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Part 1 of Slots In Cyber City (AU)
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2025-08-03
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2025-08-10
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These Casino Chips Won't Mug Themselves

Summary:

A tired Spamton gets thrown around a little. Maybe more than a little.

Chapter 1: A long night gets a little longer

Notes:

So! This is my first time ever writing fanfic. Also my first time ever making an AU! SO. apologies if anything seems ooc or inaccurate to either the character or the general situation. I'm. All over the place to put it lightly.

ENJOY!!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Slot machines chimed, coins and casino chips clicked, and drunken guests loudly conversed. Although muffled, the atmosphere of the crowded casino still leaked into the office, stealing away the focus of the small Addison who sat on one of two leather couches.

The ebbing ache from a long shift causing Sapmton to focus on this white noise, rather than the lanky mechanical casino owner who stood across from him, talking about contracts, numbers, and other things Spamton had decided to drown out.

"-wouldn't you agree?" Tenna grinned as he sank into soft leather couch opposite of Spamton, staring at him. The smaller of the two paused, then lifted his gaze from the floor to Tenna.

He could feel the fatigue of the early morning hours starting to wear on his body. The casino was open 24 hours, though peak hours were from 8pm to 2am, something Spamton insisted he always be on the clock for. But tonight had been long. Too long. He felt like he was being stretched every way and he so desperately needed to snap in half. It would be better than the never-ending tension he felt building in between his shoulders, down his back, and in the ache of his wrists. The worst part was he wasn't even working on the floor with all the drunkards and slot addicts. Instead, he had shoved himself in his office all day (and night), whether that be working on deals and advertisements that would help boost numbers or staring at the fine print of contracts ensuring there was no scandalous or backstabbing clauses. It was a drag, speaking of which he desperately craved a cigarette, or alcohol, hell maybe even both. Even though tonight was not the first night of papers, stamps, signatures, and reading, it was decidedly the breaking point for him. Not to mention, the warm light from lamp in the office left corners of the room dark, perfect to take a nap in. As such, for the past hour his brain hadn't kept up with anything Tenna had said.

"...sure thing, [BIG SHOT]." Spamton haphazardly agreed, shooting a quick grin. He didn't even know what they were talking about anymore. Of course he only caught the end of the question, so he blindly gave his answer. Silently, he wondered if Tenna believed he was listening.

"Ah! Great, so then we'll cut your share of the casino's profit down to 3%!"

Now that got his attention back on Tenna. Shooting up off the couch to stand, Spamton clenched his teeth and plastered on a very fake smile. "What?"

"Oh! Are you feeling less tired now? I could tell you were- !" Tenna started to ask, but was cut short as his tie strangled him. Spamton gripped the fabric, forcing Tenna down to his eye level.

"Ant. Mind repeating what [you and you alone can-] said about my cut of the [[PROFITS GALORE]]?" Spamton pulled Tenna in a bit closer, squinting through his glasses.

Spamton had half a mind to snarkily comment on the way his partner's screen changed ever-so-slighty in color. The CRT's screen now tinted pink, though, not nearly enough for someone else to notice. Spamton had simply been around Tenna long enough to notice the little things. In the end he was too tired to get into banter, letting the thought fizzle out as Tenna pulled away from him, standing and taking a step or two back.

"W-well! That was just a joke, okay! I- I could tell you weren't listening! You just-" He sighed, "...You just seem to have been real tired lately. Or out of it! Haha! But, no! I'm not, uh- cutting down your portion of the profit. So! ...Sorry. I-"

"[[Hold your horses]]! Holy [[$#!%]], look. As long as your not cutting my profit I don't care." Spamton cut him short, no where near awake enough to let the taller man go on a ramble of apologies and worries. After the intial shock of the 'joke' had worn off, Spamton could feel the weight of his eyelids as he stifled a yawn. He wanted to lay down, badly.

Tenna sank into the couch again, glancing at Spamton. The CRT looked over his shoulder, a clock ticking on the wall read roughly 1am. Only another hour until peak guest time was over.

The soft ticks and the muffled casino atmosphere were the only audible things in the room. Spamton sat back down, his heavy, half-lidded eyes now wandering to the ceiling as he craned his neck back. He didn't know if he had the energy to stand back up again.

Tenna shifted in his seat, "Spam, you can leave. It's basically the end of peak hours anyway! I think you just need to get some sleep. Then, you'll be all hunky-doody for our meeting tomorrow. M'kay?"

Shit. He had forgotten about that hadn't he. It had been a tough and busy week. As such, rather than lose customers, no, lose profit and go out--partying, stealing a cigarette off of Tenna, or simply going to the Casino's in-house bar--Spamton opted to stay in his office the past couple of days. He was in rare form, not even taking a break to smoke or drink in favor of putting a dent in his paperwork. But if he was going to stay a Big Shot? If it was going to keep the casino up and running? He'd do it without question.

"...please? Just get some sleep, I'm just... worried." Tenna mouth turned upwards, giving a small, but hopeful smile.

Mentally noting the meeting for tomorrow, Spamton let out an exhausted sigh.

Taking his glasses off and dragging his hand down his face, he looked toward Tenna, "Fine. Fine! [100% customer satisfaction]. Okay. " He threw his arms up in surrender, then let them fall to his sides. "Yes. I'll go home early and [Sleep On A Beautiful New Matress For Only $300!]. Then we'll have our meeting tomorrow at the [Endings] of my shift."

Placing his glasses back on his face, Spamton shifted and stood to grab his suit jacket off of the other couch he had previously been sitting on. However, only two steps later, he found himself a decent way off the ground after being swept up by Tenna's metal arms.

"Yes! Haha! I can't believe you're that tired! You've only ever left early once. Once! And that was because Ramb let you have too many shots." Tenna punctuated his sentence by tapping the end of Spamton's nose. "Seriously, do you know the amount of times I've asked you to go home early? I'm surprised it didn't take much sweet talk!"

