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Spamton doesn’t remember a lot of things, he’s found. Sometimes things come back to him, but he’s had to come to the terms with the fact that a lot of things will forever be lost in the dark.
His present, in particular, will get fuzzy – jumbled up, mixed with old experiences that are half-forgotten, or a wall of ancient memories will press their way to the front of his mind, making him momentarily forget where he is – when he is, and even sometimes who he is.
Spamton G. Spamton isn’t stupid, though. He knows that he’s made a lot of mistakes. Mistakes about forgetting things he should know.
Like the times he hurt Tenna.
Really hurt him, not just physically. The green pippins – he’s going by Battat now, apparently – Battat had made it very clear when Spamton and Tenna reunited that he didn't and wouldn't trust him until he's proved he wouldn't hurt Tenna again. And it took everything in Spamton to keep his puppet mouth shut from snarking, which time are we talking about? because frankly, he doesn’t want to get into a fight with the pippin.
He knows. He knows that he’s hurt Tenna. He also knows that Tenna’s hurt him. There were dozens and dozens of fights, back then, especially by the end of things, and the fault of them is pretty evenly split between them. Still, even though most of those fights were forgiven and forgotten – sometimes Spamton doesn’t realize that some of the things that had happened, back then, have caused a real amount of damage, just lying beneath the surface, bruised and tender to the slightest prodding.
It’s a quiet day, together. Tenna and Spamton are curled up in the TV Darkner's residence inside the castle. Spamton’s all about moved into the television's living quarters, and their days are spent together, nearly idyllic. Especially recently; Tenna’s been treating Spamton tender, and the puppet has to admit that it’s a feeling that he could get used to. He leans into the television Darkner, sighing in content. Tenna makes a happy sound in reply, arms curling around to hug against the puppet Darkner, pulling him up to cuddle. Normally Tenna doesn’t dare touch Spamton unprompted, but something is different today.
The CRT hums. His screen brushes against Spamton’s hair, making it flicker and fuzz with the static. “Is there anything you wanted today, my mailman?”
Spamton hums, taking a long pause before speaking. "Nnn–n–not [REAL]y, d–do, do, [DUE] you?" He decides to stutter out. "W–we cou–o–could..."
He’s drawing a blank here. Still, Tenna waits patiently. He doesn’t interrupt, even as Spamton’s voice peters off into uncertainty.
It’s not… normal for him. Normally, Tenna has an entire itinerary of suggestions, just waiting to supply the right answer to Spamton. But… that look on his face isn’t normal, either. Spamton might recognize it, but the memory associated with the expression is fuzzy and hurts his head to think about for too long. He looks up at Tenna, having expected the other darkner to list a bunch of possibilities, but still, Tenna doesn’t utter a sound. He sits there, smiling, waiting, and for some reason it really bothers Spamton. He doesn’t know what Tenna is expecting, or maybe waiting for, but -- well, it’s Tenna. Spamton might not have the correct answer, but he can supply as close to a correct one as he can.
"I–I g–guess we cou–could wat–ch–ch—" he inhales, exhales. "[WATCH AND LEARN] something?"
“Sure!”
No arguments. No complaints. Tenna sets Spamton back down and scoots backwards, flicking on his screen, flipping through the channels. Spamton isn’t sure if this is normal. He can’t remember if it’s normal, but it sure doesn’t feel like it. He starts to feel uneasy, little plush stomach twisting.
“We could watch those car shows you used to like if you want,” Tenna continues, flipping through his channels. “Or the one about the antiques store? You liked yelling at people who were getting ripped off.”
The puppet blinks, several times. "Y–Yeah, th–that sounnnnds nice. T–The [CAR SHOW]." he replies. He shifts, sitting with his legs sticking out in front of him. Cross-legged was awkward and hurt sometimes, so when not curled up against Tenna’s warm body, he always felt a bit stiff.
“Sure.”
And with that, Tenna’s funny-not-funny expression disappears as the show begins to play. It’s an old one — Tenna had told him before that he only has the things he’s recorded on hand, now that he’s no longer plugged into cable — but it’s clearly one that Spamton used to enjoy a lot. Tenna is completely still, hands folded in his lap, as the rerun plays.
