Archive of Our Own

“Wow! Kids these days, am I right??” 

“I’m thirty seven-“ 

“And you don’t look a day over two in my opinion!” 

A peel of laughter rocks across the crowd. The plugboy on stage looks mortified, but he should have read the contract. A ribbing was always in store when Tenna was hosting, and that was probably one of the lighter ones he’d improvised. Spamton didn’t pay too much thought to the recording. He’d watch bits and pieces through the cameras as he puttered backstage, just to memorize favorite bits to tell Tenna if he asked about it later. But he didn’t have an ad read going on today, so he paid a little closer attention to Tenna as he worked. 

A shadowguy nudged him, pointing to a ‘NO SMOKING ON SET’ sign situated by the snack table. 

“It’s not lit.” Spamton chewed lightly at the filter, “Oral fixation. Sure I got a doctor's note for it somewhere.” 

The shadowguy furrowed his brows, honked, and gestured to put it in his pocket regardless. 

“For crying out- it’s not even lit -“ he rolled his eyes, popped it from his lips and tucked it into his front pocket. He threw both hands up and let them drop to his side, satisfying the shadowguy enough to move on, joining a gaggle of his peers on the other half of the sound stage. Like he hadn’t seen half of them gathered up around the smoking area once shooting stopped for the day. A ‘Tch’ left his lips, grabbing one of the VIP folding chairs to set up closer to the cameras. 

The contestants had just finished one of his boards, working hard at a quiz segment that he was yucking it up on for the cameras. Reveling in getting to make some of the contestants look like fools as they got answers wrong. It really felt like he enjoyed these moments where he could let some of the professionalism slip and get away with being a little mean. Keyword being a little. 

For some reason, Tenna seemed to be in a Mood today. Wasn’t the first time Spamton had seen the big guy losing his cool, but it was rare to see him cracking in front of the guests. It was in the snide comments, the way his claws were pressing out against his gloves as he gripped his cue cards or the mic, and the quick lashes of his tail, squirming where he’d tucked it down one leg of his pants. If he didn’t wear black, that part alone would’ve looked bad on the cameras, but the attitude was worse enough already. A popup on one of the other podiums hits the buzzer, once again before the question has even finished, and the cue card crinkles in his grip. 

“Contestant Threeeeee~” he says in a strained sing-song, “For the final time , you’re supposed to hit the buzzer-“ he slams his foot down, “Once I’ve finished asking the question !” 

The popup gave a chatter and ducked down into the stage itself, the other two contestants sharing mixed startled, frightened glances. 

Tenna, to his credit, seemed to realize he’d fucked up almost immediately. He shrunk back like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, pinched the bridge of his nose, and threw his hands up, “Mike! Cut the feed! I need a fifteen - no! Thirty! Make it a thirty!!” And turning on his heel, he stormed off the stage. Much to the confusion of both crew and audience alike. A loudspeaker came on over the soundstage, Mike informing the audience about the quick TV Time break before their regularly scheduled program. 

What in the hell was that about? To make the audience wait that long was just asking to kill the episode entirely. It’d get folks talking. Wasn’t like the big guy at all. 

God dammit, he was going to have to do something about this, huh? He shakes his head and weaves around the staff scrambling to pause filming, putting the cigarette back to his lips. That same shadowguy caught a glimpse as he passed by, frowning and pointing to the sign once more. Spamton looked at him, and took a step back into the side hall, “Oh, look at that.” He raised a finger to his lips, a bright shot of light illuminating off his fingertip, lighting the cigarette as Spamton gave a sigh, “[Exit! Stage right!]” He gave a salute that was anything but respectful and turned on his heel. 

Question now was where had the big lug stormed off to? He wasn’t shadowing Ramb’s bar counter, and he didn’t seem to be sulking anywhere else in the green room. It narrows down his hiding spots at least. The startled contestants were hovering around the S rank dressing room as an apology from the staff, so that was out.

