Chapter Text
Spamton used to do this, back when his body was all organic and he was six inches taller. He'd sit at the table in Tenna's dressing room. The margins of the scripts he was reading would gradually fill with doodles of setpieces, and blank pages would become detailed from-memory sketches of Tenna. Of course, when Tenna came in during his breaks, Spamton would flip over the page to hide the drawing. He'd feign innocence, getting to his feet to kiss the oversized TV man. (Sometimes Tenna's breaks would go on longer than they were supposed to, and someone would bang on the door, and they'd break apart, suddenly remembering it's the middle of the work day.)
Spamton the puppet lays on his stomach in the middle of the floor. His fingers don't work the way they used to, and all his doodles are shaky. Still, that's a recognizable Tenna, and over there's the Weatherduo, over there's Mike in all his forms, and in the corner is a very small Spamton (the way he used to be).
"Oh, ✉♡ Spammy ♡✉!" Tenna calls as he throws open the door to his dressing room. Spamton pushes himself to his feet, holding up his arms, and Tenna lifts him into a spin. "How's your day been?"
"YOU SAW ME [[one (1) hour]] AGO."
"So??"
"IT'S FINE."
Tenna kisses Spamton. "Glad to hear that."
"YOU?"
Tenna sighs dramatically. "The lighting's just not working for this scene! I don't know what's the matter with it."
Spamton hums. "LET ME SEE?"
Tenna wilts slightly. "You sure?"
(Spamton hasn't been out and about in the studio very much in the few days he's been back.)
"YEAH. SHOW ME."
Tenna perks up again, although Spamton can tell it's not NOT an act. "Alright! Arms or shoulders?"
"SHOULDERS."
Tenna helps Spamton clamber up onto his shoulder. "Secure, my little mailman?" Spamton sends a thumbs up, and off they go to set.
So it's all wrong.
Okay. Exaggeration.
"THAT ONE. 2 FEET LEFT. …NO. MY LEFT."
The Winglade on lights must be new, because she looks stressed as she follows Spamton's instructions.
"Ah!" Tenna exclaims. "That's better!" He claps once, and Spamton, on his shoulder, wobbles. "Whoops." Tenna adjusts him. "There." He turns to the countdown. "Wanna stay with me, Spammy? Or… you want to go back to the dressing room?" (His screen dims, barely noticeable, but to Spamton it is.)
"HM." He makes a big show of thinking. "CAN I SKETCH OUT [[hear]]?"
Tenna brightens. "I don't see why not!"
People are trying not to talk about him. That first day, they weren't trying at all, but today, it's mostly stares. Spamton finds a nice wall to draw against, and that way he can't see anybody.
"You, uh, doing alright?" Tenna's voice asks behind him at the next ad break.
"FINE," Spamton says, tongue between his teeth. (It's awkward for a puppet, but a habit he's always had.)
"You want… a seat somewhere?"
"NO."
"…okay. Well… let me or Elnina or Lanino know if you change your mind, okay?"
"OKAY."
It's thankfully not long before lunch. Spamton leaves his pages half-propped up against the wall, held in place by a chunky pencil he's been reluctant to use and frustrated to discover works better with his current fingers.
"GIMME," he says the moment he arrives to Tenna's table. Tenna sighs, but fork-feeds him a little TV Dinner, and the Weatherduo roll their eyes (as if they aren't JUST as grossly coupley). He climbs up onto the tallest chair in the building—made specifically for short Darkners to match the average-height chairs and Tenna's absurdly short one—and shrieks when it wobbles. Tenna quickly steadies it.
"Careful," he says.
"SHUSH," Spamton responds.
It's simple. Tenna has the short chair so it puts him at a closer height to his friends and employees. Spamton claimed the tall chair for the same reason. Anyone moves it away from the short chair, and there WILL be hell to pay.
Tenna's not subtle as he pulls out his large, red, buttoned phone, and Spamton takes the opportunity while Tenna's distracted to steal the rest of Tenna's food. "Wh— hey," Tenna hisses when he puts his phone away and notices Spamton digging into the rest of the TV Dinner with a fork that's comically large for him.
"FINDERS KEEPERS."
"No!" Tenna laughs. Tenna leans over to try and take it back, but Spamton huddles over the package and growls like a dog. Tenna reaches in, narrowly avoiding being stabbed by his own fork when Spamton tries to attack him. "Alright, fine, I'll go get another one from the vending machine."
"WHAT," Spamton says to the staring Weatherduo. "[[Free-for-all]] [[sustenance]]."
Spamton stays until Tenna finishes eating, and then they head back to set. Next to his papers (and chunky pencil) is a clipboard. That wasn't there before.
Spamton looks up. He makes eye contact with Tenna, who looks away too aggressively to be natural.
So THAT'S what he was doing while Spamton stole his food.
He puts his papers on the clipboard and settles for sitting against the wall facing toward the set.
(One time, Tenna looks over, and Spamton winks, and Tenna's entire screen goes a faint shade of pink.)
Clock hits 5pm, and Spamton's so ready to go home, but Tenna walks right past their street.
"HOME?" Spamton asks sadly.
"Sorry, Spammy," Tenna says apologetically. "We made that appointment with that puppeteer in Cyber City, remember? To fix your jaw?"
Oh. Yeah. Damn.
"WHO IS THIS [[#1 Expert]] ANYWAY?"
"Blue knew someone, who knew someone, who knew a puppeteer," Tenna recalls. "He's someone who does repairs for puppet Darkners, so hopefully he has some idea of how to pop that jaw back into place!"
Spamton grumbles wordlessly and tugs on Tenna's blazer, and Tenna lifts Spamton off his shoulder and into his arms.
"Better?"
Spamton glares.
"Ah, well," Tenna says. "You wanted this, remember?"
Not today, though.
Taking the train as Spamton is worse than taking it as Tenna was. People were staring because Tenna is Tenna, and now they're staring because Spamton is Spamton (inferior by far).
Well, they're staring because Tenna is Tenna, and Spamton is on his lap. The train cars get pretty crowded around rush hour. Someone tries to sit next to Tenna, but Spamton snaps his teeth and makes a strange noise, and they move away.
"Spammy," Tenna says softly, "I'm sorry this is the opposite of relaxing."
"YOU'RE [[dam]] RIGHT."
A big hand sits in his hair, cupping the back of his head, and Spamton refuses to admit it's calming. "Next time we need to go to Cyber City, I'll remind you before. Deal?"
"DEAL."
Turns out they're making a house call, NOT a business, which isn't reassuring at all.
Tenna rings the doorbell, and turns to Spamton while they're waiting. "I'll be here the whole time—even if I have to sit on the floor to fit. If this person feels off, I'll be the first to get you out of here, okay?"
Spamton makes a begrudgingly affirmative sound.
"Good enough." Tenna smiles at him.
The Darkner that answers the door is about Shadowguy height, with dark brown plasticky skin, visible joints, and curly pink hair. His big, innocent-looking eyes take in Tenna and Spamton (lingering on Spamton's jaw), and then he smiles. "You must be my appointment. Please, come in."
Tenna's, of course, too big, so he has to stand hunched-over in the first-floor apartment's entryway.
"Sorry about that," the puppeteer says with a polite wince.
"No, no, I'm very tall," Tenna says. "Nothing to be done about it." He sets down Spamton. "THIS is… ah… who we're here about."
"My name is Kendell," the Darkner says. "I'm a ball-jointed doll in the Light World. I'd ask what you are, but I've learned over the years that's rude."
"SPAMTON," Spamton says begrudgingly.