"[I don't think, I know!] this is [the host with the most!] tired I've felt. " Spamton didn't have the energy to fight against the much larger CRT's embrace. Neither could he fight off the adspeak peaking through every other sentence. It didn't help matters that Tenna ran a bit on the warmer side. Which now began threatening to drag Spamton off to sleep. He wrapped his arms around the CRT and shoved his face into the crook of Tenna's neck. Who then held his breath for a moment, garnering a grin from Spamton as noted the halt in his partner's breathing.

"You're warm." It came out muffled as Spamton nuzzled his face further into Tenna. The latter tightened his grip for a second, and he sighed as he moved his hand into the smaller man's jet black hair.

"...Does that mean you'll stay tonight? Here, I mean. You know I'll always have a room waiting for you here. Only if you want it, of course."

Only if he wanted to? Of course Spamton wanted to stay. But he couldn't just say that. Right? It would be... unprofessional. But then again he was being unprofessional right now, wasn't he. The two of them had been toeing that line for a while now. Had they already stepped over it?

Godammit.

Well, he had to make a phone call later anyway. The only issue was that Tenna knew that whole spiel.

"...[CATHODE]. You know I [can't close up a deal]."

With that, Tenna squeezed him a bit tighter, then lowered enough for Spamton to let go and slide out of his arms.

"I know." He sighs, taking a pause. "It's the phone right? You have to take a call, or something." He knows it by heart at this point. He wished he didn't have this stupid excuse memorized. It felt like beating a dead horse whenever Tenna had asked Spamton about it. About his benefactor. About them and their relationship. It was always the same answers, or lack thereof.

It had been this same song and dance for a while. And the thing is they are partners, it just. Spamton didn't. No, couldn't? Tenna wasn't sure at this point. But Spamton didn't seem averse to their relationship. He just seemed... caught up in pleasing his benefactor. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing from Tenna's point of view, Spamton has someone who helps keep the casino thrivint above all the others in Cyber City. In fact, with their newly implemented cyber slots, the casino had been doing better than ever as of late! ...So why couldn't Spamton take a break? He deserved one, Tenna could tell that much as he looked at him. They stood out like a sore thumb against his white skin, but those were bags under his eyes.

Right. He should let him head home.

The CRT grabbed the discarded suit jacket off of the back of the couch, handing it to a half-asleep Spamton.

"Have a safe trip home. Please."

"Thanks, [CATHODE]." Spamton gives a weak, tired smile.

God he was tired. He can't tell if it was good or bad that he decided to walk to work today rather than taking his cungadero. On one hand he might've fallen asleep at the wheel on the way back to Queen's Mansion, on the other he might fall asleep in the street before he can get to the front door.

"Hehe- hopefully not too many [ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS 866-897-5058] out tonight, I've gotta walk home." Spamton snickered at himself, almost loopy from how tired he was.

"Don't say that! You've walked home plenty of times before and nothing has happened." Tenna paused. "Look- I know the answer but, imgonnaaskonemoretime-"

"[Ring Ring Ring! Banana Phone!] Can't."

"Fine! Fine fine fine fine fine! God. I don't even know how you're going to make it home. You're basically drunk with how little you've slept!"

"Too bad. [AND TO ALL A GOODNIGHT!], Tenna." Spamton turned on his heel while lazily lifting his hand in a wave, suit jacket in one arm, and headed for the office door, the buzz of the casino getting louder as he approached.

"...Goodnight, Spamton." Tenna watched as the more colorful lights of the casino flooded his office momentarily, until they left as Spamton did.

Shutting the door behind him, the blinking  lights on practically every machine made Spamton screw his eyes shut. At least he wasn't half-asleep anymore. He made his way through the maze of a casino, slot machines and poker tables all buzzing with activity and conversation, he occasionally raised his hand to acknowledge an all-too-energetic employee. With every occupied machine he passed the scent of cigarettes and cigars washed over him. God he could use one. The lack of clocks and windows hid how long he had been walking for, but that didn't matter as finally walked out of the casino's main entrance.

It wouldn't be a horribly long walk, maybe only five or ten minutes until Spamton would be safe in his comfortable bed at Queen's Mansion. Just thinking of the godamn bed made his eyes heavier.

The heels of his leather loafers clicked against the cement as he walked parallel with the street, only the occasional car passing by. Block by block, he continued, passing under a street lamp every so often.

Until there was a rustle in an alleyway to his right that had him pause, just out of drowsy curiosity. He stood for a moment, waiting for another movement or rustle. With a quiet sigh he corrected his head forward, focusing back on the walkway before him.

One moment his leg was moving to resume his walk, the next, he found himself on the pavement of the darkened alleyway. Head pounding as a sharp pain began to resonate on a spot in the corner of his hairline.

His head was spinning.

What? What just-

He had barely processed what happened before a large, lanky figure stood in the entrance of the alley. It shuffled forward, off-balance and clearly inebriated with whatever booze had been in the now broken bottle.

Fuck.

It was rather obvious he had just gotten assaulted with a glass bottle by a drunken Werewerewire. Worse, it didn't seem the guy was satisfied with the number he did on Spamton's head. Speaking of which, he could feel warmth beginning to flow down the side of his face, catching the corner of his left eye. Still on the ground, he pushed off to put his weight on his elbows, twisting his body to better face his attacker. The Werewerewire still loomed, evidently not leaving anytime soon.

Maybe he could reason with the drunken bastard.

"What-"

As soon as he opened his mouth, the remainder of the bottle shattered on the ground next to him, a shard or two cutting into his arms. Looking from the glittering glass to the Werewerewire, he could see the grin it plastered on it face.

It wobbled as it spoke, occasionally hiccuping. Only furthering Spamton's suspicion on how drunk this guy was.

"You- hic you just... came from tha casino. Right?"

Another hiccup punctuated the standing darkener's sentence. His voice came out bitcrushed and gravely, unsurprising for a Cyber City resident.

Spamton thanked heaven he was too tired to respond, he knew he would've thrown a snarky comment. Maybe a "What's it to ya?" or an unclear "maybe, maybe not". Either of which likely would've further aggrevated the figure before him. So instead he didn't say anything, adjusting his position on the ground to be more ready, just in case the drunkard decided to throw something else at him. 

"That means ya gotta lot'a money on ya... hic gimme."