A bang and a muffled curse from Tenna’s office makes Spamton almost jump out of his suit, chastising himself once he unclenched his teeth from the filter. Truth be told, he hated dealing with Tenna when he got like this. Which sucked in more ways than one since he was one of the only guys who could actually calm him down. Maybe if he was lucky, he was feeling embarrassed enough about losing it on stage to tamp it down. “Tenna?” He rapped his knuckles against the door, “Hey, least you didn’t curse on stage, right?”

A noise halfway between a sigh of relief and a groan came from within, “Ugh, maybe that would’ve been better . I could’ve gone virus if I did.”

“You mean viral .” Spamton fixed his tie with a smirk, “Well, no such thing as bad publicity.” His eyes wandered to the crack in the door, without a lock or bolt in sight. Guy must have been in a rush if he hadn’t shut the door all the way.

“Seriously though, whose idea was it to have a popup as a contestant?? They can never stay on track, just want to hit the button before I’m even done!”

“Hey, pool needed some diversity from the ad market, [Sweetheart!]” If he hadn’t shut it, that was as clear an invitation as anything. Spamton nudged through the door with his shoulder, “Besides, not like they’re the ones who blew a-”

“Wait WAIT D-don’t come in!”

As he stepped through the door, Tenna tucked in on himself like he’d been caught buck naked in the middle of his dressing room. Might as well have - it would feel decent compared to what was actually going on. A large panel on his chest had been opened up between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. Wiring spilled out along the bottom, draping across his stomach. He’d gotten big enough that his head was scraping the ceiling, that ‘bang’ from earlier showing in the bent wire of one of his antennae. His screen quickly turned beet red, covering his face with one hand, since the other was currently buried somewhere in his chest cavity.

Spamton blinked, a dusting of pink rising beneath the applied blush on his cheeks, and he shut the door behind himself with the sole of his shoe, “If you were that pent up, couldn’t you have waited till after the show?”

“It’s! This isn’t a!” Steam wafted from Tenna’s vents, and he turned his head away, pulling the edges of his shirt to try and cover himself, “This isn’t a sex thing. It’s maintenance .”

“Reaaaaally?” Spamton raised his brows, leaning towards Tenna, making the big guy take a few steps back, face burning hotter still, “Cause it looks like a sex thing.”

“I realize how it looks-” He twisted his wrist, untangling his ungloved hand from the confines of his own chest cavity, the soft plastic digits clicking together as he folded his arms, trying to block his chest from view (a miserable attempt, since the wires prevented him from shutting his door all the way.) “-but I didn’t run off cause I needed to… you know…”

Spamton’s smile widened, “What? Needed to what?”

“G, I’m not saying it.”

“I don’t think you could say [JACK OFF] with a straight face anyhow.”

“S-so!! Can I help you?!” A touch of fang showed, but his voice came out as a squeak, pressing down on his chest panel. He winced as it pinched the wires, gingerly reaching down to try and tuck some back in.

“Better question,” Spamton puffed at the dregs of his cigarette, silently cursing that it burnt up while he’d been leering at Tenna, snuffing it out in a passing ashtray, “Can I help you ?” He cocked his head, expression turning serious, “Seriously, I don’t think I’ve seen you bitch out a guest like that before. Something up?”

Tenna fidgeted with the edges of his shirt and the coils of his stomach. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. It took a minute before he relented, sitting on his couch with a sigh, “Do you… remember that stunt on set last week? The one with the jump?”

How could he forget? Spamton had no idea Tenna could do a split midair like that. And from the way Tenna was going on, it sounded like he really couldn’t. Still, he feigned ignorance, tilting his head while nodding for Tenna to continue. The CRT had to fidget with his loose tie first, but relented, opening up his chest cavity. “I… I think I pulled something during it. No tears, thank god but it’s been hurting like the dickens ever since.” His smile turned strained as he looked back at Spamton, with one arm clenching at half of his shirt, claws snagging on the fabric, “And if you didn’t pick up, the pain is uh… not doing wonders for my usually stellar stage composure…” 

Don’t have to tell me twice. Spamton thought. Tenna wasn’t subtle, and wore what he was feeling on his sleeve. He looked like he might bite Spamton’s head off if he spoke out of turn, as the embarrassment faded out to agitation at whatever thorn had gotten stuck in him. “And you didn’t say anything sooner cause…?” 

