Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spamton never considered himself to be an unlucky man, not really. 

Not when his brothers enjoyed all the success he could never find. Not when he shrunk from the acid. Not even when he was abandoned by his family.

No, to him, these things just meant that the world was challenging him. If he could work harder, speak louder, and stand up straighter, he could get through anything that was thrown at him!

…Or so he told himself.

Even as he staggered weakly through the deserted alleyways of Cyber City, shivering from the cool night air, he would refuse to concede. He’d reach the top again, he just knew it. But first, he needed to focus on feeding himself.

The tiny man warily eyed a trash can that had not yet been searched for food; when it was deemed unthreatening, he hoisted himself up to tip it over, spilling the contents across the ground.

His unsettling grin waned as he sorted through the waste. He spotted a wrapper and rushed to unravel it, praying to find even a crumb, but sadly, nothing remained. He clutched tightly at his rumbling stomach. The hunger hurt. He idly regretted ever throwing away uneaten food in the past, back when money was no object…

But now was no time to feel sorry for himself—he needed to keep looking. It wouldn’t do for a big shot like himself to starve to death!

When the next can turned up empty of anything edible, and the next few after that, Spamton considered retiring to his dumpster. He’d already been unable to find anything even remotely fit for consumption for the past couple days, so what was the harm in going to sleep for dinner for another night? 

That was when he saw it. 

A perfectly untouched CD bagel, right at the end of the alley!

Maybe this was finally it; maybe this was the turning point he so desperately needed. It would all start with his lucky little find—maybe this would give him the energy to get back in the race!

Newly invigorated, he rushed towards the coveted prize.

RREOW!

As soon as his relief and excitement had reached its zenith, when all was right with the world, a Tasque had come out of nowhere and snapped up the food. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if his brain was loading as he struggled to come to terms with the emotional whiplash of the last few seconds. Once he processed what had just happened, he made a strangled sound of despair and dropped to his knees. His pants instantly became saturated with dirty rainwater. Impossibly, he felt colder as the oversized digital cat snacked on what was just about to be his.

Tears sprang to his eyes behind staticky glasses. He felt so humiliated. Not that there was anyone around to witness his ordeal, but he could only think of his brothers. What would they say? What would they think of him now? 

Through the static, Spamton had failed to notice the feline was now stepping threateningly towards him. 

He jolted upwards with a shuddering gasp, scrambling on all fours to the cover of a knocked over trash can he’d searched. Tasques may have seemed cute to Darkners of greater heights, but to him they were nothing but ruthless, dangerous beasts—they dwarfed him in size and had no qualms about attacking. He broke out into a cold sweat in spite of the freezing air. 

The cat stalked him silently, head lowered, and Spamton squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the worst…

Only to feel a paw batting at his side. 

…Huh?

The goddamn thing was toying with him!

“HEY,” he snapped, shrugging away indignantly, “HANDS OFF THE [[Merchandise]]!”

This only served to excite the Tasque further, and Spamton let out a WHOA and pressed his glasses to his face as the cat tossed him into the air. He briefly hoped that would be all, but there was no such luck—the Tasque caught him by his suit jacket. He dangled helplessly from its jaws.

Great. Now he was cold, hungry, exhausted and absolutely saturated in Tasque saliva. To make matters even worse, the cat was now trotting off someplace with him. Well, he supposed, at least he wouldn’t have to travel on foot. Not that he particularly wanted to go anywhere but back to his dumpster, but the way things were going, this might as well happen.

Minutes passed. Spamton’s eyes drooped as the Tasque ran through the city streets. The rhythmic beats of its paws against the pavement were, admittedly, lulling him to sleep…and he found that he no longer cared where he ended up.

—

The world came painfully into semi-focus when his body was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a thunk.

A mechanical purr came next. He opened his eyes to spy the Tasque, staring down at him curiously. He’d landed flat on his back, right between its paws. Irritation flickered across Spamton’s face, not that the digital cat would understand. Goddamn thing.

With a weary groan, Spamton sat up to rub his aching back. At least, he thought, the plush red carpets had provided a little bit of cushion. It was certainly softer than anything he’d felt in a while.

Wait.

Plush red carpets?

His eyes widened behind multicolored shades, head spinning wildly to take in his surroundings. There was no mistaking it—he was in Queen’s mansion.

A million questions raced through his addled mind, but one thought made its way to the forefront. The idea didn’t sound like it was of his own voice, but a dangerously familiar one. His spine trembled. He knew that voice.