...He was getting fucking mugged godammit. At this hour too? There was a horrifyingly low chance anyone could hear him if he screamed for help. Besides, it was still peak guest hours when he walked out, so if there was any place people would be it would be the fucking casino.

Wonderful. Couldn't he be in any other situation right now? Preferably in bed, or maybe still at work, still with... Ant. Still in that office, sleeping against his warm body.

"hic HEY! I- I said gimme!"

Right. Didn't matter where he wanted to be right now. He was still stuck in an alleyway with a drunken Werewerewire trying to beat his head in.

"H-hey, look! I don't have any [cold hard cash] on me right now!"

He wasn't entirely lying. He was a Cyber citizen, so of course practically all of his money was in his digital accounts. So, no physical dark dollars. But, he did have a hefty amount of casino chips. Something that likely clicked in his pockets as he walked. No doubt they attracted the attention of a desperate drunk.

Stupid! Tenna kept telling ya to stop taking them anyhow.

"Hmm..." The Werewerewire pondered for a moment, a hiccup interrupting their pensive hum. Then began to stagger forward again. "I don't hic like that answer..."

Spamton could feel his heartbeat in his throat. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He might've had a chance if it were a regular Werewire, he could tried to kick the plug to disorient it, or maybe he could've pulled its plug out entirely. But this one was wireless. It's arms and legs were lengthy, and it was tall. Safe to say he wasn't very confident in his ability to run away or possibly overpower it.

The darkener loomed over him, bending down to tightly clench the collar of Spamton's shirt. The sharp stench of liquor hit his nose, the Werewerewire was practically drenched in it.

"Where...hic is your FFUCKING MONEY!"

It reeled its free hand back, and before Spamton could get a word out the drunken darkener slugged him across the face hard.

He could feel his face start to go numb, mostly his lips. We're they starting to swell?
He couldn't see out of his left eye, the blood from his initial injury stealing away some of his vision. He wrapped his hands around the one holding his collar, trying to pry and claw it off.

"Wait! Wait! I- I do have something. It's just not cash."

There was quite literally one thing he could do.

"hic Alrighty, why don't cha hic give it, then?"

Rather than ball its fist up again, the Werewerewire held its hand out, flexing its fingers. Spamton took one of his hands off the drunkard's arm, feeling around in his pocket and grabbing a fistful of casino chips.

Dropping them into the Werewerewire's open hand, he explained, "They're casino chips. Those one should be about 100 each."

He wasn't actually sure of the value of them, but he wanted to say whatever would appease this guy so he could at least go home without any more damage.

After closer inspection, the Werewerewire face morphed into a deep frown.

"I hic don't want... hic your STUPID CASINO CHIPS!"

Spamton eyes widened as his attacker reeled back its arm again, dropping the useless chips onto the cracked pavement. He began scratching at its grasp on his collar again.

"I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE-!"

Spamton's plea cut short as the Werewerewire punched again, now connecting with Spamton's nose. A pair of glasses fell to the ground with a dink!

He couldn't take much more of this. He could barely keep his eyes open. He was so tired already, the adrenaline could only do so much.

Another punch.

He stopped trying to talk. He dug his nails into its arm as hard had he could, it didn't budge.

Then, it dropped his collar and fully stood.

Is it over? Thank-

As drunk as it was, the Werewerewire stood on one leg and kicked. God it knocked the wind out of him. He could barely get another full breath in.

A second kick into his side.

He grunted. This hurt. It all hurt so badly. No one was coming to help.

A third kick, and a small crack.

He wailed. Pain bloomed in his side as his body curled in on itself. Was that a rib? Fuck.

The hits stopped for a moment. Spamton glanced around, ableit a bit blurry due to his lack of glasses. Strewn around the alley was his long-forgotten suit jacket, the abandoned poker chips, and some glass... shards. There was one big one.

It was something. It was that or break more ribs.

He didn't favor the second option.

He quickly snatched the large glass shard in one hand, looking up at the looming figure. Who was, surprisingly, looking over its shoulder at the entrance to the alley.

Spamton, slowly, rose off the ground to place one leg under him, his other knee still on the ground. His glasses, he still needed he glasses, suit jacket and casino chips be damned.

He'd have to grab them on the way out.

He wound up the arm holding the shard. Just as the Werewerewire began to turn its head back, Spamton sliced at the side of its knee.

As soon as he connected he was on his feet, snatching his glasses off the ground and maneuvering around the Werewerewire. It had let out a bitcrushed screech, grabbing it knee as it's fur began to soak a deep red.

It's not too deep, but it'll keep it occupied long enough.

Spamton continued to grip the glass shard, his own hand stinging from the sharp edges that had dug into his own hand. He bolted to the street (well, as quick as someone with half their vision and a broken rib or two could be). He had to get away.

Soon enough he stopped running. He panted, and each breath was agony. The adrenaline had to be leaving, he felt as though he was actively being stabbed in the side of torso.

Yep. Definetly a broken rib.

He needed to get help. Now that he was up and away from that alley. Looking up at the street sign, he realized he had started running back to the Casino on accident, rather than towards Queen's Mansion.

Welp. Looks like [BOOBTUBE] will be getting me back earlier than he thought.

Notes:

WOW. How'd we like it? Sorry Spamton but don't worry you don't need ribs to run a casino or anything. This took me forever to write and I kept going back and adding stuff. I'm digging my own grave I get too into details. Ough. Don't expect another chapter for a bit. I'll definelty get to the injury care part of this fic next chapter!! (Best part is is that this isn't even the main premise of the AU, this takes place a WHILE before the main event. Idk if i will have the strength to write the main fic. Im a student who needs to prep for college. I also have a job and do sports! On top of that I am an artist so. Busy busy.)

Chapter 2: I Think I'll Live

Summary:

Spamton gets his wounds tended to by a very concerned Tenna.
Then he has figure out what to do about potentially missing a phone call.

Notes:

Don't worry! Spamton is not getting beat up this chapter (cough he had enough of that last time).
Now we get to the fluff (I think. What qualifies as fluff).

Anyways, sorry for any typos, inaccuracies with injuries, anything that may be out of character, etc etc! (Though do consider one of them currently has a gaping head wound so he would probably act a tad funny anyways.)