“Usually I can handle it!” Tenna faltered, bringing his still gloved hand to his mouth, then lowering his shoulders into a slouch, “Sorry, I… usually I can just get it myself, but… it’s the hands.” He held up his ungloved one, flexing so the claws popped out and back again, “Sometimes I can barely get these inside, and I just can’t reach the cords by my back.” 

“Let me guess.” Spamton approached, grabbing a spot on the couch, “The one bugging you is in your back.” 

Tenna’s head dropped forward, his screen going dark, and he gave a sheepish nod. 

“Tenna, you got an entire studio full of [BROWN NOSE] flunkies waiting on your word. You couldn’t have asked a Pippins or Mike to-“ 

Tenna sat up again, looking aghast at the very notion, “You think I’d let one of the Pippins inside me?? I’d be scrapped for parts before I even said ‘okay, it’s open!’ And Mike, he…” Tenna cleared his throat, “W-well, you know he’s uh… he’s just so busy and this is such a little thing-“

“You were about two steps from mauling that popup if they didn’t shape up on stage.” 

Turning scarlet again, Tenna’s antennae clacked as they wilted to smack his screen, “I know, I know, I… I let it get out of hand. I really thought I had a better grip on the pain, but once it gets too much, I just… it feels like getting my nerves grated on with sandpaper.” 

Spamton reached into his coat pocket, “Next time, don’t wait till you’re blowing a gasket on TV.” The carton of cigarettes was pulled out, and Spamton scowled for a moment at its lone occupant, then shook it out, offering it to Tenna pinched between his fingers. “You think you can get it fixed in [THIRTY MINUTES OR LESS]?”

Tenna leaned over to take it between his lips, leaning to start pawing for his lighter before remembering his jacket slung over the back of his dressing chair. Spamton moved in, a few sparks moving from his fingertips to the end of the cigarette. “Sure hope so…” Tenna leaned back, pressing his hand against his lower back, a sharp wince coming to his features that made his screen briefly flicker, “I’d feel like a jackass if I couldn’t at least apologize on camera.”

“Only on camera?”

“They’ll be lucky to get that much.” He took a few puffs on his cigarette, and leaned back on the couch. Was that a whine he just made? How much did one pulled wire hurt? He was an older thing. Spamton had to wonder if they could even get a replacement for him off of eBuy or if he’d be shit out of luck. His hand squeezed his side, and Spamton could briefly see the tremor between his fingers, claws tucking into his shirt.

“Hurts that bad, huh?”

“Ughhhhhhhhhh…” Tenna fully tilted his head back, cigarette smoke wafting from his head vents, “It’s awfullllllll…” Here we go. Walls were coming down enough for Tenna to relax around him, and relaxing meant he had new time to complain. “I knew, I knew I should have stretched before the shoot. I used to be able to do that no problem! When’d I get to be such a rickety old thing??” 

Huffing once through his nose, Spamton turned and grabbed his shirt, using it to pull himself onto Tenna’s lap. The big guy’s head snapped up immediately, gaping down at his business partner beginning to take off his suit coat, “S-H-Hey!! I already said this isn’t -“ 

“I know, I know.” Spamton unlatched the buttons of his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows, “It’s maintenance. ” He held up both hands and wiggled his fingers, jazz hands style, “One you apparently need a little [FIVE FINGER DISCOUNT] for?” 

Tenna stared, and his screen turned a darker red. “Y… you want to help…?” His brows creased, “Do you know anything about CRT repair?” 

“Ehhhhhnnnnn…” Spamton squinted, “I mean, read a couple boogle results. Do I need to if you tell me what to do?” 