Get to the basement.

Adrenaline flooded his body. Was he really about to attempt this again? After so many failures and the harshest of punishments, would it be wise to risk whatever might come of it? It would be dangerous to be sure, but he’d been given a golden opportunity thanks to this unwitting Tasque. Was it worth it? Was it worth the promised [[Hyperlink Blocked]]?

“Oh, there you are! My pretty kitty!”

Wow he was screwed. He hunkered down beneath the creature in question, feebly hoping he’d be at least partially hidden from view. Tasque Manager marched down the hallway, stopping directly in front of her pet—not a centimeter off the mark. She tsked.

“You’ve gone and tracked mud into the mansion again, you naughty thing…” She reached out a hand to stroke the Tasque’s damp fur. “That is not very refined of you. You are lucky you’re cute.”

There was a beat of silence as she continued her pampering, and Spamton didn’t dare breathe. Maybe she really didn’t see him? He found himself praying to any god out there that would listen that she would just leave so he could decide what he was going to do next.

As per the usual, his prayers went unanswered.

“You must think I’m quite foolish, Spamton.”

Ah, fuck. There it was.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off of her pet, nor had she ceased her primping of its fur. Spamton huffed, blowing a stray lock of black hair out of his eyes. He knew she had to have seen him from the get-go. He gave a grunt and crawled out from beneath the digital beast.

“WELL, THE JIG IS UP HUH? I MUST SAY, YOU’RE LOOKING V3RY [HOT MILFS IN YOUR AREA] TONIGHT!!!! ANYWAY, [[What’s New Pussycat]], LONG TIME NO—“ 

That was all he was able to get out before devolving into glitchy screams. Tasque Manager was absolutely deadly with that electric whip. She had managed not only to hit her target with pinpoint accuracy, but to avoid her beloved Tasque.

“Silence,” she commanded, glaring down her nose at him, “I refuse to allow this silly line of gibberish to continue. You will tell me why you are here. Quickly.”

Sputtering and trembling with the effects of being electrocuted, Spamton found it hard to get out anything but a forced cackle. He was harshly prodded with the tip of the cat tamer’s boot. 

“Now!”

“OKA-A-AY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY SO, BASIC4LLY, I GOT [Same-Day Shipping] BY THAT horrible [Animal] AND [Surprise] HERE I AM!!! [Honest]!!!!”

The Tasque mewed and swished its tail. It seemed to take offense to that. Tasque Manager was equally as dissatisfied with his answer, judging by the way her eyes narrowed to dangerous yellow slits. Spamton gulped cartoonishly.

“You truly expect me to believe that? You deserve to be whipped into shape for the disorder you’ve caused!” She punctuated the threat with a whip crack. It hit the floor inches from his foot.

“BUT I"M AN [HonestMan]!!!!” Spamton was now crawling backwards, past the unperturbed Tasque, until his back hit the wall. His segmented fingers clawed at the carpet. “I WOULD NEVER TRY TO [reach you about your car’s extended warranty]!!”

Tasque Manager straightened her whip in her gloves, impatience radiating off of her with every step towards him. “Enough! This nonsense ends now.”

Spamton tucked his face into his shoulder, bracing for impact, until the atmosphere suddenly felt…less charged. Calmer. Smoother. What was this familiar feeling…?

“Miss Tasque Manager? Are you quite alright in here? I thought I heard a commotion.”

The buzzing of the whip went dead, and Spamton dared to open his eyes. He’d recognize that monochrome suit and sleek pair of multicolored shades anywhere. He instantly relaxed—the head butler tended to have that effect on people.

“HEY HEY HE-E-E-EY! SWATCH. SWATCHY. MY [Add Friend]. WILL YOU TELL YOUR [Pal] HERe IF YOU [[Break It You Buy It]]??”

“Oh…! My deepest apologies for the disturbance, Swatch.” The tamer dipped her head in greeting, stepping back slightly to allow the bird enough room to stand next to her. “Not to worry, I was just about to correct the problem.” 

Spamton felt a burst of annoyance. They were talking about him like he wasn't even in the room. How rude!

Swatch hmmed, eyes flicking to glance at the puppet. If they felt anything about seeing Spamton again, they did not show it. “I see…if it pleases you, I would not mind taking this particular job over for you. If I recall correctly, you were to be leaving soon, no? Allow me.”