"Nice to meet you, Spamton." Kendell directs the smile at him. "This way, I'm afraid I only have couch space for repairs." Spamton follows, and Tenna, half-bent over, follows behind him. "You're here about that jaw, correct?"
Spamton nods.
"Yeah, I thought so… no offense," Kendell says, "it looked a little… misaligned."
Spamton doesn't respond, throwing up a thumbs up as he lays flat on the couch.
"How did this happen?" Kendell asks, opening a case of tools on the end table.
"He got clipped by a car," Tenna explains.
"That would do it," Kendell says. Spamton's glad there's no follow-up questions, because he can't use Tenna's excuse of 'I come from a Dark World without cars.' "It's actually not the most obvious damage—"
Spamton frowns. "REALLY?"
"Yeah," Kendell says. "Is it causing problems like this?"
"IF I DON' TFOCUS. IT. HANGS OPEN," Spamton says, demonstrating.
Kendell winces. "Ooh. Yeah. That's a bit worse than it simply being lopsided." He picks through his tools. "I'm going to need to put my fingers in your mouth, is that okay?"
Spamton nods.
"And can I trust you not to bite me?"
"Does that… happen very often?" Tenna asks.
"Once or twice," Kendell says.
"He won't bite." Tenna glares at Spamton the moment Kendell looks away.
"Okay, I'm going to start with my fingers," Kendell says as he pulls on a pair of gloves. "To feel around. Raise a hand if you need me to stop."
"Is there anything I can do?" Tenna asks.
"Yes, actually," Kendell says. "Could you hold this light?" He hands Tenna a penlight. "I've got this lamp"—he points to the one on the end table—"but it might not be the most useful to see inside Spamton's mouth."
"Of course," Tenna says—and almost drops it immediately into Spamton's open mouth. Spamton yelps. "Haha. Sorry…" Tenna shrinks slightly. "I'll do better…"
"You got it?" Kendell asks, and Tenna nods, fist gripping the penlight tightly. "Good. Alright. I'm going to start now."
Spamton's glad the puppet body doesn't have a gag reflex as Kendell's small plastic fingers feel around where the back of his mouth meets the top of his throat. A knuckle joint bumps against the metal bar, and Kendell hums in thought.
"Good job. Stay still."
Spamton does his BEST to stay still as a plastic finger taps along the metal bar. (It clinks and wiggles with every contact.)
"You seem to have a hinge bar holding your lower jaw in place," Kendell says. "I think I've identified the issue: it's been knocked loose from the impact of the car."
"Is that… difficult to fix?" Tenna asks nervously.
"Depends on the Darkner," Kendell says, tapping the bar again.
Spamton, who felt fine (if a little stressed) before, suddenly feels like he's about to throw up.
One of his fingers twitches, like he's trying to raise his hand, and he forces it back down again. He can handle a little discomfort. He's been living in a dumpster. This is weird, but manageable.
And then he gets hit by another wave of nausea, bigger than the first one, and before he can do anything…
He's thrown up in his mouth. Like a child.
"Oh! Okay." Kendell pulls his hand out quickly. "That's… Sorry to ask this when you've just thrown up, but"—he turns to Tenna—"is he organic? I thought… Well, most puppets, dolls, robots, etc. … aren't."
"Spamton… wasn't always a puppet," Tenna admits. Like he's scared he shouldn't be the one saying it. But Spamton's curled up on a sofa, swallowing his own vomit, so clearly it wouldn't be HIM.
"Oh!" Kendell swaps gloves for a clean pair. "I've never heard of that happening before. Some Darkners do evolve, but not usually like that."
"He used to be an Addison," Tenna says. "I don't know how it happened."
"An Addison…" Kendell seems thoughtful. "I'm gonna help you sit up, okay?" he asks Spamton. "Would you mind getting him some water from the kitchen?" he asks Tenna.
A hand on Spamton's back and one behind his shoulder help him sit up. He pulls off his glasses and rubs at his eyes.
"Did you have any warning?" Kendell asks.
Spamton sulks. "…YES."
"Alright. Next time, please raise your hand," Kendell says, but it's not condescending or pitying or babying. It's just a request.
"OKAY." His mouth tastes bad. His throat feels funny.
"I got the water," Tenna says as he comes back in, almost sloshing on himself in haste. "Is he okay??"
"I suspect … the piece I was touching inside Spamton's mouth is sensitive. Is that right?" Spamton nods. "And triggered nausea?" Another nod. "Now that I have a better understanding of who I'm working with, we should ideally be able to avoid it happening again."
"So you can still help?" Tenna asks.
"I can't guarantee anything," Kendell says gently, taking the water from Tenna and passing it to Spamton. "But I'd like to exhaust every option before deciding it's impossible." He smiles.
Kendell makes them wait five minutes, instructing Spamton to sip the water slowly. (Well, he said ten, but Spamton bargained his way down to five.)
"Ready to try again?"
Spamton manages to get through without vomiting. It takes raising his hand three times, but when he feels the bar click into place, he almost cries from relief.
"I can't do anything about that dent," Kendell frowns.
"You've done plenty," Tenna says genuinely. "Thank you."
"Come back anytime," Kendell says. "Ideally you won't need to, but this particular patient…" His eyes twinkle.
"HEY!"
"Kidding. You did well," Kendell adds.
"THANKS," Spamton says after a moment.
"Anytime."
"HOME?" Spamton asks the moment the front door closes with them on the opposite side.
Tenna laughs. "Yes. Home."
Having a functioning jaw again frees up a surprising amount of time.
Well. No. Not really. But Spamton has a lot on his mind.
This time, when Tenna comes out of the shower, Spamton flips over his drawing—but it's not a picture of Tenna.
"What d'you got there?" Tenna asks.
"NOTHING."
"Liar," Tenna grins. "All right, then! Keep your secrets!"
"WAS THAT A [[Lord of the Rings]] REFERENCE?"
"Absolutely."
"FAIR."
Tenna sits on the bed, looking way too good in that red robe.
"YOU LOOK [[200°]]," he callbacks to when Tenna was in his body.
"Why, thank you," Tenna preens.
When Tenna looks away, Spamton flips over the paper and feverishly draws a few lines. Tenna looks back at him again, and he flips it over.
"Does this have anything to do with something I saw in the dumpster called 'SPAMTON NEO'?"
Spamton turns over the paper, feeling like he's been caught. Tenna kneels beside him to get a better look.
"Ooh, that's different," Tenna says. "From the other one, I mean. A lot less…"
"NOT DONE," Spamton snaps, pulling it away from Tenna.
"Sorry, yes," Tenna says. "I'll let you finish it? But I'd like to see it, when you're done."
"DEAL."
It's not a fast process. A couple of days later, and he's worked his way down from the head but he's still on the legs.
"What's your plan for this?" Tenna finally asks, back in their apartment.
"HM?" Spamton doesn't look up from the page.
"What is this for?"
Spamton finally looks up. "UH."
"Is this… a body you'd prefer to live in? Compared to the current one?"
"UM."
Tenna sits criss-cross bedside Spamton. "We can look into it."
"…REALLY?"
Tenna shrugs. "I don't see why not. We know a puppeteer, and I'm sure there's a robotics engineer somewhere." Spamton throws himself at Tenna to hug him. "Easier said than done, for sure!" Tenna reminds. "But it's a non-zero chance, which means we should try."
"YOU<RE TOO [[as good as it gets]] FOR ME," Spamton says, face in Tenna's shirt, accidentally admitting nothing could possibly be better.
"You're as good as it gets for me too," Tenna says.
"Interview today," Tenna reminds Spamton.
That's right. They (read: Tenna) had scheduled an interview where they'd go public.