ENJOY!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

God he looked like shit.

The left side of his white dress shirt was painted with thick, drying streaks of blood, the source being the deep gash that adorned his head. Not to mention the additional streaks down his front, courtesy of his now-plugged bloody nose and busted bottom lip.

Great. No way I'm getting this out.

Spamton sat in front of the mirror in Tenna's office, who was surprisingly not present at the moment. The latter likely at one of the casino's last shows for the night (well, early morning). Tenna often performed in these shows, and if not that, he had the showmanship to at least announce or introduce the differing acts and bands that had graciously donated their time to play at the casino.

Hence the vanity in the CRT's office.

Anytime Tenna planned on making an appearance he'd fuss for a good half an hour or so to ensure he looked 'camera ready', as he put it. Funny given that Spamton almost never saw a camera within the casino, minus the ad shoot they did a month ago. And the security cameras.

Regardless, he was grateful he had something to rest his head on that wouldn't have him falling asleep the minute he sat down (point and case: the sofas that he had found himself on maybe only an hour earlier). No, he couldn't fall asleep, fully at least. Not with this head injury.

Even he wasn't that stupid.

The wound stung as he pushed a piece of gauze onto it. Hopefully it was enough to stop the bleeding. He sank forward onto the desk, placing his elbows on the small vanity, one of which grazed the first aid box which sat open. His head was supported his palms, one of which still held the gauze in place.

He let his gaze fall away from the mirror, his eyes drooping closed. He would do more with the first aid kit if he could, but given his lack of energy, he opted to let someone else's hands use the box's contents more efficiently. Preferably Tenna's.

The first aid had been the last thing given to him by the two Zappers that had found him after the whole... well. Alley situation.

He'd stumbled close enough to the casino to catch the attention of two workers on break, the two Zappers seemingly taking a lap before resuming their security rounds.

One of the Zappers gave a surprised "Well what'uh happened to ya, boss?" Evidently bewildered at the fact that the casino's co-owner was in such a state. They had then helped a beaten Spamton towards the back entrance.

The back entrance rather than the front because, in Spamton's mind, what kind of casino guest would want to see a beaten man shuffling around slot machines at almost 2 in the morning? Essentially, he didn't want to be questioned, much less looked at and pittied. So he ordered the two Zappers to grab him a small first aid kit, maybe a glass of hard liquor, and bring him to Tenna's office.

Why Tenna's office?

Well, as much as he liked the guy, he admittedly didn't want to bleed all over the paperwork still thrown around his office. After the past couple of days, it still needed to be organized and cleaned (though it was rarely ever fully clean, in Tenna's opinion. Maybe that's why he always held their meetings in his office). Unfortunately that also meant having to settle without a cigarette.

Where is the goddamn booze that I asked for?

As if on cue cue, the approach of footsteps could be heard over the far away buzz of the casino. As the door began to creak open, Spamton screwed his eyes shut, recalling the ache in his skull due the flickering lights of the various machines that littered the casino.

Granted, those lights should be far enough away to not give him any grief. Regardless  the darkness that came with shut eyes gave him some semblance of relief.

The brighter lights of the hallway persisted, the door hadn't been shut yet.

"[[Idiot box]]! Would it kill you to [Shut The Front Door!]?" Spamton hissed out as he found purchase on a tissue box, throwing it in the general direction of the door.

After a quiet thunk of the box hitting the floor, the door shut with a Click! Yet, still no response came. He would've expected a "Sorry, boss!" or something along those lines from a Zapper.

Out of curiosity, he opened his eyes, flinching slightly from the adjustment of shut eyes to the dim office.

Oh. So he did decide make an appearance.

Tenna stood at the door, his burgundy tailcoat suit sat smooth on his frame, and a yellow tie was tucked down his front. It was rather obvious he had put himself together to make an end-of-the-night appearance, maybe before heading home. But at any rate he was currently the complete opposite of Spamton right now. Put together, smoothed out clothing, clean, meanwhile Spamton was... disheveled, to put it lightly.

Tenna hovered around the door, only taking a shaky step forward toward the vanity after Spamton had opened his eyes. The CRT's hand outstretched only slightly, reaching out in an effort to comfort, help, or fix.

"[CATHODE]! Hm, thought you were the liquor delivery but, I guess this works too."

"What... happened?"

It came out wobbly and shaken, he had never seen Spamton look so...beaten, for lack of a better term. Sure, he'd seen the smaller man pick a fight with a guest or coworker once or twice, but at worst? A black eye or a bruise... not this.

This was bad, horrible even. He knew that the Addison wouldn't pick a fight he couldn't at least land a few punches in. So the fact he had blood soaking practically half of his dress suit was baffling.

Tenna's screen dimmed with every thought that hit him, screen practically turned off with how little light emitted from behind the glass.

How long had he been like this? How long was he waiting here for me? For help? Did he drag himself here? I should've made him stay. Or made sure he got back safe. Why didn't I? God I'm an idiot.

"Well [[BOOBTUBE]], it just so happened that there was [ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS 866-897-5058] out and about. Guess a damn drunk saw me come out of the casino and [Mugs of Coffee!] me."

The explanation hung in the air for a moment as Spamton turned his attention to the tissues he had stuffed in his bloody nose, discarding the used ones in a small bin under the vanity. Once satisfied that the blood had stopped, he looked back up at Tenna.

"...Well?"

The CRT's face lit up again.

"W-well what, Spamton? I asked if you wanted to stay! Now look what happened! I don't even-! I..."

He stopped, and took a sharp breath in. He closed the large gap between the two of them and knelt, resting a hand on one of Spamton's shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I know you're tired. This is just... a lot."

"[CATHODE], all I was going to ask was if you could help me clean up the [[Wine Spilled?]]. My [handy-dandy!] are too [All Shook Up]."

"Right...sorry, sorry! Here I am getting all worked up when I should be helping!"

Tenna stood back up, slipping off his suit jacket and gloves, laying them on the nearby couch. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his white button up, best case scenario he wouldn't get any blood on him. Still, that was of little concern. After all, he had plenty of white button ups and dress shirts, it wouldn't kill him to have to throw one away.