He still looked hesitant. Biting his lip, glancing from the closed door down to Spamton. His legs parted to make room for the little guy to stand, parting his open shirt like a curtain. The door on his chest swung open, and Spamton got an eyeful of what he was dealing with. Tubes and wires loosely filled up a body cavity, surrounding a strong spinal column where the vast majority of electrical cords ran up towards his head. The whole thing was lit up by a soft, red glow, tangled up beneath everything else in him. If he looked closer, he could see the faint edges of motherboards decorating the inside of his skin. At his current height, even with all the space taken up by components, it looked practically roomy to a little guy like Spamton. 

“Holy shit.” Spamton couldn’t help but give a little laugh, “You trust me after that sales pitch?” 

Tenna furrowed his brows, “I can close this again anytime!” 

“Relax, [CATHODE]. You want me to take a look or not?” 

Another hesitation, then he nodded quickly, and set his arms to either side of the couch. His fingers dug into the cushions as Spamton climbed up his body, catching his foot on the lip of the open doorway on his chest. “ Please be gentle…” 

“Hey, gentle is my middle name!” 

“I thought it was G…” His antenna flew straight up, brow raising once it clicked, “Oh! So that’s what it-“ 

“You know what a joke is, right?” 

There’s that sourpuss look again, the big guy letting out a ‘hmph!’ that sent quick puffs of steam out his vents. Snickering, Spamton brought his other foot up onto the edge, leaning in for a better look. “You sure the spinal cords are the only place hurting?” 

“T-that’s what it feels like, anyway…” His claws flexed outwards, snagging on the couch cushions. 

“Cause damn it is crazy in here.” He could actually fit his head inside the guy, and then his torso, brushing up against boards and wires that occasionally made the body around him jolt or shiver. “You usually move this much when you do it?” 

“It’s different when it’s another person, okay??” Tenna pants, “Not like I can tell where you’re gonna touch next!” 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He poked his head out between a brush of circuit panels, “Just sit back and let the professional handle it, [DOLLFACE]!” Tenna looked like he wanted to argue that, but instead shut his mouth, tilting his head forward with a blush. Spamton snorted, “Goddamn you trust me.” 

“Don’t make me regret it…” The CRT whined. Spamton grabbed a hold of the upper doorway and used it to move deeper into Tenna. 

“Here’s a million [KROMER] idea for ya-“ Spamton carefully inched towards another foothold, feeling the big guy’s hips twitch as he lands gingerly on one of his hip joints, “-We start doing maus tours in here. Bet there’s a lotta darkners curious about what makes you tick!” 

Tenna did a full body shudder at the idea, “I’m not letting a bunch of maus run around my insides!!”

Yet you’re fine letting a rat in? Spamton thought. One dismissed as he approached the length of twisting wires interwoven along the spine. If he squinted in the dark, he could make out how one of them was stretched near-to-tearing, it's normally looser give twisted somewhere between a metal rib and part of his hip. “I think I found the problem. Does it feel like-“ He brushed it with his fingertips.

Tenna jolted up off the couch like a bucking broncho, smacking both his head and Spamton’s against the ceilings of their respective environments. “Yes!!! Yes that uh. That hurts a lot! I said be gentle!!” 

“Ow…” Spamton rubbed his head, “I barely touched the damn thing!!” He sat up, hand stilling as he looked through the dark. Has Tenna gotten bigger? The place was definitely roomier now, almost enough to stand and walk instead of clamber around like a raccoon in an engine. “Great, now I gotta find it again.” 

“S-sorry, I-“ 

“Boss? Are you in there?” 

On reflex, Tenna shut the door to his chest, strangling most of the light from Spamton’s view in an instant. “Mike?? Ah, One second!!”

Shit, Mike?? Of all the lousy timing , “Tenna?? Tenna, hey!” He whispered upwards, but his voice only reached himself. 

“Just hang tight, Spamton. ” Tenna whispered, fabric shuffling. Was he… was he buttoning up his shirt? “Lemme take care of this.”

