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When the Dremurrs brought in their new Smart TV, Tenna's first, panicked, traitorous thought was to ignore it.
That was the selfish option, sure, but who cared? Ha! Not him! Maybe if he put on another show, perfect performance, the right broadcast - maybe that would be enough to save them. Besides, it's not like the others could see into the real world like he could - except Ramb, but who cared what Ramb said? Except that Tenna did, for one, and the crew for another, and -
Ah! Focus! This wasn't the time to spiral!
Point being, Tenna wanted to pretend nothing was wrong. Business as usual. Everyone would keep going, none wiser to the storm about to overtake them.
But he didn't.
Because he wasn't that kind of boss. He wasn't that kind of man.
But most importantly, Spamton was here in TV World. If they were unplugged now, Tenna didn't know what could happen to him.
"Emergency broadcast, right now," Tenna snapped, before he finished transitioning back to his Darkner form. He blinked awareness as Shuttah startled backwards, surprise at his tone. "It's a matter of life and death. Be quick."
"Right away!" they answered, camera jolting to life. Nearby, a boom stick operator swiveled to face him, spurred on by the urgency in his voice.
In the living room, Tori watched with a frown as for unpacked the new box. As the packing peanuts spilled to the floor, Tenna felt the familiar pulse in his antennas. Shuttah raised the camcorder, visibly nervous and steady despite it.
Tenna swallowed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a drill," he started, hoping he sounded serious and not knee-knockingly terrified. Without preamble, he went on, "The Dreemurrs are about to install a new television set."
Nearby crew gasped in horror, and Tenna fought the urge to shrink. Amazingly, he only lost a few inches.
Angel. This was really happening. It was all over.
He glanced back into the Light World, throat tightening. Asgore was struggling to carry the giant flatscreen over to the wall. His foot bumped into the Laptop, still parked nearby from Kris's last playtime, but thankfullly he only nudged it aside.
Stay focused, he reminded himself. There was still work to do, and a lot of people counting on him. He needed to get his staff out of this world before it came crumbling down, and he needed somewhere to send them that was at least somewhat safe and compatible. Somewhere like... like...
The laptop.
"Drop everything you're doing," Tenna said, vision clearing back to his greenroom, "and head to the Information Highway. All TV World denizens must report to Cyber City at once, for their own safety."
That was the best place to go. He didn't know much about it, obviously, but he'd learned that there were weather apps and camera apps, gambling and dark corners and electronics. Spamton had told him as much. It was a place where his people could go, could transfer to without losing themselves. The only person who couldn't go - who would never fit into a digital world, who was too physical, too much, too big to exist there - was -
"Tenna!"
Tenna swiveled his head, breaking the broadcast at once. Thankfully, judging by the sound of loud shouting and heavy footsteps in the background, it seemed like his crew didn't need to be told twice to go.
That wasn't his problem now. No, his problem was, as always, Spamton G. Spamton.
Whereas everyone else flooded towards the exits, Spamton shoved his way through them. He didn't stop until he had a hand bunched in Tenna's pant leg, eyes blown wide with a mix of anger and terror.
"Tens!" he barked. "Tens, what the hell is goin' on?"
Tenna fought the urge to snap at him that they'd just explained on air, that he needed to leave, that they were running out of time to evacuate.
Instead, he just looked at Spamton. Watched his chest rise and fall so rapidly from exhertion. Watch his hands clench with poorly-hidden worry. Memorized every second he could.
How lucky. Of all the last things to see, he got to see his favorite.
"Thanks for being here, mailman," Tenna said, cupping Spamton's cheek. "I love you, Spammy."
And before he could truly relish the look of surprise, Tenna snapped his fingers. For the last time, the ruler of this world made a decree, and his domain answered. Spamton, and every other straggler in the studio, vanished back to Cyber World.
Not a moment later, the lights powered off. The vibrant hum of TV World went silent, dark, and still.
Tenna turned and slowly made his way to the stage.
He still had a show to put on, after all.
--------
Spamton had known from the start that his partner, in so many senses of the word, was doomed.
His benefactor had all but confirmed it, whispering about Lords of Screens and cleaving, red blades. By the time he realized just how deep he'd gotten into this mess, there was no good way out.
So he did the only thing he could. Spamton got to work.