And even though Spamton can’t remember a lot of specifics, one thing Spamton does remember is that Tenna hated sitting still for these shows. He was always squirming and moving, or at the very least fidgety. Spamton used to have to hold his hands just to make him stop wiggling all around. So as the time passes, Spamton watches, but about a third of the way in he frowns. This seems... wrong. He is silent for a long while, trying to look at Tenna and spot what's going on. He's at a loss.
"T–Te--[TEN PERCENT OFF] -- nnnna?"
The episode pauses. Tenna’s nose doesn’t come back as he tilts his head. It’s a bit unnerving to see him so — like…
Like a TV screen.
“Is everything okay, my mailman?”
The puppet opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He closes it with a click of his jaw and a frown.
"W–What's wrong?" He asks, scooting forward to sit on his thighs, reaching for Tenna. "Some–times–somethings–some—" he huffs. "You're acting w–[WEIRD AND WACKY]."
“Weird? I’m not acting weird.” Tenna at least sounds offended, even though he won’t bring back his nose or mouth, the screen still paused on the episode. Spamton can hear the pout in his tone. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Spammy. Is that so wrong?”
"That's—" he frowns. "Y–You u–usually wh–[WINE AND CHEESE] when I'm n–not cuddling y–y–y–you, and, and you. I h–have, haven't, seen you s–sit [STOCK STILL] du–during my shows." He explains. Maybe it’s more of an accusation.
"A–Are you... mad?" he finishes.
“No. I’m not mad at you.” Tenna’s voice goes soft. Normally he’d get offended if Spamton insinuated that. But … well, today is weird. Today has been weird. Blindly (because, Spamton remembers, he can’t see when he’s projecting a show like this) he searches for Spamton’s hand. Taking it, he rubs gently at its segmented joints. “I’m not mad at you. I just wanted to do something nice for you. That’s… all. I’m sorry.”
The puppet scoots to sit in between Tenna's legs. He reaches out to take Tenna's hand, and goes to speak but only gets out a soft: "Don't—" before stopping. He blinks, looking down. He stares at Tenna's left hand. What was that? He reaches to touch the odd bump on his ring finger, and his lover goes stock still. “WH4T…?”
“It’s my glove,” he says, though his voice is stilted and flat. Scared. Hiding something. “It’s — always been like that, Spammy. Remember?”
"I... don't." Spamton feels so lost, and -- maybe sad; did he forget something important? But even if he doesn’t know the specifics, he can tell something is off. There's something there. It's solid, smooth.
Without any warning, Spamton goes to tug the glove off, and Tenna yanks his hand back.
“Spammy! What are you doing? You can’t just — haha, you, you can’t take off a man’s glove without taking him to dinner first!” His screen flicks off, the entire room going black with the sudden lack of light. The only visible thing to the puppet now is the toothy smile in place of where the show was paused. Tenna clutches his half-gloved hand to his chest, almost protective. “What’s gotten into you? I don’t ever take my gloves off.”
Spamton can’t help but frown deeper. "Y–You're h–hi-hi-[HIDE AND SEEK] some–thing." He accuses. "Y–You're ac–t–[ACT NOW]-ing weird, y–you're lying,"
“I’m not lying!” Tenna’s voice goes high. He hugs his arm closer, so Spamton can’t get to it. “What’s weird about not wanting you to see my claws, Spamton? It’s always been that way! You’ve never cared about my gloves before…!”
"What's t–th-thaaaat [BUMP IN THE NIGHT], then? Y–y–you don't h–have jo–[JOINTS]-nts like mine. T–that was some[THING], right? Something yi–y–you don't w–want m–me k[NOW]ing about!"
Tenna shakes his head, ducking away now. He hunches down, keeping his hand away from Spamton’s eyesight. “There’s nothing to hide! What would I hide?! It’s just my glove!”
"T–Then take o–off yo–y–our [BOXING GLOVE] an–d and. and. Show. Me." He says, standing on the couch now to meet the television head on.