Tasque Manager had totally lost all semblance of animosity, and she smiled politely at her boss. “You are too kind, my friend. I trust that this issue will be dealt with swiftly.” Tasque Manager gave a curtsy, the two exchanged well-wishes for the night, and she disappeared down the hallway with her pet at her heels. It had grown quiet once again, until a malfunctioning voice broke the silence.

“WHAT THE [$#$%] SWATCH!!! WHY DID YOu [[IGNORE]] ME??!”

Swatch still hadn’t spoken a word to him, and Spamton's anger was building. As he was gearing up to give the birdbrain a piece of his mind, Swatch abruptly reached down and closed their feathery fist around Spamton’s neck. Spamton choked out an outraged sound as he was lifted to eye-level with the butler.

“I thought I’d made it abundantly clear that you are no longer welcome here, Spamton.” Swatch’s voice was murderously calm. “Evidently, I had not. Let this be a reminder to you.”

Swatch carried him by his throat like a rubber chicken, making their way through Queen’s labyrinthine halls until they had reached the nearest backdoor.

“It gives me no pleasure to continuously remove you from the premises in this manner,” Swatch admitted. They let Spamton drop out of their grip, onto the cold ground. “You must understand, however. Her Lady Grace wishes for you not to enter. I am simply doing as she says.”

Spamton tried to respond, but the pain of being choked rendered him unable to say a word. He shot Swatch a pleading stare. It was quite the pitiful image; the puppet was shivering from cold, but Swatch merely shook their head and closed the door. Spamton could hear it locking from the inside. For at least the millionth time in his life, hopelessness filled him like trash bags in a dumpster.

He hesitantly turned to face away from the mansion. It was totally empty out there, save for a few parked cars. A small floodlight illuminated the immediate area surrounding the door, but otherwise, it was hard to see much of anything. Defeated, Spamton pulled himself to rest against the wall. His eyes closed. He shuddered from a particularly frigid wind and curled up. He didn’t feel like moving anymore.

Fleetingly, he told himself that he’d eventually figure his way out of this situation. He was no quitter, after all.

He would figure it out when he woke up...

—

Swatch pushed up their glasses and sighed. They’d managed to make it through about three quarters of their lengthy to-do list, but Queen insisted that they go home and get some rest. After all, tomorrow was The Super Epic Cool Fighting Robot Reveal and she wanted all of her employees to be in tip-top shape for the occasion.

They flipped the switch to the Color Cafe’s open sign, locked the door, and began to make their way towards the back of the mansion. Queen had started to make everyone park in the back lot a few weeks ago, claiming that there wasn’t going to be enough room to park her robot otherwise. Swatch had several misgivings about the whole giant robot thing, but they were in no position to argue.

Finally they had made it to the door leading to the backlot and braced themself for the cold before pushing it open. They rifled through their pockets in search of their keys, ready to lock up, and turned around to face the door from the other side—but wait, wasn’t that…

“Spamton,” Swatch whispered, kneeling down to get a better look. They shook Spamton's tiny shoulder, but the salesman was unresponsive.

Swatch rose to their full height once again, at a loss. This was new. They’d kicked Spamton out of Queen’s mansion plenty of times, but never had the puppet stuck around afterwards. It looked like he’d hardly even moved from the last place Swatch had seen him, which was…concerning, to say the least. It had been hours since then.

Something within Swatch twinged guiltily. They hoped they weren’t the cause of this apparent weakness, that they hadn’t choked him too hard…they’d been having a rough day before their initial encounter with Spamton and would be loathe to admit that they’d taken out some of their frustrations on the pesky little man.

Swatch shook themself. They were getting too lost in their thoughts, and they still needed to lock up, but what next? They couldn’t just leave the little gremlin here, could they? Something about him seemed more desperate than usual tonight, though Swatch couldn’t quite put their finger on it. He almost was acting as if he was confused as to why he was in the mansion at all, which could be chalked up to the usual explanation: the guy was totally nuts.

But, Swatch argued with themself, maybe someone like Spamton just needed a little bit of generosity.

Maybe I’m just as insane as he is.

They clicked the key into the door and turned it.

Their mind was made up.

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.”

Chapter Text

The deal Spamton had made with Swatch was one that he thought wouldn’t be too hard to fulfill. He would never agree to something he couldn’t do, after all (if you didn’t count the several handfuls of times he’d agreed to shady deals out of desperation), and cleaning was something that came quite naturally to him. Back when he was a big shot, he was actually a bit of a neat freak. Yeah, cleaning a kitchen was easy.

