Chapter Text
One might say, without any exaggeration, that Tenna's life revolved around Spamton.
And Tenna would tell you, honestly, that was probably an understatement.
Some days, Tenna felt like his existence hadn't really started until he met Spamton. His earliest memories faded over the years, more like imprints of his past than anything reliable. His time in the garbage was just as disjointed, flashes of fear and damage and pain mixed with the unending loneliness. Even to this day, he had no idea how long he rotted away in the trash before Spamton dug him out.
He couldn't tell you when he lost his arm. No idea what happened to his screen. His knees had been slowly breaking down for years, but Tenna knew for sure that he hadn't always had them. He just didn't know where his legs had come from in the first place.
He didn't like thinking about it. His memories and emotions were as much of a mess as the rest of him, and he preferred to ignore those problems entirely.
So Spamton was the first real thing in his life. Someone to talk to, to work with, to cling onto. They weren't friends, at first - heck, Spamton could barely stand Tenna in the early days. But he was something real, and Tenna stayed stubbornly by his side.
(Spamton hated talking about their early partnership, when they'd been driven by nothing but their deal. Probably guilt for how bossy and mean he could be at times. Tenna wasn't sure how to tell Spamton that, if it hadn't been for a pushy little mailman taking him get up and go searching every day, Tenna probably would have let himself break down. So Tenna didn't talk about those early days, either.)
Tenna still remembered the expression on Spamton's face, when he found Tenna removing his own makeshift repairs. To this day, he couldn't find the words to explain himself; Tenna didn't want to die, of course, but... well. He didn't remember what led to him ending up in waterfall, but he's seen the rest of the junk dumped here. He'd always figured it was just a matter of time before he ended right back where he began, thrown away and forgotten.
(He doubted Spamton would like that answer, either. It was something else they didn't talk about.)
All that is to say, Tenna knew his husband. Knew him better than anyone in the entire Underground, as a matter of fact. Even with his worse-for-wear screen, Tenna could glance at Spamton and judge where he'd been delivering that day, what kind of mood he was in, and the best way to cheer him up.
He loved his husband.
So he knew as soon as Spamton went for his walk that something was wrong.
Spamton wasn't usually this moody. Sure, he had a temper, and sure, he liked to pick fights he certainly couldn't win. But that had calmed with age, and... and they were happy.
Spamton was a Bird Addison monster, even if he denied being one nowadays. Tenna knew just how flighty Addisons could be. When Spamton got shorter and shorter with them, when he clearly needed to stretch his wings and take a break, Tenna fought his own smothering instincts.
His mailman needed a break. Tenna could respect that.
He'd just finished shuttering the garage door - the biggest display area of the store, but mostly used to house junk. The hinges squealed like a pig on Christmas, and it took a little extra convincing with one arm, but Tenna always made it work.
He hadn't heard Spamton's footsteps, but when Tenna turned to head back in, he startled at the sight of his mailman staring listlessly at him.
"Oh!" Tenna said. Years ago, being startled would lead to him hopping and jumping and monologuing for minutes at a time. But frankly, he just didn't have the energy anymore for anything beyond his antenna flaring in surprise. "Spammy! I didn't hear you come in!"
Tenna's arm was already half-open, waiting for his husband to jump in for their usual after-work hug. It was a little harder to crouch down, nowadays, but Spamton never minded making up the difference.
Except, Spamton didn't move.
"Spammy?" Tenna said, tilting his screen. Despite himself, concern started pooling in his stomach.
Under his mailman's eyes sat bags nearly as heavy as his delivery satchel. His expression was blank, unseeing. And even though he seemed so sluggish, his chest heaved for breath like he'd ran a mile.
All at once, he seemed to snap out of it. His gaze fluttered from Tenna to their home to his own hands, like he couldn't put together how the three were connected.
"Dearest Tenna, I..." Spamton trailed off, his expression dazed. A moment later he blinked, shook himself, and tried again. "Sorry, Tens. I'm just thinking. I... I got a job offer today."
This time, it was Tenna's turn to be surprised.
"A job offer?" Tenna repeated dumbly. Then he realized his mistake, and quickly added a more enthusiastic, "Oh, that's - that's exciting, love letter!"
Thankfully, Spamton snorted in amusement rather than offense. He clambered up onto their dresser, changing into equally dirty pajamas for bedtime. Tenna, who struggled to balance on his own when putting on underclothes, waited patiently and enjoyed what he could see of the show.