Never did he think he'd find himself back in Cyber City. Certainly not with the rest of the TV World mooks, not live-streaming his connection with Ant. Not watching the love of his life stand on an empty stage for an empty audience, performing and smiling and waiting to die.
Spamton's mouth dropped open into a silent scream as Tenna smiled. He stood tall, swept low into a bow, and raised his arms again.
"Thank you, everyone!" Tenna called. It was only the year of experience watching those deft hands at work that let Spamton see how badly they were shaking. "It's been the show of a lifetime! Farewell, my frien-"
Between one breath and the next, Tenna was gone.
Spamton hit his knees. A ringing filled his head, something too shrill and deafening to be the phone.
His partner was gone.
The crew started jostling around him, panic heavy in the air. What would they do now, how would they handle this? What would become of their worlds, of their jobs? If he had anything beyond grief-laden static in his mind, Spamton might ask the same questions. Instead, he could only stare brokenly at the place Tenna had stood.
And then he felt it. The pull of a new Dark World, emerging in the shadow of the last one.
Spamton was many things. A liar, a thief, a fraud, for starters. But above all else, he was not an Addison.
Addisons sold other people's things. They dreamed small. They weren't Spamton.
No one fought him for control. Maybe it was to judge what he could do, or maybe latent respect for Ant Tenna's beloved partner. Either way, when the world needed molding, Spamton got himself off the floor, dried his tears, and then he did what he'd always done.
He got to work.
(The next time the phone rang, he pulled the socket from the wall and let it fall.)
----------
Above all else, Tenna could not let Spamton see him.
That was his priority now. Not the show - Angel, he missed TV Time like a missing limb - or the Dreemurrs - his heart broke a little more every time he thought about them - or even his worthless, pitiful life.
No. His only goal, ever since he'd been dropped into this aimless world, was to keep from being caught.
Maybe it was vain of him to be so worried about this. After all, he certainly didn't look anything like what he once had. Being forgotten in the attic and broken on the way up did a number on a body, and his now came in two pieces. More than anything, he missed the ability to grow, to be able to face down the more threatening Darkners without cowering in fear.
He couldn't even think about the cracks on his screen without triggering a meltdown, and his knees were so damaged he could hardly move on his bad days. And living in the Dust Lands of the attic meant every day was a bad day.
If Spamton saw him like this, Tenna didn't know what he'd do. But Tenna would sooner die than watch the disgust on his partner's expression become a reality.
Thankfully, the distance meant that it was easy to keep away from the new world. He didn't know anything about it, but he hoped and prayed that his crew was doing well, at least. That they'd found a purpose that made them happier. That - that Spamton had found a new business partner to-
Tenna shut himself down before that thought could finish forming. Hopefully he could sleep it off.
---------
When he came back to, someone had a hold of his body.
For a moment, Tenna jolted in terror. The Dust Bunnies were harmless, but there were many more things to fear than those monsters. His screen clicked on, and he didn't hesitate to take a bite of whatever had a hold of his head.
The one good thing about the cracks in his screen - it made his fangs even sharper.
The owner of the hand - bright blue, glowing, oddly familiar - immediately dropped him. Tenna took the chance to thrash his arms and legs, ignoring the pain as his body followed suit to the hard ground.
The world whirled around him, a kaleidoscope of yellow and pink and orange. His arms closed around his head, and he had just a moment to spin to face his attackers.
Oddly familiar attackers. They looked so, so much like Spamton, but in vibrant colors his mailman hated. The blue one especially, shaking out his hand and muffling curses, his grimace identical to the way Spamton scowled at anyone who crossed him.
In his moment of distraction, he didn't recognize the call of, "Get the magnets!" in time to stop them.
But he certainly felt it when the first one connected.
His world went off center and loopy in an instant, his head filled with an endless dizzying static. His body went limp, and he barely felt it as more magnets were added to his screen. All that was left of his thoughts were an off kilter echo of panic, of worry, of someone he missed-
Blacking out was the most merciful feeling, when he finally gave in.
--------
The world didn't so much as come back as it did fade in. The sound of bickering, the artificial florescent lights. The feeling of hands holding him gingerly with as little contact as possible, the way one carried a garbage bag.
Angel, did his head hurt.