"Alright! Where should we start? Have you started to disinfect anything or... ?"

Spamton shook his head as Tenna knelt back to where he was previously.

"Was [Two] tired."

"Hm, how 'bout we start with the one on your head? That's the only I can really see that would be a concern anyway."

Hearing this, Spamton lifted a hand into view. A clean--though not too horribly deep--cut was present on his hand, along with a couple nicks and scratches present on his lower arm.

Tenna scrunched his nose, seeing yet another injury on his half-asleep business partner. And here he thought he was doing a favor letting Spamton go home early, now look at him.

"What's this from?"

Taking on a pensive look, Tenna gingerly took Spamton's hand, turning it over and looking for any outstanding cuts that may need more attention than the one on his palm.

"Didn't [real eyes] I had [got mail] those smaller ones. [But wait! There's more] the one on my [palm trees] is from a glass shard."

Tenna, seemingly satisfied with his observations, stopped moving Spamton's hand. Returning his gaze to Spamton, he titled his head in curiosity.

"Did they hit you with a fucking beer bottle??"

"[Survery says yes]. Well, on my [noggin]. The [slice 'n dice] happened when I picked up a [chardonnay] of glass. Had to use it to [[MAKE MY GREAT ESCAPE!]]."

Tenna shifted, looking back down at the wound. It wasn't too bad, only a thin line of dried blood with a few spots dotting in the deeper areas. He was more concerned about his head. Wait.

Oh God, what if he's concussed?

He'd have to check on that later. As much as it was a concern, it wasn't the biggest one. He had to make sure none of the deeper wounds would get infected first.

He huffed.

"The situations you get into, Spam. Would be so kind as to hand me the first aid kit?"

Dropping the hand that was previously holding the gauze in place, Spamton grabbed the box that was slightly behind him--given how he turned away from the vanity when Tenna had come over.

Once the kit was in hand, Tenna gave a quiet hum in thanks. He rummaged through, pulling out a few bandaids, medical wrap--presumably for Spamton's hand--and a couple alcohol wipes to clean off any dried blood.

Giving a tenative look, Tenna paused as he opened the package of alcohol wipes. "This... might sting a little. Sorry, Spam."

"Couldn't [[Hurt? Good!]] anymore than earlier."

Right. Stupid, stupid! Why would you even say that??

Tenna didn't quite know how to respond to that. Well, other than apologizing to Spamton and calling himself stupid, which would probably cause him to spiral rather than focus on the person in front of him. The person that actually needed help.

So he opted to focus back on Spamton's wound and start disinfecting.

Though he soon realized a problem.

Spamton, already tired and injured, couldn't hold his head up too well against Tenna's attempts at swiping away the blood that had dripped down his face. As such, anytime Tenna began to put even a little bit of pressure, Spamton began to sway with the motion.

"Hm. Could you keep your head still? ...Sorry! Just trying not to rough you up anymore that you already are."

"[[Tutu]] tired, 'm sorry."

Spamton, with half-lidded eyes, looked up at Tenna, offering a slight smirk in apologies.

"Don't be sorry, you have every right to be tired honestly! Here, let me just..."

As Tenna spoke, he wrapped the back of his hand around Spamton's head. Now that it was fully supported, he tested to see how well this new system worked. Pressing the alcohol wipe on the dried blood of Spamton's temple, Tenna hummed contently.

"There! I can keep my other hand back here and you can relax while I clean you up."

He offered up a quick look and a wide smile before returning his focus back on the wound.

Luckily the look was quick enough that he hadn't noticed Spamton's shift in demeanor. Although Spamton's head was already warm from the open wound and ensuing inflammation, he could feel his face get a tad hotter with Tenna's hand on the back of his head. Not to mention how he stiffened at the sudden intimacy.

He silently hoped Tenna didn't notice him ever so slightly relax, even lean into, the lingering touch of his hand.

As Tenna works, Spamton fights to stay awake--the stinging of the alcohol wipes be damned--his eyes weighed heavier and heavier as he fully eased into Tenna's touch.

Until all at once he nearly fell out of the vanity's chair.

Tenna had pulled his hand away, not realizing Spamton had essentially fallen asleep and put all his weight into the makeshift support system.

The only reason Spamton found himself not flat against the floor was because Tenna--surprisingly--had managed to grab his sides.

However, those sides were unfortunately the same ones that had gotten relentlessly kicked earlier. Kicked to the point of a rib or two breaking.

Although he would've loved to tease Tenna about it, the sharp, stabbing pain argued otherwise.

"Tens." He rasped out, holding back a pained groan.

"I didn't realize you'd fallen asleep! Good thing you didn't fall or-"

"[[Let's Go!]]. Please." He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. The breath he sucked in from the immediate pain had caused further damage, much to his dismay. If he didn't steady his breath he might let out a cry from how much it hurt.

Slowly, the pressure subsided, though the pain only ebbed slighty--given that he had no painkillers or alcohol in his system.

"S-Spamton? What's wrong? Did I do something...?"

Tenna didn't dare touch him again, his hands instead hovered around Spamton. The latter now curled in on himself, arms  lightly wrapped across his front and holding his sides--not tight enough to hurt, but simply to ground himself.

"N-no. You're [All hunky-doody!] Ant."

He took a few haggard breaths, in and out.

"It's just. A rib or two. Hurts. [[The Whole Lot!]]"

Taking another moment to breath out the pain, Spamton unfurled, sitting up straight again. As he did, Tenna quickly took both sides of his face (minding the wound that had yet to be bandaged) and titled it up so that they were face to face.

Tenna's brow creased with concern, and he spoke with a slight frown.

"Why didn't you tell me? I know you're sleepy, but I don't want to hurt you."

Spamton blinked dumbly at this, his face reddening again. Maybe it was the lack of sleep but he kept getting flustered by Tenna.

The way he gently held his face, the way he fussed over him, hell, even the way he was dressed! His clean and charming appearance, with his button up shirt sleeves rolled up, his suspenders flush against the fabric.