“ Let me get out first?? What the hell -“ 

“Boss??”

“I said just a minute, Mike!! Ahah!” 

Spamton found his footing, only for a second before Tenna’s steps rattled it out from under him again, forcing him to sit his ass back down. The chest panel had an airtight seal, without an inch of light leaking through the seams. The only light in the place was that red that bled around the wires and panels. What the hell was that? 

He got to his feet, the dressing room door opening, muffled dialogue rumbling through Tenna’s chest, vibrating the walls of his chassis through his speakers. “Mike, hey! We uh. I didn’t go over time yet, did I?” 

“Nah, I came by to check on ya.” That was definitely Mike. He’d recognize that made for radio voice anywhere, rolling his eyes as he nudged his way through a gap in the forest of cords, trying to avoid touching any of them directly. Felt like the biggest, dumbest game of Operation. “Also ‘cause the popup is thinking about flagging out.”

“ WHAT? ” Spamton stumbled, catching his balance on one of his ribs, nose inches from brushing one of those sensitive wires. Couldn’t have the guy bucking like a horse in the middle of a conversation. “Look I. I know I came across harsh - I’ll own up to that!! But we can’t have them just leave before the show’s up! Do they know how bad that’ll make me look??” 

Probably about as bad as having an employee waltz in on your business partner literally inside of you, Spamton thought. He shook his head, turned, and his eyes widened. Whatever constituted for blood ran cold in his body. 

Was that… a SOUL? 

Brilliant red light made him look paler than ever, squinting beneath its blinding rays. He’d never seen one up close, but that red light, the shape, the heat running off it, it had to be… where the hell had Tenna even gotten this? It was hooked onto some of his wires, pulsing softly with light as Tenna yammered on outside. Had he been built with this? Or… or was he more desperate then even Spamton had realized? 

… wasn’t one of the lightners living with him… weren’t they a - 

Spamton shook his head and his eyes adjusted to the dark. He stifled his sigh of relief in his elbow, running his hand over his face. No, fuck, thank god. Just a [HEART SHAPED OBJECT] . Calm down. Breathe. It’s fine. The more he looked at it, the more ridiculous the reaction felt. No way could he take out a lightner, let alone a human. Tenna?? In his dreams.

“Look, just… try to coax them back somehow. Flowers, gift basket, ten percent off coupon to the gift shop. But don’t let them leave, got it??” 

Was it some sort of bulb? It was shining from within with that red glow, and looked vaguely transparent when Spamton stepped for a closer look, his reflection wobbling like glass as he looked it over. At Tenna’s current size, it probably could have fit Spamton in it, if he tucked his legs and head in. 

“I’ll see what I can do, boss. You still gonna be good to go? You got-“ 

“What, like, twenty minutes?” 

What did it even feel like? He shouldn’t, he knew it was a bad idea, but Spamton’s curiosity won out over common sense. Sounded like Mike would be leaving soon anyhow. 

“I’m just taking a thirty, then I’ll be right as -“ 

Spamton placed his palm against the lower curve of the heart. 

“- RAAAAAAAINNN!!” Stream flooded the chamber and sent Spamton back, hissing at the flash burn to his hand, shaking it out with a muffled curse. Tenna’s whole body bent inwards around him, metal components shuddering, wires clenching to pull together. The space felt smaller, somehow, and Spamton braced his shoe up to avoid getting squeezed into another burn against the heart. Which only made Tenna buckle on himself further. 

“B-Boss?? Mr. Tenna, you alright??” 