Tenna twisted his antenna on instinct. Something felt kinked up in the wires, something making him hurt, and if he could just straighten it-
A little metal object tumbled off. A magnet, he realized abruptly, as the wash of voices suddenly gained their meaning again.
"- told you, we have to turn him over!" The owner of the voice was frazzled, blue sparks shooting as they added, "Do you have any idea what Spamton will do to us if he finds out what we've got?"
"But think of the money!" another shrill voice argued. "We know what the cash prize is for information about Tenna. How much would he be willing to pay for the real thing?"
Abruptly, something jostled his body in demonstration, and Tenna realized that someone had tied his wrists.
"Consider this, then," a calmer tone pitched in. Tenna could barely concentrate his screen enough to see an orange arm cradling his boxy head to an equally orange chest. "You know he'd pay handsomely for a reward for finding his long-lost partner. But a ransom? Not a chance. Our brother's got an image to uphold, and it looks far better to smash our skulls in than negotiate."
"Negotiate for what?" the shrill voice returned. Pink hands fluttered wildly in the corner of Tenna's vision. "You think he's really gonna pay us for this guy? He said it himself, he hates Tenna!"
Tenna had been struggling to follow along, his sluggish mind kicked into overtime. At those words, though, he froze.
Did... did Spamton really hate him?
It was a real possibility. For the first few years, Tenna spent every moment in a blind rage. Rage at the Dreemurrs, at his crew. Heck, rage at Spamton - everyone heard that he'd taken over the Smart TV in the living room, and Tenna's grief at being forgotten morphed into all-out fury for his cohost.
But in the time since, that anger mellowed. Suddenly, he just...
He missed Spamton.
It had been years since they'd last seen each other. Years since Tenna lost the limelight - and lost his whole TV World to boot. Tenna hadn't been good enough, funny enough, entertaining enough, to keep the operation afloat. He'd never been able to shake the feeling that he'd let everyone down. His employees, his crew... even his partner.
"How do we even know this is him, anyway?" Pink demanded. "He looks nothing like the old pictures. Who knows how many TV-head darkners there are? Angel, we have no idea if he's the real deal!"
Real deal.
Before his brain could catch up with the rest of him, Tenna's screen fizzled in. The orange one barely had a chance to shout in surprise as the memory played.
"- the real deal, Mr. Spamton!" Tenna's voice crowed. Tenna didn't have to imagine the lovesick expression he must have wore with those saccharine words. "What a partnership! What style! You really are a Big Shot!"
"Of course!" Spamton cut in with a laugh. The warm voice of the past was a knife in the chest, and Tenna felt tears on his screen drip down the glass. "You're really something, Mr. Tenna."
"Oh, please, call me Tenna!" His giant hand swung into view, eager for Spamton's touch.
"Tenna, huh?" Spamton mused. His hand already reached for Tenna's, clasped too carefully to really be a handshake. "I like the sound of that, partner."
Tenna heard the sound of squabbling again, but it was muted. His screen throbbed, too overtaxed between the images and the magnets.
He didn't remember blacking out again.
----------
"- ave to wake him up! He's on his way, we - oh Angel above-"
"-think I'm doing, idiot? Give me some space, before he electrocutes us all-"
"-put the magnets back on! For the love of popups, can't you just-"
It shouldn't have been possible, but Tenna was both blind and overwhelmed with color. His vision was nothing but a rainbow swirl, his thoughts scattered like confetti on a windy sidewalk. Something was jerking him back and forth, like a tug-of-war match on his body. Every part of him burned and ached and fizzled.
He'd always assume dying would feel more...peaceful.
"Hurry! He's on his way, he's gonna catch us-"
"- all your fault, you greedy asshole! All for a few hundred Kromer-"
"- me?! You're blaming me?! This guy is clearly the one who-"
An orange glow filled his vision, and Tenna tried to focus on that. Tried to ignore the bickering and shouting and dizzying world for a moment while familiar not-familiar hands carefully cleaned his vents.
"I called him, Mr. Tenna," the orange Addison said, soft and careful. The dust rag went lightly over his screen, ignoring the cracks and magnets with equal caution. "Spamton's on his way."
The different between the care on his head and the flippant tugs on his body was jarring. He made a soft noise of pain when something snagged his tail, but he couldn't find the strength to wrench it away. Orange covered his antenna and snapped something to the others, and suddenly the grip on his body became looser.
