t say anything as he exited the room. “Goodnight!” Snippet called after him. 

     Spamton began to brush his teeth before Snippet could say anything else. Snippet took the hint and exited the room, leaving Spamton in peace as he avoided looking at himself in the bathroom’s mirror. Even with his glasses on the room was too bright, but there were no windows in the room and the darkness would be infinitely worse. 

     Spamton’s mind drifted to the novelty of being in a regular bathroom, brushing his teeth before heading to bed. The thought of sleeping in an actual bed was too tempting to put off any longer. 

     Spamton finished brushing his teeth and headed toward the door. Outside, Snippet was patiently waiting for him. “Ready for bed?” 

     “[[reddy]],” Spamton said, nodding. Snippet smiled but didn’t move, seemingly waiting to follow Spamton. 

     Spamton didn’t move. He thought he should head for his old room, but the thought of being corrected on it if that’s not what Snippet had meant was too terrible for him to risk.  

     After an awkward moment, Snippet just nodded and moved, though not before giving Spamton a concerned look. To Spamton’s relief but also concern, they headed upstairs to the attic bedroom, the one that had been his.

     “SK1p DIDN T M0VE [[back to back specials!]] IN?” Spamton asked as he carefully made his way up the stairs. 

     “No,” Snippet said, offering no explanation. “Of course not.”  

     When they got to the room, Spamton felt a mix of happiness and sadness. It was his room, the one he’d lived in for his entire life up to his move to the Mansion. The one he’d shared with Skip until the room was almost overflowing with art supplies and works in progress and finished pieces. The one Spamton had moved most of his stuff out of, the one he had thought he’d never see again. On Skip’s old side there were some boxes, but besides that the room, which had comfortably fit two people, now seemed incredibly empty with only a bed and dresser. 

     Snippet seemed to read his mind. “It’s kind of bare,” he admitted, sounding worried. “But we can fix that soon!” 

     Spamton shook his head quickly. “IT’S GR    , TH4NKS!” Spamton still didn’t move, though. His eyes searched the floorboards for the familiar dents and grooves from moving furniture, and the familiar stains from gesso and various paints Skip had haphazardly used growing up. The walls were empty now, but Spamton could still spot the holes from the nails and marks from tape. 

     “I left out some clothes you could sleep in,” Snippet said, gesturing toward a neat stack of folded clothes on the end of the bed. “They’ll be big, but we can get some better-fitting stuff soon! Sorry.” 

     “TH4NKS,” Spamton said. After a moment, he added, “G0ODKNIGHT!”

     Snippet seemed reluctant to leave. “Goodnight. Uh, just yell if you need anything. I’ll bring up your medications to the upstairs bathroom and write out what you can take and when, if you need them during the night, okay?” 

     Spamton nodded, picking up the shirt on top of the pile and examining it, trying to avoid looking at Snippet. 

     “Goodnight!” Snippet said again, and Spamton didn’t look up until he heard his footsteps going down the stairs. With a sigh, Spamton quickly changed into the clothes. Snippet had been right, the clothes were incredibly too big, but it was nice to have something clean to change into that wasn’t his usual slacks and jacket. Carefully, Spamton piled his dirty clothes on the floor next to the bed, before crawling into it, under the clean sheets and blankets. He left the lights on.

Chapter Text

“Stop it! You’re making a scene,” Snippet whispered, though, from the way the customer nodded angrily, it was clear they heard it, too. The words seemed to only make Frequency angrier, though, as he stomped toward the backroom. Spam apologized to the customer before quickly following after him, leaving Snippet to deal with the customer.

“What’s your problem?” Spam asked as he closed the backroom’s door behind him. Frequency was already pacing furiously around the small room.

“Just go away, Spam,” Frequency hissed, but Spam just crossed his arms. 

“Not until you tell me what you could possibly be angry at me for!” Spam said. Even he knew how childish it sounded, but Spam couldn’t help it. Frequency and he had never gotten along and, despite what their brothers seemed to think should have happened by now, their relationship had never really matured past that of squabbling children. But, lately, things had been even worse, and Spam had a good idea why.

“I said, go away,” Frequency said, suddenly halting his frantic walk to turn and glare and Spam. He was loud enough that Spam was sure that everyone in the front room could hear them, but Spam couldn’t actually bring himself to care. If anything, he was happy that Snippet and Banner would have to hear about what a crazy, petty jerk Frequency was being. 

“Look,” Spam said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “We can’t keep acting like this. If you’re really that jealous-” 

“I am not jealous!” Frequency yelled, before obviously remembering where he was and lowering his voice. “Especially not of you of all people.” 

Spam laughed. “Really?” He mocked. “Then, again, what’s your problem?” 

“You!” Frequency shot back. “This act of yours is driving me crazy!”

“ This act ? What does that even mean? I’m sorry my success-” Spam began, but Frequency angrily cut him off.

“It’s not your success, though, is it?” Frequency asked, a cruel grin growing on his face. “Do you really think we haven’t noticed all the ‘breaks’ you’re taking to talk to that creep on the phone?” 

“Don’t call him that!” Spam yelled, feeling a spike of anxiety in his chest at the word. “And I- I haven’t hidden the fact that he’s been helping me! You’re just jealous he chose me and not you!” 

“I don’t need someone to tell me how to do something as easy as advertising, Spam!” Frequency said. He was the one laughing now. “Do you really think-”

“Just shut up, Frequency!” Spam yelled. “What do you even care? You act too good to be doing this but then the moment I might actually be doing better than y- Wait! Don’t!” The rest of Spam’s plea was cut off by the crashing sound of the phone hitting the floor and the snap of the cable being forcefully removed from the wall by the phone’s falling weight. 

Both men just stared at the phone on the ground in silence. Frequency, breathing heavily, looked almost serene as he stared at the phone. Spam, on the other hand, had to swallow back tears as he tried to figure out whether it was broken or not. The wall jack seemed to be busted now, but the phone was in one piece, at least. It had been old when they got it, so Spam couldn’t exactly tell what damage, if any, was new. 

Frequency looked as if he were about to say something, but Banner and Snippet rushed into the room.

“Frequency, you didn’t!” Snippet sighed, though he just looked relieved that no one was actually hurt. 

“Spam, I-” Frequency began, but Spam shook his head, cutting him off.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Spam said, grabbing the phone off the floor without even looking at his brothers.

“Are you hungry?” Frequency asked, awkwardly, when Snippet left to go shower. Spamton shook his head. “Thirsty? I could make you some tea or coffee or something?”

Spamton began to shake his head but paused. “I W0ULD L0VE     [smooth, riche] COF3E?” 

Spamton mostly expected Frequency to get annoyed, but he actually looked relieved. He stood up, immediately heading toward the kitchen. “Sure!” 

Carefully, Spamton followed him. Despite his old bed being the most comfortable thing he’d slept on in ages, Spamton hadn’t particularly slept well and the thought of coffee was too tempting for him to resist, even if it meant a prolonged awkward conversation with Frequency. 

“ARE Y0U FE3LING B3TTER?” Spam asked as he watched Frequency.

“What?” Frequency asked, looking back in confusion. Spam gestured toward his own forehead. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“S0R RY,” Spam said anyway. 

Frequency just shook his head. “How are you feeling, though? You look a bit better. More stable walking around.”

Spamton shrugged. He still didn’t feel great, but he hadn’t fallen in the half-hour or so he’d been up, at least. “I;M GReaT!!!” 

Frequency snorted. “Great might be pushing it, but I’m glad.”

Neither of them spoke for a while as they listened to the coffee percolate. Finally, Frequency spoke again. “I should probably apologize, too.”

“U DON’T N3ED TOO,” Spamton said urgently, but Frequency just continued, anyway.

“Yes, I do. For yesterday morning, I mean. But, I guess for Friday night, too. I shouldn’t have- I don’t even know what I should have done. Probably take you to a doctor right away? But I was- it was really weird just finding you like that and I got pretty scared, to be honest, and-” Frequency said, his voice getting louder and panicked before he cut himself off again. “Sorry, I’m rambling.” 

Spamton tried to smile, even though he was still pretty annoyed to have ended up here. It wasn’t worth another fight. “ITS OK4Y. IT’S BEEN INT3STING, AT [[least]]; RIGHT???”

Before Frequency could answer, Skip walked in from the living room, still obviously half asleep as he rubbed at his eyes. “What are you guys doing up so early?”

“It’s nearly ten, Skip,” Frequency sighed. The coffee machine beeped, so he quickly got to work pouring coffee.

“On a Sunday!” Skip complained. “And right above my room.”

“No one forced you to move into the basement,” Frequency said. He walked over to carefully hand a cup of coffee to Spamton. Skip bound across the room to grab a cup for himself. 

Skip ignored Frequency in favor of looking over Spamton. “How are you feeling, Spamton?”

Frequency rolled his eyes at the name but said nothing. Spamton shrugged. “GR34t!!!”

“Cool!” Skip said as he downed his own cup of coffee, seemingly unbothered by the heat that made both Frequency and Spamton only sip at it. “I need to work on some work stuff, but you should come join me. I can show you some of my newer art, at least.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Skip said, sounding genuinely incredulous. 

Spam swallowed but nodded. “Skip, just hear me out. This is for the best.”

“You went behind my back!” Skip said, his voice not quite a yell. It was just the two of them in the shop, anyway, but Spam appreciated the sentiment all the same. 

“I didn’t!” Spam said, gesturing toward the files still spread out on the desk. “I was just making a backup plan-”

“No one asked you to, Spam.” Skip said.

“Come on, what’s the problem? You used to do this all the time for me. Make something up in case I failed. Who asked any of you to do that?” Spam asked, his voice breaking as he tried to force a laugh. 

“Don’t ask me to answer that,” Skip said, his voice still gravely serious. “And that was different. That was so we’d have something when you messed up. I didn’t mess up before you went to my client with it.” 

“If your ideas were so great why was the client so eager to switch to my plan?” Spam asked. 

Skip was silent for a second as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re popular right now, they wanted to capitalize on that. I’m not- I get that. But, if you were so eager to help, you should have come to me first-” 

“And what? Listen to another lecture about color theory? You know this was the only way I could have gotten you to consider my ideas.” Spam said, crossing his arms. “And they’re good ideas! If you bothered to actually look at them-” 

“Listen! I don’t care about whose idea was better or whatever! You know I couldn’t care less about that kind of stuff. The problem is that you stole a client I’ve been working with for years ! For what? To prove how great you think you are?” Skip yelled.

“Shut up!” Spam yelled back. “They were dissatisfied and thinking of leaving! How are you not thanking me for this?” 

“Thanking you? Are you even listening to yourself right now, Spam? Or is this more repeated nonsense you heard from that friend of yours on the phone?” Skip laughed, though he was still glaring daggers at Spam. 

“I don’t need anyone to tell me that I did you a favor,” Spam said. 

“You fucked me over and you know it. Would it kill you to just admit you did something wrong and apologize?” Skip asked.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, though!” Spam yelled, “You- All of you have been doing this to me since I started! I’d spend weeks or months on something, only for one of you to end up taking it in the end to ‘fix’ it!”

“Spam, you know why we did that. We were looking out for you! You weren’t- Your stuff wasn’t selling. We had no choice.” Skip said, looking uncharacteristically heartbroken. “So what? Do you think this is revenge?” 

“So what if it is?” Spam asked.

“I-” Skip began with a sigh, his voice suddenly calm. “Spam, I’m really angry about this. Do you really not care?” 

“No! Why should I?” Spam asked, about to start another rant before Skip interrupted him. 

“Okay,” Skip said with a shrug. “Just forget it then.” 

“What?” Spam asked.

Skip turned to the desk to grab his original designs from under the pile of Spam’s new ones. Without another word, he pitched them all into the trash and grabbed his bag from the floor. He looked Spam over again before turning toward the door. “You don’t need me for the meeting then. Tell Banner I left early.” 

Spamton looked around the basement, impressed with all the art that surrounded him. Most of it was unfinished, but there was a large collection of paintings, drawings, and even some three-dimensional pieces. Among the paper and canvases was a bed, which Spamton watched Skip knock some stuff off of before flopping down on. “Sorry it’s a mess,” Skip said, sounding almost sheepish. “I wasn’t expecting company.” 

Spamton shook his head. Carefully he approached one of the paintings. “THESE [ar] INCR3D1BLE,” Spamton said, studying the piece. It was obviously abstract, with large swaths of warm colors contrasted with more precise but smaller cool shapes. 

“Thanks,” Skip said. “I’ve been experimenting a lot, obviously.” 

“THAT’S [[wonderful wide web]],” Spamton said, though he wasn’t actually sure if Skip meant that as a good thing or not.