Working with Swatch, however, was proving to be…a challenge.

It wasn’t that the unlikely pair didn’t make a good team. Quite the opposite, really. Spamton worked on the kitchen floors, wiping up any messes and disposing of anything he’d haphazardly tossed over his shoulder during his hunt, while Swatch took care of whatever he was unable to reach.

Their teamwork was all well and good, but Spamton’s gripe was with Swatch’s constant anxious nagging, which had surfaced after they had gotten over their initial shock of seeing the kitchen.

“And another thing! I hadn’t considered this previously, but did you not say earlier that you had gone for a long period of time without proper meals?”

Spamton resisted the urge to sigh very exaggeratedly.

“YES, [[Parent or Guardian]].” His eye twitched behind a colored lens as he busily scrubbed at a spot on the tile. He had no idea what the big deal was.

Swatch chose to ignore the sarcasm. “Yet you ate so much! Are you aware of just how ill that can make you?”

“[Jeez Louise] ALR34dy I GET THE [Idea]!!” Spamton groaned, rolling his eyes—thankfully, Swatch had no way of noticing that thanks to the opaque shades.

They craned their neck to stare at him, frowning. “My apologies for being overbearing, but in my defense, is it so wrong to be cautious? It’s not good for you to eat such large quantities after a period of malnutrition; you’re supposed to gradually reintroduce light foods so as to avoid shocking your system!”

Spamton began to scrub faster. “I WAS HUNGRY,” he responded simply, as if that rendered Swatch’s arguments null.

“Yes, I can see that,” they sighed, noticing their now-empty snack stash. “I was going to prepare a nutritious soup. Would that not have been better than…er, what exactly did you eat?”

“[[Farm-Raised Vegetables]].”

“Okay, I supposed that isn’t a bad choice. What else?”

“[Movie Theater REfreshmentS!].”

“I did just realize that all of my snacks are missing…”

“CHOCol4TE SYRUP.”

“…Ah. Right.” Swatch pinched the bridge of their beak; they could feel a headache coming on. “And you are feeling okay? Absolutely none of those things go together properly, you know.”

“YEAH YEAH [Big Bird], I FEEL LIKE A MILL1ON [Kromer]!!” Spamton waved them off, effectively dismissing their concerns. He didn’t want to admit to it, but going down his menu for the night had made him feel the slightest bit queasy.

Swatch drummed their feathers against the counter, clearly unconvinced. “Well…alright, if you say so, I will not push the topic any further. But, please promise to let me know if you begin to feel unwell.” 

The pair lapsed into an uneasy silence.

Spamton paused in his cleaning to pick at a loose thread on his borrowed shirt, instantly feeling guilty for becoming so annoyed with Swatch. The bird was only acting this way because they were worried about him, right? And when was the last time someone had been concerned for his wellbeing? He paused to think about that, and realized with growing horror that it had been a while.

A long-ass while, to be exact. 

Half of him wanted to protest, to question why Swatch was so worried about him. Was this just some cruel trick to earn his trust? After all, it wasn’t exactly a common occurrence, to have someone bring him into their home and generously care for him; Swatch hadn’t even asked for a thing in return, either. Yet, anyway. What if he was unwittingly locking himself into another impossible deal?

His other half argued, however, that he’d known Swatch for as long as he could remember, and that they just weren’t that type of person. But still…after all of the abandonment he’d faced, was it so wrong to feel unsure?

And then again, how exactly could he be screwed anymore than he already was? It wasn’t as if he had anything more to lose. He’d already lost his notoriety, his fortune, his home, his family—he shook his head in a shallow attempt to cease that depressing line of thought.

Either way, he felt the need to apologize before he spiraled too far.

“h,HEY SWATCH,” he ventured finally, continuing when the bird met his eyes, “I”M REAL [Sorry] FOR BEINg A .” Abruptly, his voice cut out, fizzling into static.

Swatch cocked their head and gave him an apologetic look. “Can you please repeat yourself? I couldn’t hear you too well.”

“[Sorry for the] [Sorry for the inconvenince] I MEAN, YOU WERE JUST [Worried] ABOUT ME. I SHOULDN’T HAVE .” He growled frustratedly. “WHAT’S [Wrong] [Wrong] [Wrong] WITH ME??”