Tenna doesn’t shrink; rather, he flinches in response. “Why? What could I possibly hide, Spamton?” He asks, voice pitching higher with every word. He damn well looks like he’s about to cry, and -- Spamton is losing willpower to keep this argument going. He doesn’t want Tenna to cry on him, he hates crying, so he huffs, hopping down from the couch altogether. That doesn’t seem to be a comfort for Tenna, though, because the television moves to stand as well, wringing his hands together. “Spam — Spamton! Wait — please don’t — I’m sorry, I just! Not — can we not … fight today? Can you just — wait to get mad at me about this until tomorrow?” There’s a bit of hesitation, before he adds a small, and pathetic “please?”
The pleading only causes the puppet to frown deeper. "W–W–what's so, ssso, so, ssspec–[SPECIL DEAL] about to–day?" he asks. What is he missing here?
The CRT squeezes his hands together, before —
He shrinks, suddenly, all the way down to four feet tall. And then, he holds out his half-off gloved hand, looking away. Spamton hesitates, before going and taking the glove off and—
He freezes, staring at the golden ring around Tenna's ring finger. His heart is in his throat.
"You..." He works at his mouth, trying to make sure he doesn’t stutter or glitch. Not this time. Tenna doesn’t look at him. He can’t. "You kept it?"
The boss Darkner’s screen flickers in and out rapidly, like he isn’t sure whenever he can trust his emotions or not.
“…I did,” he finally admits in a soft voice. “It was the only thing I had left of you, except for that prophecy forsaken phone, and you can imagine I wasn’t exactly gung-ho about keeping that on my person.”
Spamton’s body flinches. but gently tugs the glove back on for Tenna, obscuring the ring once again. "I'm sorry." He says quietly. Tenna pulls his hand back. His mouth twists, trying to figure out what emotion it wants to express, before he flickers his screen back to the television show Spamton was watching.
“It’s okay. Can we…?”
Spamton climbs back onto the couch cushions, and instead of agreeing, he crawls over to sit in Tenna's lap again, curling up. He murmurs things in a glitchy voice, under his breath. Things like I'm sorry and I didn't mean too and the most important one, the one he can’t even say.
"I [HYPERLINK BLOCKED] you."
Tenna swallows. His breathing’s gone funny, like he’s trying not to cry, because— well, he is trying not to cry. The CRT finds his thumb moving to rub up and down Spamton’s segmented arm, trying to warm him up.
“I just wanted today to be about you,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been wearing it the whole time, you just…”
Didn’t notice. He doesn’t need to say it, because they both already know. Spamton laughs, clenching up his little segmented fingers into a fist.
"I–I kee–eep, [MESSY] up. I–I'm s–s–orry, I sh–should've. [PAY NOW] attention." he curls up a bit more. Tenna switches his screen off again, clearly aware that Spamton wasn’t in the mood for television watching anymore. Spamton is certain that inwardly, the television is kicking himself -- blaming himself, wondering what he did that always managed to mess this stuff up. The boss Darkner adjusts Spamton in his hold, trying to make him feel safer. More protected.
“It’s okay. I didn’t … say anything. I did hide it. Do…” he hesitates. “Do you know what today is, Spamton?”
The puppet thinks, hard. His grip on Tenna's shirt slackens a bit, before tightening. "I can't [REMEMBER ME]." he murmurs, speaking slowly. "It's.. it's, i–i–imm--[POTENT]?"
“Not really. It’s just… the anniversary of the day you gave it to me.”
Of course he’s trying to downplay it. But Spamton knows better. This date, this anniversary, it’s important to Tenna. Because of course it’s important to Tenna; Tenna, who clings to every single gift ever given to him like it’s a lifeline. Stupid, sentimental, wonderful Tenna.
It’s the anniversary of when he proposed, that first time, all those eons ago. Before everything went wrong and they were ripped apart for ten long, long years. Years that Spamton spent in the bottom of a trash can, and clung to the happy memories so tightly that they were crushed like sand and slipped through his fingers. Ten years of Tenna waiting, resenting, and finally, blowing up his own life in his grief.
The puppet goes still
"T–Th–that's im[POTENT]. Li–igh-Lightners l–like [REMEMBER]–ing that." He says. He feels like shit, now. "C–Can y–you fo–f0–for[GIVE!] me?"