With their relationship, which they've still hardly talked about and Spamton can't believe is real.
He's officially dating Ant Tenna. Or something.
"Matching," Tenna sing-songs, giving Spamton a little red suit as he wanders past. (Or he tries to, but it kind of just piles on Spamton's head.) "Whoops, sorry," Tenna giggles.
"NOT FUNNY," Spamton grumbles.
"It is a LITTLE, Spammy," Tenna says, adjusting the collar of his shirt in the mirror. "We DO need to leave sometime in the next ⏳Ten Minutes⏳, so please get dressed."
This isn't one of the old suits he used to wear before he was a puppet. Orange never likes matching existing seams when he does modifications (and Spamton's pretty sure this is Orange's work—only a clothes Addison would know his dimensions just from looking at him, and only Orange has done that). Besides, the seams are subtle yet faintly gold, while the seams on the old suits always matched the fabric.
"WHEN DID YOU GET THIS?"
"Never mind that," Tenna says, suspiciously.
"DID BLUE GIVE YOU ORANGE'S [[number of the day]]."
"Never mind that!!"
Okay, liar.
"Pleeeease, Spammy?" Tenna asks. He's almost doing the puppy dog face, but he's got no eyes. Somehow, it works anyway.
"FOR [[brand cohesion]]."
"That's the spirit!" Tenna cheers.
Fifteen minutes later, he's on Tenna's shoulder, feeling reluctantly spiffy in his new red suit on their way in to the studio.
Tenna glances up at him. "Ready to reveal 💖us💖?"
Spamton's answer… Not really. But Tenna's way too happy about this, and Spamton can't burst his bubble like that.
"YES," he lies.
"Excellent!" Tenna grins, and Spamton hopes, for both of their sakes, that this goes well.
It's been a while since he's been on camera… well, on PURPOSE. Spamton doesn't count the video that went viral of Tenna-in-his-body tripping and falling on his face in the train station. That wasn't 1) him or 2) on purpose. Doesn't count.
Sitting next to Tenna on a red couch a few shades darker than their suits, Spamton feels nervous again, like he did the first time.
"[[10]]?"
"Yeah, Spammy?" Tenna adjusts his collar.
"3 minutes," someone with a clipboard and a headset says.
"WHAT IF THEY DON'T [[like and subscribe]] ME?"
Tenna pauses. "Oh." Spamton's hands fidget in his lap. "I, uh— Well! You may look different, but you're still the same Spamton everybody loved watching me banter with, right?"
Spamton gives him a look. "MY VOICE GETS [[hijacked]] BY [[God]]."
"(1 minute.)"
Tenna looks away. "That's… true," he winces. "Is this an appropriate time to say we can work on the timing together?"
"…OKAY."
Countdown hits 30, and Spamton suddenly scrambles to double check his collar isn't flipped weird and his shirt is tucked in.
"Perfect," Tenna whispers with a fond little grin, like it's more a general observation of his feelings on Spamton instead of a 'good-to-go' on his outfit. (Spamton swats him.)
"And we're live in 10, 9, 8…"
Lanino and Elnina on the opposite couch do last-minute checks for each other's hair and outfits.
"7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…"
"Hello, Dark World!" the Weatherduo says together.
"We're here this afternoon," Lanino says.
"With Mr. Ant Tenna of TV Time—" Elnina says.
"And his recently-reunited business partner, Spamton G. Spamton," Lanino finishes.
Tenna clears his throat, wrapping his arm around Spanton (as well as he can.) "To be clear, he's my partner partner," he corrects, and then realizes it sounds dumb. "Well… life partner! I suppose!" (Red, blushing screen.)
"You heard it here first," Elnina says, like she's one step away from adding 'folks' in a full Ant Tenna impression.
"For the viewers at home: how did you meet?" Lanino asks.
"He was working for the TV studio," Tenna recalls. (Spamton's glad he's taking the lead. Knowing Spamton's voice, it'd probably betray him and say the weirdest thing possible.) "After we have a successful programme launch with the Lightners, we throw a, ah, little party." (It's never little.) "Cover your children's ears, folks—it's a party with alcohol."
"LOTS OF DRINKS," Spamton can't help but chime in. Tenna spares a moment to beam down at him, and then continues.
"I've never seen Spamton dance when he's not drunk," Tenna says. "And he must've been drunk, because he was the only one dancing."
"WAS NOT," Spamton argues. (Was he??)
Tenna laughs. "I'm afraid you were, Spammy. Other people were dancing throughout the evening, but not when I saw you."
"You were employed as a set designer, right?" Elnina asks.
"CORRECT," Spamton says ('correct' has a lower chance of glitching than 'right,' he's discovered).
"I'd never talked to him before," Tenna admits. "I didn't know his name… but I saw him dancing like he didn't care if anyone saw him, and I had to know."
"IT WASN'T THAT [[specil]]," Spamton grumbles.
"It was to me," Tenna says.
The Weatherduo "ooh," and Tenna goes red again.
"YOU THOUGHT I WAS [[pridy]]," Spamton grins.
"Maybe!" Tenna shouts. "And you were! And still are." (That last part is for Spamton.)
"So was it love at first sight?" Lanino asks, ignoring Tenna's glare.
"HE THOUGHT I WAS [[nose for trouble]]," Spamton says.
"I thought you were fine," Tenna says, cheeks pink. "You've always been stubborn! And still are. But I… wanted you around." He sniffs haughtily.
"GROSS," Spamton says, and laughs when Tenna gasps. "HAEAHAEAHAEAH!"
"It is not gross," Tenna insists. "I wanted to get to know you."
'Why?' he almost asks, but keeps it to himself.
"So you were friends first," Lanino says in the silence Spamton leaves.
"That's right," Tenna says. "We were friends, and I valued his ideas as my set designer! It was like he could just see what was being described better than anyone else could."
"And then you brought him on to co-host game shows," Elnina says. "Was that before or after you fell in love with him?"
Tenna's screen goes completely blank, and Elnina holds a grin behind a professional smile.
"INVASIVE [[query]]," Spamton jumps in.
"The viewers want to know," Elnina adds, knowing exactly what she did—Spamton hates that she's not wrong.
"[[10]]?" Spamton pats Tenna's arm, and Tenna's face comes back online.
"A, haha, yes, uh." Tenna stares briefly into the middle distance. "It was after."
That's news to Spamton.
They've avoided the word after Tenna said it in Spamton's body. He's fine not bringing it up… but it seems like Tenna's avoiding talking about it for Spamton's comfort.
"So you promoted him after falling in love?" Lanino says, way too comfortably. "That's nepotism, folks," he says with a wink. (HE'S not holding back on using the Tenna-ism 'folks.')
"TRUE," Spamton chimes in, elbowing Tenna.
Tenna scoffs. "I…" He pauses, looking down at his shoes. "I don't know how to argue with that."
"Because it's true," Lanino says with a perfect interviewer's intonation.
"Spamton, what about you?" Elnina asks, ever-so-slightly more gentle than she's been with questions directed at Tenna.
"WHAT."
If she's asking what he thinks she's asking.
"How long have you been in love with Tenna?"
Spamton imagines himself leaping across to the other couch and grabbing her by the lapels. He then tugs his mind away from the delightful image.
Briefly, Spamton considers just lying. Nobody needs to know if, IF, he's in love with Ant Tenna.
But then he glances up at Tenna, and catches the TV almost gazing back at him (a miraculous feat considering he's got no eyes). He can't say that to Tenna's face.
So the only option is, unfortunately, the truth.
Or… a truth.
(He can answer 'why.' Take it or leave it.) "HE WAS FUNNY."