With a sigh, Skip sat up and grabbed some papers. From the neatness of them, Spamton could guess that they were for work. Curious, Spamton walked over to see they were pages full of thumbnails, some with dashes of color but most just black and white. The sight made Spamton uncomfortably nostalgic. 

“WHAT ARE THesE F0UR?” Spamton asked, gesturing at the pages. 

“A meeting I have this week,” Skip said, already sounding bored. 

“WITH 4NY0NE ID [know]?” Spamton asked, trying to discern who the client might be from the small sketches.

Skip shook his head. “Not unless you’ve really gotten into wholesale office supplies since we last spoke.” 

Spamton laughed. “THAT S0UNDS inter ESTING TO ADVER     F0R.”

“It’s so boring!” Skip complained. “They want to advertise at conventions for even more boring subjects and in trade magazines. If I have to be in advertising why can’t I do it for something more exciting? Like motorcycles or movies. I’d even take cigarettes at this point.”

Spamton laughed, but from the doorway Snippet tisked. “That’s an awful thing to say.” 

Skip shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s true. Imagine how challenging it must be.” 

“You’d have to make room on your designs for all of  those health warnings and you know you’d hate that,” Snippet said, walking across the room to look at Skip’s papers. “Besides, I like these.” 

“Y0UR N0T [[afraid of the dark?]] OF B4SE MENT ANYM0RE!?!?” Spamton asked, surprised. Even after Skip had moved down here Snippet had always hated it down here.

“No, this is still a rarity. He’s still terrified of the crawlers down here,” Skip said. 

Snippet crossed his arms but didn’t argue. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, Spam. Also to say the shower’s open if you want to use it.” 

Spamton perked up at that. Skip crossed his arms, dramatically. “I thought you were going to hang out with me!” 

“I C4N DO [that] L4TER????” Spamton half offered, half asked. 

Spamton let his story trail off as he realized that Snippet wasn’t really paying attention to it. They both were in the kitchen, the only two home. Frequency and Banner were out at a client’s location, and Skip had been avoiding being home whenever he could. It had been weeks since he had stopped talking to Spam, too, and Spam was growing more and more lonely. 

“You need to stop talking to that guy, ” Snippet said, suddenly. “The one on the phone.” 

Spam tried to laugh it off, but he couldn’t help but panic. Mike had warned him that this would happen. That his family, jealous of his success, would try and do this. It had been easy enough to believe for Frequency, then even Skip, but not Snippet. 

“He’s not good for you,” Snippet said. 

“Maybe, but he’s definitely good for business,” Spam laughed. 

“Please,” Snippet said, desperation so raw and earnest in his voice that it made Spam cringe to even hear it. “I- I know you haven’t always had it easy. But you’ve always been great! And we’ve always loved you. You know that right?”

“Snippet, stop,” Spam warned.

“I know you’re fighting right now and you’ve all said stuff I’m sure you regret, but we’re all still a family, right?” Snippet asked. 

“Why ask me?” Spam retorted, angrily. 

Snippet had frowned. “Please just apologize-”

“No, seriously! Why ask me to apologize and not them?” Spam asked.

“Please, I-” Snippet began. 

“Or have you already asked them and they said no? So you just expect me to roll over and let them treat me like this?”  Spam laughed. Mike had been right. 

“Spam, I just want things to go back to how things were before!” Snippet cried.

“Before what? Before I was successful?” Spam was so angry he thought he could feel himself shaking as his heartbeat. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of me, too! I trusted you!”

“I’m not jealous,” Snippet said. “I just want our family to get along.”

“Then you’re stupid,” Spam said, “If you think that I would put that before my work.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Snippet said, his voice only getting softer as their conversation continued. “I know you’re angry, but please, just listen to yourself.”

“No! You listen to me!” Spam yelled. “I’m not the one who’s wrong here! With either of them! And if you can’t see that, I don’t know what to tell you!” 

“I’m not disagreeing with you, but someone has to be the bigger person,” Snippet said. 

“Why should I? I don’t need them! Or you, or Banner, for that matter! I don’t need anyone,” Spam yelled.

Snippet flinched. “I really hope that’s true,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “Because, Spam, I love you, but- but I don’t think I like the person you’re becoming. I don’t think- Spam, you’re not a good person right now.” 

Spam was speechless. For a long moment he just stared at Snippet, waiting for his meek, pathetic brother to come to his senses and apologize or take it back. But Snippet only stared back at him, waiting for a response. Before he had even thought of what he was going to say, Spam was speaking, spitting the words out as if they burned him.

“That’s fine. I’ve never really liked any of you, anyway.” 

Spamton did his best not to complain as Snippet tried and failed to run a comb through the tangled mess that was Spamton’s hair. Spamton had just gotten out of the shower and, for the first time in ages, felt clean in a real way. After years of mostly doing the best he could with public restrooms and the like, it had felt magical to get to take an actual shower. He had managed to use up all the hot water before he was even halfway done, but that hadn’t stopped him. He had sampled, and in some cases almost depleted, all the products that had been left in the shower, but even that hadn’t managed to do much to salvage his hair. So, Snippet had offered to cut it for him. 

“You’ve done a really good job cutting it yourself,” Snippet said as he sprayed Spamton’s hair with even more water before trying to comb through the longer parts on top again. “I cut my own hair, but it’s easy when it’s long. I’m always impressed by people like you with short hair who can do it.” 

Spamton would have doubted the sincerity of anyone else, but Snippet seemed genuinely impressed. “TH4NKS,” Spamton said, embarrassed. 

“Do you dye your own hair too? That- Oh, sorry, that was a dumb question. It looks good, too!” Snippet said, babbling on about the richness of various shades of black and the pros and cons of each one. Spamton, despite himself, found himself blocking his words out as his mind drifted. First, he thought again about the novelty and niceness of feeling so clean. Then, he found himself thinking about his shop and trying to figure out how soon he could get back there. He wasn’t too worried about any of his ‘products’, really, as they had all been found in the trash to begin with. But it made him nervous to be gone so long from his phone. He’d need to-

“OW!!!!” Spamton whined when a particularly hard tug of the comb pulled him from his thoughts. Behind him, Snippet grinned apologetically toward the mirror that Spamton was glaring at. 

“Sorry. I’ll just, uh, get started cutting I guess,” Snippet said, grabbing for the scissors as he spoke. “Were you zoning out again?”

“WH4T? [nononononono],” Spamton said. “N0T L1KE THAT.” 

“Oh,” Snippet said, sounding obnoxiously unconvinced. “That’s good. Have you been doing that for a while?”

Spamton crossed his arms and pointedly didn’t answer.

“I was just going to say,” Snippet continued, though he looked much more nervous as he began to carefully use the scissors. “Uh, did you like the doctor yesterday? We could ask her-”

“I;M F1N3,” Spamton interrupted, trying to sound as definite as he could in the situation. Of course, Snippet didn’t look at all convinced.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Frequency-,” Snippet began, but he trailed off as the doior opened with a careless bang. 

“Snippet, you told Boolean you’d get her team the updated figures by yesterday,” Banner said, without so much as looking at Spamton.

Snippet stood there, stunned, for a second that Spamton thought felt like an eternity. 

“I told her that on Thursday,” Snippet said slowly. “Before all of this.” 

“Yeah,” Banner said, equally as slowly. “So she’s been waiting for three days?”

“ Banner ,” Snippet said. Spamton stared at the floor, but he didn’t have to see Snippet to know how angry his brother was. “You cannot- Things changed.”

“Did you tell her that?” Banner asked. “This is unprofessional.” 

“Get out,” Snippet said, finally. He tried to close the door, but Banner caught it.

Banner’s voice was still calm. Any other time, Spamton would have considered it annoyingly so, but now it sounded uncanny to him. “I’ll email her, but I don’t think it would actually kill you to spend an hour-” 

“Stop it!” Snippet was more forceful this time and the door finally closed, muffling anything else Banner tried to say. Spamton only looked up when he heard the click of the lock.

It was stupid, Spam knew, to keep coming back to their old regular booth when he knew there’d no longer be five people coming to it. It had been months now since Frequency stopped coming, instead going straight from work to his room until he had to leave for work again. Skip, too, had stopped showing up. Had stopped even making excuses about projects he was working on or friends he wanted to see. Now, even Snippet could hardly even be in the same room as Spam. 

The absence of his brothers, to Spam’s own surprise, was beginning to take its toll. He missed them. Spam missed listening to Snippet talk about some new crush he had or getting to see all of Skip’s works-in-progresses. He missed the stupid conversations they’d all have at work while slacking off or just the random things they’d say when they passed each other in their home.

He missed Frequency, too, as hard as that would have been for Spamton to believe before they stopped talking. The two might not have gotten along, but they were still brothers. They had grown up together, and more and more often Spam would see or hear something that would remind him of some show they had both watched together or some conversation they had had ages ago. A couple of weeks ago Spam had been approached to do the advertising for some long-awaited sequel to one of the many books he remembered Frequency reading, and he had been so stunned when he realized that he couldn’t even tell Frequency about it anymore that Banner had to jump in and finish talking to the client for him. 

Spamton had tried to talk to Mike about it, but he got angry at the mere mention of his family anymore. Banner, at least, was sympathetic, but it was obvious whenever Spam tried to talk to him about it that Banner’s mind was always elsewhere. 

Still, Spam was excited to talk to him tonight, if only to have anyone besides Mike to talk to. So he had gotten to the Cyber Grill early, to save their old seats, only to be surprised when he got there only to find Banner already there, with two drinks in front of him.

“Hey, Big Shot!” Banner greeted, pushing one of the drinks in front of Spam as he spoke.

Spam winced at the nickname but didn’t complain as he took a sip of the drink. “Hi, Banner! You’re here early.” 

Banner nodded. “I was excited for tonight. I have something to talk to you about.”

Chapter Text

When Frequency had finished catching up on cleaning and the normal Monday morning prep but no customers had come in yet, Frequency reluctantly chose to take it as a opportunity to do some much needed but more time consuming tasks, like checking the fire alarms, dusting the tops of counters, and, when still no one had come in, cleaning the grout. 

He didn’t really mind, though. Cleaning was a great opportunity to zone out, and think of nothing at all. He didn’t think of Spamton, or acid, or what it must have felt like when his head went under and he was entirely submerged in burning-

Frequency scrubbed harder, determined not to think for real this time. Because, really, there was no need to. His youngest brother had seemed to have an okay day yesterday. Frequency hadn’t seen him before work this morning, but Skip had planned to ‘work’ from home to keep him company, so there was no reason to worry about him today.

He tried to focus his mind on the back and forth motions of the toothbrush, tried to lull himself into thinking of only that. He tried to think of all the other chores he could do, the paperwork he had avoided, the petty glee he’d felt when he’d watched Skip and then Snippet fall out with Spamton-

The brush wasn’t even moving anymore, but Frequency still stared at it, the thoughts only getting faster and darker in his head, and even as Frequency realized that he couldn’t stop it any more than he could have stopped the others. He remembered how good it had felt to watch perfect, condescending Banner realize that Frequency and the others weren’t just going to go back to how things used to be just because he asked them to. How relieved he’d felt when Spamton’s ads started to disappear and the rumors of his fall from grace began to circulate.

He was so lost in his thoughts that Frequency first thought the familiar meowing he heard must have been his imagination. It wasn’t until Runtime began headbutting his arm that Frequency realized the tasque, still wearing Snippet’s bow, was really in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Frequency asked, wincing at how emotional his voice sounded. “Shouldn’t you be back with your mommy at the mansion?”

“ Mommy ?” A disgusted voice called from the front room, and Frequency was instantly back on his feet when he recognized it, quickly dropping the brush and trying to straighten his clothes. “You better not mean me, Mr. Addison. I’m their manager , obviously. They’re my subordinates, not my children .” 

“Sorry!” Frequency said as he walked into the front room, resisting the urge to put his hands up in surrender as he did so. “Sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Tasque Manager just frowned at him, before looking around the cafe. Runtime repeatedly rammed her head into Frequency’s leg as he stood there, trying to even begin to think of what to say.

“It’s an honor to have you here! What can I get for you?” Frequency got out, trying his best to look and sound as friendly and disarming as he could. Internally he was screaming at himself, picturing all the ways he was in trouble, all the things he’d done wrong. 

“Where’s your brother?” Tasque Manager asked. Frequency felt his blood turn to ice.

“I- uh, Spam-” Frequency stuttered out, but Tasque Manager, mercifully, cut him off.

“No, not Spamton. The blue one,” she said. “He’s supposed to make an order for me.” 

Frequency blinked, his chest almost hurting as he felt relief sink over him. “You mean Snippet.” 