That infuriating smile hasn’t budged an inch. Tenna rocks the puppet Darkner, slow and methodical, before pressing his screen to the top of Spamton’s head. Letting the static linger there, the way Spamton has always found comfort in..
“There’s nothing to forgive, Spamton.”
Spamton can't cry in this body, so he just continues to cling to his Cathode’s shirt. Tighter, and tighter, and tighter. He--
"I–I–I k–keep hurting y–you." he says, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not hurt. If I was hurt, I’d stop wearing the ring.” Such a liar. Such a stupid, glooby, wonderful liar. Tenna rubs up and down Spamton’s back, before moving to scoop him up and cradle him; the television slowly moves to stand, swaying back and forth. “Come on. Let’s not have today ruined for you. Did you want to go throw rocks at Blue or something?”
"No." Spamton says, stubborn, too focused on what’s going on to think about the enjoyment he’d get out of terrorizing his brother.. "N–No. I don't wan–w4nnnn–t, want to d–do that." He clutches Tenna's shirt, then, quietly:
"I.. [LOST SEASON 1 PREMIERES AT…] mine."
Tenna swallows. He doesn’t look down, but his hands manage to find Spamton anyway. Embrace him. Hold him. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to have yours, anyway.”
Spamton can’t help but wonder where it ended up. He might have even sold it, when he was at his lowest, but he wouldn't dare say that outloud. Especially knowing that it would hurt Tenna, and Tenna would forgive him anyway.
"C–Can I... do an–an--an--an[KNEE]–thing?"
“Spamton. Today was about me making you feel nice. Not the other way around.” Still. Even though he says that, Tenna doesn’t look down. Doesn’t let Spamton see his stupid lying screen. He holds Spamton close, like that will fix everything. “Don’t worry about me.”
"If not m–mmmh, [MI], w–who will?" he grumbles, pressing into Tenna's hold, trying to be as close to the other Darkner as possible.
“Hmm. I guess… if not you…Battat, maybe? But that’s why I hide things from him too. I guess I’m kind of insufferable.” Tenna slowly rubs a hand up and down Spamton’s side. His voice is so flat and lifeless. So unlike himself. “I just wanted today to be nice for you.”
Spamton can't see Tenna's screen, he's held so gently, and yet he feels trapped in the embrace. As if it's supposed to placate him like he's an animal. And suddenly, it’s as if Spamton can’t breathe. He struggles, but there’s no relief.
"P–P–put me d–--ooo00wn." He orders. Tenna doesn’t move. He doesn’t respond. There’s no answer from the CRT. "T‐Te--Ten[NOW]." he tries to move, but he's too high up, too tightly pressed to the other. "T–Te--[TEN DOLLARS OR LESS]. put me [NO MONEY DOWN]."
No response. The hand holding Spamton doesn’t even so much as tremble. It keeps him there — as if keeping him there will erase any of the bad things. As if it could have ever protected Spamton.
"T–TEN. NA, pl–p–lease." He begs again, voice bordering on terror. He doesn’t want to be trapped. He doesn’t want to be held like this. He wants to look at Tenna and hold him instead of being held. He doesn’t want to be the only one comforted -- he wants to comfort. He wants to hold his Cathode and pepper kisses against his screen and let him cry for the both of them.
It’s only then, and only after a long pause, that Tenna’s fingers finally relent. He carefully places Spamton back onto the couch, moving to hug around himself when the puppet pulls away. Tenna’s screen has gone black. It’s like he’s doing everything he can to keep himself together. Spamton backs up and stares. Vaguely, he wishes he could hug Tenna and make it all better. But what even could he do?
There’s a long stretch of silence between them. The minutes slip past, with neither of them moving. Both at a standstill.
And then,
<< — look at the lovely red finish on this car, the details on it are original to the vehicle, truly one of a kind-- >>
The channel Spamton was watching before flickers back to life, Tenna’s face disappearing in exchange. The puppet feels his shoulders prickle up, flaring with anger. Spamton stands on the cushion, staring right to Tenna's screen.
