Chapter Text
Spamton was at the edge of consciousness when he felt something warm and soft wrap around his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt comfort like this. Did someone throw away a heated blanket? Now that was a lucky break! And, strangely enough, the dumpster didn’t smell quite so…bad. Instead, it actually was giving off a sort of pleasant, fruity scent?
Man. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t care if this was all some kind of sensory hallucination, since it sure beat the heck out of reality. If he could just stay here for a little while longer, he’d be fine with that.
Just when he thought things couldn’t possibly get any better, he felt a comb moving pleasantly through his hair, pulling at the damp tangles. What had he done to deserve such amazing service?!
…And from whom was he receiving said service?
He debated opening his eyes. If this was a dream, and he blinked awake to reveal the familiar dumpster walls, he was going to lose his goddamn shit. But on the off chance this was all real…
The teeth of the comb scratched gently against his scalp, and he shuddered with pleasure.
Okay fine, maybe just a peek.
Light flooded his vision, and he instantly wished his curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of him.
Spamton was positioned in front of a large bathroom mirror, its edges fogged up with steam. He was wrapped in only a large fluffy towel and seated on a tall stool. Initially, he felt a drop of panic when he noticed he wasn’t wearing his distinctive shades—until he spotted them next to the sink in front of him. That was certainly a relief, but standing behind him was none other than the very same asshole that had throttled him and kicked him out of Queen’s mansion when it wasn’t even his own fault that he’d been there in the first place.
Swatch hadn’t seemed to have noticed Spamton’s wakefulness; they were much too absorbed in ridding the adbot’s hair of tangles.
Only then did Spamton notice that he was trembling with anger. Who the hell did this oversized bird think they were, anyway? He heard his own voice before he’d even thought of what to say.
“YOU’VE GOT A LOT OF N3RVE, [Don’t] YOu.”
Spamton delighted in the way that Swatch’s feathers ruffled with surprise. The comb was promptly set down.
“Ah, I…I apologize, I hadn’t realized you were awake. Are you, er, feeling alright?” Swatch sounded more uncertain than Spamton had ever heard them. It only pissed him off more, his voice glitching with exertion.
“ALRIGHT??? ALRI-I-I-GHT?!??!!? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE [$!#$]ING ME!!!!!”
Swatch blanched. They’d never seen the little puppet this angry before. “Spamton, please, let me—“
“OH NO [No] [No] [No] [No] W4y! YOU, MY [Valued Customer], ARE GO1NG TO [Shut] UP AND LISTen!!!!!”
Swatch quickly snapped their beak shut. It was quite the picture: a tall, buff bird being so harshly rebuked by the tiniest of puppets. It was a situation comparable to a great dane being scared into a corner by a chihuahua.
“WHAT THE [F inal Sale] WAS THAT EARLIER, HUH????? DO YOU GET OFF ON [Pummeling] M3 FOR [Fun and Games!]???”
Swatch at least had the decency to look ashamed, one wing coming up to rub at the other and beak pointing at the floor. Spamton’s stomach clenched with rage. How dare they act so sorry about it now!
“THAT;S N0T EVEN THE [Year End Sale!] OF IT!!!! YOu [[Abandoned]] ME IN TH3 [Freezing Temperatures?]!!!!”
With every word out of Spamton’s mouth, Swatch looked increasingly like they wanted to sink into the floor. “I-It’s one of my duties, to keep you out of the basement,” they attempted weakly, but this only served to stoke the flames.
“ARE YOU [Coco for Cocoa Puffs]???? DO YOU THINK I WaNT TO [[Take a Nice Relaxing Soak]] AGAIN??? I WAS [Taken] THERE AGAINST MY W1LL YOU SON OF 4 [BIGGEST Sale of the Year]!!!!”
At a different time, perhaps Swatch would have laughed at the irony of the craziest guy they knew calling them crazy, but there was a time and place for everything—laughing at a time like this might earn them a chomp to the ankle. Besides, Spamton had just said something exceedingly interesting.
“Against your will…? What are you talking about?” Swatch placed an imploring, feathered hand on the puppet’s small shoulder, but was harshly shrugged off.
For the first time throughout the exchange, Spamton whipped around angrily in the stool to glare directly into Swatch’s eyes. “THE GODDAMN [Cat] YOU [Jerk Chicken!]!! IT PICKED ME UP AND [Hand Delivered] ME TO THAT [[DOMINATRIXes WHO WaNT TO ME ET YOU]]!!!!”
Realization hit Swatch like a truck. No wonder Spamton hadn’t been caught near the basement, like usual; he truly hadn’t been trying to do anything shady at all. He was only there because one of the Tasques had brought him as a prize to its master.
God, Swatch really did feel like a [Jerk Chicken].