He wanted to kiss him so badly it made him look stupid. Like you wouldn't be able to tell with how red his face had gotten.

"I...[[FORGOT]]!"

The response was a little too loud than it should be. Yet, something must've clicked with Tenna because Spamton watched as his antennas shot up pin staight, and his screen gradually got pink, pinker, now turning red-

"OHMYGODIMSORRYIDONTKNOWWHYIGRABBEDYOURHEAD! HAHAH WOW WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT HEAD WOUND LET ME GRAB A BANDAID AND SOME OINTMENT!"

Suddenly, as quickly as Tenna had grabbed he had let go. His hands now finding the first aid kit once again. He stood up, now turned away from Spamton and searching the box for an antibiotic ointment and bandages (likely forgetting in his flustered state that he had previosuly grabbed some bandages and already placed them on the vanity).

"HAHA! THEY SHOULD... be in here somewhere HA!" Tenna continued to dig through the box. The ointment he was looking for wasn't hard to find, but he acted like he couldn't find it. Rather he favored waiting for his screen to pale and feel less fuzzy.

While his exhausted brain caught up to the split second change Tenna just performed, Spamton waited, letting his half-asleep thoughts wander.

Maybe he was going to have to stay at the casino for once (not that Tenna would be complaining). There were plenty of rooms in the upper portion of the building, though those currently seemed too far for Spamton's liking. The couches seemed comfortable enough, hell, the floor looked like it'd be enough for him to doze off. Though, as much as he would like to sleep, he knew he'd have to persist a bit longer.

He had a call to take.

Shit. Would he even be able to take the phone call tonight? He was in no shape to get back to his room in Queen's Mansion. Would his benefactor be upset? He'd never missed a call before, it couldn't hurt to miss one...right?

He supposed he'd have to find out for himself, as much as the possible consequences irked him. For now, he'd let Tenna's pink screen and twitching antennas distract him.

Spamton glanced at the supplies Tenna had placed on the vanity's small desk earlier, noting that there were already bandages.

"Hey, [Tea]. There's already some bandaids over here."

Tenna glanced over his shoulder, looking at the items on the vanity.

"Oh! I suppose I did, didn't I."

He laughed nervously, finally grabbing the antibiotic ointment out of the first aid kit. Tenna turned back to Spamton. Putting the red box to the side, he grabbed the bandaids and handed a few to Spamton.

"Mind holding these for me? Just so we can bandage you up quickly."

Because if I end up staring at your face for too damn long I'll end up embarrassing myself. Again.

The second part went unsaid. Now that he thought about it, the way he held Spamton's head earlier unprompted was rather... forward. Stupid, even. God he really didn't think when it came to Spamton did he?

Who, for the first time since Tenna had come into the room, had said something to try and alleviate the mood.

"[[REV UP THOSE FRYERS!!]], let's slap some of those bad boys on!"

Tenna found himself cracking a smile. At least now the air had lightened a little.

He gave a playful salute to Spamton, hoping to keep up the fun.

"Will do sir!"

Now it was Spamton's turn to give a light chuckle at Tenna. It would be a tad easier to stay awake now that he didn't feel absolutely miserable.

Tenna knelt down, fixating on the worst offender: Spamton's head wound. It had stopped bleeding--probably thanks to the gauze that Spamton held earlier. Tenna dabbed a small portion of the antibiotics onto his finger and began to apply it.

After a couple seconds, Tenna held out a hand. In silent understanding, Spamton handed one of the larger, square bandages to Tenna, letting his touch linger for a moment before letting go.

It wasn't long before Tenna had moved to Spamton's hand. He didn't bother with the smaller nicks, they didn't really bleed and were evidently light scrapes. Still, he wanted Spamton to heal as quick as he could, so Tenna opted to apply some quick swipes of ointment here and there.

Finally, he turned to the largest cut on the palm, and--after applying one final swipe of ointment--grabbed the medical wrap off of the vanity.

As Tenna wrapped his hand, Spamton looked down at his free hand, which was currently fiddling with the fabric of his pant leg.

He still needed to ask. He just didn't want the big guy picking him up like he earlier when Spamton had said he'd go home and sleep. Or at least that's what he told himself.

With a quiet huff, he spoke.

"...Tens?"

Tenna had finished up wrapping up Spamton's hand. Nonetheless, he still held it as he looked at Spamton.

"Yes? Oh! Is it too tight? I can fix it, if you need!"

"No, it's not too [RIGHTY TIGHTY]. It's..."

The medical wrap rather comfortable, actually. Wasn't too tight or too loose.

"Perfect. I just...wantedtoaskifIcouldstay."

Tenna's screen brightened (which Spamton managed to squint through) and his antenna twitched.

"Stay...here. At the casino?"

"...Yeah. Not [[the man upstairs]] but. Here? Uh. In, your office. Since I don't have a couch in mine."

Tenna let go of Spamton's hand and practically shot up to a stand, letting out a gasp of delight.

"Spamton! You really want to stay? And in my office nonetheless!"

A flower, large and red, had sprouted on the end of Tenna's nose as he clasped his hands together.

Right. I forgot he did that.

"If you don't mind... yeah."

It came out nonchalant, as Spamton tried to mask the fact he found Tenna's excitement rather endearing.

His glasses tilted up as he rubbed his eyes, he could almost feel the bags that would be under his eyes later--if they weren't already somewhat there.

"Are you sure you don't want one of the casino's hotel rooms? As much as I love my leather couches they aren't the best to sleep on. (You end up peeling yourself off half the time)"

Tenna laughed at the last bit he added.

"[[Truth or Dare!]]. But, [UNO] I am not walking all the way to the elevator just to get a room. And [too], I am not letting you," he pointed his finger at Tenna. "Letting you carry me [[Bridal Style!]] there."

He internally cursed his stupid adspeak for that last interruption, feeling his face heat up a bit. Though Tenna evidently didn't note it as his antenna drooped a bit.

"Why not? You'll sleep much better! And I don't care! I'll carry you if it means you'll better."

"[[LOUD_INCORRECT_BUZZER.MP3]]. I won't let you [carey] me because it won't make me feel better. My head's been [spinning, spinning!] since the adrenaline wore off. I think I'd [toss it up] of you carried me."