Tenna mumbled a bleary word of thanks before his vision faded out again.
-----
"-ought to delete the four of you [for good]! I give you simple orders, and you still [screwball] it up!"
Everything was fuzzy and blurry and staticky when Tenna jerked to consciousness. His vision had become a kaleidoscope, his hearing distant and echoey. He couldn't feel his body.
But he still snapped to attention at that voice. Even when one day the rest of him was nothing more than scrap metal, when his colors burned out, when the memory of TV World vanished for good, he'd still remember that voice.
As long as he lived, Tenna could never forget Spamton G Spamton.
The hands around him were once upon a time so small against Tenna's own. Now, they were giant in comparison, but still so soft, cupping the back of his body with a painfully gentle grip. The other swept over the vents on the side of his head, over the antennas - grounding and soothing and so, so agonizingly familiar.
His body lolled, no strength left to hold itself up. Spamton's arms readjusted just a little to better support his dead weight.
"I remember specifically telling you worthless click-throughs that magnets were bad for CRT's. And not only did you ignore me, but you covered him in magnets! Just look at his screen!"
Tenna realized, almost as blearily, that the magnets were gone. The sickness would remain until he rebooted, but the discs had been taken away.
He tried to steady his visuals, but even just opening his optics made the world spin wildly on its axis. He shut it down abruptly, clinging to the fingers around him for stability.
It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt-
That booming, commanding voice abruptly dropped into low, reassuring notes, right in his antenna. "Ant, [honeybee], leave your screen off. [It's all good], baby, it's just a... temporary measure. Just until I get you fixed up."
"Spammy," Tenna tried to say, his voice nearly drowned by the static crackling through it. Tears dripped down his cheeks, and he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away. "M'sorry, Sp-m-"
"Hush," the voice said again. Those warm fingers traced the bevel of his screen for him. "Let me take [CareBears] of you for once, okay? I've got you, Tens."
Tenna swallowed down his panic. Every instinct screamed that he couldn't let Spamton see him like this - that his partner couldn't know how far he'd fallen, how pitiful his life had become.
But Tenna was so tired. His body ached, his screen hurt. It was just so easy to let go, now that he was back where he belonged.
Spamton pulled him in closer, and to the sound of electricity buzzing in Spamton's chest, Tenna finally let the world go dark again.
------------
Degaussing was never a fun way to wake up, but it certainly had its benefits. When Tenna properly powered back on, lying on a bed he didn't recognize in a dark room he's never seen before, for the first time in days he felt... stable.
That was relative, of course. He hadn't truly felt steady since Asgore dropped him down the attic ladder. But this - vision clear, resting on a very cushy bed, feeling vaguely more alive than he had in years - was pretty dang close.
He reached up to touch his head and immediately swallowed down the vertigo. Having a disconnected head never got any easier, especially after what he assumed was a full restart. But his vision wasn't spinning, and past the cracks in his screen, the colors weren't bleeding together like psychedelic-vomit-tiedye. So really, Tenna could hardly complain about an improvement.
His memories were a blurred mess, made worse by the knowledge of what caused this whole mess in the first place.
"Magnets," Tenna grumbled, his audio shockingly clear as he dragged his head over bright white sheets. "Why'd it have to be magnets?"
As he did, though, he realized that the setting wasn't the only thing that had changed. His arm had a different shirt sleeve, and when he glanced down, it turned out he was wearing a red pajama set. The same shade of red he'd loved, once upon a time, before he had to make do with the scrappy outfits in the attic.
And he was clean, too. Normally even touching his screen smeared dust and dirt everywhere, covering his vision and clogging his vents. But when he was still on these white sheets, pristine as ever, with no gunk on him at all.
Someone had cleaned him up while he was out. Someone powerful, and careful, someone who could repair old CRT's, and knew how to take care of magnets, and... and...
And who had a huge, lavish bedroom, walls lined with advertisements, photos, and.... TV Time posters. The collaboration posters, specifically, the ones that had never made it beyond the prototypes that he'd only given one other man...
Abruptly, Tenna realized exactly whose bed he was in.
"Spamton!" Tenna yelped. The blankets exploded around him as he flailed. "Oh gosh, oh no, I've got to get out of here before he - before -"
"Before what?"
