Chapter Text
Maybe it was because of the adrenaline still rushing through his body, buzzing in his head like a several mile high migraine waiting for him to hit the cement.
Maybe it was the ringing echo still in his ears, reverbed in and out and overlaying itself through his skull, vibrating behind his eyes and pulsing against his teeth.
Maybe, just maybe, Spamton was just done damn sick of this shit.
Because even with the phone in his shaking hands, leaning over the desk in his dark office, door shut behind him with that slick “Got to take this, give me a moment now would ya, Tens?” and the pinprickle of pins and needles in his fingers, his hand that had held that pen, signed with signature scrawled writing, was still an all encompassing feeling and not even the other side's downright cavernous hymns could get to him here, up on this cloud 9.
Tenna may have been breathing down his neck back at that point, may have set that heavy, heavy hand of his on Spamton's shoulders and back, even nicked him with the sharp stabs of unsheathed claws - this business partner of his, co-host, transactional, situationship, had been the most overbearing person he has had to deal with in his entire life-
-but the high he had gotten from signing that stupid fucking “contract” had swooned him even after the phone had started up drilling it's displeasure into his cranium like an eight wheeler involved pile up on the highway. Hell, he swore he could hear the skid of tires on asphalt, burning rubber and sharp punctured gas fuse, chromium shatter frames bent and crunching under the sheer raw force of metal bending and blading in on itself, the pop squeeze snap of code and splatter of ones and zeroes spotting as a union of metaphoric life and imagined death came together in blind blistering marriage-
All that to say, Spamton was riding the wave of signing the one contract of his life he'd actually been sort of looking forward to - as well as a few bumps he had just taken, what, twenty minutes earlier? Can't forget that now could he, bloodied tissues stuffed in the trash under string dismissed cheap shit sponsors vying for Mr. TV Time's oh so important attention - and the moment that phone was in his hands and pressed to his ear, it was pretty obvious to his mind that shooting him down from his skyscraper mount would take all the world to accomplish.
The Voice on the other end almost, almost accomplished the feat in no time at all.
██████████████████...
“H-hey hey hey, what's the big deal? I'm doing all you've asked here and more - what's drawn the line for you now, huh?” The burn was still in Spamton's veins, teeth grinding together as he scrubbed at his nose with a sneered snort, tips of his fingers still tingling. “A contract's a contract, sure, but you know how this'll go, only up from here, am I right or am I right?”
Silence, on the other end.
Spamton's cloud seemed to lose some gas, lowering him from the sky ever so slightly, and he had to sweep stinging sweat from his eyes, suddenly all too aware just how tightly wound he was, hair slicking to his forehead as he hissed in a breath. His deathgrip on the phone didn't let up, and his other tightened white knuckled on the desk, fingernails digging just so slightly into the worn fibers of the well aged wood.
“Listen- listen, this'll do me good, do you some good too - that's the point of this whole shindig, isn't it? I'm already at the top here, got loads of revenue and stock in Cyber City, what more does signing my name on this even matter?” He untensed his free hand, shaking out the ache before rapping his knuckles on the top - knock on wood, yeah? “And, hey, this is all about you, isn't it? Sure, I've got you covered with everything you've needed covered, I've done everything you've asked, but having the two of us around instead of just me would do wonders, wouldn't it? That just makes logical sense, yeah?”
...█████████████.
“Well now j-just hold on there for a moment, no need to be hasty-”
He drew in a sharp breath, sniffled a moment before pressing the back of his hand to his nose.
Shit, he was bleeding.
With one hand yanking open desk drawers and scrambling for any tissues he might have in here, Spamton pressed the phone harder to his face, teeth grit tight and eyes wild - the cloud had long dissipated under his feet, stone cold sober as the free fall brought the glass strewn asphalt closer and closer, upwards rising to meet him now.
████████████████.
“S-sure sure, of course I hear ya loud and clear, but just listen-”
The next noise made him reel back, the cord dangling in open air between him and its cradle, the desk chair having long been kicked back and out of the way. The dribble of blood clung to his upper lip, flow shallow and pinching behind his eyes, but it was forgotten as Spamton drew a hand through his hair, slicking it back before grasping tightly and giving him some grounding as his voice came out a little higher, a little more pitched, a little more desperate.