Okay, better foothold, something that wouldn’t make a scene -

“Oh! Oh I’m uh. I’m hunky doody! Don’t uh. Don’t worry about me! I’m so normal it’s not even funn EEEEEEEE-“ 

Spamton’s hand had landed on a wire and the stifled moan the big man let out around him sent heat back into his face and his hair standing on end. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Mr. Tenna? I-if you need anything, I-“ 

“Mike.” He could just hear the strain in the guy’s voice, body jolting as he clapped a big hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I’m doing vocal warmups. I’m fine.” His voice lowered a single octave, “ Leave. ” 

Didn’t have to tell the guy twice. Least Mike actually listened to Tenna most of the time. His footsteps darted off down the hall, and Tenna quickly shut the door, stepping back and sighing. The walls closed in a little more around Spamton. Tenna was slowly calming down enough to get back to normal height - normally a good thing - but it meant the once roomy space in his chest was now getting cramped, squeezing himself away from the heart before it got too tight to navigate. He took a breath, then rapped his knuckles on the panel, “Hey, [BOOBTUBE], the coast is clear, right??” 

“Oh!” The body startled around him, “Oh my god, Spamton, I am so sorry, I panicked, are- are you okay??” 

Spamton sighed, “Might’ve scalded a hand on your stupid [HEART SHAPED OBJECT], but mostly just [SHAKEN NOT STIRRED]!” 

“Okay… phew , that’s…” There was a heavy ‘thump’ as Tenna patted his chest, and Spamton let his hand linger on the touch. “That’s a relief. No uh… no hard feelings… about this, right?” 

“Heat of the moment, I get it.” Granted Spamton had never trapped someone inside of himself before, but at least the big guy seemed to get it now. Better late than never. “Now you can -”

“Did you fix the wire?”

Spamton blinked, “Huh?”

“The wire. In my back. The one that’s still sore.” Something had shifted in Tenna’s voice, patting his chest again, “It’s fixed?”

Shit . He’d gotten distracted scoping that [HEART SHAPED OBJECT]. It’d completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, uh. Gimme a sec, [DON’T TOUCH THAT DIAL!]”

Tenna let out a soft chuff, barely a laugh. It helped with the sudden tension in the air. He fidgeted with the top button of his shirt, popping it open to let some air in. Did shrinking made the room hotter? Or was it just him? Spamton braced against a rib as Tenna moved again, sitting back down. It gave Spamton more of a stable base to walk on, and he cautiously made his way to the spinal column for the second time. That same overtensed wire was still there, a few sparks flickering from a tiny tear in its rubber. Eesh, it was gonna need a replacement for sure. Least for now, he could get the damn thing loosened up for him. Tenna spoke up before his hand had even brushed it, “It’s funny, you know.”

“What is?” Better go for it now while he’s distracted. He grabs the wire, feeling a shudder run up and down the vertebrae, that [HEART SHAPED OBJECT] letting out a pulse of light and heat. He carefully started the slow work of untangling the cord from its stuck points.

“I really thought I would hate this. I mean -” He laughed, making his ribs vibrate again, “Who would like someone walking around in their insides, right? That’d… wow, that’d be so weird, right Spamton?”

Why was he getting a bad feeling all of a sudden? He put on that salesman smile, straining at the edges, even if Tenna couldn’t see it, “Yeah, hey, sorry about the maus tours idea earlier. Must’ve made your skin [CREEPY CRAWLIES].”

“Hah! It did!!” His neck gave a soft creak, as it often did when Tenna tipped his heavy head forward. “It does. I’d probably claw my chest open just to get them out.”

“So…” He uncoiled the wire from around his rib, “What uh… what are you getting at here, exactly?”

“I dunno, I… I guess it’s just…” His other hand settled over his chest, clutching where his internal processors pulsed within. “With you it feels… different. Comforting, almost.” Perspective shifted again, bringing Spamton forward to land on his hands and knees against his backbone, “You know, Mike’s been telling me for ages I ought to get one of those weighted blanket things? I wonder if it feels like this does.”

“I doubt it, eheheheh!” Spamton shut his mouth. His voice had a higher pitch there then he would’ve liked. Least now he had an easier time reaching the tangle at his hip. “Look, uh. I’m almost done. You should prolly get that shirt off so I can bust out of here soon, right?”

“Mmm…”

“... Uh.” That sinking feeling again. Spamton swallowed. “T-Tenna, you uh. You heard -”

“I mean.” Fabric shifted. The faint scraping of nails on metal skin. “There’s not that much of the show left. To film.”