"T–T–Turn that 0ff–ffff." He snaps. "Y–You c‐can't just, just, j–just [DIRECT] me a–and [FIX IT FELIX],"
<<“— truly a beautiful piece of art, and the engine purrs like a kitten! You’re a lucky man if you get to ride in one of—”>>
"[TEN PERCENT OFF], p-please." He begs, voice louder. "T-T-Talk, t0 [MI]."
<<“— any man owning this car should count his lucky stars! It would only be better if it was rolling off the dealers lot brand new, but hey, nothings perfect.”>>
Silence.
Spamton cannot cry in this body. It must be some sick joke by his old benefactor, considering how much Spamton hated when people cried, but by the Angel he would do anything just to be able to shed tears and get rid of some of this pain. All he can do is plop down, put his head in his hands, and fight the shaking collecting through his entire body. The tape continues, until the ending theme jingle plays. The screen shuts off, then, flickering them both back into darkness.
Tenna’s hands tremble from where they’re curled on his lap. Hesitantly, he reaches out to touch Spamton’s shoulder — still not trusting his screen or his voice box. The puppet flinches, looking at Tenna.
"N-Now y-y-you wn-wa-wnannnn- w4nt to [TALK TO ME],” he snaps. He doesn't mean to sound angry or passive aggressive, but… well, he knows that he does. Tenna doesn’t say anything. But his hand remains — trembling, unsteady and uncertain. His screen stays black, but he doesn’t shrink.
He waits. Spamton can feel the bump of Tenna’s ring — his ring — through the glove, now that he focuses on it. Carefully, Spamton covers as much of Tenna's hand as he can with his own. There is a soft noise as his puppet finger brushes against the ring hidden in plain sight under Tenna's glove. Not really anything to pay attention to, but it sounds so much louder in the silence. Tenna swallows. His screen flickers back on, to the dimmest setting — one where he can’t see well, but it’s comfortable for Spamton’s puppet eyes. His nose manifests back into place, and Tenna’s smile wobbles.
“I just wanted to make today special for you. I’m sorry.”
"I-I-It isn't th-that." Spamton retorts. "Y-You're.. si-i-t-[SITTING BY THE FIREPLACE] th-here hur-rting, and I cn-can't do an-an-anything." He sighs, body feeling heavy, "I-I... I-I d-don't know what [I CAN DO IT]." He admits, looking away.
“Spamton. I’m not hurting. I’m…” Tenna bites down on his lip — a Lightner habit, from a better time. He leans down, to be closer to Spamton’s level, hugging around his knees. “… it’s not your fault,” he decides, “it’s not something you have to change.”
Spamton goes silent. It IS, though, he's thinking, I gave you that damn ring to begin with.
"I-I h-hat-hattttt— [HATE HATE HATE] when y-you [LIE DOWN LIKE A DOG], th-thinking it'll m-ma-m4ke [EVERY !] better." He mutters. "Y-You c-c4n tell me th-the [TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH]."
“Spamton!” Tenna looks hurt at the remark. His smile drops. He scoots back, and reaches to touch the puppets shoulder again. “I’m not sad because of the ring. There’s a dozen other things I’m upset about, but not the ring. Not you. You always meant more to me.”
Spamton runs a segmented hand through his hair and tugs at it, laughing. "B-B-But. I. Hurt. Y0U." He wants to combust, he's upset, and angry and filled to the brim with self-loathing all over again. “It wasn’t [UR] fault! It was [MINE MINE MINE]. Not> Yours.”
Tenna squeezes Spamton’s shoulder, urging for the puppet to turn to face him again. As if he needs that for Spamton to believe him. “It was my fault! I talked you into signing the contract. I thought we’d be able to be big together, that I could protect you! I…” he falters, before pushing through, "I was the one that hurt you, Spamton.” The puppet’s expression grows strained, but his eyes -- oh, his eyes speak volumes. He looks exhausted, like he wants this conversation to end so he can just crawl somewhere and disappear.
"I sho-sh0uld>ve trusted y0u." He finally says, quietly.
“No,” Tenna says, quieter still, exhaustion coloring the edges of his screen, “You were right not to.”