“H-hey come on now, I'm still here, still following orders, I've been listening to you for how long now and I won't be stopping, swear on my damn code I won't, this doesn't change anything-”
█████████████████...
“It's just a little signature, it's just a piece of damn paper, it doesn't mean a thing! I swear to you, this won't change anything, the big guy doesn't even need to talk to you, I can handle passing any info you want, I'm a good middleman, I can be good-”
██████████████████████████████...
Spamton stilled, teeth grinding together, huffing and puffing at the tightness in his chest, and his stupid hand kept tingling, the impression of the past pen still overriding the numb pressure of the phone he has gripped so tightly in the now.
It was silent between them, and the cold drop in his gut felt abyssal, steely spilled coolant cold that flickered up his esophagus in sharp acidic indigestion - doesn't help that the only thing he had got into his stomach today had been coffee, bitter black, no sugar, no cream, a pick me up before the next pick me up later between intermissions of a shoot-
“Y-yeah, and I already knew that, so…so what?” His voice came out hoarse, dragged raw as he then snorted and tasted hot iron in the back of his throat, carelessly trying to wipe the blood off with a sleeve and doing little to stem the sluggish flow dripping down his chin now, teeth smeared red. “So what? I, I heard you loud and clear from the start of this shindig, so what if he drops dead later, I can still get something out of this can't I? You'll get something out of it, I'll get something, ‘hey hey bada bing bada boom’ and there we go, both of us winners, yeah?”
He clenched his teeth in a snarl as the hacked out attempt at an accent landed flopside up on sidestreet gravel, and his heart was pounding loud and fast in his chest, pulsing hot cold with the thundering migraine settled over his head - the asphalt seemed closer, he could even see the individual droplets of splattered code from the shattered apart windshields now.
“Listen, listen, if anything this'll just ensure I get to the top quicker, you know? Next in line, first class top whoseit whathaveyou, yeah? If I play my cards right, hell, maybe things can get changed up a notch and there won't even be a hitch on the road! Look, just give me a bit of time and maybe I can even ensure he doesn't even have to die-”
Spamton jerked back from the phone as it screamed at him, the noise gargled and encompassing and not even from the phone itself, an overhead sound ringing throughout the internal cavities of his very skull.
His tingling fingers tightened as he stared at the black plastic, shiny and unmarked even with his grip, all the grabbing and pawing he's done with it over the years, one life line out and in to wherever he needed to go - and the thrashing pounding of his heart sparked flame, sparked an aftershock that made his arm tremble violently and a sneering grin yank on his face, rivalling the sickly sweet smile his stupid, stupid fucking gullible partner had given him earlier as Tenna had slid the paper over to him from across the desk, happy as a clam at finally, finally pinning Spamton down into doing this one little thing for me, Spamton, that's all, I've given you my life advice, my everything already, haven't I?
Why keep yours all to yourself? Why not share with your most favorite of business partners, hm?
With a snarl, Spamton jammed the phone back to his ear, ignoring the swirl gush of garbage noise that he had to swallow and gag around, bitter and honey sweet, thick black iron on his tongue, rotten glass strewn down his throat, and his dilated wide eyes were bloodshot in a frenzy, matching perfectly with the blood on his teeth and dribbling to spot his sweat worn suit.
“What's the matter, huh!? Don't think I can do it? What, you think I'll just cut ties here and now, take off like a bitch with tail between my legs just cause the tall fuck dies in the end? You think I'll just run off and hide from that bullshit?” He cackled, rough and raw as his head pounded from within, heart racing a mile a minute - the view from the asphalt sure didn't make the car wreck any more pretty, but now he can see the sky from here and not even the smoke and stink of burned rubber could ruin that for him. “I'll just, I'll just, shit - I'll just make sure that never happens then.”
Silence fell, swift and sudden, and the drop hit Spamton like another truck in the middle lane, driver not paying an ounce of attention with dirty magazine on the wheel and dick in his hand-
He swayed, light headed and gulping down air, swallowing it down as he fought gag reflex, and Spamton wobbled back to the desk, phone still tight in his clammy hand, still pressed to sweaty side of his head and listening to the fuzz of undercurrent feedback.
When the quiet only stretched, he shakily searched through another drawer before finally gathering a wad of tissues and pressing them to his face, watery eyes squeezing shut as a hoarse curse slipped from his raw torn throat.