“Yes, yes, him. Where is he? He told me to stop by anytime, so I came in. I assume the closed sign is just for our privacy?” 

Frequency glanced over to the door to see she was right- the word ‘Open’ was faced toward him. Oops. “He doesn’t work here, sorry. I can give you his store’s address, though!” 

Tasque Manager crossed her non-existent arms impatiently. “This is the address Swatch gave me. They said all of you work together.”

“Well, uh, yeah, we used to, but my brothers moved to another office building. I just use this as a tea shop, now.” Frequency explained. “I think Swatch used to be a customer before the move, so they probably just didn’t know.” 

Tasque Manager opened her mouth to reply, but the front door banged open before she could speak. 

“What Is Taking So Long?” The Queen asked.

Frequency couldn’t help but gasp as he saw the Queen enter his shop. Tasque Manager glared at him and even Runtime looked unimpressed, but, luckily, the Queen didn’t even seem to notice his reaction. 

“I’m sorry, I was just finishing up in here,” Tasque Manager said, her voice almost unrecognizable in its cheerfulness compared to the brisk, annoyed one she’d used with Frequency. “We can leave now.”

The Queen nodded but continued looking around the shop. Even after spending all morning cleaning, Frequency cringed internally as his mind screamed at him about all the things that should be better.

“This Is Not A Clothes Store I Thought You Were Shopping For Clothes Dear,” the Queen said finally, her eyes settling on the chalkboard menu of fresh drinks the store offered. 

“I was,” Tasque Manager said. “But apparently I had the wrong address. My apologies.”

“It’s Fine,” the Queen said, before turning to Frequency. “Bring Me A Glass Of The Oldest Vintage You Have.”  

Frequency wavered for a second, panic taking hold as he realized he’d have to disappoint the Queen of all people. He swallowed it down as quickly as it rose. “My Queen, I’m so sorry, I don’t serve alcohol here, how-” 

“Alcohol? What Do You Take Me For? I Haven’t Even Had Brunch Yet,” the Queen tsked. “Obviously I Like Meant Acid.” 

“I don’t have that either, I’m afraid,” Frequency admitted. When the world didn’t end after disappointment grew onto the Queen’s face, he continued. “I serve some very high-quality teas, though. How about I make you and Tasque Manager some? On the house, of course.” 

The Queen nodded, though she still looked disappointed. Quickly, Frequency made his way back to his kitchen, ignoring both the instinct to not turn his back on the two women and the fact that Runtime was now trying to make his cash register into her bed. He left the door open and quickly got to work heating the water. Making tea that Tasque Manager would enjoy was an easy bet, even if Frequency questioned how anyone could enjoy working for the Queen,  but he was less sure of what to make for the Queen. As he infused Tasque Manager’s cup with his magic and essence of the Queen, Frequency’s mind raced trying to remember if he’d heard any rumors from Skip about the Queen having any new friends or lovers. When nothing came to mind, Frequency settled on an admittedly riskier idea.

The tea finished seeping and Frequency placed both cups onto the nicest serving tray he had. Both women had taken a seat at one of the small tables and, as Frequency got closer and saw the way Tasque Manager looked at the Queen, he took solace in knowing that at least Tasque Manager would be happy with her drink. Carefully, he set both drinks down in front of the women. To his dismay, though, Tasque Manager’s disembodied hand quickly shot out and grabbed the drink that the Queen was supposed to drink. “Oh, actually, the other one’s yours,” Frequency said.

“Why’s it matter?” Tasque Manager hissed, hostility back in her tone as she glared at Frequency. Frequency tried not to roll his eyes when he realized what was happening. He had no idea what he could possibly poison someone that drinks battery acid for fun with or how stupid he’d have to be to do something so obvious. He sighed as Tasque Manager sipped at the tea, confusion overcoming suspicion on her face. “What? You’re serving your Queen hot water ?”

“No, no! My tea is magic, so, uh, if it’s not made for you, you won’t like it,” Frequency lied, too nervous to admit what was really happening. “So, she’ll like this one,” he said, gesturing to the drink in Tasque Manager’s hand and then to the other one still on the table. “And you’ll like this one.” 

This seemed to pique the Queen’s curiosity at least. She grabbed the drink back, taking a giant swig from it, apparently unbothered by its heat. Instantly, hearts flashed where her eyes would be, and she looked as if she was going to melt she was so happy. Frequency smiled, relief flooding his entire body.

“This Is The Most Amazing Drink,” the Queen said.

“Thank you!” Frequency said, all of the trouble of the past couple of days momentarily forgotten. 

Tasque Manager, still reluctant, took a tiny sip of her own tea. “It’s alright,” she admitted, but she was unable to hide the loud purr coming out of her chest.

“I’m so glad you both enjoy it!” Frequency said, steeling himself for what came next. “My brother Spamton always seemed to adore you both, and it's not hard to see why.” 

Tasque Manager instantly looked suspicious again, but the Queen was unbothered. “We Know Your Brother??”

“Yes, my Queen,” Frequency said, surprised. “His name was Spam Addison, then he went by Spamton G. Spamton? He used to live in your mansion?” 

“Really? Are You Sure?” The Queen asked. Frequency nodded. 

“He was in a ton of ads for a while. Uh, short guy. Dyed black hair. Always wore this dumb bowtie.” Frequency said, mimicking the way Spamton used to adjust his bowtie as he spoke. 

“No Idea. I Think I Would Remember Someone Like That,” the Queen said, taking another giant drink of her tea. Frequency considered running to his back room to grab one of the old ads he kept from Spamton’s glory days from his desk, but Tasque Manager rescued him before he had to.

“The one with the phone,” she said, watching Frequency carefully as she spoke to the Queen.

Finally, the Queen looked as if she recognized who they were talking about. “Oh. Of Course. It’s Such A Shame What Happened To Him.” 

Tasque Manager nodded unconvincingly. 

Before Frequency could even think of what to say, the Queen was continuing. “To Think That Swatchie Could Be So Cruel.” 

“What?” Frequency asked, voice breaking in surprise. 

The Queen looked up in surprise. “You Don’t Know?” 

Frequency shook his head. “I’ve been out of touch with my brother for a while. What happened?” 

“What do you care? I thought you hated him,” Tasque Manager complained. Her voice was even and as composed as ever, but a quick glance over at her showed Frequency that she looked nearly as disturbed as Frequency felt. 

Frequency swallowed but continued on. “Please. Tell me what happened.”

Tasque Manager sighed. “Your brother lost his mind. He went from being a regular nuisance to being downright mad. He’d walk around the Mansion carrying that old phone of his while it wasn’t even plugged in. Eventually, he stopped carrying the phone, he’d just randomly start talking to himself.” 

“I, Being The Benevolent, Wise Ruler That I Am, Had The Wonderful Idea To Create Tiny Homes For My Adoring Subjects To Live In,” the Queen said, briskly speaking as if she expected Frequency to understand what she was talking about. Across the table, Tasque Manager nodded along. “Your Brother, Like Anyone, Of Course Wanted To Take Advantage Of My Amazing Charity And Kindness.”

Frequency frowned. “Do you mean one of the rooms in your mansion? Was there trouble when he moved in or something?”

Tasque Manager shook her head, annoyed. “That’s not what she said. Just be quiet and listen.”

The Queen continued on as if no one else had spoken. “I Would Have Gladly Let Him Shrink If I Knew He Wanted To. I’m So Nice Like That. But He Felt the Need To Sneak In, I Guess? Was He Always So Shy? Anyway, It Was Really Late At Night When He Tried To Do It. Kind Of Rude To Wake Everyone Up With His Shrieking But Whatever.” 

Frequency felt his stomach sink. “Shrink?” He asked.

The Queen looked surprised. “In The Acid Pool. The Tiny Homes Are Perfectly Placed By Them. Just A Quick Hellish Dip Then You’re Good To Go!” 

“You’re saying he did it on purpose?” Frequency asked.

“Well Yeah. Do You Normally Accidentally Move Into A New Home?” The Queen asked with a shrug. “No One Else Was Even In the Room With Him When It Happened.”

“What?” Frequency asked, forgetting himself as his voice rose. “Then- You mentioned Swatch though. What did they do?”

Tasque Manager scoffed. “Nothing that you’re implying! They weren’t even in the room until Spamton was already screaming for help.”

Frequency shook his head. “Then what- Why’d you call them cruel?”

“They Dragged Him Out,” the Queen said, sadly. “Poor Spamton Was Stopped By Swatch.” 

“Oh,” Frequency said, his heart still beating furiously even as panic made way to pure confusion. “Then who pushed him in?”

“No one!” Tasque Manager said, looking affronted.

“I Told You,” the Queen said. “He Jumped In Himself.”

“No,” Frequency said. “No, he wouldn’t- He couldn’t do something like that. Someone must have-” 

“You didn’t see Spamton then, did you? He’s lost his mind,” Tasque Manager said. 

“No, I know-” Frequency began.

“Oh Yeah He Was A Strange One Alright,” the Queen interrupted. “He’d Always Be On That Phone Of His Walking Around And Talking On It But It Wasn’t Even A Cell?”

“Right,” Tasque Manager said with a nod. “Then he started walking around talking to himself even without the phone.”

“Okay, he was a bit eccentric, but that doesn’t mean he would- that he would-” Frequency said, but he couldn’t even get out the words.

“Then There Was That Creepy Prayer Thing He’d Do In The Basement,” the Queen said, her tone still casual. “Ugh.”

“I mean really, it’s a miracle he hadn’t managed to hurt himself before then. He barely seemed to know where he was half the time,” Tasque Manager said. “If anything-”

“Stop!” Frequency said, regretting it even as the word slipped out. Both the Queen and Tasque Manager looked at him in surprise. “I mean- I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for, I just- You’re absolutely sure no one could have pushed him in or anything like that?”

“Positive,” the Queen said.

“Yes,” Tasque Manager said, moving her hands as if crossing her arms. “Who exactly do you think our Queen lets into her castle that would do such a thing?”

“Giving up already?” Skip asked, not looking up from his phone as Frequency walked into the living room. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t imagine a harder time to sell coffee than a Monday morning.”

Frequency glared at Skip but managed to swallow back an insult for the sake of Spamton, who looked nervously between his two brothers. “The Queen and Tasque Manager are going to stop by Snippet’s store later.”

Skip nearly dropped his phone as his head snapped up. “What?”

“Yeah, Tasque Manager apparently wants to buy some more outfits or something for her tasques. She and the Queen stopped by my cafe earlier by accident.” 

“THAT’S FANTASTIC,” Spamton said, though he still looked nervous. 

Skip, on the other hand, looked absolutely amazed. “Why come here, then, and not over to help Snippet?” 

Frequency snorted. “I think Banner will be more than enough help, as long as I’m not there to piss him off. I already texted him and Snippet.”

“BUT BAN NER [[playing hookey?]] T0DAY,” Spamton said, and Frequency almost shook his head instinctively.

“What? Of course, he went to work. He doesn’t take days off,” Frequency said. 

Skip jumped up, shoving his unused laptop and supplies into his work bag. “Well, he did today. He passed through a couple of minutes ago.”

“Was he… okay?” Frequency asked.

Skip looked annoyed. “I don’t know. He looked like he had just gotten out of bed.” 

Frequency wasn’t even sure what to say to that. 

Zipping up his bag, Skip sighed, looking up at Frequency. “Don’t worry about him. Just- Can you watch Spam? I’ll go and help Snippet.”

“I DON’T [need] TO BE W4TCHED!!!” Spamton protested, but Skip was already heading toward the door. 

“Sure,” Frequency said, uselessly. Skip was already waving goodbye to Spamton before the words were out of his mouth.

“Call me if there are any issues!” Skip called, anything else he might have said was cut off by the slam of the front door. 

With that, Spamton and Frequency were alone. For a long time Frequency just stood there, both he and Spamton pretending to be engrossed by whatever schlocky cable show Skip had left the TV on. 

“S0,” Spamton said, trailing off as he stared at Frequency.

“You know, Tasque Manager and the Queen told me something about what happened to you,” Frequency said, trying to keep his voice conversational. Spamton didn’t look fooled though. “They don’t know you’re here, though! Don’t worry!”

Spamton slumped over. “WHAT D0 I C4RE    VALU3D CUSTOMRS KNOW [[Where in the world is]] I AM WITH OUT THE K3YGEN????” 

Frequency frowned sympathetically. “Yeah, sorry. I guess that’s a good point.” 

Spamton didn’t reply and Frequency was so, so tempted to just leave it at that. 

“You’ll think this is funny,” Frequency began.

“I dOUBT THAT,” Spamton said.