And then, without a warning, Tenna shrinks, dissolving into tears as he leans his casing against Spamton’s shoulder. They’re almost the same height now; Spamton reaches around Tenna’s shoulder and pulls him closer.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my mailman. I’m doing everything I can to make up for it…”
Spamton can't cry, as he’s cruelly reminded for the umpteenth time today, but he can hug Tenna, hold him, make sure he feels supported while the television cries enough for the both of them. Things Spamton wished for, and received, daily, from Tenna. Tenna hugs back. He squeezes, because under that plush and porcelain and wood is his Spammy. And his Spammy means the world to him.
“D-Don't app -- ap--[APPLY TODAY]p0ligize>”
“I wish I hadn’t done what I did,” Tenna continues in a whisper, “I regret it every day. That’s why I tr-try so hard to make up for it.” Spamton just squeezes back. He can't talk right now, he can't possibly when his brain is going all over the place. What does he do? What does he say?
"Y-You d-d-d-on't [HAVE IT ALL] to." He tries. Tenna chuckles. It’s a water-logged sound. Is he getting tears in his speakers, maybe? The CRT hugs tighter.
“But I love you. And doesn’t love make you want to do whatever you can?”
That makes the puppet snort. “S0FTie,” he mumbles, before fully leaning into the hug, letting Tenna hold him, sighing a bit in relief with how safe and cared for he felt.
“Why do you think I worked so hard to make today your favorite things?” Tenna adds. He’s grown back a couple of inches, but he’s still only a little bigger than Spamton. Truthfully, the CRT prefers it this way., and they both know it “I just … I want you to be happy.”
"I'm h–h–happy being w–ith [U] a–always." Spamton says, frowning. "I–I don't n–eed all of...." He gestures vaguely. "T–This."
“But this was the bare minimum! I was going to take you out! I have presents! I…” Tenna worries his lip, before he adds, “I bought you paints. And canvases. So you could try art again.”
Spamrom looks to the side. ‘I don’t need’ was the wrong phrase. It was more...
"I–I d–o–don't de[SERVE] a–all this, T–Tenna."
Tenna’s face crumples a little. For a Darkner with no eyes, he sure is good at looking like a kicked puppy without them. “Oh, Spamton,” he says softly, thumb coming to gently stroke against the puppets side. “You do deserve it. You’ve gone through some pretty awful things. It’s the least I can do…” The puppet just shakes his head, hearing it rattle. He doesn't trust his voice (as if he even trusted it to begin with, stupid stutter.) But the silence is heavy. He needs it to be filled.
"I–I–I'm s0rry." He decides to say.
Tenna’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Oh, my Spammy,” Tenna whispers, voice wobbling as he cups his hands under Spamton, lifting him up. “You don’t have to be sorry. I — gosh, haha, wow. I just wanted today to be special for you. I didn’t want you to think you owed me anything.”
"I–I–I hu–rt y0u," He replies, wishing he could cry. He hugs Tenna's thumb, hiding his face. "I–I.. y–y0u n–[NEEDED ] and, and. and I..."
“We hurt each other,” Tenna stubbornly corrects, “I, haha, well. made you leave,” he adds, the guilt overflowing and streaking down his screen. A track of tears. A trail of glittering fallen stars. “I pushed too hard. I just thought I could protect you from anything that tried to hurt you. I was… I was selfish. And full of myself. I still am. Sometimes I still think I could have protected you if you stayed.”
Spamton peeks up at Tenna. "Y–Y–You woul–wo, W0ULd>>, wo–would have go–tten hurt."
“I don’t care,” Tenna replies, voice barely above a whisper. “I would have gotten hurt if it meant keeping you safe.”
Spamton makes a choked noise. Why can't he cry? Please, he needs the release. "Y–You..." he whispers, hugging Tenna's thumb tighter. "Wh–[TELL ME WHY] a–are y–y–you so... S0........." he trails off.
“It’s because I love you,” Tenna finishes for him. “I always have, and I always will. Even when I was angry, I was just … hurt. I was hurt and stupid and senseless. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can never, ever make it up to you.”
Spamton looks up at Tenna, before turning and kissing his thumb. Just a little peck, before hugging it again.
Shyly he goes: "I–I–I l–[HYPERLINK BLOCKED] y–y–oo–you too."