“I…Spamton, I didn’t know, I thought that…”
“WHAT, THAT I WAs [Up To the Usual Tricks]??? I”M RESIGN3D TO MY [[4.99]] LIFE!!!
“AND DON’,T EVEN TH1NK ABOUT [Too Late To Apologize]!! YOU THINK JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE GIVING ME S,OME [[Five Star Service!]] YOUR OLD PAL SPAMTON Is gonna [Forgive and Forget]?? WELL GET RE4L!!! WE’RE NOT [Friend Request Denied]!!!”
Spamton tossed his head indignantly, looking up and away from his adversary. It was a little difficult to look intimidating when you were no more than three feet tall, had little black dot eyes and were wrapped in a towel, but the salesman was putting on quite the effective show.
It was quiet for a moment. Swatch swallowed dryly, one wing reaching up to ruffle at the back of their neck. Their beak opened and closed a few times before they finally found their voice. Clearly they needed to choose their next words extremely carefully.
“Look, Spamton, I…I owe you a sincere apology. I understand your anger. I should have known you weren’t trying to cause any havoc, but I was having a very long, very hard day, and when I saw you, I snapped. I wasn’t thinking of you as an old friend, but as a chore. Just another thing I had to deal with. …It was wrong of me. I’m very, very sorry.
“Even if Her Majesty commands us—I mean, my coworkers and I—to keep you out of the mansion, I or they should never resort to violence with you. You have my word that I will never again lay an unkind feather on you, and I will be having a word with all of my subordinates. You can hold me to that.”
Another silence ensued. Spamton pored over the words. The apology certainly seemed to be sincere, but after outwardly seething at Swatch like that, Spamton’s rage was only partly extinguished. He had to commit.
The tiny Addison scoffed, then fixed Swatch with a disdainful look. Truthfully, he’d worn himself out after losing his temper like that, and no longer had the energy to be so angry. He slowly turned to face the mirror once again, lowering his eyes away from Swatch.
“WHATEV3R. PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN [[All Sizes Available]] NEXT TIME.”
“Spamton,” Swatch sighed, “I’m sorry, I truly am. I knew I shouldn’t have treated you so harshly…especially when I saw the state you were in. I am truly regretful of my actions, and I want to at least try to make up for them.” They bowed their feathery head, and spoke again when Spamton said nothing.
“Will you please forgive me?”
The puppet disinterestedly examined his nonexistent nails. “I’LL GET BACK TO YOU IN [3-4 Business Days] ON THA,T ONE.”
Swatch’s heart sank, though they didn’t argue. “Very well. I understand…”
The next bout of silence was especially awkward and uncomfortable. Swatch had really done it now—what were they thinking, taking Spamton to their home after treating him like that? And now he was pissed to boot, of course he was. But Swatch couldn’t have just left him like that, either. Deep down, they knew they did the right thing, and they were going to see it through. They steeled themself.
“May I at least finish taking care of you?”
The words hung in the air, suspended. Spamton fixed them with a bemused look for what felt like minutes, until he impassively shrugged his little shoulders.
“I GUESS.”
Spamton considered the implications there. Take care of him? Why? In what sense? What was the catch?
For Swatch, it was nothing but a step forward. They allowed a small smile, and quietly thanked Spamton for his cooperation, hesitant as it was. Now that the salesman was bathed (Swatch had felt a bit odd doing that, but it needed to happen), all that was left to do was dry that wet hair of his. The butler grabbed the hairdryer and went straight to work.
The change in Spamton’s demeanor was instantaneous.
It was almost comical how quickly his ire seemed to melt away under the mellow warmth of the hairdryer, leaving a sleepy shell of what once was. His button eyes grew half-lidded, and Swatch couldn’t help but smile—the sight was endearing. It was kind of nice to see Spamton, who was typically dialed up to 100, in total repose.
Swatch carded their feathers through the puppet’s mane as they worked, noting the fluffiness. Huh. What a difference a good peach-scented shampoo and conditioner made. Before his bath, Spamton’s jet black locks had been simultaneously matted down and hard as a rock with old hair gel. When it wasn’t so dirty, his hair was actually quite soft.
And, what was this? Were his roots…white?
Ultimately, Swatch decided not to bring it up lest they ruin the small amount of progress they’d made.
—
Spamton’s eyelids were heavy. His mind felt fuzzy with contentment; he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone play with his hair—and to be warmed up after being out in the cold? He was convinced he’d made it to heaven.
The rather one-sided argument he’d just been having a few minutes ago suddenly felt like it was light years away, and he felt like he could cry. The treatment he was receiving was so far and away from his usual ritual of shivering at the bottom of a dumpster every night. For the first time in a long time, Spamton’s smile felt relaxed and genuine.