Swatch was growing worried once again, their heartbeat quickening with anxiety. Slowly, they approached him but stopped at a distance, as if they were afraid to come any closer. The puppet was about to self-destruct for all they knew. “Spamton, are you alright…?”

He hardly had a chance to answer when a jolt of searing pain surged through his abdomen. There was a shout of YEOWCH and before Swatch could steady him, he was doubled over, clutching his stomach. His tiny segmented fingers dug sharply into his sides.

Alarmed, Swatch hurried to his side and knelt beside him. Their previous uncertainty was nowhere to be seen. “What’s wrong?!”

“NNN-NOTHING SW1NCH DON’;T BE [Silly Rabbit],” Spamton choked out, eyes screwed shut behind his shades. The strain in his voice was affecting the quality, like it was being played at 144p as opposed to the usual 480p. Somewhere in the recesses of his scrambled mind, Spamton began to regret his decisions.

Blinking at the name that definitely wasn’t their own, Swatch shook their head. There were more important things to worry about right now.

“It’s obvious that’s not true,” they cooed, placing a wing lightly on Spamton’s back, “Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

Spamton sucked through his teeth, wincing. Better just be honest about it. “[[Discomfort and Abdominal Pain]] IN MY [[Guts]],” he admitted finally, defeated. Drinking chocolate syrup straight out of the bottle surely wasn’t among his finest moments.

Swatch clicked their tongue, scooping him easily into their wings to hold him against their chest. If he wasn’t so engrossed by his stomachache, Spamton would have felt embarrassed by this, but all he could do was keep his eyes closed and focus on breathing, easing himself through the pain.

“I knew this was going to happen,” Swatch muttered to themself. They patted Spamton’s back gently. “You just can’t be doing things like that, little one. You’re too malnourished to be acting so recklessly with food.”

Spamton let out a garbled whimper in response. Now that he’d disclosed his predicament to the butler, he didn’t feel so good. It was as if speaking it aloud had made it all the more real.

The bird sighed and leaned against the countertop, cradling him like a small child. “You do realize that you’re no longer living in the streets, yes? It’s entirely unnecessary to react to food the way that you did. Though, I…cannot say I don’t understand why this happened. You’ve had it quite rough out there, haven’t you?” They felt movement against their chest, and registered that Spamton was nodding. Poor thing…

Swatch stood like that for a short while longer, holding him with care. They could feel him trembling and clutched onto him tighter. It surprised them when he spoke.

“YO-OU WeRE [Correct! Give em a big hand!] E4RLl3R. [[My Apolog13s for the ]].” His voice wavered with glitches.

Swatch’s own voice was subdued when they opened their beak. “You needn’t apologize. My only concern right now is helping you feel better. 

“Do you think you’d be able to stomach some tea?”

—

In no time, Swatch had brewed a tall mug of steaming ginger tea with just a little sugar, complete with a sprig of fresh mint and a peppermint stick to stir. They grinned proudly at their handiwork after carefully placing the garnishes. Yes, they thought, this would definitely help their little companion and his tummy troubles.

They carried the tea down the hall to the master bedroom. Swatch was glad at least that Spamton had agreed to use their bed; the couch in the living room was nowhere near as comfortable. Besides, what kind of host would they be if they allowed their guest to sleep on the couch? Not one that was as lauded as they were, that was for sure.

The gentle droning of the television gradually became louder as they approached their destination. Once they reached the door, they peeked inside without stating their presence and smiled fondly at what they saw. 

The lights were turned down low, and Spamton was completely tucked into the too-large bed with the downy comforter pulled all the way up to his chin. His shades were folded neatly and placed on the nightstand. He gazed at the screen with half-lidded eyes, apparently not noticing Swatch.

Gently, they knocked on the open door and watched as Spamton startled at the sound. Once he saw Swatch, he relaxed, resting against the large pillows.

“I have your tea,” Swatch announced, nearing the bedside and holding it out to him. “Do be careful, it’s still hot.”

Spamton nodded, uttering his thanks and reaching out to take the proffered mug. It was not very puppet-sized—he had to hold it with both hands. He brought it to his mouth, feeling the steam rise from the liquid. Heeding Swatch’s warning, he cautiously took a sip. The strong ginger and slight mint had an instant soothing effect, and he sighed contentedly.

Swatch took the mug once Spamton began to struggle with it, placing it next to the Dealmaker. “How do you feel?”