"I know, I know," Spamton laughed, shimmying his jacket off into a puddle of fabric. "I couldn't believe it either. I mean, me? Of all monsters?"
"Don't say that, Spammy!" Tenna said, his tail lashing in admonishment even as he scooted closer. "You're the smartest man I know!" And then, with the showman's charm he rarely got to use, he leaned in and whispered, "Not to mention the handsomest!"
Spamton went red in the face and whirled around, as if facing the mirror gave him any better sense of privacy. Tenna, for once, smiled and looked away, letting his partner get away with it.
It gave Tenna a moment to compose himself, too.
The folks in the Underground were friendly with Spamton, as far as Tenna could tell. Not that he was very friendly back, but that was just Spamton for you. The equivalent of a feral Tasque that had chosen a single person to like - and Tenna was lucky enough to be the one who didn't get hissed and scratched.
Anyway. Back on track.
Folks down here were polite enough with Spamton, but in the many years they'd been down here, not once had anyone actually offered to help him.
And more importantly, not once had Spamton actually considered accepting any help.
"I don't take pity, bribes, or Generisity," Spamton complained all the time. Usually when Tenna brought up the idea of a break, or a vacation, or any kind of non-essential rest. "I don't need their help."
So a job offer, out of the blue, with no catch or warning... and for Spamton to actually consider it...
Something felt off.
Tenna swallowed past a lump in his voicebox. Calm down, he reminded himself, trying to be firm. This is good news. He would be happy for his husband, damnit.
"Who - who was it from?" Tenna asked, hoping he sounded curious enough to cover the suspicion. "Gerson trying to sell his shop again?"
Spamton laughed again. This time, though, Tenna didn't think he was imagining the strained edge.
"You're not gonna believe this, Tens," Spamton said, finishing up his sleeves. It was a little staticky against his feathers, but Spamton never minded a little static. He glanced back and went on, a little in awe, "It was the Royal Scientist. Dr. W. D. Gaster."
Tenna tipped his head, brow scrunching. Spamton's expression was expectant, waiting for some level of recognition, but no matter how hard Tenna wracked his circuits, he just... didn't know. He'd never met the Doctor, never even heard of him.
Except, well. There was one thing.
It was... nothing, really. Nothing substantial. Heck, he could be imagining it. That's how a lot of those moments felt, now.
But in those faded memories of his, there was... one time. Just a snippet of a line, not even the full conversation.
A nasally, worried voice. A sharp, painful jab. Glass shattering. And then-
"- no, NO, I-I can't tell him, Dr. Gaster will-"
It wasn't anything. Really, he had no idea who that was speaking, much less who they were talking about. It didn't mean anything.
And besides, Spamton didn't like to talk about their pasts.
"Ah, sorry, Spammy," Tenna said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "You know I don't get out much." When Spamton wilted just a little, Tenna forced his acting chops up. "But! Whoever it is, he sounds important!"
That did the trick. Spamton finished putting on his PJ's at long last and turned to help Tenna. "[Confirm your appointment with Doctor-]." He broke off with a huff and tried again, "It's a big deal. Dr. Gaster said he's been trying to break the barrier. Said he needs someone with my... talents." Those eyes were oddly hopeful when Spamton met Tenna's gaze. "What do you think, Ant?"
Wasn't that the million dollar question.
Tenna... well. Tenna didn't trust this deal. He didn't trust this Gaster, whoever they were. The whole thing - running into Spamton, cutting a deal, making these big promises - felt a little too perfect.
But if he was being completely, utterly honest, Tenna knew himself, too. He knew that he had the tendency to be controlling, and jealous, and clingy. It was something he had to fight against every time Suzy walked out the door, something he wrestled with every time Spamton snuck away for the afternoon.
The irrational, anxious side of him wanted Spamton to turn this offer down. But Angel knew he'd held his husband back enough.
Tenna couldn't lie to his partner. But, he could be honest about this.
"Anyone would be lucky to have you, Spammy," Tenna said, smiling. "It's no wonder Dr. Gaster wants your help."
Spamton's answering grin was bright enough to light up the Underground. His fingers tangled with Tenna's. "Reply all: Thank you, Ant. I'll... I'll think on it."
It was worth it, Tenna told himself as they settled in for the night. Seeing Spamton so happy, so excited, so driven, was worth it.
Still, when they went to bed that night, Tenna tucked Spamton close to his chest, and he didn't power down for a long, long time.