If it hadn't been for the outlandish size of the bed, Tenna probably would have fallen off in shock. As it was, he had to dive to catch his head from rolling over the edge, and only then did he jerk it back up to see-
Standing in the doorway, leaned against the frame with the air of propriety he'd been so well known for, was Spamton.
Tenna's first thought was that Spamton looked... disheveled. Not overtly, of course - his white suit, the one Tenna complimented the most during their time filming - was pristine as ever. The sunglasses on his head and the pinkish tie were new, and his hair had faded back to the white he'd sported when they'd very first met.
But when they were both frozen, staring from across the room, Tenna swore he saw a red rim around Spamton's eyes. The kind he got when he stayed up too late, or cried too much, or both. Spamton's hands were shaking and sparking with just a bit of static, the kind you'd get from working with beat up, outdated electronics. Not quite the perfect image he'd seen in every advertisement through AD World.
None of that really mattered, though. Because it was Spamton; the same man who commanded a room, who made noise without ever wondering if others cared to listen, who upended Tenna's life with just an introduction.
And he was staring, slack-jawed, right at Tenna, who looked so different that it was laughable.
Oh, Angel.
"Thanks for fixing me, Big Shot! I know you're a busy man, now, haha," Tenna blurted, hoping he didn't sound as panicky as he felt. His legs kicked out, wobbly as always while he tried to scramble upwards with his hands full. His neck made a squishy noise, and . "I'll just be on my way! See you around!"
"What's the rush, Tens?" Spamton asked, expression unreadable. They both heard the real line underneath.
'You're not going anywhere.'
Despite the overwhelming urge to flee the scene, Tenna stopped himself. There was no telling just how humiliated he should feel, how much Spamton had seen of him already. Someone had to clean him and give him new clothes, after all.
So Tenna sank back down, pulled his head in close, and tried to make himself smaller. "Okay," he agreed weakly, hiding his screen in his knees. "Whatever you say, Spamton."
In the corner of his vision, Spamton paused. Whatever inner debate he'd had must have come to an abrupt end, because in an instant he darted across the room to Tenna.
"Gotta be honest, Tens," he said, not quite as flippant as he probably thought he was, as if the nickname weren't a jolt to Tenna's system. "I was expecting a little more... arguing."
"Well, you're in charge now, right?" Tenna said apathetically. He squeezed his legs closer and wished the bed would swallow him whole. "Don't you know? It's a bad idea to argue with the boss."
That must have triggered something in him, because suddenly Spamton was marching forward to get in Tenna's space.
"Don't even give me that. Do you know how worried I was?" Spamton asked. He sat heavily on the bed, like he was too exhausted to go any further, and didn't meet Tenna's eyes. "When you vanished? I thought you'd died."
Tenna hesitated. Then, carefully, he picked his way over to sit beside him. At his new height, Tenna was about half as tall as Spamton, not counting his head. He didn't miss his old height, exactly, but he felt those missing inches like a lost limb.
"Your... Addisons," Tenna started. Spamton's face darkened, and Tenna hastened to add, "They said you had a reward, if anyone found me?"
Spamton sighed. His hands fidgeted in his lap. "I had to try," he said at last. "Even if you were gone, I just... had to know." He scrubbed at his eyes, and Tenna felt a bolt of genuine alarm run through him. Without thinking, he set a hand on Spamton's thigh.
"Easy there, Mailman," Tenna said, and immediately winced at himself. It had been years, and he was hardly in a position to call the other something so casual. "Sorry, uh, boss. Force of habit."
But Spamton was already shaking his head sharply, settling his hand over Tenna's. "I'm not your boss, Ant. We're partners, remember? You can call me whatever you'd like." His smile softened, just a touch, as he ran his thumb over Tenna's knuckles. "Even if it is a stupid nickname."
Normally, that admission would make Tenna smile.
But now, he was stuck on one word.
'Partner'.
"Spamton," he said, voice shaking just a little. "We can't be partners."
"Don't be ridiculous, [Cathode]," Spamton said. He waved a hand, dismissive as ever. "Sure, we never signed the [I do] -" His face went red, and he laughed and hasted to correct, "- er, the contract. But what's so wrong with-"
"You don't get it," Tenna snapped. His tail lashed back and forth behind him, his fingers clenched so hard around his head that it hurt.