Spamton was about to answer, but a screeching dial-up tone was all that came out. He shuddered and pressed a fist to his mouth, gathering his bearings, before clearing his throat. “EV3RYTHIN G IS [Fine].”

A look of concern crossed Swatch’s face. “With all due respect, you don’t seem fine. Is there perhaps anything else I can bring you to make you more comfortable?”

Spamton hesitated. He didn’t want to complain, but he had no idea how to even put into words what he was feeling. How could he tell them that he was worried they’d require some kind of payment for their hospitality? It just wouldn’t do to make that Swatch’s problem! After all the trouble he’d caused them, he knew he couldn’t be any more of a burden. Instead of attempting to discuss the enigma of his mental health, Spamton utilized the delicate art of deflection.

“WH4T ABOUT [My Friend]? YOU”RE STILL [Wearing] YOuR [[Giorgio Armani Suits HALF OFF]]!”

“Ah…” Swatch looked down at themself and huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll be back momentarily, once I change, to check on you again.” They bowed their head respectfully, grabbed something from a dresser drawer, and briskly left the room.

Spamton let out a sigh. That had been easier than he’d thought it was going to be. Something—no, a lot of things were eating at him, and he wasn’t sure he’d even know where to start divulging all of his issues. Being cared about wasn’t exactly brand new to him, but it was sort of freaking him out. It had been a long time since he’d felt so…important. Most of the time, whoever acted like they cared either abandoned him completely, or were only doing so because it was convenient for them. He couldn’t be sure that this was the same situation, even if he thought he knew Swatch. 

After all, he used to think he knew a lot of people.

With the thought came another wave of pain. He whined and let his head fall back against the pillows. Living in the garbage had really done a number on him—he wondered fleetingly what his younger, more successful self would think of him now. God, he felt pathetic.

Shakily, Spamton reached for the TV remote. The Cyber City News channel clearly wasn’t enough to keep his mind occupied; he needed a better distraction. Maybe there was a movie on…

“Hey! You! Yeah, you!”

Spamton went rigid.

On the screen, staring into his soul with a hauntingly familiar grin, was a face he never thought he’d ever see again. It spoke animatedly, with a voice he never thought he’d hear again. 

“Do you wish there was a better way to store your hard earned dark dollars? Well now there is! Introducing the—“

He turned off the television. He couldn’t stand the way his older brother stared at him through the screen—it was the first time in as long as he could remember that they had seen each other, even though they hadn’t truly seen each other.

It was all too much for him. The abrupt silence rang in his ears. The loneliness crept in from all sides, and his stomach cramped. He wanted Swatch. Even if he was overthinking whether he could trust them or not, he didn’t care. It hurt too much—mentally, physically, and emotionally. He yearned for comfort, and even if he knew it probably wouldn’t last, that it was all smoke and mirrors, he wanted to take what he could get. He wanted to savor it while he still had the chance. 

“[H3,,lp],” he muttered to no one, voice dipping in playback quality. He swaddled his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. 

His request was fulfilled when a feathery head peeked into the room.

“Spamton? I didn’t hear the television, so I thought you might have fallen asleep, but I wanted to check on you once more before I retired to bed myself. How do you feel now? Has the tea been helping?”

Numbly, Spamton nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Swatch cocked their head and stepped fully into the room, approaching the bedside. They were now dressed in very expensive-looking silken pajamas.

“Oh, are you sure you’re alright? I can fetch you some medicine if you’re—oh my goodness, what happened?!” Their feathers puffed out with surprise and they were sitting on the edge of the bed in no time, fretting over the salesman.

Startled, he looked up at them. “WWH4T? H,UH?” Though he had just been despairing, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Swatch what had just happened. He wouldn’t say it out loud either, but he thought Swatch was overreacting to his sadness a little bit.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself somehow? Is your stomach getting worse?” Feathered hands swept over Spamton, thoroughly inspecting him for physical injuries. The Addison continued to stare at Swatch, though his miserable expression had morphed into a confused one.

“WH4T DO YUO MEAN??? I”M—“

His breath was taken away by the brush of Swatch’s primary feather against his cheek.

“You’re crying,” Swatch informed him worriedly, continuing to wipe away his tears. “What happened?”

Spamton blinked, blindsided. He hadn’t even noticed, but now that Swatch mentioned it, he could feel the wetness streaming down his chin. Their initial reaction to seeing him suddenly made a lot more sense.