No stress, no depression, no [[Hyperlink Blocked]]-induced psychosis. Here, there was only relief, comfort, and peace.
Then there was a sudden click, and the dryer went dead. Spamton felt ten times colder as the pleasant heat faded away. He let out a cybernetic whine of dismay, much to Swatch’s amusement.
“WHY;D YOU [Stop]?”
Hiding a laugh behind their free wing, Swatch set down the device and began to set Spamton’s hair back into place. “Because it’s dry now—it’ll become damaged if exposed to too much heat. Besides, I must get started on my cooking. Are you hungry?”
Spamton’s disappointment quickly gave way to utter exhilaration.
“YEE-E-E-E—EES!!!!!!! [[Yes]] [Y] [Y] [Y]—!!!!”
Boy, was Swatch glad that Spamton only needed basic care to seemingly forgive them. They chuckled at their companion’s eager outburst—this little adware puppet man was kind of…cute?
They immediately felt embarrassed for even thinking such a thing. Heat pooled in their cheeks, but thankfully, Spamton was too enthralled with the idea of eating to notice.
—
Swatch had set out the smallest shirt they owned for Spamton to change into—a pretty old one that had been a gift from Queen. It read “KICKASS BRO” and had a skateboard on it. She had designed it herself.
They were chopping potatoes when Spamton emerged from the bathroom. It was strange to see him wearing anything other than his signature blazer, but he looked much more like himself with the shades on. The shirt, however, was more of a nightdress than anything, and Swatch found themself smirking at the sight. How cute.
“WHAT’S 5O [Automated Laugh Track]??”
“Oh, nothing! No need to worry yourself over it, I assure you.” Swatch thanked their lucky stars that Spamton couldn’t read minds. “Please, come over here and make yourself comfortable. What’s mine is yours.”
Spamton did as he was told, climbing up onto one of the barstools in front of the kitchen island. The only sounds in the home were of the knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board. He looked around, taking in the sights: marble counters, stainless steel appliances, sleek lighting fixtures…Swatch sure did have a nice place. Queen must have been paying them well.
“SO A [[BIG SHOT]] LIKE YOU NEVER GOES [so hungry] AM I R1GHT?”
Swatch cocked their head, swiping the freshly cubed potatoes into a bowl. “No, I can’t say I ever do.” They considered the odd question. “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal, Spamton?”
Swatch awaited a response as they began to go through the spice cabinet. They were almost not sure if the little guy was going to answer at all, or if he’d heard them, until an uncharacteristically small voice piped up.
“I don’t remember.”
Swatch instantly turned around from their work, regarding their companion with concern, until a ringtone sounded. Spamton went totally rigid, but Swatch hadn’t noticed—they were too busy digging through their pockets. They read the caller ID and hummed.
“It’s Queen…please, forgive my rudeness, but I must take this. I’ll return momentarily, alright?”
Swatch hurried down the hall, and Spamton could faintly pick up a suave “Hello?” before the click of a door.
Fuck.
How could he be alone with his thoughts after hearing that sound?
He could feel the static taking over. The hollow, mechanical sound of a dial tone echoed loudly in his mind…
But the fresh smell of chopped vegetables reached his nose, effectively grounding him and reminding him of a much more current issue: he was so hungry he felt like he was going to turn to dust, and there was food right there.
With a shake of his head to dispel the white noise, Spamton eased his way off of the stool and stepped all the way into the kitchen, staring up at where Swatch had been using the cutting board a few minutes ago. The intoxicating aroma of the fresh vegetables made him sway on his feet. His stomach growled loudly; he was starting to feel impatient. How long had he been waiting to eat something, anything? How many days had it been?
“WHY DID THA,T [hochi mama] HAVE TO [[Call This Number NOW]]???” It came out as a groan. He felt as if someone was dangling perfectly good food right in front of him but he just couldn’t reach it.
He grit his teeth. His insides felt like they were eating themselves. He didn’t even care anymore to wait for Swatch, he needed food now.
Spamton desperately pulled out each drawer and opened every cabinet that he could reach, searching rapidly for anything edible. Sadly, he found only kitchen utensils, mixing bowls, and the like. However, he discovered that the drawers made for excellent stairs!
He was able to pull himself up onto the kitchen counter with their help, and wasted no time. He hastily gobbled up the chopped vegetables, shoveling them into his mouth with his hands. Potatoes, carrots, onions; he didn’t even care that they were raw, it just felt so good to eat something that wasn’t expired and gross! Or, anything at all, for that matter.
After devouring the uncooked vegetables, he began rooting around for anything else. From the countertop, he stood on the tips of his toes to hunt through the overhead cabinets and was ecstatic to find all kinds of delicious treats: popcorn, chips, candies, all manner of snacks were hidden up above like some kind of secret stash. He ripped the snack bags down to his level, tearing into each package like a wild animal and inhaling everything he could.