"And then I just stopped," Tenna jokes.
"AND THEN HE [[just stopped]]." Spamton borrows Tenna's words, playing them back at him.
"Hey!" Tenna laughs.
"[[Trajick.]]" Spamton shakes his head sadly.
"Spamton G. Spamton," Tenna scolds. "That's so rude."
"YOU SAID IT [[1st place]]. …FIRST."
"You're not supposed to repeat it—"
"Ahem." Lanino catches their attention before the interview devolves. "Without getting too personal, what happened between you two? Some kind of fallout?"
"Misunderstanding," Tenna says. "Something, er, happened in Spamton's private life, and I took it personally… it wasn't really about me at all. And it took YEARS for us to actually talk about it! But I'm glad we did." He leans down, kissing Spamton's hair. "I missed him."
"YUCK." Making eye contact with Elnina was a mistake, and Spamton wrangles himself back in before he laughs at his own joke. "KIDDING. I [[mist]] [[U2]]."
Blue really liked the interview. In fact, she admits over email (an Addison's main form of communication), that she's watched it more than once.
Spamton had replied with a horrified "TWICE?" and Blue had replied with a reluctant "THREE times" (at which point Spamton wondered what would be too far for her).
None of his siblings had been able to catch it live—they'd all been running their shops—but all of them promise they've seen it since. (Spamton isn't sure if he'd prefer they hadn't.)
He feels like Tenna's employees are looking at him differently. Goodbye "the boss' weird little puppet guy," hello "the boss' weird little life partner"—he still hasn't processed Tenna actually claiming the term. Is that what they are? Partners in life?
Instead of processing, he returns to the blueprint calling him. Spamton's reluctantly slapped "SPAMTON NEO 2.0" at the top—even if it IS mark II, it sounds dumb to call it that, but what else can he say?
He thinks about it constantly. (When he's not thinking about Tenna.)
His siblings, at some point in the two weeks he's been back, got together and decided they'd each have lunch one-on-one with Spamton once a month.
"So you and Tenna are official!" Pink points out again. "What else have you been doing in TV World?"
Spamton resists the urge to say 'oh, you know, creating a new body so that I can feel comfortable in my skin' because 1) insane thing to say, 2) it's not finished and he refuses to show it to anyone, and 3) he has no skin.
He also can't say 'nothing, I'm unemployed because my hands don't cooperate the way they used to, and I refuse to accept a pity job from my… WHATEVER Tenna is,' because unemployment is like an emergency alarm to Addisons. He's doing fine! He just… has to rely on someone else's money.
"ADJUSTING," is what he ends up saying.
"How's that going?" Pink asks.
"SLOWLY."
"Ah, well, progress is progress, right?"
Progress is progress… That's what Spamton tells himself. It's fine if he doesn't feel like a part of the studio again, YET, because he doesn't feel like a total stranger either. The Weatherduo have been introducing him to some of the newer employees who joined since he left, so it's not just Spamton clinging to Tenna like if he lets go he'll be alone.
It's fine if the pencil doesn't sit right in his hands, because nobody said art had to be perfect in the very first sketch. Nobody gets to see it until it's done, and by then, it'll be… better.
He finally figured out who Battat is.
"HELLO," he'd said.
Battat had jumped. "I, uh, didn't see you." His mouth pressed into a thin line.
"SHORT," Spamton shrugs.
"Uh. Yeah." Battat's eyes widen. "I mean, Mr. Tenna said not to say that about you. And I probably shouldn't be telling you that he told me that. Don't tell him that I told you that he told me."
"I FORGOT YOUR [[primary designation]]," Spamton admits. "NAME," he adds at the confused look. (He SHOULD'VE known Battat, the guy was there when Spamton used to be.)
"Battat," Battat says.
"I KNOW THAT NOW," Spamton says.
"Oh." Battat stares at him. "So, what…?"
"DO YOU REMEMBER ME?"
"Hard to forget you," Battat says.
"SORRY I [[4]]GOT YOU."
"Yeah, well, I'm just Battat," Battat says with a hint of exhaustion.
"[[spamton_meeting.ogg]]."
"How did you do that with your mouth."
That wasn't right.
"NOTED," Spamton corrects, "I MEANT."
"…got it."
Turns out the Winglade on lights he'd corrected is named Surphy. With a little reminding, he recognizes Jongler the Zapper, who'd checked in on Spamton when he thought Spamton was Tenna, and the Rudinn with the skirt and the schedule is Corey, who's been there longer than Spamton.
"HELLO," he says to a familiar, purple, dog-eared Plugboy.
"Hello, luv," Ramb says. "Was wondering when you were going to come see me." He smiles.
He can't say he was ever "friends" with Ramb, but they're both from Cyber City, in Cyber World, and Ramb was the only other Cyberian working there when Spamton got hired as a set designer.
"GOOD TO [[sea]] YOU," Spamton says, and finds that he means it.
So now set is full of familiar faces. He doesn't know ALL their names, but he knows for a fact neither does Tenna… and enough of them smile when they make eye contact with Spamton that he thinks getting introduced was worth it.
He's more than Tenna's "weird little life partner"—he's Tenna's "weird little life partner" AND the guy who sits on set doodling. Maybe that's enough.
Tenna's the first person Spamton shows.
Well… "shows" is generous.
They get home from work together, and Spamton leaves it on Tenna's pillow while Tenna's in the shower.
He's on the floor, humming terribly as he does a massive drawing of Tenna's face (also terribly). Spamton does his best not to look up at Tenna until Tenna sees the blueprint on his pillow.
"Is that supposed to be me?" Tenna asks, looking over his shoulder.
"NO," Spamton lies.
"Ah. I see." Tenna's clearly trying not to laugh.
"IT'S BAD."
"No! It's…" The pause is incriminating. "A work in progress."
Yeah, but something else ISN'T… if Tenna would hurry up and sit on the bed, like he always does after he showers…
The sound of the sheets moving as Tenna settles on the bed.
Okay! Now if he'll look to his right…!
Tenna sighs contentedly.
And then looks to his right…? Please?
"Oh."
NOW he's looked to his right.
"You finished it!"
"UH-HUH," Spamton says, pretending to be focused on the drawing in front of him.
"It's amazing," Tenna says softly. (Spamton's scared to look in case the look on Tenna's face is anything near adoration.)
"IT'S ME," he says instead.
Tenna doesn't answer. Quiet shuffling of huge slippered feet on the carpet, and then Tenna's stomach presses against his back, and the blueprint winds its way around to the front of Spamton, held in Tenna's big hands.
"I don't suppose you know any robotics engineers?" Tenna asks quietly.
"NOPE."
"Didn't think so." He sounds fond. "Well, I've got ⛓️connections⛓️."
Blue sees it second.
"Okay. So you want to look like this?" she asks, looking at the blueprint again.
"UH-HUH."
"…why?"
"BE [[neo]]." She stares at him blankly. "BE [[big]]."
"O…kay?"
He reaches into Blue's pocket, bypassing asking, and pulls out her phone. She rolls her eyes and unlocks it, and Spamton opens a memo.
This is who I am.
"On the inside?" she asks, and he nods.
Also, if I'm taller I can kiss Tenna.
"Ah," Blue smiles.
Don't. Tell. Anyone. He thinks for a moment. Yet.
"I can keep a secret," she says. "Remember that time when you—" Spamton tries, and fails, to slap a hand over Blue's mouth as she goes on tiptoe to avoid it, but she gets the idea and devolves into laughter.
"JUST [[wait in line]]… YOU'LL [[C - 0:45]]…"
"Right. When you're tall." Blue's making fun of Spamton, but somehow it doesn't sound like that.