All at once, Tenna couldn't take it anymore.
"We were partners because we both had something to offer!" he exploded. "I had my show, and my advice, and - and I was in charge of TV World! I was worth something!"
He threw his arms wide and let his head hit the ground. He swore Spamton flinched at that, but he was too overtaken with frustration to care.
"What do I have now? What could I possibly offer you? Nothing!" His claws dug into his palms, then into his arms, then into the wires of his neck. He felt like a live wire himself, about to burst into flames. He felt furious, he felt upset, he felt...
Angel, he felt worthless.
As always, his emotions were explosive -deafeningly loud at first and quick to fade. All at once the outrage evaporated, and exhaustion weighed him down in an instant. Tenna dropped to his knees again, mashing the button to click off his screen as he collapsed by his head.
"I've got nothing left to give, Spammy," Tenna whispered. Shame welled up inside him, so deep and raw that for the first time in years, he felt his size shrink a few inches. "The show's over. Just... just send me away already."
Silence. Tenna kept his screen tilted down, determined to keep his static tears hidden.
And then, so painfully quiet...
"I didn't have anything to offer you, back then."
Tenna blinked his screen on, startled out of his reverie. "What?" he asked, heedless of the trails on his screen. "Of course you did. You - you were the top name in Cyber City! The Big Shot!"
Spamton huffed a laugh and scrubbed his eyes, and Tenna nearly short-circuited with the realization that Spamton was crying too.
"That wasn't me, Ant. You know that. I had some help, remember?" Spamton sighed, letting himself slouch, and traced a finger over Tenna's casing. "My benefactor."
For the first time all day, Tenna felt well and truly on the wrong foot here. Because here was Spamton, by all accounts the Angel of this new world, looking... well, looking downright glooby.
Maybe Tenna wasn't the only one with his own issues.
"I... I remember," Tenna started slowly. "You said they were helping you. But later on, they called more and more, and you weren't acting like yourself." When Spamton glanced down at him, surprised and tired, Tenna felt compelled to add, "That's why we floated the contract, remember? So you could... you could finally get rid of them."
The answering smile was sardonic, at best, but it faded away when Tenna put his hands on Spamton's wrist.
"I told you that I... I wasn't the talent. That I wasn't the charming salesman I pretended to be. And you..." Spamton huffed, a rather pathetic attempt at sounding annoyed. "You were going to help me anyway."
"Of course I was," Tenna whispered. "I... you had to know, Spams. I'd do anything for you."
That was the wrong answer. Or rather, it was the correct answer, but also the one that made Spamton whirl on Tenna, gripping his head and shoulders with ease, and give him a firm shake.
"Then listen to me, Tens," Spamton said, deadly serious. "I don't care about the money or power or fame. I don't care what you have, or don't have, to offer. I was only ever in it for one thing."
He leaned forward, blazing with determination.
"Freedom."
Tenna swallowed around a lump in his throat. His gaze was locked on Spamton's, and he couldn't bring himself to twist his head away. Those pink-yellow eyes would be the death of him.
"The freedom to be whoever I wanted. To do whatever I want. To make deals, to leave my dark world." His eyes softened. "To love whoever I want."
This should be the part where Spamton let him down easy. Where he explained that he could have his pick of Darkner partner, where he shooed Tenna back out of his life.
But they both knew he wouldn't. Spamton didn't back away even a little, his fingers pressed into Tenna's back to steady him, to keep him, to-
"Me?" Tenna said. His voice cracked on the word, tears pouring down his screen. "Even when I'm like... this?"
Spamton didn't hesitate. "You're still Ant Tenna." His hands moved closer, an echo of the careful embrace Tenna half-remembered carrying him when the magnets were destroying his mind. "You're still a worrywart, a perfectionist, a performer. You're the man I fell in love with. You're still you."
Tenna clung tight to Spamton. His head slipped from his careless grip, but Spamton caught it with ease and pulled it close to his chest. Tenna's body lurched forward with it, until Spamton had him wrapped up completely.
"You really mean it, Spams?" Tenna said, muffled.
"Every word, Tens." The grip tightened, every bit the mailman who cheered Tenna up when he felt his gloobiest. For the first time in years, Tenna felt himself grow, just a little.
Maybe things would finally be okay after all.