After having his way with Swatch’s hidden junk food, he caught sight of something he somehow hadn’t paid any attention to before that very moment.
He climbed back down to the floor and approached the refrigerator. How could he forget about the one place where only the freshest foods were stored? He had to leap to reach the handle, but when he managed to open the door and was bathed in white light, his eyes widened in awe.
“HOLY [Cungadero],” he whispered to himself, stepping back to regard the fully stocked fridge. It looked like an entire grocery store in there!
Spamton couldn’t wait another second. What if something came and stole it away from him? He had to act now.
And…what was that thing Swatch said earlier? What’s mine is yours, right?
—
Swatch was excellent at masking whatever emotions they happened to be experiencing. It was what made them so excellent at their job, and so well-liked—customers always thought the butler to be charming and polite, even when Swatch was internally cursing their existence and the ground they walked on. Sometimes, the bird came very, very close to losing it, but those times were few and far between.
As for Queen, they would never let any kind of negative emotion seep into their voice whilst speaking with her, but goddamn did it get close over the almost half-hour long phone call. It was almost as if she was simply bored and calling them to see what they were up to, chattering about this and that, about her plans for tomorrow, about the giant robot, and they quite literally couldn’t say no to her—even if they were busy with their new roommate.
Swatch could only hope they hadn’t kept the poor guy waiting too long. They knew Spamton had to be just about ready to keel over, but thankfully the wait shouldn’t have been too much longer at this point. It never took them too long to make dinner, given their proficiency in the kitchen. They’d already prepared the vegetables, and only needed to go through a few more steps.
Swatch began to make their way back through the hallway to the kitchen, mentally working through the recipe’s instructions. It was just a simple soup, something cozy. It had been quite cold outside, and if Spamton’s reaction to the hairdryer was any indication, he was in desperate need of warmth.
“Spamton?” Swatch called, crossing the kitchen threshold, “Please accept my apologies for keeping you waiting. Unfortunately I had to take that call, but dinner should be ready in about a half hour or s—“
They stopped dead in their tracks, words dying before they could completely leave their beak.
To say that the kitchen was a fucking mess was the understatement of the year. Trash littered the floor—empty food wrappers, bags, and packages everywhere. The vegetables they’d been cutting were gone. Literally every cabinet and drawer was open. Every last one. To top it all off, the refrigerator was halfway open, pumping cold air out into the room. The place was totally ransacked.
Swatch stared, dumbfounded. They hadn’t been gone that long, had they? What had happened in here?
A sound. A gulping sound, coming from behind the refrigerator door.
Swatch carefully stepped across the random debris all over the kitchen tile and yanked the door all the way open.
Sitting there, inside the refrigerator, drinking chocolate syrup, was the culprit.
“Spamton.” The name was choked out in total bewilderment. “What the hell have you done.” It wasn’t a question. In the midst of their disbelief, Swatch plucked the bottle of syrup from Spamton’s hands mid-drink. The tiny little bastard in question didn’t even look deterred, like this was completely normal for him. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and grinned unashamedly up at the butler.
“OH NOT T0O MUCH,, JUST HAD A LOOK AROUND THE [Buffet] AND TRI3D SOME [[Free Sample?]]!”
“Y-You…I…wh…” Swatch genuinely didn’t know how to respond.
“YKNOW JUST WHILE I WAS [[Waiting]]!! SO YOU’;RE GONNA MAKE [Delicis Homemade Meal]??”
“Are you…joking? You still want me to cook? With what ingredients? They’re gone!” Incredulity coated every word.
Spamton let out a glitchy hiccup. That was the entire response.
Swatch closed their eyes and counted to ten in their head. They thanked whatever was out there for the patience that they’d been blessed with. A lesser bird would’ve choked Spamton out for the second time that day.
“Okay,” they breathed, “We are going to make a deal, you and I.”
“OHOH [Oh]? A [Deal] YOU SAY???? [[Tell mE More]]!!” Another hiccup. He reached for the chocolate syrup bottle in Swatch’s wing, but they simply swatted his hand away and cleared their throat.
“I propose a trade. For all of my food, and for creating a mess of my kitchen, you will assist me in cleaning up. I refuse to budge.”
Spamton rubbed at his chin with his thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. How nice, to be able to strike up a deal again! “YOU [Drive] A HARD [Bargains]…BUT OK DE4L!!!” He stuck out his tiny, chocolate-stained hand to shake Swatch’s, looking happier than ever. Swatch balked, unwilling to dirty their feathers.
“Er…y-yes. Deal.
“…Please wash your hands, first.”