"YES."
"Good luck."
"WON'T NEED IT."
Spamton may not need luck, but he needs experts. Kendell’s on board to help, but his knowledge only extends as far as puppets. So, with a little searching, Tenna finds a Darkner called Ritotto (a construction hat with arms and legs) who's happy to help on the engineering side of things.
"Why do youse need all of this, boss?" a particularly tall-today Mike asks, handing over a bundle of raw materials.
"Building something," Tenna says.
"Can't youse just make it with magic?" Mike asks.
"Not for this."
Mike shrugs. "Good luck, boss."
As Mike leaves, Spamton scrambles over to examine the objects he'd left behind.
"You know," Tenna says. "I do still have a tweak."
"MY [[plans]]?" Spamton squawks.
"I know, I know," Tenna sighs. "But… the face doesn't look like you. Current you OR past you!"
Spamton eyes the blueprint, feet away on the floor. "OK…"
"Can we add the cheeks?" Tenna asks cutely. "Please?"
Spamton squints at Tenna.
"Spammy… they're 💞cute💞! And they look like you."
Addison Spamton didn't have that. He had a weaker jaw and smooth cheekbones.
Tenna isn't seeing Addison Spamton, though. He's seeing SPAMTON. Puppet and all.
"FINE," he says.
"…and the red circles?"
"[[Tow]]ING THE LINE," Spamton cautions.
As he's re-sketching the blueprint's cheeks, Tenna comes up beside him, and a distracting finger traces one of the painted circles on his face. "They'd make you look more alive."
Oh. That bastard.
Spamton's hand stills.
And then, carefully, he starts sketching a little circle.
"Yay!" Tenna cheers.
"NOTHING ELSE."
"That was all I had in mind," Tenna assures. "Because NOW you'll look like you."
Looking like Spamton. What's that even mean?
Next time it's just Spamton in the apartment, he finds himself in front of Tenna's floor-length mirror. (Been a while.)
He pokes his cheeks. He thwacks his nose, half-expecting it to rattle like a doorstop (it stays still). (Maybe Neo 2.0 should have a nose that emotes like an Addison's.) He examines the dent on his jaw. (That's a forever-reminder Tenna once got hit by a car in Spamton's body.)
Spamton's body. This one. Not the Addison, not the Neo. The regular puppet.
There's a would-have-been gash in his leg from where a Tasque caught him. If he was a Lightner, it would've bled. But he wasn't even an Addison, so it didn't even hurt.
Another dent in his foot from that time he dropped… something on it. Spamton can't even remember what.
His left pointer's got a little chip out of it. What's that from?
The front door opens, and Spamton catches Tenna in the mirror with his mouth open, about to call out for Spamton, probably.
"Should I come back later?" Tenna asks meekly.
Spamton looks down. He's in his boxers, but Tenna's seen worse. "NO."
"Oh. Okay." Spamton watches in the mirror as Tenna shuffles over, plopping down behind Spamton and dropping his nose onto Spamton's head. "What are we doing?"
"I WAS LOOKING AT MYSELF."
"That was a pretty long sentence," Tenna says. Spamton can't tell what he's thinking because all of Tenna he can see is just nose.
"YEAH." It WAS. Spamton doesn't expect the glitching to ever go away again, but with Tenna, it feels like it's been getting better.
"You don't usually."
It takes Spamton a second to retrace their conversational steps back to him looking at himself. "NO."
"I'm usually the only one who gets to look at you," Tenna says, like he's a little upset that even Spamton doesn't.
"[[EXCLUSIVE]] FOR [[CRT]]," Spamton grins.
"Not anymore…?"
"NO [[Guarantee]]."
"What about the 'you' that you're building?" Tenna asks.
"[[Maybey]]."
"Okay," Tenna says fondly, like that's good enough.
"Why are we doing this?" Tenna asks, perfectly still against the wall as Surphy hovers.
"HIGHER," Spamton says. Surphy lifts the measuring tape a little more. "MORE. PLEASE."
"Does my height matter?" Tenna asks.
"DON'T GLOOBY."
"Okay…?"
Surphy brings the measuring tape down to show Spamton.
"FIFTEEN," he says out loud.
"Fifteen feet?" Tenna asks, but he must've already known that. "Why is this so important?"
Spamton ignores him. "THANKS," he tells Surphy. She nods and flies off into another part of the studio.
Tenna crouches down, speaking in a hushed voice (the project is still Spamton's secret). "Is this about…?" He waves his hands about vaguely, and accidentally backhands Spamton. "Oh, no, Spammy, I did NOT mean to do that—"
"MY [[$%&#]]ING FACE."
"Let me see— oh. Wait." Spamton peeks through his fingers as Tenna figures it out. "You little…"
"DOESN'T HURT," Spamton admits, dropping his hands.
"I KNOW that," Tenna says with affection and aggression at the same time.
"What happened?" Ramb calls over.
"HE [[assaulted]] ME. PHYSICALLY."
"Accidentally!!!"
"[[AUGH IT BURNS]]."
"It does not! You don't feel pain! …he doesn't feel pain!"
"Want any alcohol for that?" Ramb asks.
Tenna glares.
"Well, you know where to find me." He goes back to whatever it is he does over there.
"Are you aiming for MY height?" Tenna stage-whispers, still crouching.
Spamton glances at him and then away. "QUIET."
"Spammy, that's so sweet—"
"STOP," Spamton whines, knowing it IS that sweet and Tenna will not let it go.
"You didn't disagreeeee," Tenna sing-songs.
"I'M GOING TO [[brake]] UP WITH YOU," Spamton grumbles.
To his horror, Tenna shrinks.
"[[Cathode]]—"
"That's fine," Tenna mumbles, staring at the floor.
"[[CRT]]—"
"If you'll be happier without me!" Tenna sways slightly in place.
"T3NN4!"
They both freeze.
"Did you."
"I DID."
Tenna beams, shooting back to full height like he's forgotten he was upset. "You said my name!"
Garbled, sure. Not QUITE the right vowel shape. But unmistakably 'Tenna.'
"T—" Spamton tries again, and physically cannot. "I DID. [[Once upon a time]]."
"Oh, that's alright." Tenna kisses Spamton's forehead, and a flower bursts forth from his nose. "Oh! It's, ah… been a while."
"YOU [[always on my mind]]"—not even close, but that's the word he was going for—"WERE A GARDEN."
"Around YOU!" Tenna giggles.
"SAP."
"Of course."
Spamton yanks Tenna down by the tie and kisses him. In public.
(Public being… Ramb and a handful of other people who stayed late today. But still. That's more than just Tenna.)
"Spammy," Tenna says like he's got hearts for eyes.
"SHHH." He presses a finger against Tenna's lips and ignores his own blush.
Tenna, in return, makes a little 'mwa' sound, kissing Spamton's finger.
"WEIRD," Spamton pulls his hand back.
Tenna's smile fades slightly. "You… were joking before, right? When you said you'd break up with me?"
Obviously. (But it wasn't obvious to Tenna, who spent years thinking Spamton left him for something Tenna did.)
"YES," he says instead.
"Good," Tenna says, smiling weakly. "I don't think I could do that again."
"YOU WOULD KNOW I'M ALIVE."
"Okay. Fair."
"DRAMATIC."
"Always!"
Back in their apartment for the evening, Tenna asks, "Why match my height?"
"KISSING," Spamton says, grinning as Tenna's screen turns red.
"That CAN'T be it," Tenna insists.
"[[Brand cohesion]]."
Tenna snorts. "You said that about the suits too. I think you just like it when we match."
"NO. COMMENT."