The puppet looked away, hesitating. “I…[Nothing is wrong] NOTHINg HAPPENED.”

Swatch could hardly believe his stubbornness. Was it his pride in the way? Or maybe something else? They sighed, allowing their wing to fall into their lap. Taking deep dives into Spamton’s mind would have to wait. “I just want to help, Spamton. Please.”

Spamton paused once more before taking a quivering breath. “Okay,” he said, in a voice Swatch hadn’t heard since days long gone, “I…I miss my brothers.” He finally reached up to rub at his leaky eyes with the heel of a palm. The warmth of his own tears felt weirdly unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually cried. “I don’t remember when I saw them last.”

He chanced a glance up at Swatch, who looked just about as heartbroken as Spamton felt. For the second time that night, he was cuddled into a warm, feathery chest.

“Oh, Spamton,” Swatch whispered, hugging him tightly, “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so very sorry. I know it hurts, but the pain won’t last forever…”

That did it. In spite of all of his cynicism, of everything he’d dealt with and gone through in the years following his fall from grace, Spamton had no doubt that those words were sincere. They were spoken so gently, so carefully, as if Swatch were talking to something precious that was to be respected. Like he was important, and worth the effort. 

He was cared for.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The fact that someone in this miserable world cared about him, even one soul, had his eyes glazing over anew. He couldn’t keep his lip from wobbling, or his breath from hitching any longer. The expression he was wearing before was gradually transforming into a different one; one that suggested he was losing his tenuous grip on his composure. Without warning, he released a mechanical wail into Swatch’s chest, loosening a pressure valve that had been too tight for as long as he could remember. Vaguely, he could feel Swatch giving him a squeeze.

They sat together like that for what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. Spamton’s shoulders shook as he was wracked with sobs, while Swatch cooed gently to him, hoping to soothe him. He trembled all over, feeling a rush of different emotions—relief, embarrassment, fear, sadness. The tears kept coming. He’d been quashing those tears for ages. Big shots weren’t supposed to cry, but cry he did.

He wept until he’d exhausted himself, and the tears slowed to an eventual stop. His eyes were sleepy, and it felt good to close them. He sniffled wetly.

Swatch pulled away from the hug, and Spamton lowered his eyes, embarrassed. A stray tear escaped, rolling slowly down his porcelain face. The bird reached down once more to palm at his wet cheeks, drying them with care. Neither one of them spoke.

Spamton continued to sniff; his nose was running from crying. Swatch reached over to the bedside table and withdrew a box of tissues from the drawer, offering it to him. He took one gratefully and noisily blew into it. 

Awkwardly, Swatch cleared their throat.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” they began hesitantly, “What lead you to think about your family?”

“I 5AW A [Your Advertisement HEre] ON THE [TV].” His voice had returned to normal—well, normal for him—but it lacked its usual energy. The emotional outburst had effectively wrung him out. 

Swatch nodded in understanding. They remembered all the times that Spamton would come into the Color Cafe and talk about his brothers, back in the day. From what they understood, the salesman had been extremely close with them, but something had changed somewhere along the way. They never quite learned what had occurred between them, and what had caused the suspected dramatic falling out, but they never pried. They always figured that if Spamton wanted them to know, he would tell them.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered, reaching out a wing to fix Spamton’s mussed hair. “I’m sure they miss you just as much as you miss them…”

Spamton laughed humorlessly, but couldn’t help leaning into Swatch’s touch. “THEY DON/T [Missed me?]. THEY DIDN'T 3Ven [Look!] FOR ME.” He turned over the used tissue in his hands, unwilling to meet Swatch’s eyes.

Swatch could easily comfort a crying Spamton, but offering any sort of encouragement regarding this situation felt nearly impossible. What were they supposed to say to that? They didn’t even know what had gone down between him and his brothers, and it felt inappropriate to ask at a time like this. Empty platitudes felt wrong, but so did anything else. Finally, they spoke, hoping they’d find something encouraging to say somewhere along the way. 

“I’m sure that’s not true, Spamton…family always misses each other, no matter what. Even after what happened, you miss them, do you not?”

Another hollow laugh. “DON”T [Make me] SAY iT AGAIN…”

“But it’s true. How you feel…I’m sure they feel the same way. I’m sure they miss you very much, even if you don’t know it.”