He…he really shouldn't have said that.
He stood there, trembling, for another minute. It was unbearably quiet, and his heart hadn't stopped its rat race, each breath rippling raw against glass insides.
“...S-so. What, ha, what do you say to that then, huh?”
Silence.
…And then-
“IS THAT TRULY
YOUR CHOICE?”
“Of, of fucking course? I said what I said.” Spamton grit his jaw, spitting words out as he stuffed a tissue up his nose, tried to scrub his face mildly clean with a huff - tried to ignore the itching, pins and needles of his hand, both hands now, the drop dead cold tug in his very bones, the programmed marrow eating itself alive in half ignored sudden terror. “I'm, I'm a man of my word, aren't I? I'm not pulling back now.”
A pause, the feedback dying low and grounded, hazy.
“VERY
INTERESTING.
YOU WILL STAY
?”
“Like I said, man of my word.” Spamton sorely wished he had a cig right now - he really needed a smoke, or maybe just another bump after he was through with this call. “A contract is a contract, binding and all that jazz. He, he's given me a lot, you know? Got to pay that back somehow.”
And it didn't matter whether Tenna died tomorrow or in another 50 years. That didn't fucking matter.
Especially if Spamton wanted to give a shot with changing that. He's done a hell of a lot more than any other Darkner that has ever existed - what did changing fate even matter to the likes of him, divine blessings and all? Give him the chance and he'll meet and greet with God.
The smoke of the highway was clearing. He could almost hear the ambulances now.
“YOU WANT TO
TIE THE KNOT WITH THIS
LORD OF SCREENS
?”
Spamton snorted, regretted it instantly as he swallowed another glob of blood and mucus, finally tilting his head as he tossed the used tissues away and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a little chilly now, sweat drying tacky in his suit, hair slicked down with old gel and exertion.
“Sure, sure. Don't need to put it like that, but whatever.”
Silence again, and Spamton just let himself breath. His heart wasn't hammering against the walls of his chest anymore, and he was pretty sure the high was definitely taking its leave - this coming drop was approaching, and he was absolutely not looking forward to it.
“SO BE IT.
YOU WANT TO BE
TIED DOWN,
SINK,
WITH HIM?
IT WILL BE SO.”
A brief flare up of garbage noise again, making Spamton flinch and force himself to keep the phone to his ear, the noise crawling between his teeth and slipping down his throat to pool in his already tender stomach, pins and needles from his fingertips twisting about his wrists and then elbow, shoulder, neck and ringed achingly about his bloodshot eyes in a static snow spiral of ice cold and blistering heat-
“THIS CONNECTION
IS NOW
TERMINATED.”
And then the gas casket explosive of a blaring dial tone made him jerk his hand back, whipping around to stare at the phone. Something seeped from its innards, dribbling from the pin holes, but whatever it was only left an impression and the moment he blinked the shadow artifacts were gone.
Spamton stood there, in the silence, for another few minutes. How long had this call taken, this time? Sometimes it was hours, sometimes it was only seconds - the length between him grabbing the receiver and him slamming the phone down always felt the exact same to Spamton, and this was no different.
He…felt exhausted. A choked, mad little giggle escaped his throat, gagging on it for a moment before getting himself back under control with a haggard coughing fit.
Fatigue pulled at him, limbs weak now, as Spamton dropped the phone back into its cradle. He fiddled with the tissues that had stayed stuck in his nose, sniffling but not tasting blood, and when he pulled them back and dabbed gingerly at his upper lip he found the bleeding had stopped.
The used tissues were dropped on his desk with the rest, hands going to the edge and leaning as he hung his head, breathing in deep, slow, heavy. His lungs ached, his bones ached, everything ached, and all he could do with himself was stay here and force up a semblance of control to slip back into.
A hesitant knock at his door broke the dark reflected silence.
“Spamton, is everything…alright?” Tenna's voice was low, hazy but level, not even a hint of unease or irritation to mar the surface of his careful tone. “You've been in there for quite a while now, haha, and I did want to, hm. Discuss some fine print details, before we close up for the night.”
…right. Spamton would be lying if he said he'd forgotten - this whole debacle was because of the details, wasn't it?