Tenna laughs. "Any other reasons?"
"NO."
There is one—Tenna always liked to dance with him. But that's gonna be a surprise.
"That's gonna be a big adjustment," Tenna says. "You've always been…"
"SHORT," Spamton finishes. "YOU CAN SAY IT."
"It's not that," Tenna squirms, "…exactly."
"YOU [[formal announcement]] NOT TO CALL ME SHORT."
Tenna pauses like a man caught in the act. "Who told you?"
"BATTAT."
Tenna inhales irritably.
"SAID NOT TO TELL YOU."
"Well, thank you for being the honest one," Tenna half-jokes. "I'm… not actually that mad."
"FOR THE BIT," Spamton says.
"For the… bit?" Tenna's nose wrinkles at the base. "Bit of what?"
"INTERNET."
"Oh," Tenna says with clear disdain. "Is this like a 'meme'?"
"COMEDY."
"Yes, they do 'bits' in stand-up. Is this like that?"
Spamton's… not NOT trying to wind Tenna up. Tenna, on the other hand, is trying his hardest to understand.
"TAKING A JOKE SERIOUSLY."
"Oh!" Tenna exclaims. "I get this one!"
"THIS ONE?"
"People keep trying to explain 'meme.' I haven't gotten it yet."
"YOU'RE OLD."
"We are the SAME AGE," Tenna says.
"…BOOMER."
"Objectively untrue!"
The wings are the hardest part.
Well, it seems like it, anyway. Ritotto's the one figuring out how to make them work, because you can't make wings that move like that with just puppetry… even if they're the kind that don't fly. (Spamton had the very sad realization he'll never fly. He's coping.)
"I've never seen someone attempt this," Kendell tells Spamton while the team is talking logistics. "Then again, I've never seen a puppet with biological organs before, too. We might need to get an Ambyu-Lance in on this later."
"I hadn't even thought of that," Tenna admits. "Does that work?" He looks to Spamton.
"OK."
"Great! I'll see if I can find someone who's willing to help." Tenna takes out his phone and presumably starts scrolling through his contacts list.
So over the next few months, the experts are building and planning, and soon enough there's a proportional little model, painted red cheeks and all, that Spamton can hold in his hands. He keeps it on his nightstand, and, sometimes, when Tenna falls asleep before Spamton, he looks at it in the low light and imagines what it'd feel like to be like that.
Spamton's gotta start telling people. A 15-ft robotic puppet walking into TV Time Studios would freak the hell out of most people. And there's family to consider.
He tells Pink. "Wait, you're having a new body built?" Pink asks, half-fascinated and half-pondering. "That's really cool," they eventually complete their thought.
He tells Orange. "That wouldn't be the strangest thing that's happened to you," Orange says with a little smirk.
He tells Yellow, and she looks at him with the kind of serious expression he was expecting from her.
"Remember when you were scared to tell me you're trans, because you thought I might not accept you?"
"YEAH."
Yellow, to her credit, had taken it in stride, minus a little time spent on explanation.
"You waited to tell me about this too, didn't you?"
"UH." Who told her.
"Nobody told me," she says, like she's reading his mind. "Pink can KEEP a secret, but when they're doing it, it's obvious there's something they're hiding. It seemed like everyone knew something about you that I didn't."
From the folder he'd taken the blueprint out of, Spamton pulls out a blank sheet and the chunky pencil.
I know you love me. But I don't know how to explain myself to you.
Yellow reads and mulls over his words for a minute or two. "What's the purpose of this?" she asks finally.
To be close to Tenna. And feel like me.
"It seems like a big change," she says.
You think Tenna hasn't already warned me?
Yellow doesn't smile, but she raises an eyebrow. "If you're sure this is what you want, then I see no problem with it."
Telling his siblings went well.
At their weekly planning meeting (which is more updates than planning now), Ritotto and Kendell proudly present a fully articulated hand, with three joints on each finger. It's still unmistakably a puppet hand… but Spamton almost cries.
For his professional life… how the hell does he tell the TV Time crew?
Spamton types out an email, addresses it to the entirety of Tenna's staff, attaches a photo of the blueprint, and cheerfully schedules the email for 10 minutes before work the next day.
When Tenna walks in with Spamton on his shoulder, half the staff are staring and the other half is trying not to.
"Uh… Spammy?" Tenna asks nervously. "Did you do something?"
"EMAIL."
"What… kind of email?"
"[[Once-in-a-lifetime]] ANNOUNCEMENT."
Before Tenna can ask anything else, Lanino approaches. "Lips 'to kiss Tenna,' huh?"
"The 📉 blueprint!? 📊" Tenna exclaims as the realization hits him. "You sent a company-wide email??"
"YES," Spamton says proudly. "HOW ELSE."
Tenna tugs Spamton off his shoulder and into his arms. "A little ⚠️warning⚠️ might be nice!"
"SURPRISE?"
Tenna sighs. "Alright! We can work with this."
"ARE YOU MY PR NOW?"
"Quiet, you."
Spamton refuses to answer any questions about Neo 2.0. Doesn't matter what anyone at the studio thinks—they're going to be stuck with him anyway!
(Tenna answers most questions for him. The ones nobody gets an answer to are the 'whys' because that's between Spamton, Tenna, and the team.)
After the hurdles of the hands and face, it seems like construction's sped up considerably. Wings may still be the last thing finished (they need robotic support to move, but they can't be too heavy that they make him lose his balance).
Spamton's met the Ambyu-Lance Tenna brought onto the project. Vielly's nice, even if they don't seem to understand why he's doing this. Doesn't matter, since they aren't trying to stop him. (Besides. Spamton wouldn't let anyone. Not now.)
"Spammy?" Tenna asks one evening when they're cuddled up in bed.
"WHAT?" Spamton leans into the hand stroking his hair.
"You know I love you no matter what you look like, right?"
He's picked that up. "YEAH."
Tenna kisses Spamton's hair. "And I'll love the new you as much as current you and past you."
The man who died in a darkened room, and the puppet who lived long enough to become something else.
"I THOUGHT I WAS [[dye]]ING," Spamton admits. "WHEN I BECAME PUPPET."
It's the first time he's talked about it.
"Did it hurt?" Tenna's question comes quietly.
"[[More than anything]]."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Tenna says. Not sorry he couldn't stop it. Just sorry he couldn't help.
"MY FAULT."
"Maybe."
And maybe Spamton imagines it, but it feels like Tenna holds him tighter.
There's a week in what Spamton can only hope is the final stretch when the only thing left is the wings. Each individual piece has been polished, painted, and inspected to Spamton's satisfaction, and the last thing giving the team trouble is the wings.
He can tell it's on everyone's minds: should they tell him they can't do it?
Spamton wakes to the sound of the TV Time theme song—Tenna's ringtone. The only light in the room is the Tenna-shaped nightlight Spamton suspects Tenna put in for his benefit.
"[[10]]." He shakes Tenna. "[[Trash heap]]."
"What time is it?" Tenna groans.
"[[Answer the phone.]]" (Spamton, calling out for someone who would never answer again, echoes out from the past.)
The only thing keeping Tenna from fumbling around in the near-dark until his hand slaps the night stand is the light of his own face. He catches the Neo figure as it begins to topple over, grabbing the phone in his other hand.
"Hello, Ant Tenna speaking." What a liar. He's nowhere near as cheery as he sounds.
Then a long pause.
"Really?"
(Breathlessness?)
"Oh, thank you." Tenna's phone beeps as he hangs up.
"WHO THE [[*&#%]] WAS THAT?"
"It's done."
It takes a moment for it to click in Spamton's sleepy brain.