“When I saw the Queen’s staff was looking for you, I absolutely panicked. I- There used to be all these terrible rumors about you, you know. I just- I couldn’t risk them being true. Even if you’re you and I’m me,” Frequency said, rushing through the words before he could stop himself. 

Spamton didn’t look like he understood, though. “WHAT 4RE YOU [talking] aBOUT?” 

Frequency paused, before forcing the words out. “I was afraid they’d throw you into the Queen’s acid pool. Again.”

Frequency jumped when Spamton laughed, but to his relief, Spamton actually seemed amused. “THEY WOUld;NT. I SCR ATCHED THE F1N1SH T0O MUCH L4ST TIME I F3LL IN.” 

“Yeah?” Frequency asked with a humorless laugh. “So, sorry about… that. I mean, everything. Bringing you here because of some dumb misunderstanding. I’m sure you would have rather been left alone.”

Spamton was quiet for long enough that Frequency thought he might die of awkwardness. Finally, Spamton spoke again. “I W4NTED TO COM3 [[back-to-back]] s0M3DAY. JUST N0T L1KE TH1S.” 

“I wish you would have sooner,” Frequency said, finally sitting down next to Spamton as he spoke. “We didn’t have any idea-”

“I D1DN;T W4NT YOU TO KNOW!!!” Spamton said, crossing his arms angrily.

“I know, I just-” Frequency began, but both he and Spamton fell silent as they heard the hallway door open. They watched in silence as Banner walked in. 

Banner headed straight to the kitchen without so much as looking toward his brothers, but Frequency’s eyes were glued onto his every movement, shocked by what he saw. Banner, in the nicest words possible, looked like shit. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d been on Saturday night, his hair was a tangled mess, and dark bags hung under his eyes. Banner was gone through the kitchen door before Frequency could even begin to think of what to say, though, so Frequency shook his head, trying to clear the sight from his thoughts.

“Anyway,” Frequency began, turning back to Spamton. “What’s happened, happened! No use regretting it, right?”

Spamton didn’t respond.

“So, uh, I thought we could go pick up some of your things! If you had them! I know you mentioned living in a dumpster, but-” Frequency babbled on, suddenly unsure if his offer was only going to come off as some veiled insult.

“MY phONE. I N33D MY PH0NE!!!” Spamton said eagerly, cutting Frequency off.  “IT’S IT’S IT’S IN MY ST0RE.”

“Let’s go then!” Frequency interrupted. He had a sinking suspicion that his store would turn out to be another dumpster, but didn’t want to risk upsetting Spamton again, especially with how on edge his younger brother already looked. 

“Where are we going?” Banner asked from the kitchen’s doorway, holding a glass of water.

Frequency rolled his eyes. “Spam and I are going to go pick up some of his things,” Frequency said. 

“Should he be moving around that much?” Banner asked.

“I’M [right] H3R3!!” Spamton protested, but Banner still ignored him.

“I’ll lift anything,” Frequency said, annoyance dripping from his voice. Banner ignored that, too. 

“Fine, if you’re insisting,” Banner said. “I’ll drive.” 

“No one’s asking you for permission!” Frequency said. “Or to come!” 

Banner was already heading out into the hallway, though, leaving Frequency to glare at an empty doorway.

When he heard the front door open, Frequency opened his mouth to apologize to Spamton for Banner inviting himself along, but a startled cry from Banner in the front hallway interrupted him.

“What’s the tasque doing back here?” Banner yelled.

Frequency didn’t answer as he watched Runtime stroll in from the front hallway.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Banner, guess we finally found a store trashier than yours,” Frequency joked.

Neither Spamton nor Banner took the bait. 

Frequency forced a laugh at his own joke, letting it trail off as Spamton turned to glare at him.

“U CAN [wait! there’s more!] OUTS1DE,” Spamton said.

“Hey, come on, I was kidding,” Frequency said, crossing his arms. 

“YOU Won;T FIT INS1DE,” Spamton countered. 

“I’m not going to let you just go off on your own and disappear somewhere again,” Banner said, finally speaking again. Spamton turned his glare from Frequency to Banner.

“I WON’T. I JUST need my PH0NE,” Spamton said stubbornly. “TH31R’S N0T [[EVEN]] A B4CKDOOR.” 

Frequency snorted, trying to cover the laugh with a cough. Spamton knew that there wasn’t really a front door, either, just an old frame and door propped against piles of trash, but Frequency didn’t have to be a jerk about it.

“Banner’s got a point,” Frequency said, voice dripping with disdain as he admitted it. “You could just move some trash out of the way and be gone. I get- I totally understand why you’d want to do that, but with your health like it is-”

“I’D BE [[fine offerrings]] ON MY 0WN,” Spamton argued. “BUT I       L3AVE. I JUST NE ED MY PH0NE.” 

Frequency nodded. “Which I’ll help you carry. And pick up.” 

“Just make sure he doesn’t fall again,” Banner said. 

Spamton just continued to glare, before silently turning to enter the make-shift shop. Behind him, he could hear Frequency quickly trying to follow him inside. Spamton was right- it definitely wasn’t sized for him- but Frequency managed to squeeze in. Spamton didn’t bother to look to see what Banner was doing.

“This actually looks pretty cool,” Frequency said, looking around the cramped room. Spamton glanced back as he tried to squeeze back behind his counter to see Frequency, wide-eyed, staring at Spamton’s mural. Despite himself, Spamton felt a swell of pride.

“WELL Y0U KNOW, [[4D vishuals]] IS ALWAYS IMPORTANT FOR G0OD COSTOMER S3RVICE,” Spamton said. 

“Do you get a lot of customers?” Frequency asked. It sounded like a genuine question, but it still soured Spamton’s momentarily good mood.

“N0,” Spamton said flatly. 

“Oh, uh, sorry to hear that,” Frequency said, letting his voice trail off again. Spamton ignored him in favor of looking around his store for what to take. Most of his so-called goods could stay here- they were basically worthless without his expert salesman pitches. The only thing he really needed was his phone, which sat in its place of honor behind the counter. 

Spamton carefully reached for the phone, delicately picking it up.

“Here, let me get it for you,” Frequency said, awkwardly reaching over the counter. Spamton didn’t want to give it up, but an ache from his leg reminded him of how precarious he was lately. But, it was Frequency who broke the phone originally, Spamton thought, still holding onto the phone tightly.

“N0,” Spamton said, making up his mind as he spoke. “YO U’LL just [break] IT AG4IN.” 

Frequency rolled his eyes. “That was years ago,” he said, though he sounded more guilty than not. “You’ll just fall and drop it anyway if you don’t let me carry it. I promise I’ll be careful.” 

Nervously, Spamton hugged the phone tighter to his chest as he thought. A voice in the back of his head was screaming at Spamton to not listen, to not trust Frequency. He remembered all the fights they had, all the petty disagreements that had led up to them not talking, and all the rest that came after that. But another part of Spamton wanted to trust him. He wanted to believe that his brothers- or most of them at least- really did care about him. That the past weekend hadn’t been some fluke or act or trick, but because they genuinely still cared about him. That there was a future between him and them.

Spamton held onto the phone.

Frequency’s face fell, but he didn’t argue anymore. In an awkward silence, he watched as Spamton carefully made his way back from behind the counter to the front of the store. 

“Uh, let’s just go then,” Frequency said, opening the door for Spamton.

Spamton nodded, still clutching the phone to his chest as he walked out into the dump.

“Oh,” Banner said as a way of greeting when he saw the phone in Spamton’s arms. “You really still have it?” 

Spamton nodded. “OBV1OSLY.”

Banner shook his head. “You know, Snippet said the thing doesn’t work. It’s probably been broken since Frequency threw a tantrum or whatever and broke it.” 

“That’s not what happened,” Frequency complained, exiting the shop behind Spamton.

“H0W [[would you could you]] SN1P PET KN0W THat?” Spamton asked, defensively. Banner ignored him.

“God, to think that that entire time you were probably just as crazy as you are now and we didn’t realize it,” Banner said. His voice was almost mournful, but the words made Spamton cringe. “How could we have not seen it?”

“D0N’T T4LK ABO UT    L1KE I’M N0T hear,” Spamton said.

“What do you want me to say, then?” Banner asked. To Spamton’s annoyance, he sounded utterly defeated. “You’ve been talking to yourself for what must be years now. You barely seem to know where you are. You can’t even talk anymore.” 

“I D0N’T W4NT YOU TO SAY ANY TH1NG. I WaNT Y0U TO GO AW4Y,” Spamton said, gripping onto the phone even tighter. “I W4NT U ALL TO JUST [[leave]] ME AL0NE.”

“And what? Leave you to die here?” Banner said, gesturing toward Spamton’s shop.

“Banner, just shut up. We got what we came for, let’s just go,” Frequency said.

“I’M N0T GO1NG; TO DIE H3RE,” Spamton argued, resisting the urge to stamp his foot for emphasis. He wanted nothing more than to punch or kick a wall, but that would risk the phone. “B3SIDES, WOU LDN’T TH4T HAVE B3EN IDEAL four YOU?” 

“What?” Banner asked. Even Frequency looked unnerved by the question and how matter-of-factly Spamton had said it.

“How could you even think that?” Banner asked, voice wavering.

“NO, IT W0ULD HAVE BE EN PR3FECT. ME DY1NG HERE, QUI 3TLY AND [[without cause]] ANYM0RE RISK OF ME HURTING YOU’RE BUSINESS,” Spamton said. 

“Spam, come on, Banner’s an ass, but he doesn’t want you dead. Don’t say that,” Frequency said, eyes darting between his two brothers. 

“I- I- What?” Banner said, for once at a total loss of words. Spamton felt a kind of glee at that, at finally being able to leave his brother speechless.

“JUST AMIT it,” Spamton half-dared, half-begged. 

“Of course you come before the business, Spam,” Banner said desperately, voice quick and hoarse. “How could you even think-”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP,” Spam repeated, unable to stop himself. As he tried to quit, he could only watch as his brothers shared a look, obviously terrified he’d slip into another fit. Spamton balled his hands into fists and threw them to his side in anger. When he was finally able to speak again, Spamton spitted out, “YOU D0N’T C4RE AB0UT ME. IF U DID, YOU WO ULDN’T [[have]] F1RED ME IN THE [FIRST PLACE].”

Neither Banner nor Frequency spoke for a while, their eyes glued to the ground at Spamton’s feet. It wasn’t until Spamton realized he was staring at his empty hands that Spamton realized what they were staring at.

“Wait- you did what ?” Frequency asked, rounding on Banner, but Spamton couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying next. He could only stare at the broken remains of the phone lying on the hard ground. 

“Hey, Big Shot!” Banner greeted, pushing one of the drinks in front of Spam as he spoke.

Spam winced at the nickname but didn’t complain as he took a sip of the drink. “Hi, Banner! You’re here early.” 

Banner nodded. “I was excited for tonight. I have something to talk to you about.” 

“Yeah? What are we working on this time?” Spam asked as he took a swig of his drink. “Or is this about the campaign for-”

Banner just shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about business,” he said. 

Spam coughed, nearly choking on his drink in mock surprise. “What?”

Banner looked offended. “What? It can’t be that odd for someone to want to talk to their brother about something besides work. Even if they happen to work together.”

“Maybe for other people, but it is a bit odd for you. Skip will be thrilled,” Spam laughed, but the laugh died in his throat as he realized who he had just mentioned.

Banner seemed to share in Spam’s discomfort. “Forget about him,” he said. “And forget what he has to say about work, too, while you’re at it. He’d have happily spent the rest of his life working as a delivery driver. What does he know?” 

To Spam’s surprise, there’s an undercurrent of annoyance in Banner’s voice. Even since Spam had stopped talking to their other brothers, Banner had refused to actively pick a side. It was relieving, to hear Banner finally seem to understand what Spam was going through.

“What do you want to talk about, then?” Spam asked.

“Well, that’s actually kind of it. I want to talk about our family,” Banner said. His voice was almost back to normal, but there was still something different about it, something wrong. 

“I think I’m good,” Spam said in a joking voice, but he meant what he said.

“No, no, don’t be like that. I’m on your side!” Banner said. “Look, I know it’s been hard for you. But you really shouldn’t care so much!”

Spam blinked. That’s not what he had been expecting at all.

“They’re my family as much as yours, but come on,” Banner continued. “We can agree they’re being ridiculous.”

“I think so, but I’m surprised to hear you say it,” Spam admitted. It was music to his ears to have someone empathize with his side of things, but it was beyond weird to have Banner be the one to do it. 

Banner just shook his head again. “I know, I know, I’m supposed to keep the peace and not pick a side. But, come on. They just all happen to have issues with you when you’re suddenly the successful one? It’s so transparent that they’re just jealous of you. No matter how much Snippet might try and make it into a moral thing.” 