Spamton glanced up at Swatch, as if considering this theory. He blinked once, and his black eyes turned to static upon reopening. “I’M TOO [Fuhgeddaboutit!] TO BE MISSED.” He blinked once more, and the static was gone, as if Swatch imagined it.

Swatch shivered at the sight but felt themself droop at the pathetically sad statement. This was becoming easier for them, however—sometimes catastrophic thinking just needed a little bit of logic to be quelled.

“How could anyone forget you?” They placed a comforting wing on Spamton’s shoulder. “You were quite literally everywhere. Someone couldn’t go two feet without seeing your face back then. If the common Darkner could remember you, what makes you think your own brothers could find you forgettable?”

Spamton blinked up at them silently. Swatch looked away, withdrawing their wing. If their cheeks colored after saying what they said next, they would insist it was a trick of the light.

“…Additionally, you are very memorable. You’re endearing in a way that no one else is. I can say with certainty that there is no one out there like you, Spamton.”

The quiet stretched out for what felt like forever after that statement. Spamton continued to stare, an unreadable expression on his face. Swatch tugged at their pajama collar, still unwilling to meet his eyes, until they chanced a look.

Was Spamton…blushing?

“A-hem! Well, it is getting dreadfully late, and I really must be up early for tomorrow’s day at the mansion—after all, Her Majesty is revealing her project, and you must be tired anyway, no? I really should let you sleep off your ailment, and you should feel better in the morning, so I will just head into the other room and sleep on the couch. If you should need me, please do not hesitate to—oh!”

Their rambling tirade was cut short when a small, warm mass crushed against their chest. Short arms hugged them, not quite reaching all the way around their back.

“[Please] [Please] DON”t go.”

Swatch’s cheeks blazed. This was too much, but they couldn’t bring themself to pull away, let alone decline the request. They opened their beak but closed it again helplessly, unsure of how to respond—they knew what they wanted to say, but how to go about saying it?

As they struggled, they could feel Spamton beginning to pull away.

“OR…YOU DON.’T…H4VE TO. IF YOU DON’T WANT. [No money down!!]”

“No!” Swatch squawked, clutching the puppet against themself like a vise. “No, no, I’m not…it’s not like that, my friend. I promise.” Their grip loosened. “…My apologies. I meant to say, that…I would be delighted to accompany you. I merely assumed you’d want some privacy.”

“…WELL. Y;KNOW WHAT THEY [Say] AB0UT ASSUMING, SWATCHY [Old Pal]!!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” They moved to hold him at arm’s length, cocking their head with curiosity. “Care to enlighten me?”

“IT MaKES AN [4$$] OUT OF [You and mE]! EHAEHAEHAEHEAHAE!!”

Swatch gave him the blankest look they’d ever given.

“On second thought, perhaps I will retire to the living room for the evening,” Swatch joked, moving to push themself up off the bed.

“H3Y!!! NO!!!!!!! [No] YOU CAN,T SK1P OUT ON ME NOW!!!” Spamton reached out towards them, looking very pitiful at the idea of being left alone for the night.

Giggling, Swatch sat back down, ruffling the puppet’s messy hair. “I was merely poking fun, Spamton, no need to worry.” They sobered, smile fading. “Besides…I can only imagine that you have spent many a lonely night wishing for companionship. Why should you have to go through such a thing again?

“You have my word that I will not leave you.”

Spamton choked on the sudden lump in his throat. It was like a drug, this newfound closeness. The loneliness that had been commonplace not too long ago had been forgotten. He wasn’t sure he could ever be by himself again. What was he going to do if…or when…he couldn’t be near Swatch for whatever reason?

“Either way, you must be tired. You’ve had a long day, and I invite you to rest.” Swatch slid under the covers next to him, invitingly patting a spot within closer proximity to themself.

…Spamton decided he’d cross the “what if” bridge when he got to it.

He crawled closer to Swatch, snuggling up against his feathered friend. The pair nestled, not quite cuddling, but pressed close together like penguins. Spamton found himself enjoying the warmth and proximity.

He was already growing sleepy. His stomach had calmed, and the thoughts that had been ringing in his mind like an unanswered phone were beginning to quiet. Here there were no bad thoughts—only soft feathers, comfort, quiet. He had forgotten what it was like to be at peace and thought nebulously that it truly couldn’t get any better than this.

He was proven wrong when a soft wing wrapped around his body.

Sleep had never come to him so easily after that.