The body is finished.
"[[Turn on the light.]]"
"Spammy… it's… so early…"
"I'M EX[[site]]D."
Tenna laughs. "Fair enough."
Spamton manages to stay in bed for about five minutes before he's tearing off the covers and scrambling to the edge.
"Spammy," Tenna says, and Spamton ignores him.
Lap around the room. Lap around the room. Lap around the room.
"Good thing we don't have downstairs neighbors," Tenna jokes.
"[[^#%*]]!" Spamton shouts as loud as his glitchy body will allow.
"Yes…" Tenna watches him run around the room. "Work off some of that energy… and maybe then I can convince you to come back to bed…?"
"NEVER!!!"
"Alright." Tenna shakes his head with a little huff and what, to Spamton, is clearly Tenna trying to hide a smile. "I'm excited for you too! I really am! But I'll be MORE excited if you let me rest some more instead of getting up before dawn."
"GOING FOR A [[walkies]]," Spamton decides.
"Now?" Tenna splutters.
"YOU SLEEP."
"Well… okay, then…" Tenna turns over to face the wall, clapping his hands once, and the lamp turns off.
Spamton jogs back and forth down the street in the dimness of a TV World lit for a night scene. Eventually, his lungs burn, and he comes to a stop outside Tenna's again.
Tenna's perfectly still when Spamton comes in, but when Spamton gets up on the other side of the bed, he can see that Tenna's screen is still on, dimly.
"Good?" Tenna mumbles.
"[[Good luck beating these deals!]]"
"Okay." Tenna's arms wrap around Spamton. "Good NIGHT, Spammy."
"NIGHT."
Despite all that effort, Spamton still wakes up before Tenna. Usually he's first to sleep (something about being in Tenna's arms lulls him better than anything else), first to rise (early bird gets the worm), but surely he's the one who needs the sleep more.
Spamton holds still and watches with bated breath as Tenna's screen blinks on for the day, illuminating Spamton in bright static before gradually his face comes back online.
"How'd you sleep?" Tenna asks, gentle smile miles from his attitude last night.
"NORMAL."
Tenna checks his messages. "Ritotto says we should give it one more day for last-minute testing." He looks up at Spamton. "Do you think you can last?"
Spamton groans. "FINE."
He refuses breakfast.
"Coffee on an empty stomach?" Tenna coaxes. "Your body wants a 🥞healthy breakfast,🍳 most important meal of the day…"
"I'LL EAT AT [[all in a day's work!]]"
"You are not having a TV Dinner for every meal!" Tenna looks like he's regretting a few decisions.
"OKAY."
"Okay, good—"
"SLOP FOR [[most important meal of the day]]!"
"…do you hear yourself?"
Spamton wins. Tenna simply can't argue with his pure stubbornness.
Tenna stops by the vending machine, reluctantly picks up a TV Dinner (because "at least it's not TV Slop"), and heads for his dressing room. He sets Spamton on the couch, and the tray on his lap like he's a child.
"You sit there and eat this, and I am going to WATCH you."
"NOT A [[fresh-faced]] [[Little Sponge]]," Spamton glares.
"You said you'd eat at work! And we're at work!" Tenna throws his hands up. He lowers his voice, leaning in: "Don't make me spoon-feed you."
Much to Tenna's dismay, Spamton doesn't fall into line. "AND IF I LIKE THAT?"
"Just eat!"
Spamton grumbles wordlessly the entire time, only stopping for air, but he cleans the tray.
"Good boy." Tenna pats him on the head. Spamton snaps his teeth. "Are you a dog now?"
"STOP [[trick or treat]]ING ME LIKE ONE!"
The way Tenna stops and looks, almost scrutinizing… "If I didn't know better, I'd think part of you liked that."
"SHUT YOUR TRAP."
Spamton accompanies Tenna to set, at Tenna's insistence. Looking at the smaller, matching red chair beside Tenna's, he instead crawls up into Tenna's lap.
"Ope— Spamton," Tenna laughs. "Alright. Will you sit still and be a"—(the next bit is whispered in Spamton's ear, like he's the only one Tenna wants hearing)—"good boy?"
"YOU SUCK."
Tenna laughs.
At lunch, Spamton spills the beans to the Weatherduo.
"[[Here today, gone tomorrow!!!]] GET YOUR [[Last Look]] AT THE PUPPET."
"Already?" Lanino asks.
"I didn't realize Neo was so close to being finished," Elnina says.
"Yes, well, Ritotto called me at nigh ☽ three AM ☾ to tell me it was done," Tenna sighs.
"Did he go back to sleep?" Lanino eyes Spamton, who's practically vibrating with energy.
"After he, I assume, ran around the block," Tenna says.
"NOT A[[round]]!"
"Not around," Tenna amends. "Down…?"
"A[[Down]]!"
"So he ran up and down the block and came back to bed. Between you and me, lady and gentleman, I'm glad puppets can't sweat."
"NO GLANDS," Spamton adds helpfully.
"So… tomorrow, you'll be as big as the 15-foot TV man himself?" Lanino asks, steering the conversation back like he and Elnina did during the interview. (Despite his professionally neutral tone, his face looks concerned.)
"LOOK OUT [[all the time in the world]]!!" Spamton cackles. "YOU<RE NOT READY FOR [[Big Shot]]!"
"I really don't think we are," Elnina says with a little smile.
"[[2]]CE THE SPAMTON."
"Twice the me-sized people working here," Tenna says like he's only just realized, ignoring Spamton's crazed laughter. "Uh, Mike?" He begins to wander off in search of Mike (who only appears when Tenna's alone or with Spamton). "DON'T let him… do anything," he says over his shoulder.
"We'll try…" the Weatherduo says together.
By the time Tenna comes back, Spamton's nowhere to be seen.
"How did you lose him!?"
"Air ducts," Elnina says, exhausted. Lanino, beside her, looks as frazzled as his wife.
"I swear on the name of television," Tenna mumbles under his breath, before turning to the room at large. "Anybody here small enough to fish a rogue puppet out of the air ducts!?"
After a very stressful process involving a couple of Pippins in the air ducts, and a family of Ribbicks that have apparently been living there the whole time (no wonder Tenna keeps sneezing!), a dusty Spamton is hauled out of the air ducts, held by the back of his collar like a kitten.
"Thank you," Tenna sighs, knowing the moment he takes Spamton from the Pippins, he'll be just as dirty.
"We can hold down the fort," Lanino says.
"You should go home and clean him off," Elnina says, like she's talking about a pet and not Tenna's life partner, although the puppet in question certainly is acting more like the former today.
Tenna doesn't let Spamton have any bubbles in the bath.
"Bubbles are for behaved puppets!" Tenna says. "Climbing in the air vents… are you five years old?"
"ALWAYS WANTED TO TRY," Spamton fails to excuse his behavior. "[[Last chance]]!!!"
Tenna sighs. (If he was in Spamton's place, would he be any better?)
…yes. He probably could be.
"I'M GOING TO TAKE SO [[manys]] SHOWERS," Spamton says.
And it hits Tenna suddenly.
Today, and tomorrow morning, is the last time he'll see this puppet. Spamton will live, but this era of their lives is over.
"[[^$@#]]." A grubby little hand pats his screen, smearing dust all over. "DON'T CRY."
"Sorry," Tenna says. "I don't even have eyes! How do I cry!" he tries to joke.
Spamton, however, is unimpressed. "BOO. REUSED [[Fruit Punch]]LINE."
"I'm happy for you!" Tenna insists. "Really! But…" He looks down at the puppet in the water. "I think I'm going to miss you being small."