“I’m glad someone understands,” Spam said, biting back the urge to defend Snippet.

“I’d never tell him this, but you know, I actually lied to get my first advertising job,” Banner said. There was still that strange tone to his voice that made Spam pause.

“What? Really?” Spam asked. “You mean for that old magazine? You told us that you were offered the job after they heard your pitch.” 

Banner shrugged. “I mean, I was. I had to lie to get them to hear the pitch, though.”

“Why?” Spam asked.

“It was back when you all were still in school. I was working all those God-awful jobs all the time and had shown up to interview for a janitor’s position. I was wearing Dad’s old suit and ended up running into some of the higher-ups when I was looking for the interview. It’s dumb in retrospect, but I just started talking. I made up some past jobs and clients, and it kind of just happened.” Banner shrugged. Spam was amazed, but Banner looked almost embarrassed. “I just knew I could be doing greater things and saw a chance.” 

Spam wasn’t sure what to say. “I had no idea,” he settled on.

“I know,” Banner said with a slight smile. “Skip does, but I don’t think the others do, either. It’s not exactly something I brag about. I know they wouldn’t understand.”

“I do,” Spam said, without even thinking about it. 

“But, yeah, I got off topic a bit, but I just want you to know that I support you completely,” Banner said. Spam smiled, but Banner was speaking again before he could reply. “And I wanted to make sure that you know that has nothing to do with this.”

Spam froze. He finally recognized what sounded so wrong in Banner’s voice. The man was nervous. It was an absurd thought, but Spam was suddenly positive it was true. A cold feeling suddenly flooded Spam’s veins.

“What?” Spam asked. “It has nothing to do with what?” 

Banner didn’t answer, instead he said, “Do you have any idea how incredibly proud I am of you? To be your brother? I’ve always been proud of you, of course, but I'm just blown away by how successful you’ve become.”

Spam couldn’t help but relax a little at the praise, but his mind was still on alert. Something was wrong. “Thanks, Banner,” Spam said. “That means a lot to me.”

“I mean it,” Banner said. “To think about how far you’ve come, it’s just amazing. I just wanted to make sure you know that.”

Spam laughed, a bit awkwardly. “What’s going on, Banner? It almost sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” Spam said, though in his mind he added, or about to fire me . But that was absurd, Spam had been carrying the company for the past couple of months. He was the face of it now. 

“Of course not,” Banner said. “I just want to talk to you about your future with the company.”

“Are you firing me?” Spam blurted out before he could stop himself. 

“No! God, will you just calm down?” Banner said, keeping his voice low. “I’m not firing you. I just want to make sure you’re not holding yourself back.”

“What?” Spam asked, incredulous. “With what?”

“With us! With Skip, Frequency, Snippet, and me,” Banner said, his voice still quiet. “Like I said, you’re doing amazing. I just don’t think you need us anymore.”

“I don’t need you!” Spam agreed. “But I don’t think that means- what? What are you even asking me to do?”

“I’m just asking you to consider, for your own good, your future with the company,” Banner said. “Skip told me that you got invited to move into the Queen’s mansion.”

“So what?” Spam asked, not even bothering to wonder how Skip had managed to get ahold of that piece of gossip. “If I don’t live with you guys anymore, I can’t work with you guys, either?” 

“No, but it does mean you’re individually being recognized. Which you should be! But that doesn’t bode well for-” 

“You’re jealous of me?” Spam asked, laughing in disbelief. “You?” 

“No,” Banner said. “If you’d just let me explain, I’m helping you. I don’t want you to be in a position where you’re trapped-”

“I cannot believe this,” Spam said. “Mike- Mike warned me that this would happen. Why didn’t I listen to him? He knew you’d do this.”

Banner finally showed some irritation at the mention of Mike. “I’m helping you, Spam, even if you won’t listen to reason.”

“You’re helping yourself, you mean,” Spam shot back. “You can’t stand the idea of me being more successful than you, right? After all I’ve done for the company, and now you show your true colors, huh?” 

“Spam, listen to me,” Banner said, voice taking on an recognizable, authoritative tone that immediately made Spam shut up. “You’re doing great on your own. You’ll be fine. More than fine. But what won’t be fine is our business if none of its workers can even be in the same room with each other. If none of them will even talk to each other, much less work together.”

“You said you were on my side,” Spam said meekly.

“I am,” Banner said, firmly. “But I also have to be on our family’s side.”

“And the business’?” Spam asked, hating how petulant he sounded.

“Of course,” Banner said.

“So this is it then?” Spam asked. For a second, Spam wanted to do nothing more than to throw his glass into Banner’s obnoxiously calm face, but Spam resisted the urge.

“Spam,” Banner said. “At least half of our clients will gladly follow you. Who knows how many more you’ll get when you’re seen living and working at the Queen’s Mansion. This isn’t the death sentence you’re acting like it is.”

“But we’re through?” Spam asked.

Banner was silent for a second. “I hope not,” he finally said. “But it looks like you’ve already made that decision.”

Spam was up and leaving before Banner had even finished speaking.

Chapter Text

The first thing Frequency saw was that Banner was talking. Whatever he was saying was important, too, if the urgent and worried way he looked was anything to go by. But the ringing in Frequency’s ears was too much for even the barest hint of what he was saying to get through, and for a moment Frequency was happy to ignore his brother, his entire body urging him to plunge back into unconsciousness. But then the memories of what had just happened slammed into Frequency, and anger replaced any urge to sleep. 

“Did Spam just attack us?” He asked, yelling to be heard over the ringing in his own head. “With magic?!”

The thought was absurd. Magic wasn’t for attacking, at least not for the Addisons. Magic was for imbuing drinks with the love for another person. It was for creating attire that could flatter a person in any situation from a wedding to a divorce. It was for making ads that literally popped off billboards to charm viewers. Even before the family business, magic had been used to do things like keep pizzas Skip was delivering warm for a better tip or keep Banner awake between his various part-time jobs and side gigs. The idea that Spam had managed to turn their peaceful, if sometimes obnoxious, magic into something dangerous was far more disconcerting than even his permanent grin or glitched voice.

Frequency’s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar tug of healing magic. Too annoyed to be bothered, Frequency shoved a concerned-looking Banner away as he sat up. “Where’d Spam go?” He asked as the ringing finally subsided.

“I don’t know,” Banner said. “He created an explosion or something, then by the time I figured out what had happened, he was long gone.” 

“Fuck!” Frequency cursed, standing as he spoke. He got a better look at Banner, too, and saw that his brother wasn’t in much better shape than he was.

“Are you two alright?” A voice asked, causing Frequency to jump in surprise. Quickly, he glanced over to see Swatch standing at the entryway to the alley, holding a plastic takeaway bag and looking confused. 

“What does it look like?” Frequency snapped before he could think better of it.

“Shall I call for an Ambyu-Lance?” Swatch asked, getting closer to the two brothers. 

“No!” Both brothers said.

“We need to find Spam,” Banner finished. “Uh, Spamton, I mean. He’s our youngest brother,” he added when he glanced toward Swatch.

“They know,” Frequency said, standing up and brushing himself off as he looked around.

“I must admit, I’m a bit confused about what you two are doing here,” Swatch said as they glanced between the brothers and the broken phone on the ground.

“What?” Banner asked.

Frequency rolled his eyes. “Listen, I found Spam on my way home after speaking to you and Tasque Manager. I didn’t want you to throw him into your acid pool or whatever the hell you planned to do to him, so I brought him home.” Frequency said, the words quickly falling out of his mouth. “Now he’s hurt and we need to find him. So you can have me arrested for harboring a criminal or whatever else you want, but please just help us find him first. He’s hurt and something’s not right at all mentally.” 

“You what?” Banner asked, stopping his search to stare incredulously at Frequency. “ That’ s what you’ve been hiding this whole time?” 

“I wasn’t- Is that what Spamton says happened?” Swatch asked. “That I threw him into the acid pool?”

“No,” Frequency said. “It was just a rumor. Sorry.”

“Well, it’s certainly untrue!” Swatch said, emphasizing the bag in their hands. “I came to look for him today to make sure he hadn’t bled out from his last escapade! I brought him food, even!” 

Frequency felt a pang of guilt, but, to Frequency’s surprise, Banner seemed to only get more annoyed.

“So you knew this was where Spam was this entire time? And you didn’t tell me? After all the years of you coming to our shop?” Banner asked.

“I-” Swatch began, but Frequency cut him off. 

“What?” Frequency asked, annoyed. “Why would they tell you that some guy you fired wasn’t doing so well? Hardly seems to be your problem anymore.”

“Frequency,” Banner said. “I’m not doing this with you right now. Let’s just focus on finding Spam.” 

Frequency didn’t reply, instead turning to face Swatch. “So, can you help us?” 

“Certainly,” Swatch said, still sounding a bit confused. “I need to call my underlings to make sure they’re on alert in case he tries to break into the Mansion again-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Banner asked.

“But after that, I will be free to assist you. What exactly are his injuries?” Swatch finished.

“Uh, his leg is messed up, he has some cuts and bruises and has whatever mentally is going on with him,” Frequency answered.

“I’m sure the broken phone didn’t help with the last one,” Swatch commented, pulling out their phone. 

“Yeah,” Banner agreed flatly, pulling out his own phone and typing away furiously at it. 

Frequency ignored the two and turned to begin looking. “Spam?” He called as he walked, randomly picking a direction. “Spamton, come on out!”

By the time that Skip and Snippet arrived, the three of them had managed to search most of the dump as best they could. It had been a difficult task, and none of them were looking particularly good by the time they had finished. Any relief that Frequency felt at having his brothers arrive quickly disappeared when he saw the look on Skip’s face as he stomped toward them.

“What the hell did you do, Banner?” Skip yelled.

Banner seemed confused. “I- Spam ran away after his phone got broken. He used some magic attack so I was distracted. It’s hardly-”

Before Banner could finish speaking, Frequency found himself rushing toward Skip to try and hold him back before he could punch Banner. It took both Frequency and Snippet to stop his fist from making contact.

“Skip, stop!” Snippet begged.

“You fired Spam?” Skip shouted, lunging forward again and dragging his two brothers forward with him. 

Banner took a step back but didn’t flinch. “So, Frequency’s already talked to you two then? Glad to see we’re all really focused on the important things here, Freq.” 

“They deserve to know, too!” Frequency said defensively, winded from trying to hold Skip back. 

“So, it’s true then?” Snippet asked.

Banner paused. “No. I didn’t fire him. I merely gave him some advice on his future with the business. It was in his best interest to part ways.”

“His best interest?” Skip laughed angrily. He gestured toward the so-called shop and the broken phone on the ground. “This is in his best interest?”

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Banner said, finally raising his voice to match Skip’s. “And I only did what I had to because none of you would listen to me!”

“What?” Snippet asked, finally letting go of Skip. “So you’re saying this is our fault?”

“Yes! Or, no. Not really,” Banner admitted. “But- But, I begged each of you to just talk to Spam again. Or at least work with him. None of you listened! What was I supposed to do?”

Skip seemed to deflate, finally stepping back. “You were supposed to just let our fight run its course! Or- Or- I don’t know! Not fucking fire Spam! You didn’t even talk to us before you did it! Or tell us afterwards!”

“Don’t you think we might have tried to mend our relationships sooner if we knew that was what had happened? That he didn’t just leave us all?” Snippet asked. 

“What difference would it have made?” Banner asked, crossing his arms. “You all were the ones who decided to stop talking to him. I just wanted us to be able to get along again.”

“And you were willing to sacrifice Spam to get it?” Frequency asked.

Banner shook his head. “He was doing so well. How was I supposed to know it would end up like this?”

Skip glared at Banner but didn’t respond, instead turning to walk away. He stopped when he saw Swatch, and Frequency wondered if in his anger he hadn’t realized that Swatch was there until then. “Enjoying the show?” Skip asked angrily.

Swatch shook his head, “I don’t believe we’ve actually had the pleasure of meeting, yet. You’re Skip, I presume? I’ve heard a lot about you from Spamton.”

“Nothing good, I hope,” Skip said, slinking past Swatch as he spoke. 

Swatch turned to look at the others as he spoke. “You’d be surprised. I always found it odd how fondly Spamton could speak of all of you, even after you abandoned him. But, I gather that wasn’t the whole story.” 

“I guess not,” Skip said, examining the broken phone as he spoke. “So this is what you were after, Frequency?”

“Yeah,” Frequency said, walking over to join Skip. “Uh, I thought it might be a nice peace offering and he really wanted it. Sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted either of you with him,” Skip said, trying to piece together the broken phone parts as best he could. “It’s my fault, really.”