Tenna hummed in discontent. His earlier thoughts re-emerged.

"Are you... concussed? Or do you think you are?"

"Hm. Well, [[ROOM IS SPINNING]], I feel like I've had six shots whenever I stand, and the lights..."

He sucked in a breath.

"Oh yeah [CATHODE], [100% GUARANTEE]."

"Great. I was a bit worried about that."

This complicated things a bit. It wouldn't be the best idea for Spamton to fall asleep--not without someone else there to check in every now in there. But he needed rest, and he would pass out from exhaustion eventually.

They both knew this. However, on Spamton's end at least, this also opened up an opportunity. However his tired brain couldn't string together a worse sentence if he tried.

"You should sleep with me, [BOOBTUBE]."

REAL SLICK YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

Both the CRT and the small Addison could feel their faces get real hot real quick.

"What."

"NOT. WHAT. I MEANT."

Spamton now clenched the fabric of his pants in both hands, face red with embarrassment.

"I [MINT]. YOU. Should stay. And make sure I don't [Bit The Dust!] while I sleep."

Yep. Totally the only reason I want you here. Mhm. Not because you're warm and I find comfort in you. Totally not.

"OH! YES! That. Makes much more sense haha! You do have a head injury after all."

There was a pause.

"Are you gonna... change out of your bloody clothes or?"

Ah, he'd forgotten that he was still wearing soiled clothes.

"Might have a [[Spare Me!]] shirt or pants in my office."

Spamton stood up, pausing to adjust as his head threatened to make him fall on his ass. After he could stand without too much worry, he glanced at the nearly bare couches, save two throw pillows on each one.

"Do you have any [Bedsheets! Blankets! Pillows! Duvets!]?"

"Oh! I can go grab extras from one of the casino hotel rooms. Do you wanna go find spare clothes while I grab 'em?"

"[[Deal!]]"

As Tenna exited the office, Spamton turned toward the other door present in the office. It was the connecting point for both their offices. Unsurprising given that Spamton was the co-owner, so as such he had his room built and renovated next to Tenna's--something he was, especially now, grateful for.

Tenna would probably be a while, given he had to travel out of the office area through the winding back areas of the casino to an elevator. Then he would either raid the contents of an unchecked room or simply steal a few blankets and pillows from one of the supply closets. He would then have to walk all the way back. So it was safe to say Spamton had some time.

Hell maybe he could even get a quick smoke in if he found a stray cigarette in his desk.

Speaking of his desk... did he actually keep any spare clothes in there? He couldn't recall if he'd ever brought any extra clothes into work. As he walked into his office and around the desk he was reminded of all the paperwork he had yet to file and organize. Looking at all the words alone hurt his head, much less reading them.

He'd deal with that later, for now he needed to change.

So, he looked through his drawers, managing to scrounge up a wrinkled pair of dress pants that had a large coffee stain down the left pant leg.

When the fuck-

He squinted at the pants. They'd have to do for now. Unfortunately as for a shirt... no dice. With was rather frustrating, given that's what garnered the most attention, with its huge streaks of dried blood down the front.

Although there was a rather large size difference, it seemed he'd be stealing one of Tenna's shirts for the night. He wondered if the CRT would get flustered by it. Spamton would barely fit into the shirt, the collar almost hanging off his shoulder.

Tenna screen would probably turn pink at the sight-

Ring Ring Ring!

Spamton froze. The phone... it wasn't here. It shouldn't be. So how was he...?

Another trill of rings allowed him to follow the sound. He stood from behind his desk, coming out of a crouch as he'd searched the drawers of his desk. He slowly twisted around, the sound behind him.

He stood, waiting while silently holding his breath.

In the back corner, nearly pitch black with how little light trailing in from Tenna's office, was a small side table. On top, only visible by the white dial that sat in center, was a black rotary phone.

Ring Ring Ring!

When- no. How the hell did it get here?

It felt like a sick joke. This phone should be all the way back a Queen's Mansion. No one had been in his office since Spamton himself was in there. And he knew it wasn't in there then.

His eyes were glued to it. Waiting for another ring. As much as it made his head ache, he needed to make sure he wasn't going batshit insane.

And there it was. Another three rings and he found himself holding the phone up.

Unusual noise gurgled. Garbage noise. But a noise he could somehow understand. He'd been able to understand for a while. The spare pair of pants were abandoned on the floor. Dropped as soon as he heard the first ring.

"...what?"

The noise was full of static and discordant tones, yet Spamton could make out what his benefactor was saying.

"... I'm sorry. I couldn't control what happened. I wasn't planning to miss the call. I just..."

More tones, differing this time. Somehow, they seemed... understanding.

Which was odd. Something new from his benefactor.

"I-if I could... just for tonight. I don't think I physically can do anything even if I wanted."

Spamton's chest fluttered with nerves, it always did whenever he had to 'take a call'.

More grating noise, something affirming...?

"R-really...? Thank you! ... truly, thank you."

He was practically praying on his knees to the phone. This had never happened before, the person on the other end of the phone must've had a good day, Spamton supposed.

Just for tonight.

He wouldn't have to worry about any of the phone business. Just for tonight.

A few notes of noise, interlaced with static, spilled out of the receiver. They were akin to a not-so-gentle reminder.

And with that, there was a quiet click. Familiar dial tone greeted Spamton. Who slowly placed the receiver back down, his hand resting atop it as he stood.

He thought about that last point. From what he understood, those Zappers weren't on break by luck. Spamton hadn't found them, more like someone guided them to him.

Right. Because when had he ever had control?

A distant creak of a door could be heard in the next room over.

Tenna must be back.

Turning away from the phone, Spamton hastily grabbed the wrinkled pants off the floor and swapped them out with his slightly blood-stained ones. Although both were dress pants, something about the wrinkled pair was surprisingly more comfortable.

"Spamton? I got the blankets and stuff! Plus I managed to grab you some painkillers on the way back down."

As Spamton clicked the connecting door shut, Tenna frowned upon seeing Spamton's unchanged shirt.

"No luck with the shirt?"