"TALL [[=]] [[ez]] KISS."
Tenna laughs wetly. "You've made me very aware of the possibilities," he assures. "But… you've always been small, compared to me. And I think I liked being able to carry you around in my arms."
"[[Maybey]] I WILL CARRY YOU."
Tenna feels static buzzing behind his cheeks as his screen goes red. "I think I'd like that." That's not where he wanted this conversation to end, though. "But, uh… I never got to say goodbye to…"
"HE IS STILL HERE." Spamton points at himself.
"I know," Tenna says.
"NOT THE SAME," Spamton says.
"Something like that."
"CRY [[2]]MORROW," Spamton says. "[[2]]DAY…" He gets another look on his face that Tenna doesn't like.
"Whatever you're thinking: 🔵 stop it 🔵 right now."
Tenna reluctantly escorts a clean Spamton back to the studio. He's unsure if it'd be a better choice to leave Spamton alone in his dressing room (less can go wrong, but Spamton would be unsupervised) or bring him onto set again (complete supervision but things can go so wrong).
"Ramb?"
"Yes, luv?"
"How much do I have to pay you to babysit Spamton for a few hours?"
Ramb raises an eyebrow. "The same Spamton who I hear's been in the vents?"
"Exactly," Tenna says. "I'll, uh… I'll give you a raise! And I'll…" He grabs a bar napkin and then realizes he doesn't have a pen, only for Ramb to hand him one. "Thank you. I'll put it in writing." Loopy words fill the napkin's surface, and Tenna hands it to Ramb. "Please?"
"Would things be better or worse if he was drunk?"
With a little begging, Ramb promises he won't play scientist with Spamton and a bottle of aged wine, because Tenna doesn't need any "experiments" on his hands today. He returns to set only a little reassured.
At the end of the day, Tenna returns to his dressing room. He thinks for a moment he must've typed in his passcode wrong, because the doorhandle doesn't turn, but then it opens from inside.
"Sorry about that, luv, I was holding the handle," Ramb tells him. "I did what I could," he warns before Tenna can see the room.
It's… not as bad as Tenna feared it might be. Spamton's sitting in the middle of the carpet with a circle of Tenna's books around him, like he got so bored he started stacking—and a cursory glance reveals his bookshelves, normally full of TV and film history and technical jargon, are empty.
"How was your afternoon?" Tenna asks, like a man talking to a toddler.
Spamton's eyes latch onto him. "LET ME OUT," he says in an unnervingly monotone voice.
Tenna laughs nervously. "How about we go home? Or to the park…?"
"CAN I CHASE."
"Fine!" Tenna relents. "But no biting." Spamton snaps his teeth in Tenna's direction. "No biting," he repeats.
"OK," Spamton agrees, and he really doesn't deserve uppies, but he looks so cute with his arms up and waiting like that for Tenna to pick him up that Tenna can't possibly deny it.
"Hey! No chewing on the antenna-bulbs!" he says a moment later.
After almost two hours in the park and the realization that Tenna's going to have to bathe Spamton again, Spamton's tired himself out.
"HOME."
Tenna jumps. He'd somehow lost track of Spamton, and while he'd been looking, Spamton came up behind him.
"HOME," Spamton repeats, staring at Tenna.
"Alright, alright," Tenna says, picking up the puppet. "Home. And you're getting another bath."
"…BUBBLES?"
"Fine. This time, you can have bubbles."
They go to bed at 7:30.
"Tomorrow, you're gonna be big…" Tenna whispers into Spamton's hair.
Spamton's barely awake when he sits bolt-upright.
"[[10]] GET UP GET UP," he says, trying in vain to tug the blankets out from around Tenna. "[[Trash heap]] GET UP GET UP GET UP G—"
"Enough," Tenna groans. "Good morning," he adds passive-aggressively.
"THANKS," Spamton grins.
"I'd tell you to get your own coffee, but I know you can't reach," Tenna says, and this one isn't even passive-aggressive. It's almost sad. He's really going to miss doing things for Spamton, huh?
"HELP," he says brightly.
"Alrighty." Tenna gets up and stretches—he doesn't have any muscles, his are all synthetic. Must've been something he picked up from TV. "Let's get this show on the road."
Spamton wonders, as he has his morning coffee, if the caffeine effects'll stay around in Neo after the procedure, or if he'll need more coffee (with a body that can reach the counter and hands that can make it for him!).
Spamton wonders, as he eats breakfast, if Neo will need to eat more (because he'll be bigger).
Spamton wonders, on the train to Cyber City, if he'll struggle to fit on the way back (because Tenna's too big at full size).
He's tried not to think too hard about the specifics of the procedure (it's not simple: he's got a beating heart pumping magic through his body, and lungs breathing air). Tenna's up to speed, because the TV insisted on knowing everything. That's a little reassuring, because Spamton will be unconscious the entire time.
He's been in surgery before. He can handle this (because Tenna's there).
"Where's your head at?" Tenna asks as they dodge walking cars.
"EVERYTHING WILL BE DIFFERENT. [[Bigger, better!]] BUT… DIFFERENT."
"That's true of a lot of good life choices," Tenna says. "Dating you is—"
"HEY?"
"Something I had to adjust to!" Tenna says quickly. "But something that's ❤️🩹lovely.❤️🩹"
"GOOD SAVE."
"I mean it!" Tenna cries. "I like you! And I like being with you."
Being with Tenna is like a dream.
In no world would Spamton ever tell him that.
"DITTO," he allows.
"I love you too, Spammy."
Thank the prophecy they're not going to a hospital. (Spamton doesn't have any hospital-related trauma. He just doesn't like them.) Instead, Vielly has a clinic space reserved.
"Ready?" Tenna asks.
"I [[&@#%]]ING HOPE SO."
Tenna laughs. "I think that's for the best."
(And they enter the building.)
Lying on a surgical table, Spamton reaches out. Tenna takes his hand—or rather, his hand and wrist. (Soon they'll be able to hold hands without Tenna dwarfing him.)
"I'll be here the whole time," Tenna says, like he hasn't reminded Spamton three times already.
Vielly's eyes glow as they cast a medical-grade Pacify.
Oh, fuck, it's time.
"I LOVE [[u]]."
He doesn't get to see how Tenna reacts, because he's out like a light.
He expects his head to pound or something—right, still a puppet. (Well… puppet-robot… much cooler.)
"Spammy?" Tenna asks.
Spamton's eyes open slowly.
He expects everything to look smaller. It doesn't. But his hand in Tenna's is…
It's the new hand.
And he can FEEL it.
"Breathe?" Tenna asks. "I, uh… no passing out in the new body!"
Spamton takes a deep breath, and then another, and then a third.
"How do you feel?"
"TIRED."
Tenna laughs. "Yeah, we'll probably skip work today, hm? You can show off your new body tomorrow."
"I'd recommend taking him home and having him rest for today," Vielly says.
"OKAY."
"Water?" Kendell appears at Spamton's elbow with a glass. Tenna helps him into a sitting position, and Spamton gulps it.
He finally, finally lets himself look down.
That's tall.
When he turns his head right, Tenna's just… there, and he smiles at Spamton.
"Hello," he says.
"HI."
New angle—Spamton thinks maybe Tenna doesn't have a bad one.
And, just because he can, he (with new fingers) grabs Tenna by the tie.
"Just before you went under, you said…" Tenna says nervously.
"I KNOW."
"Did you mean that?"
Spamton kisses Tenna.
A REAL kiss.
Not his teeth knocking against Tenna's screen.
Spamton's tongue slides into Tenna's mouth, and Tenna's fingers into Spamton's hair.
"…should we leave them alone?"