His hands were still tingling, numb and half senseless with where the grip of the pen had been. The state of his office was a mess, chair shoved away against a wall, bloodied tissues tossed willy-nilly, forgotten paperwork strewn about and desk drawers half hanging out of their rails - he knew he looked a mess too, suit crinkling uncomfortably, tacky with dried sweat, his highly specific hair style a mess as locks obscured his vision, eyes blurry and no doubt showing just how much shit he still had in his system.
It was a wonder that Tenna couldn't tell just earlier, sitting across from him with that stupid grin on his face, nose dissipated and screen a fizzly mass of excitable static.
…wait. Shit, maybe he had, and that was why he'd pushed so hard.
Spamton heaved a sigh, dropped his head to thunk on his desk, and fought the flashfire urge to start throwing shit at the walls, hands curling into fists.
“...Er, Spamton-”
“Yeah yeah, I hear you.” He winced, one hand going to his throat as he cleared it - he sounded like shit too. “Give me a sec, still, uh, taking some notes.”
“Right, right-o! Of course.” The idiot chuckled staticky behind the door, not at all dispelling the sense of unease nor the looming shadow that had blocked the light seeping in from under the doorway. “While it is late, am I right in assuming you will be sharing those with me before long?”
A moment of tense silence between them, before Tenna's tone adjusted, went light-heartedly fake.
“Of course, we can always wait till tomorrow, we both need our beauty sleep after all-”
“It's fine.” Spamton's tone was sour, heavy with exhaustion, and he rubbed at his face with a swallowed down sigh before straightening up, turning and fussing with his suit collar. His buzzing fingertips scraped at the blood spots, grimacing before turning his attention to his hair, sweeping it back and hoping it kept its shape well enough. “I'll be out in a sec.”
There was a pleased trill, a little tune muffled by the door, and he could just imagine the man lightly tapping his fingers together, stupid smile flickering widely to his bright face.
Probably thought he was getting all he wanted and more tonight. Spamton wasn't looking forward to breaking the truth of the matter, and his gut curdled sourly in him as he edged about the realization of what this meant for him.
It didn't bode well. He'd need to unpack and reevaluate his situation the moment he had the time and energy, which was looking like a moment that was moving further and further away.
The highway has been cleared and he's just laying there boneless on the asphalt now, staring up at the blue sky speckled with clouds and the bright ball of the sun. If he forced himself to listen, Spamton swore he could hear the distant rumble of more approaching traffic.
Turning away from his desk, from the silent and dead phone, Spamton tried to make peace with his wasted appearance and approached the door that split his office from Tenna's. The fact that it was little more than a supply closet has never been lost on him, but the fact didn't taint the authenticity of being co-owner of the place at least. If things went well, he'd end up moving shop to Tenna's office and sharing the space - for all his gumption towards his business partner, Spamton did not find the thought to be unpleasant.
Hell, he's been in the man's bed already, what difference was it to share office space? If the authority was granted to him he'd rather the rest of the crew of this shitshow circus of a Studio knew all about the shit him and Tenna had gotten up to - he'd love to see the faces of that weepy Weather Duo once they found out just what exactly had been done upon their camera ready studio desk, and with their boss no less.
…Then again, maybe some of that shouldn't be shared. He's been on his knees a time or two too - no need to share that with anyone. Never even told the other side of the Phone, but they seemed to know already so Spamton had swallowed that embarrassment and instead took it in stride. Business relations were just a set bit when it came to partnerships, right?
And said business partner would do anything, everything, to keep his other half from dropping dead one day, right?
Right, yeah. Anything.
…Spamton's gaze lingered on the phone for a last time, before tearing himself away with a sneer. He'll figure it out. He's got all this experience now, he wasn't some weak pussy ass spam email anymore, clinging to the tails of more “naturally” skilled ads, popups, commercial websites - he was his own businessman, his own salesman, ties in with the TV industry, auto business flourishing with the spotlight and flow of revenue, ventures into jewelry and bathroom toiletries, candles and even socks keeping things afloat, and it wasn't as if that would all just drop from existence now would it? His ties to Cyber City were strong, he had some good, loyal employees keeping tabs, and he had TV World.
He had Tenna.
Setting an award losing smile on his face, hoping he's cleaned up enough to keep the other man from prodding at him too much, Spamton reached a hand out to the doorhandle.
And then, with a pop and puff of ozone, scent of burning smoke and shudder of his entire universe, everything went dark.