"Nada. Though I [lost 'n found] these dress pants. Granted they're also stained...and wrinkled."

"Well we should still find you a shirt. Maybe I can snag you one from the gift shop..."

Spamton watched as Tenna folded his arms and rested the edge of his screen on his hand. He was thinking of ways to get Spamton a clean shirt at this hour. Luckily Spamton already had a plan mapped out.

Although not standard for an office. Tenna did have a small closet full of extra button ups, shoes, and differing suits. Simply another thing Tenna had implemented to be prepared for appearances. And as such, Spamton made his way over to the closet.

"I could- what are you doing?"

"What's it [[look-alike]] I'm doing? Grabbing a clean shirt."

"...Last time I checked there wasn't a shirt your size in there."

"How would you know my shirt size anyhow? Plus, I think I'm a [[ONE SIZE FITS ALL]] kinda guy."

Spamton opened up the closet door, sliding it to the side. Eyeing up the plethora of white shirts, he grabbed the closest one and slid the door shut.

He wandered back over to Tenna, holding up the large shirt.

"Can you [[on hold]] this for me?"

Tenna took the shirt wordlessly, though looked back at Spamton. Who was now... unbuttoning his shirt.

"WHOA WHAT THE MAMA MIA! WHAT'RE YOU DOING?"

Spamton paused, and looked up. Upon seeing Tenna's screen had taken on a pink hue, he plastered on a smug grin.

"Changing. Though if you wanted [[two]] look you could've just [ask me!]."

"THAT'S NOT- I WASN'T!"

Tenna turned away from Spamton, giving a few flustered grumbles here and there

"C'mon! Just [poking at ants] fun at you."

Unbuttoning the last portion of his shirt, Spamton poked at Tenna's back.

"I [[Need Assistance?]] getting your shirt on. Can't move my arms [[the WHOLE LOT!]] without my sides hurting."

Tenna turned back around, stealing a quick glance at Spamton's bruising sides before taking the white shirt off the hanger.

"...You could've lead with that."

Spamton let his bloody shirt drop to the floor.

"[Yeah yeah yeah!] But it's more fun to see your screen get all pink."

With that comment Tenna dropped the clean shirt on Spamton, letting him drown in the fabric for a little before he popped his head out. The collar was huge around him, nearly spilling off his shoulder. Not to mention the sleeves, which sat uselessly at Spamton's sides as his arms only reached halfway down them.

Tenna huffed as he kneeled down to roll up the sleeves. As he did so, Spamton let out a long and loud yawn.

"[[HOOCHIE MAMA!]] am I ready to crash."

Tenna gave a light pat to the side of Spamton's arms to let him know he had finished rolling them. Spamton tiredly made his way to the couch, grabbing one of the stolen hotel pillows and throwing it to the other side of the couch.

"Before you sleep you should take the painkillers I got. Hopefully it'll help you sleep better."

Tenna grabbed the small bottle and tossed it to Spamton, who let it bounce onto the couch before grabbing the bottle and popping a pill in his mouth and swallowing.

"Thanks [[Ten Out of Ten!]]. Now c'mere!"

Spamton patted the spot next to him on the couch and grinned.

Professional relationship be damned. He had one night without the phone. He was going to use it. Hell! He could be as forward as he wanted tonight. He wasn't going to push anything of course. Just some light flirting and--hopefully with the way it was going--he could get Tenna to lay down with him, even for a minute.

"...There's two couches! You'd be more comfortable without me anyway-"

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean [[N.O.]]."

Tenna slipped off his shoes next to Spamton's--which had been taken off since he entered Tenna's office, given how he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere else.

Spamton could feel his face get hot again

"[[Lookie here!]] Tens. I told you earlier. You're... warm. Plus, it'll help me fall asleep quicker."

Of all the times he had to get embarrassed it had to be now. No! Not when he had been flirting or undressing in front of Tenna. But now. Maybe it was the way he was admitting aloud some of the smaller details he liked about the CRT. Maybe it wasn't. All he truly knew was that he was tired.

So he tapped the couch a second time. Tenna gave a huff and a small smile, he would be rolling his eyes if he had any.

"Well, I suppose you're lucky that it was the end of my shift anyways."

He walked over, grabbing the blanket he'd thrown on the end of the couch earlier, and sat next to Spamton.

Who then hopped of the couch.

"Alright lay down, [CATHODE]."

Tenna obliged, not asking why as his lack of sleep hit him like a truck.

Spamton then hopped back up and began to wedge himself between Tenna and the couch. Tenna's arm was now pinned by Spamton's weight, though, he didn't mind as he brought the blanket over top the two of them with his free arm.

Spamton settled, occasionally fluffing the blanket so he could comfortably lay on his injuries. Then, he took off his pink and yellow glasses and folded them, placing them on the armrest behind Tenna. They'd probably end up on the floor when they woke up, but he didn't mind.

"Hey Ant?"

Spamton craned his neck up a bit, so that he was close enough to Tenna's dimming screen.

"Yeah?"

"...Thank you."

He waited a moment longer, then moved forward to meet Tenna's lips. Just for a moment. Though long enough he could feel the slight static that built up on the CRT's screen.

"Goodnight."

As he lay his head back down against Tenna's chest, he could hear the whirring of the TV's mechanical insides. Tenna moved his arm up, resting his hand on Spamton head. The pink hue still lingered on his face, but as he spoke his voice didn't waiver or wobble like it might if he was nervous or embarrassed.

"Goodnight to you, too, Spamton."

He pressed a small kiss onto the smaller man's forehead, before leaning back and settling into the pillow. The screen dimmed, shutting off as he drifted off to sleep.

Spamton's breath was steady, his smile--which had appeared after Tenna kissed him--now flattened as he dozed off.

Here they were, safe in each other's arms for the night. 

Notes:

HUZZAH!!! THEY KISSED!
I wasn't originally sure I wanted them to! But I think it fits. I also thought it tied everything together pretty well!

I'm actually relatively happy with this chapter! Granted I reread the first third before finishing it up so that may be more polished haha.

Thank you! Kudos and comments are appreciated!

Series this work belongs to: