Chapter Text
That damn phone. Spamton was sick of it, sick of it pulling Tenna away right before the good part.
They were just about to sign the contract that would keep Spamton here forever, that would ensure Tenna’s promotion, and they'd both been over the moon. Weeks of proofreading and compromising and rewriting culminated in the both of them sitting down in Tenna’s apartment (why the man didn't have an office was beyond him) to sign it.
Spamton had just finished putting his name on the line when Tenna's stupid phone rang. He tried to suppress a sigh as Tenna shot up and told him he'd be right back.
So he waited. He rested on the chair sideways, watching Tenna say words he couldn't make out on the phone. Spamton huffed faintly in amusement-annoyance at Tenna’s hands moving along with his words.
And then Tenna froze. And then he looked at Spamton with a face he's sure he'll never forget. Devastation, with a hint of horror, marred his face into something awful. Spamton’s heart dropped into his stomach.
And then he ran.
“SHIT!” Spamton yelled, falling out of his chair, and scrambling to chase after Tenna. “SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!”
The Studio was a maze of hallways in the space between the Work area and the Residential area of the Studio. Doors that lead to nothing, dead ends, puzzles, and traps litter the place.
Safety regulations, Tenna had told him once. In Spamton’s opinion, they were an accident waiting to happen.
Not that it mattered, everyone knew what hallways would take them to their homes, and what hallways wouldn't. Spamton was no exception.
His lungs were already burning with the effort of keeping up with a 15 foot TV man.
“TENNA! ANT YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO THE ANGEL-” Spamton’s face met the wall as his business partner took a sharp turn to the left.
Spamton was short, had been short his whole life, and as such was always fighting to keep pace with his taller (former) brothers.
He also knew The Studio like the back of his hand, and knew that if he was going to catch up to Tenna, he'd have to take a shortcut.
So take a shortcut he did, via going to the right, instead.
The right side, as Spamton had learned, was accidentally made into a shorter route, as no one thought to check whether all the twists together actually made it longer.
If he were to guess, he would reach the main hall at about the same time Tenna would, and using his head start, could at least climb onto him and try to get him to listen. Tenna would never be able to get him off, especially if Spamton used his claws to stick.
A plan formed, he picked up speed. His body was screaming, begging for a break or at least to slow down, but Spamton refused to let his business partner run off without an explanation.
Spamton ran through the hallways like a man on fire, dodging employees as he went. None of them were able to get an answer out of him for what was going on. There was no time for that.
As he reached the main hall, he could hear Tenna's thunderous footsteps. Jackpot.
Spamton lunged and extended his claws, intent to try to stop Tenna.
‘I've done it!’ He thought with glee. ‘I caught Tenna! All I have to do now is to convince him to stay, and, if nothing else, at least take me wit-’
Spamton was caught midair in a single giant hand and chucked into the left hall in one fluid motion. Tenna didn't even slightly pause.
He hit the ground with a hard ‘CRACK’. He didn't feel it.
He couldn't get up, his body finally deciding to call it quits as tears gathered into his eyes.
Tenna didn't even stop to explain.
He just threw him. Like he was trash. Of course. Of course he did. Who'd want someone like Spamton? Spamton didn't even want Spamton. Why was he so shocked Tenna didn't, either?
He laughed. It wasn't funny at all. He couldn't stop.
He's vaguely aware of people crowding around him and trying to talk to him, but he can't hear them over the sound of his hysterical laughter.
His tears prevent him from seeing who's kneeling in front of his face properly, but the faded purple and slight electrical charge lets him know that it's Ramb.
He still can't hear him. He still can't stop laughing. It's still not funny.
He lays on the floor for a long time. Everyone waits around him for a long time.
–
After Spamton calms down enough to explain what happened, the entire Studio launches into a world-wide search. No room is unchecked. No rock is left unturned. The search lasts two or so weeks, and yet no CRT Television turns up.
Which means there was only one place he could've gone.
Cyber City. Which is a problem, because the laptop had been given back to the Library yesterday. Which meant there was no viable way to go and get him until the laptop is brought back into the Dreemurr household.
Spamton did not cry and scream and tear apart his own dressing room, thank you very much.
He did not beg the heavens or whoever was out there for Tenna to magically end up back home. He did not beg for a miracle, he swears.
After all his not-begging was done, he started asking himself Why.
Why Tenna had ran. Why he left and never came back.
Was it him? It had to have been because of him, right? The way Tenna looked at him when he ran was burned into his retinas, his brain, his heart, his body.
Spamton recalls an incident where Tenna attempted to fire him, and kept giving him bullshit reasons that made very little sense to him. Wouldn't Tenna have tried to get rid of him earlier?
But then he thought about it more. And he had a revelation.
Of course. Of course he did! He could see it now. The way Tenna’s face scrunched whenever Spamton cursed, the way he'd admonish him for lighting up a cigar indoors, the way he'd explode if Spamton said something stupid. Tenna almost always seemed annoyed with him.
Walking towards his own full-length mirror, he could see it even more. No wonder Tenna ran. He had to leave just so Spamton would get the goddamn hint. What a fucking awful co-host he turned out to be.
He could see every little issue he had. He could fix them. He could fix it all. Too short? No problem! He could start wearing heels! Too pudgy? Whatever, girdles worked wonders! Too loud? He could be more quiet. Too crass? He could watch his tongue. His eyes were too weird? He could just keep them closed. His glitches? Spamton could suppress them.
He could mold himself into the man Tenna wanted. And then maybe he'd come back.
Spamton could see it now. The laptop would come back, Tenna would take the first train over, and be so impressed with Spamton that he'd have to stay. The thought made him so happy that he almost smiled.
–
They needed a new leader. Nothing was getting done, and Tenna definitely wasn't coming back. Lanino and Elnina had been good enough bosses in his stead, but nothing they did would get the ratings out of the all-time low they were in.
If this kept up, the whole world would be nothing but stone. Forgotten. They needed someone charismatic. Good at what he does.
Which meant everyone looked to Spamton to be their new leader.
Spamton refused at first. He wasn't leader material, would never be leader material. He was too rough around the edges. Too disgusting.
But if the alternative was that they'd all petrify, and Spamton would never see Tenna again, then he’d be their leader.
He repainted the Studio, redid his outfit to match, disabled the traps in the hallways, redid the puzzles and put them where the traps used to be, modernized everything, and put any and all memorabilia from a better time into Tenna's old dressing room and locked it up tight.
The phone was in there too. That awful thing. Spilling all of Spamton’s dirtiest secrets, making Tenna hate him. Awful. Disgusting. He didn't want to look at that awful thing anymore.
So he grabbed the phone and threw it to the floor. He tore it apart with his bare hands, uncaring of the code leaking out. He didn't stop until the phone was unrecognizable and his hands were more black than white.
He'd have someone clean that mess later.
–
He wrote to Tenna. Almost every day he wrote to Tenna. Threats, pleads, declarations. At least a dozen had “I love you, please just come back.” In there. Tenna never opened them, he could tell.
As the years ticked on, Spamton worked to fix every single thing about himself that drew Tenna away.
It wasn't perfect, of course. Sometimes he glitched, sometimes he said something stupid or crass or rude, and sometimes he was the loudest person in the room. He could tell people were getting sick of him. All the more reason to make that deal.
The Knight said that if he did what they asked, all of the Dark Worlds would be connected, forever. Everyone would be happy, forever. He'd never become obsolete, or thrown away, or have his emails deleted ever again. (Not that he cared about that once Tenna came into the picture. Heaven, he missed Tenna.)
Spamton would be stupid not to pass this up. Any chance to find Tenna is a chance he would take.
He'd stay this time. He’d be so smitten with the new Spamton that he'd want to stay this time. Spamton almost wanted to ask the Knight if they could fast forward time so he could meet with Tenna already.
Instead, he simply shook their hand, and accepted the deal.