Frequency winced but didn’t argue.

“So, you’ve searched the area?” Snippet asked, glancing around the dump as he spoke.

“Yes,” Banner said. “No sign of him, though.”

“How far could he have gotten on his leg?” Skip asked. “Are you sure he wasn’t just hiding somewhere?”

Banner shrugged.

“Swatch,” Snippet said. “You seem to know our brother pretty well. Do you have any idea where else he might have gone?”

“I believe he knows the city very well,” Swatch said. “And makes extensive use of the alleyways and dumpsters in it. He could be anywhere.”

“Great,” Skip said. “Just great. So we have nothing? What are we going to do, just hope it doesn’t take years again for him to show up again?”

“Maybe we could try that apartment building he brought you and Frequency to,” Snippet offered. “Maybe that’s where he’s been actually been living by.”

Skip shook his head. “I doubt it. That doorman I told you about seemed pretty serious.” 

“It’s a place to start, at least,” Snippet argued.

“I think your best bet is to wait for him to show up at the Mansion again,” Swatch said.

“Okay,” Snippet said. “How long do you think that would take?”

“A couple weeks or months,” Swatch admitted.

“We don’t have that long!” Skip said. “Come on, he’s got to have someone who would know where he is. A single friend, at least.”

“What about that Mike guy?” Frequency asked. 

“If he’s even real,” Banner said. “I think he’s been gone for years.” 

Skip ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. “This is ridiculous. There has to be somewhere we can go or something we can do.”

The brothers and Swatch stood in silence for a long moment. Finally, Banner spoke up, “There’s nothing to do but start looking for him, then. Swatch obviously needs to get back to the Mansion and their work, but the rest of us can spread out and look for him around the city. The worst that happens is we wait until he shows up at the Mansion again like Swatch said.”

Frequency, as much as he didn’t want to listen to Banner, nodded in agreement. So did Skip and Swatch, but, Snippet shook his head. “No, Banner, the worst that happens is that Spam hurts himself again and dies alone somewhere, thinking his family’s abandoned him.”

Banner frowned. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Snippet said, staring at the ground. “I just wanted to- I don’t know. Let’s just go.”

“Alright, I’ll be heading back to the Mansion,” Swatch said. “Why don’t one of you join me? Maybe it will help this time to have one of you around if he does show up. At the very least you can help me get a better picture of what to be on the lookout for.”

Frequency doubted it, but before he could say anything, Banner was speaking. “I’ll go with you,” he said, sounding almost meek.

Frequency rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. The farther away he was from Banner, the better. 

“Okay,” Skip said. “Snippet and I will start at the apartments and then head over by Snippet’s shop. We know he was there at least once, at least.”

Banner looked at Skip suspiciously. “Okay, as long as that’s all you’re going there to do.”

“Really not looking for your permission right now, Banner,” Skip said, glaring in his direction.

Frequency nodded. “I’ll start-”

“You should stay here, in case he comes back to his shop,” Skip continued. 

“That’s dumb,” Frequency said. “Why would he do that?”

“It’s the one place we know is his,” Skip said. “It’s even where Swatch knew to look for him.” 

“Then you sit around waiting for him here,” Frequency countered. 

“Frequency, please?” Snippet asked. He sounded tired and emotionally flat, and Frequency found himself biting his tongue to stop his next argument when he saw the expression on Snippet’s face. 

“Okay,” Frequency relented. “But I’m on the record saying this is a waste of time.”

“Thanks,” Skip said, already turning to leave. “Everyone, leave your phones on.”

“Okay,” Banner said. “See you all later, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Skip said, already pulling on Snippet to get him moving back toward Skip’s car. 

Frequency stood there awkwardly as the others left. A thousand different thoughts were rushing through his head and he had no idea what to do with a single one of them. Finally, hoping to distract himself, Frequency found himself heading back into the shop.

The painting on the wall really was impressive, he thought, even if it made him sad to think of Spamton creating it to cheer himself up, which Frequency assumed was Spamton’s actual reasoning. He doubted any customer that Spamton might have found out here really would have cared all that much about it. Or maybe Spamton really did think they would care, Frequency thought to himself, miserably. 

Frequency made his way around the counter, barely squeezing in. He looked through the piles of ‘merchandise’- mostly unusable old bow ties Frequency faintly recognized from Spamton’s glory days, along with bottles full of a dubious liquid, and two halves of a single sword. Despite the situation, Frequency found himself snorting as he examined the items closer. If Spamton really could sell any of these, then he really must have had the talent and skill he used to always brag about one day having. Frequency was afraid to even touch half of what was here. 

Just when Frequency was turning to leave, thinking he’d start a second search of the area, he saw a glimpse of something shiny underneath one of the piles of bow ties. Curiously, he reached for it, only to pull his hand back in alarm when he felt a bite. He examined his hand to find it hadn’t been a bite, but the prick of something sharp. Looking back down, Frequency recognized what he had reached for. 

It had been funny at the time. How desperate Spamton had been to get ahold of the rings. The rings were, in all actuality, nothing special. They were a part of some junk he’d received as free samples from a client; they were as cheap and worthless as that implied. Yet Spamton had acted as if they were the crown jewels of the Queen herself. He’d tried to be sneaky about it, too, back when that was a surprise. He at first pretended to only be partially interested, and in the whole group instead of just the two. When that didn’t work, he’d straight up offered to buy them, for way more than they were worth. When it had become clear that Frequency enjoyed watching Spamton squirm trying to get them, Spamton had even resorted to trying to steal them. In the end, the only thing that had worked was crying to Snippet to get him to guilt Frequency into giving them over, and even then he’d only gotten the one. It took Frequency a moment to even remember what the other one Spamton had wanted was, and, given the circumstances, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for not just handing it over. Maybe if he’d made more of an effort back then to be a good brother, then none of this would have happened. Banner seemed to think that was the case, at least. 

Frequency shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his head. Carefully, he reached out and picked up the thorn ring, bringing it up to the light to see it better. Quickly, he glanced behind himself, suddenly sure there was someone watching him. When he couldn’t find anyone in the cramped shop, he hesitantly turned back to look at the ring. 

The thing was uglier than Frequency remembered. In his memory, it was plasticky and gaudy. In the dim light of the shop, it now looked twisted and grim. Frequency still didn’t understand how anyone was supposed to wear it without hurting themself. The thought of that- of wearing the sharp, unpleasant thing, even as it dug into your skin and bled you- made Frequency’s skin crawl. But there was something so enticing about that idea, too, and the pain almost seemed wonderful when he imagined it, like a sore you can’t help but touch even when it’s raw and oozing and sends shocks of pain up your spine each time you do it. 

For a second, Frequency was so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear the phone ringing. But eventually, the sound pulled him back to reality, and Frequency finds himself reaching for his cell phone with one hand even as he continued to examine the ring with the other.

“Hello?” He said as he flipped it open, not even bothering to check the screen. The phone continued ringing, so Frequency, frustrated, flipped the phone close and opened it again. 

“Hello!” He said, but again there was no answer, not even the sounds of an open line. Sighing, Frequency glanced at the phone, only to find the phone on the home screen.

It was only then that Frequency realized that the sound was coming from outside the shop.

Too soon, Frequency was outside, standing in front of the shattered remains of Spamton’s phone as it rang and rang and rang.

“Stop it!” Frequency said, somehow knowing well and truly that there was no one around to hear. 

When the ringing continued, Frequency crouched down. With a shaking hand, he reached out, toward the receiver. The ringing seemed to intensify, and, again, Frequency was sure that someone was watching him, somewhere, even as his eyes found no one in the dump but him.

Quickly, Frequency dropped the ring next to the phone. He stood up, bringing up a foot to smash down onto the phone, when he paused. He remembered what Banner had said, about Spamton talking to himself. Lowering his foot and pulling up the camera on his phone, Frequency began recording a video of the ringing phone. For a second, Frequency wished that Skip was here, or even Banner. Either one of them would have been able to answer the phone, even if they were alone at night in the creepy dump. Either one of them would have been brave enough to demand answers from whomever- or whatever- was on the other side of the ringing phone.

Though, Frequency thought as he stopped the recording, maybe it wasn't a bad thing that it was just him here, that no one would hear what the voice that had ruined Spamton’s life had to say. With that in mind, Frequency brought his foot down again and again until both the phone and the ring were broken beyond any and all recognition. Until Frequency was huffing and struggling to catch his breath. Until he was sure that the continuing ringing sound was just in his head.

Chapter Text

Spamton wanted to go home. Which was weird, because he was already home. 

He sat on his bed in his room in the Queen’s mansion, surrounded by all his things, and felt utterly overwhelmed by the feeling that wanted- needed- to go home. His lush bed was no longer comfortable as he sat on its edge, the spacious room suddenly felt overcrowded and claustrophobic, and he felt anything but safe as he wondered exactly how much longer his savings would pay his rent now that he wasn’t making any money. 

As he waited for the phone to ring, Spamton had little choice but to try and ignore the feeling. He counted back first from 100, then 1000. He then tried 10000, but that gave him a headache, so he instead tried to imagine he was somewhere else. First, he pictured himself driving around the city. But, even in his mind, there was endless traffic and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he wasn’t driving anyplace but was instead driving away from someone or something. He tried to think of something else to imagine, but all his mind would do is bring him back to the present, where he sat pathetically staring at an unringing phone. 

When did he become so uncreative, Spamton wondered. Back when Skip and he had shared a room, the two of them would spend entire nights talking about fantasy situations and arguing over the various pros, cons, and logistics of each one in-depth. Spamton could still feel the hot air of their attic room being blown around by their old box fan and hear Skip practically yelling to be heard over it. If Banner was home he’d come up to their room sometimes, too. Ostensibly, he’d be there to tell them to shut up and let him sleep, but Skip would always manage to pull him into the conversation. Usually, the conversation would just turn into Banner and Skip complaining about work and unreasonable customers or the like while Spamton listened sympathetically, but on Spamton’s favorite nights Banner would join in on the debate. 

Spamton shook his head violently to try and dislodge the daydream. He didn’t need to be thinking about his loser family again, especially not on a night like this when everything was so close to being ruined. He couldn’t risk not being alert and ready to talk when the phone finally rang. Because Spamton knew, the phone would ring. It had to. Because if not-

Spamton started over counting down from 10,000. By the time he got to the 3,000’s, the phone finally rang.

“Hello?” Spamton said, almost crying from relief into the receiver. “M1ke?”

“HELLO SPAMTON,” Mike answered. “DID YOU GET THE DATA I REQUESTED THIS TIME?”

“Yes!” Spamton answered as quickly as he could without accidentally interrupting Mike. “I [[have]] them all here.”

“GOOD,” Mike answered. “READ THEM TO ME.”

“Okay!” Spamton agreed. Hesitantly, he added, “It’s just- just- just- I was won dering if maybe it’d be easier to read- for me to read them to you- if I c0uld speak clearer.”

Without the glitch, Spamton silently added, praying that Mike would finally show mercy and help him get rid of it. It’d been weeks since Mike had given it to him as ‘motivation’ to work harder and Spamton wasn’t sure how much longer he could take not being able to talk.

“SPAMTON,” Mike said. “READ ME THE DATA.”

“Okay! S- Sorry!” Spamton squeaked, hastily grabbing the printed papers from his bedside table. He proceeded to read, in his broken voice, aloud, about all types of things he didn’t understand. Spamton vaguely understood that the papers were related to what the Lightners called the internet and that that was related to Spamton and Cyber City in some way. It was all Mike really seemed to be interested in these days, and, even if he didn’t understand why, Spamton was beyond grateful for it. It gave Mike a reason to keep calling, and that’s all Spamton needed. 

By the time he was finished, Spamton’s voice was hoarse and his headache had blossomed into a full-on migraine. Wordlessly, he waited for Mike’s verdict.

“VERY GOOD,” Mike said. Spamton sagged in relief.

“Th3n-” Spamton began, but Mike cut him off.

“I NEED TO GO NOW, BUT WE’LL DISCUSS THE GLITCH NEXT TIME,” he said. 

Spamton smiled but nodded. “Thank [[you]].” 

“GOODBYE, SPAMTON,” Mike said.

“When do you- you th1nk you’ll call back?” Spamton asked, but the line was already dead.

Spamton wanted to go home. Which was weird, because Spamton didn’t have a home.

The feeling welled up from his deepest core into every fiber of his being, overwhelming him with its intensity. Spamton knew that there had been things in life he’d needed more, wanted more, but at the moment he couldn’t think of a single one of them. Spamton just wanted to go home.

The problem was, even as he wallowed in the feeling, Spamton couldn’t think of where exactly he was longing for. Not any of the dumpsters he slept in or the so-called shop, and certainly not the Addison’s home. He didn’t even want to go back to his old room at the Queen’s Mansion, not really. He just wanted to go home.

Eventually, when the feeling got too much to bear and he regained his senses enough to realize he was getting soaked from the rain, Spamton got up, out of his hiding place in between trash in one of the dumps’ alleys, and made his way slowly back to the street. As he limped out of the alley, Spamton realized he wasn’t alone.

“Oh,” Frequency said. He turned around, glancing away from the broken pop-up message he had been looking at. “You’re back.”

Spamton laughed nervously. He had thought Frequency and Banner would be long gone 

“[[back to back specil]]?” Spamton said, relaxing a little when Frequency made no sign of attack as revenge.

“You’ve been, um, zoned out. For a while,” Frequency said. “You were talking about Mike?”

Spamton wanted to scream. That memory hadn’t been for Frequency to hear. He hadn’t even realized he had been speaking aloud again. 

“It sounded like a bad memory or dream,” Frequency said awkwardly. 

Spamton shook his head. “IT W4S THE L4ST TIME    SPOKE.” 

“Oh,” Frequency said. He looked more uncomfortable than Spamton even felt. “That’s cool.”

“IT;S REA LLY N0T,” Spamton said, annoyed, and before he knew what was happening the rest was falling out of his mouth. “HE ABAND0NED ME, T0O!! JUST WHEN [I] NE3DED HIM!!1! BUT YOU’D NO ALL AB0UT THAT, RIGHT?? RE4LLY. IT’S A MIR ACLE I EVER HAD ANywoN TO BEG1N WITH.”

Frequency didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, nervously, he asked, “Who is he?”

“M1KE?” Spamton asked, crossing his arms. “I DON’T KN0W. WHAT DO YOU C4RE??? OR ARE YOU ST1LL [[jealous]] HE CHOSE ME AND NOT u???” 

Frequency looked sick. “I think he was bad news, Spam. I think it’s good he stopped talking to you.” 

Instead of arguing, Spamton turned to leave. But, with his limp, it was easy for Frequency to run in front of him.

“Spamton, just wait!” Frequency said, blocking off Spamton’s path. “Please! I just want to talk.”

“W3LL, I DON’T W4NT TWO,” Spamton said, but he didn’t try to run away again. 

“I know,” Frequency said. “Listen, I’m really sorry about your phone. Can we just go home and talk about this?”

Spamton winced at the mention of his phone and shook his head. “I’M NOT GO ING [anywhere] WITH YOU AG4IN!! JUST L3AVE ME ALONE!!!”

“I-” Frequency began but sighed. “I’m not- I can’t force you to do anything, but please. I’m sorry. Banner’s sorry. If you come home with me, we can figure something out. We can get you another-”

“I DON’T need AN0THER PHONE. I N3EDED THAT [[perfect 1]],” Spamton said, resisting the urge to stamp his foot out of fear of falling over. 

“I know! I just-” Again, Frequency cut himself off. Even under his rage Spamton couldn’t help but notice that something was off. His brother seemed outright disturbed by something. “Spamton, please. You’re unwell. You don’t have to stay with us forever, but come on! Just come back for the night at least and heal up a bit more.” 

“N0! I JUST W4NT TO G0 H0ME!” Spamton yelled.

“What?” Frequency asked. “I don’t- What do you want, Spamton? Just tell me what I can do to make this right!”

“YOU C4N;T DO ANYTH1NG! [[Neither]] OF US C4N!” Spamton yelled. “JUST L4AVE ME ALO NE.” 

“Then what do you want me to do?” Frequency yelled back. “Just leave you here and- and never see you again?” 

“YES! I N3VER W4NT TO [[see ya]] AG41N!” Spamton yelled. “I DON’T [WANT] TO SEE ANY OF YOU AG4IN!! YOU 4LL ABAND0N3D ME      Y3ARS, THEN WH3N I FINALLY [get it while it lasts!] T0 S3E YOU AGA1N, YOU JUST TR3AT ME LIKE I’M BR0KEN    CR4ZY!!1!”

Frequency looked as if he might start crying. Or maybe screaming. “Spamton, that’s not what we- We don’t mean to treat you like that. If you just come back-” 

“N0!!!” Spamton yelled.

“You’re not crazy! I know that!” Frequency said. “And you’re not broken! You’re just hurt and need help. Help that we can provide!” 

“NO!! JUST L3AVE ME AL0NE!” Spamton cried. 

“Everyone’s out looking for you right now. Skip and Snippet and Banner! We just want to help you.”

“I D0N’T CAR E!! GO AW4Y!” Spamton yelled. 

Frequency was quiet for a long time. Almost long enough to even make Spamton uncomfortable. Spamton could practically see his mind turning as he tried to think of something to say.

“Well,” he said, voice soft. “If we’re never going to see each other again, can I tell you a secret?”

Spamton laughed bitterly. “I KN0W YOU [[hate]] ME, FR3QUNCY. TH4T S NOT A S3aCRET.”

Frequency frowned. “I don’t and that’s not what I was going to say. A real secret. One you don’t even know.”

Spamton shrugged, trying to calm down from the previous yelling as he breathed rapidly. “F1NE. IT BET TER B3 [[GOOD AS GOLD]], TH0UGH.”

“You, uh, you said we think you’re crazy. Which isn’t true, but anyway. But, our family knows I am crazy, and they still put up with me.” Frequency said. When Spamton began to turn to leave, Frequency quickly continued, “No, really! I’m not mocking you. I know it’s hard to believe, but this is me medicated.” Frequency finished with an awkward, self-deprecating laugh that made Spamton pause, curious.

“I, uh, have always been me I guess. But I got worse after you left and did something dumb. Snippet and Skip convinced me to get help, but Banner knows about it, too. Like I said, they all put up with me, even with that.”

“Y0U’R SER1OUS???” He asked.

Frequency nodded.

“Y0URE SERIOUS,” Spamton laughed harshly. “WHY D0 YOU TH1NK I W0 ULD P0SSIBLY C4RE?” 

Frequency frowned. “I just wanted to, I don’t know, let you know. Since the rest of the family does. And I thought it might help? I guess? To know. That you’re not alone in being thought of that way.” 

“IT D0ESN.T,” Spamton said. “THOSE ARE T0O C0MPLETELY DIFERENT TH1NGS!!”

Frequency shrugged. “I know, I know. I guess I just always kind of wanted you to know, anyway.”

“WH4T? Me?” Spamton asked, laughing. Frequency really was reaching if he was lying so brazenly.

“Yeah. I used to be so happy that you were gone by then, but the more I think about it, the more I wish you had known. You, at least, would have joked about it. Treated me like normal even if that meant calling me an asshole.” Frequency said. 

“I’M ALW4YS HAPPY TO Call YOU OUT,” Spamton laughed, speaking without thinking. 

“I’ve missed that,” Frequency admitted. “I’ll miss that,” he corrected.

Spamton winced. “D0 YOU R3ALLY NOT [hate] ME? EVEN AFT3R EV3RY THING?” 

Frequency nodded. “I’m sorry if I made you think I did. I really used to think I did, too, then you were gone for so long. Somehow, I really missed you, even while I thought I hated you,” Frequency admitted with a laugh. 

Spamton was quiet again, and the two of them just sat in silence, listening to the night air. 

“I N3VER H4TED U,” Spamton finally said. “I R3ALLY MIS SED YoU, [[too much]].”

Frequency smiled. “Then why not come back with me? I-”

Spamton cut him off. “B3CAUSE IT W4SN’T SUPPOsseD TO BE L1KE THIS!! IT W4SN’T SUPP OSED TO BE       I WAS STILL BR0KEN.” 

Frequency laughed, annoying Spamton. “You said we were the ones that thought you were broken.” Upon seeing Spamton’s expression, Frequency quickly covered his mouth and tried to stifle the laugh. “Sorry, sorry. My point is you’re not! So why worry about it?”

“I JUST W4NTED TO BE SUCC3sfull AG4IN. TO PROVE YOU 4LL WR0NG,” Spamton said.

Frequency sighed but still smiled at him. “Spamton, we were wrong. You don’t have to prove that.” 

“BUT Y0U WEREN’T! IN THE 3ND, I FA1 LED, JUST LIKE YOU ALL KN3W I WOULD,” Spamton cried.

“Your business failed, sure. But you’ve done some amazing things. You’ve survived on your own for years, without even a place to stay. You survived some supernatural phone creep and came out to tell the tale. And your business was successful for a while! In ways I can’t even imagine.” 

“TH4T’S NOT GO OD EN0UGH!! I N3ED TO BE SUCESSFUL N0W,” Spamton said.

“Then let us help you be successful!” Frequency offered. “Between the four of us, I’m sure we can help you do whatever you want. Want to go back to advertising? Plenty of work there. Art? Fashion? Cooking? One of us can help you with that, too. Hell, even if you’re dead set on this whole breaking into the Mansion thing, you can count on us.”

Spamton rolled his eyes at the image but shook his head. “H0W DO I NO YOU W0N’T JUST ABAND0N ME AG4IN?”

Frequency frowned. “I- I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what to say. I am so, so sorry about that. We all are. If you give us- me- another chance, then I promise you it won’t happen again.”

Spamton swallowed. He thought of his brothers, out in the middle of the night and in the pouring rain, looking for him. He thought of how much he wanted to go home, and what a home would actually look like. How he’d want it to feel. Who he’d want to be there.

Spamton thought of Mike. How many times he’d reminded Spamton how better off he was without his family. How he’d never called back, not after Spamton’s voice had gone out from the praying and begging. How he’d left Spamton completely alone in the world and how Spamton knew that Mike had never thought twice about doing it. 

“OK4Y,” Spamton said. Frequency beamed, but Spamton kept talking. “OK4Y, BUT THIS T1ME I CAN L3AVE WH3N EVER I W4NT.”

Frequency looked nervous, but nodded. “Okay.”

“AND AND AND AND I D0N’T HAVE TO DO 4NY TH1NG I D0N’T WANT TO!!! AND TH1S D0ESN’T MEAN I FORGIVE YOu!! ANY OF Y0U.”

Spamton wasn’t sure if Frequency would accept the last part, or if he’d get angry and accuse Spamton of the one who needed to be forgiven. To Spamton’s surprise, Frequency just looked relieved. 

“Okay! Anything else?” Frequency asked.

Spamton thought about it, then shook his head.

“Let’s get out of this rain then,” he said with a tired smile. It wasn’t until then that Spamton realized just how soaked both he and Frequency were. 

Spamton nodded, and the two made their way home.

Chapter Text

It was light out by the time Frequency and Spamton trudged their way up the front porch and into the Addison’s home. As he closed the front door behind them, Frequency noticed an unfamiliar car in the driveway, but found himself too tired to really care.

“We’re home!” Frequency yelled. He kicked off his soaked shoes into the front hallway.

“HI,” Spamton added, surprising Frequency with how he could manage to sound so exhausted and loud at the same time. 

“Welcome home!” Snippet called from the living room, and in a matter of seconds he was in the front hallway with them. Frequency managed to sidestep, but Spamton just squeaked as he was unexpectedly wrapped in a bear hug by Snippet. 

Stepping farther away from them to avoid being pulled in, Frequency wrung out the water from his ponytail and headed towards the living room.

“Everything okay?” Skip called from inside the living room.  

“I absolutely hate the rain, but- Uh, what happened to you?” Frequency said, stopping mid-sentence as he saw Skip’s black eye, crooked nose, and smattering of other bruises. 

Despite everything, Skip beamed at Frequency as he spoke. “Oh, nothing much. Just ran into that asshole from the apartment building.”

“Who?” Frequency asked. Skip scowled at him.

“The doorman? The one who threatened Spam?” Skip said, his tone as if he were speaking to a particularly dumb child.

“He attacked you because you were looking for Spamton?” Frequency asked, flopping down onto a chair. “That’s crazy.”

“No, but he threatened Spam again! What was I supposed to do?” Skip asked.

“Is that a trick question?” Banner asked, walking in from the kitchen. The words weren’t much of a shock, but Frequency couldn’t help but be surprised by the dull tone Banner said them with. When Frequency had called to let his brothers know that Spamton was okay, Banner had sounded as if he were on the verge of another breakdown, which had been annoying enough, but now he sounded totally uninterested. Irritated, Frequency was going to comment on it, but then he saw whose car had been in the driveway.

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Raid said. Or, at least, that’s what Frequency thought her name was. Frequency couldn't help but feel a surge of annoyance as he remembered the way the doctor had acted the last time he saw her. Still, he had to be at least a little grateful. On the walk home, it had become increasingly obvious that Spamton could use the help.

“Is Snippet okay?” Frequency asked. He hadn’t noticed any obvious signs of distress on his younger brother, but it was worth asking.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” Skip said, looking disappointed. “He ran away immediately.” 

Frequency snorted. “Good for him!”

“You’re all a bunch of traitorous cowards,” Skip complained. Raid laughed as she sat on the coffee table in front of him, shoving aside the laptop and folders that were in her way.

“Let’s just hope no one recognized you,” Banner said, still without any bite, grabbing the laptop and flipping it open as he sat on the couch next to Skip. “This week’s already been bad enough for business as is.” 

Skip shoved at Banner, almost knocking the laptop to the ground. Banner ignored him and apparently got back to work. 

“Stay still!” Raid complained, her hands already ready with healing magic. “You’re lucky I needed to check on Spamton again. If one of my siblings were stupid enough to get in a fight, I would make them live with the consequences and heal naturally.”

Frequency laughed. “I don’t think that would have stopped him.”

“ST0PPED [WHAT]???” Spamton asked as he and Snippet walked in the room. Skip glanced over at him, but didn’t speak after Raid glared at him, a clear order to shut up and let her work.

“Don’t worry about it,” Frequency said without thinking. When he saw the look on Spamton’s face, though, Frequency frowned and spoke again. “Sorry. I mean, Skip got in a fight with that guy the two of you met when we were at those apartments. He and Snippet were looking for you there.”

Even with his perpetual grin, Spamton managed to look crestfallen. “I I I D1DN;T THINK-”

“Don’t worry about it!” Skip said. “I’m feeling better already, and the guy totally had it coming, right?”

Snippet frowned at Skip. “Let’s just be glad that Frequency, at least, was focused on the task at hand.”

“Yeah,” Frequency said awkwardly, not wanting to answer any of the questions he knew his brothers would soon want to ask. He turned to leave as he spoke. “I’m going to go change into something dry.”

Snippet nodded, and Frequency left to go do just that. When he got into the mess that was his room, it was incredibly tempting to just crawl into his bed and let himself sleep until he could convince himself that the past couple days were nothing but a weird dream. Frequency didn’t want to leave Spamton alone with his brother’s questions and risk having Spamton decide he wanted to leave after all, though, so he barely managed to keep himself from collapsing onto the bed and instead settled on changing into the most comfortable pair of sweatpants and hoodie he had. 

Frequency must have been even more tired than he realized, because when he returned to the living room, he was hit with a wave of normalcy at the scene inside of the room. Banner sat on the couch staring at his laptop, completely oblivious to the world around him. Skip sat next to him, but was pointedly ignoring Banner, instead focusing on his phone. The sound of Snippet’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, animated in tone but too muffled to be comprehensible. The feeling lasted only a moment, until Spamton’s glitched voice from the kitchen broke the illusion and Frequency quickly came to his senses about what he was seeing. Banner was on his laptop, but he wasn’t typing or even really reading anything from the looks of it, instead just staring blankly at the screen. Meanwhile, Skip, still looking beaten up, wasn’t ignoring Banner out of some slacker’s desire to avoid getting pulled into help with work, but instead out of what was barely concealed rage and annoyance at the other man. Even Snippet’s voice wasn’t right. It lacked the carefreeness of when Snippet was loudly chatting on the phone or trying to argue with a book on tape. Instead, it sounded worried. 

 Frequency felt a pang of guilt for how weirdly comforting it had been to think that things were like they were before Spamton had come back into his life. Shaking his head as if that could somehow undo the thought, Frequency ignored his two older brothers and went into the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Frequency asked to no one in particular. Spamton sat in one of the kitchen’s chairs while Snippet nervously stood behind him. Raid was packing up her bag on the kitchen table, which Frequency hoped at least was a good sign.

“Everything’s great!” Snippet said with an unconvincing grin. 

Spamton nodded. “I;M BET TER THAN EVAR!!” 

Raid shook her head. “For your sake, I really hope that’s not true,” she said, before laughing at what Frequency supposed could charitably be called her own joke. She turned her head away from her bag to speak directly to Frequency. “He’s okay for now, but needs some sleep and more time to recuperate. I was just telling Snippet that I’d be back later, but I need to go get ready for work.”

Frequency nodded. The sound of Skip laughing from the living room distracted them both before Frequency could reply, though. 

Frequency returned to the living room to see Skip was busy reading something on the computer Banner had been using, though he didn’t look too pleased about it. Frequency doubted that Banner had willingly given Skip the laptop, but he looked as unconcerned about it as he had about everything else since Frequency and Spamton had gotten home. Frequency refused to rise to the obvious bait and feel concerned and instead settled on annoyance. 

“Banner, you know, I hate to be a jerk,” Skip said in a way that made it clear he very much did not hate to, “but this is atrocious! I know you dropped out, but I’m pretty sure basic phonetics were taught way before high school.” 

“What? You never told me you were a dropout!” Raid laughed as she walked into the room from behind Frequency.

Banner didn’t answer as he got up and walked toward the front hallway, apparently intent on leaving this conversation before it started. Skip glared after him, but Raid spoke first. 

“Come on, I know practically everything about your brothers and your business, but you never thought to mention that you never graduated from high school?” Raid asked. Her tone was teasing, but there was a worried edge to it that only made Frequency more annoyed. Banner didn't look back as he left the room.

“He quit in the tenth grade,” Skip said matter of factly. Raid looked surprised.

Frequency knew that this was exactly what Skip had wanted, to embarrass Banner in front of some friend of his, but Frequency just shook his head. In theory, Frequency was more than happy to discuss the inadequacies of their oldest brother, but right now he was too tired for it. 

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Frequency said.

“Yeah,” Snippet echoed half-heartedly, having also joined them. 

“I don’t get it,” Raid said. “Isn’t that like the corporate dream? To have quit school to start your own business or startup or whatever?”

“He didn’t- That’s not really what happened,” Skip said. “That was years before we started the business.”

“Still!” Raid said defensively. “He’s self-made and all that.” 

Skip actually smiled at that, like a hunter about to spring a trap, and even in his tiredness Frequency couldn't help but be curious about what Skip was going to say..

“Actually more than you’d think,” Skip began, but Spamton’s glitched voice quickly interrupted him.

“THA NK Y0U FOR YOUR H3LP,” Spamton said, wobbling in from the kitchen. “BUT [[dont]] l3t US KEEP YOU.” 

Snippet looked between Spamton and the doctor, obviously mortified, but Raid only looked surprised. After a moment, she seemed to take the hint and smiled back at him. 

“Circumstances aside, It was nice to see you again, Spamton!” She said, before turning to Skip. “You better stay out of trouble before I see you again! I don’t want to hear about any more fights,” she said. 

Skip shrugged, but waved her goodbye. As Snippet followed her out to the front hallway, thanking her again for her help, Skip turned to Spamton.

“You don’t have to defend him, you know,” he said simply, before turning back to the laptop. 

Spamton shook his head. “I’M NOT!!!! WhAT R YOU DOING?/?” 

“Work,” Skip said simply, and Frequency rolled his eyes.

“Listen, fuck Banner and all that, but I’m going to bed and I would really appreciate still having a job when I wake up, okay?” Frequency said, crossing his arms as he did his best to sternly look at Skip, utterly unsure of how to be the reasonable one in this type of situation.

Skip seemed unbothered by the attempted lecture, but nodded. Frequency didn’t budge until Skip shut the laptop, though. With a sigh, Frequency turned away from Skip toward the door, but paused and looked at Spamton. “He’s right though,” Frequency said. “Don’t defend Banner.”

“I WA SN’T!!!” Spamton protested. “HE’S ACT    W3IRD ALREDY, THOUGH!!” 

“Yeah, acting being the key word there,” Skip said with a frown. 

Frequency nodded in agreement, ready to finally head to bed, but Spamton didn’t look as if he wanted to end the conversation there. 

“I [[thoughtful gift ideas]] YOU WANT3D TO G3T ALONG WITH EVERY     ???” Spamton said. 

“What?” Frequency laughed, trying his best to cover his annoyance. “When did I ever say that?”

“Yeah,” Snippet agreed as he walked in from the front hallway where he’d seen Raid out. “That doesn’t really sound like something Frequency would say.” 

Frequency grit his teeth, but nodded. 

“YOU YOU Y0U YOU,” Spamton tried before shaking his head and trying again, “SO WH4T, YOU;RE JUST G0ING TO ABANDON [him] L1KE-” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Snippet said, rushing over to stand next to Frequency and Spamton. “No one- No one said anything about abandoning anyone, right?” 

Skip muttered something under his breath but otherwise stayed silent. 

“Yeah,” Frequency agreed reluctantly. “We’re just angry, but,” Frequency trailed off. He was going to say not that angry , but that felt like another lie with how upset Skip was, and a cruel thing to say to Spamton of all people anyway. Maybe we’ve learned our lesson ? We wouldn’t do that to you ? Please just let me go to sleep ?

When it became obvious that Frequency had no idea how to end that sentence, Snippet just nodded along like he had. “Yeah, Spamton, it’ll be okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound all that positive of it himself.

Spamton looked unconvinced, but nodded. “I W4NT TO TRUST Y0U. ALL [[of]] YOU,” he said, looking as pensive as he could with his permanent grin.

Frequency nodded quickly. “You can!” 

“Yeah, definitely!” Snippet agreed, just as quickly.

“But, uh, let’s talk more about this later,” Frequency said, trying to leave the conversation as best as he could. Spamton didn’t seem hurt by the gesture, at least, but he didn’t seem very interested in stopping the conversation here, either.

“CAN W3 T4LK NOW??” Spamton asked. “THE THR3E OF US???” 

“Listen, I don’t like her either, but the doctor did say you needed sleep,” Frequency tried. Snippet elbowed him in the ribs.

“Of course!” Snippet said. Skip nodded, too.

Spamton was quiet for a long moment after that, and Frequency had to suppress a groan of frustration while the other two waited patiently.

“I JUST W4NT TO SAY,” Spamton said, speaking as slowly and deliberately as he could muster. “I AM V3RRY SORRY. FOR E  RYTH1NG.” 

Frequency hadn’t been sure where the conversation had been headed, but he hadn’t at all predicted this. “What?” He asked.

“I;M [sorry],” Spamton repeated. “I’VE W4NTED TO AP0LOGIZE FOUR A LONG TIME!! I SHOULD HAVE JU5T-” 

“Don’t!” Skip said, sounding surprised, too. “I mean, really. We’re the ones who messed up and should be apologizing again if anything. Which we are! Sorry, I mean.” 

“Yeah!” Snippet agreed. “We’re the ones who should be sorry, not you.” 

Frequency opened his mouth to agree, but then he remembered their past conversation, about how Spamton said he didn’t want to be treated like he was crazy or broken and stopped himself. He paused, and instead thought back to the anger and hurt and betrayal that he’d felt whenever he’d thought of Spamton for the last four years, and the pain he’d seen in his brothers from the same cause. With that in mind, Frequency nodded. “Thanks. I forgive you.” 

“Frequency!” Snippet cried, panicked. “You can’t-” 

“I’m not saying it’s all his fault! Or that we didn’t do him worse, but if he wants to apologize, I’m accepting it,” Frequency snapped, crossing his arms defensively.

Spamton nodded. “tHANK YOU !” 

Skip looked between Spamton and Frequency, seemingly still unconvinced. “And what, you have nothing to apologize for yourself, Frequency?”

Frequency glared at Skip. “I already apologized!” Frequency said, before glancing back at Spamton. “But, uh, I am really sorry. Again. For everything that happened between us and, um, let’s just say most of what’s happened in the past couple days. And for not believing you about the phone.” 

Spamton looked surprised on the last part, but nodded anyway.

Snippet squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologize enough for how much I regret that last conversation and ignoring you,” he said, obviously trying his best to look Spamton in the eyes as he spoke. “But, um, I do appreciate the apology. And I forgive you, too! Obviously. Sorry.” 

Before Spamton could reply, Skip was rushing out his own apology. “I am sorry about abandoning you, about making you feel undervalued to begin with, about not protecting you when you needed it, and about not just apologizing or letting this go before you disappeared.” 

The other three looked at Skip expectantly.

“And thank you for your apology,” Skip finally said. “But, let’s forget the apologies after this, okay? I think we’d all do better to focus on the present or the future from now on rather than sulking in the past.”

Frequency nodded along with Snippet and Spamton, but he couldn’t help but think of Banner upstairs or the video of the ringing, broken phone he had taken. As much as they might wish otherwise, Frequency doubted they could really let go of the past that easily.