“Tenna?”

“Just a bit longer. Please.” The pulsing light seemed to shudder with the inhale/exhale Tenna took, shuddering along his ribs. “I don’t get to… feel nice like this. Feel fulfilled. Full. ” Another breath, and Spamton was moved to the bottom of his chest, just above his hips, “Just a while longer, then I’ll let you out. Pinky Promise.”

Spamton’s smile felt strained, “Tenna. Hey.” He let go of the wire, where it joined its siblings, loosened up to hang in a free tangle. “Hey hey hey, it’s. It’s fixed now! So you can let me out, right buddy?” He sat up on his knees, staring up at where the doorway sat. Waiting. Waiting for light to peek through the tight seams again. It didn’t budge. The chest rose and shrank with another deep, content breath. “Hey. Anthony? We didn’t agree on this pal. Cmon.”

His arguments seemed to fall on deaf ears. Or if Tenna did hear him, the guy was flat out ignoring him. While Tenna’s breathing softened, Spamton’s began to increase. He got to his feet, fumbling with another button on his shirt. Hairs were coming out of place on his slicked back ‘do and he ran his fingers through his hair. “ Okay, it’s… it’s fine! ” Spamton took another breath, his voice at a whisper, “ It’s fine. He needs you. He’s not gonna keep you here. He promised. ”

Except… that would be a pretty good way to keep his biggest trump card close, wouldn’t it? Darkners didn’t need to eat or drink. They didn’t need air. He could keep him here forever if he really wanted to.

Spamton smacked the side of his head. The hell was he on about??? Tenna wouldn’t do that to him. The guy didn’t have the guts! Literally. Spamton knew that better than anyone now. Tenna was being weird and clingy right now, but that’s probably because he’d been hurting for a week. He was tender like that. Soft. Weak. Once the lights were off and the guests had gone home, he’d come back to his senses and let him out, where they could get right back to never talking about this again.

All fine, good, logical points for a business guy like Spamton to consider. Except something was wrong. Everything was wrong. He wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t trapped (for long.) Tenna wouldn’t hurt him. He had to believe he wouldn’t hurt him on purpose - no, dammit. The guy didn’t have it in him. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. It feels like a hand has grabbed a hold of his chest and squeezed. Air he doesn’t need forced in through quick wheezes. Legs turning shaky, weak in a way he’d hate anyone to see. The air felt scalding against his fabric skin. Something was wrong. With him.

“Mr. Tenna?” A Pippins, from the sound of it, poking their head into his dressing room. “We’re back on in five! Get ready!!”

“Ah, coming, coming!” Spamton felt gravity shove him back down as Tenna moved. “Be right there!” A few buttons clicked over his midsection, patting it with another thump, and he started to walk briskly back towards the stage.

You’re acting like a fledgling. Deep breath, moron. Calm the fuck down.


The walls. The walls were closing in. Tenna was shrinking again, and the space went from being a little cramp to tightening around Spamton like a vice. Of course - Tenna had to be small enough that the camera could see every inch of him. But Spamton lacked that ability to change. He was just small. And was quickly becoming not small enough as wires and circuit boards pressed into his body. He twisted his arm, smacking it against his chest panel. “Tenna, Tenna, Tenna, you. Let me out. Let me out let me-“ 

The roar of the audience echoed. His own voice turned to a whisper by comparison. Nobody could hear him. Nobody could see him. And the only one who felt him was all smiles and cheer as he stepped back on stage, readying himself for the cameras to start rolling again. Wonder if it looked like anything was wrong on the outside, or if Spamton didn’t even make a dent on his frame. Too small to count in any way that mattered. 

Every breath is becoming a panicked wheeze. He’s being boiled alive. He’s getting crushed. He bangs until it’s too tight to move his arm anymore. Tenna wouldn’t hurt him on purpose. Just put up with it, keep in his good graces. You’re not a pussy. His brain is spiraling in on itself. Someone is counting down outside. How much longer? How long would he need to wait? Time goes in slow motion. Tenna is saying something and he can’t. He can’t hear anything but the roaring. The ringing. The quick pulsing flashes of a hot heart by his face. Ribs turned cage closing tighter and tighter around him.

Someone yells for ‘action’ and Spamton turns his head and bites down hard on the first thing he can get his mouth on. 

“And welcome back to - SON OF A &@$&$@$ €£%#!!!!!”

The audience dies out. The contestants are staring. Sweat drips from Tenna’s screen. There’s something clawing at his insides. His antenna shoot straight up as his screen blanks out, and he runs offstage without another peep. Confusion be damned, guests be damned. He finds a corner of the backstage to tuck into and pulls his shirt open, “Spamton, Spamton, stop- FUCK! - are you biting me?! Cut that-“ He reaches for the panel and gasps as he bangs against the inside, a hand imprinting out against the metal. He wrenches it open and Spamton comes bursting out of him - wild eyes and gasping for air, yanking and untangling himself from Tenna’s innards.

The big guy bucks and jolts as his cords are torn at and pulled, left to hang from his cavity as Spamton tumbles to the floor and kneels. He’s hyperventilating, wide eyes staring at the floor. Focused entirely on nothing. Tenna’s legs are still shaking from the onslaught, scooping his cords up to shove into himself, “S-Spamton?” He’s never seen him act like this. Somehow paler then normal, his body shaking, soot still clinging around his mouth where he shorted one of his wires between his teeth. He’d finish fixing himself up later - pushing his innards only enough to shut the door, gritting his teeth through the discomfort to crouch to Spamton’s level. “Spamton, I-“

Spamton’s head snapped over, recoiling from the other man. Wide eyed, panting, tense from his arms to the trembling legs he couldn’t seem to move. He got enough air in to lower his brows. Something cold and hurt and furious swarmed in that panicked look in his eyes. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” He said, jabbing a shaking finger at Tenna

Tenna shrank three feet in an instant, his brows flying high, antennae draping over the back of his head. “I-I’m sorry- I didn’t- “

“Shut up.” His hand whipped out and grabbed the front of his jacket, “Don’t do that ever again, Anthony.” 

He shivered. “I-I-I…” He swallowed something that tasted like tar. “I won’t. I won’t. It’s… I’m sorry-“ 

“…” Spamton seemed to come back to himself. At least a little bit. Blinking hard, his body still shaking as he yanked himself upright, like a puppet getting his stings yanked on. He turned, running his hands back through his hair, taking one steadying breath, then another, his back to Tenna. “It’s fine.” He said after a minute. He flashed a businessman’s grin at his partner, “Go finish the fucking broadcast, okay?” 

“S-Spamton, you-“ 

The smaller man turned on his heel and stumbled down the hall towards the green room. A gaggle of shadowguys blocked the way before Tenna could stagger after him. A few pippins scattered around their feet, some carrying repair toolkits in their bag, tutting over Tenna. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d been smoking during that talk, and when the pain did hit, it crashed into him like a wave. Swallowing him whole. 

…..

The audience was sent home, they told him later. Rest of the filming was cancelled. It was regrettable, but the game shows could always be rescheduled. This time they’d be able to vet their contestants ahead of time. 

The full feeling in his cavity had been replaced with a sickly, crawling one - both from the dozens of Pippins who assisted with plugging him back together, and the guilt that was gnawing at him. He’d fucked up. He knew it from that moment in the dressing room. He wasn’t stupid - not like some of his crew believed. He could tell when an actor stopped acting. 

And he’d done it anyway. Why? Spamton was his partner, his friend , and he’d made him experience a level of fear reserved for cornered prey. And for what? So he could ‘feel better’? What good was that if it had made one of the few guys he really cared about feel like he was gonna die? What was wrong with him?

When he was finally left alone, he made a beeline for the green room. He badly needed a stiff drink and a carton - no - two cartons before the crawl back to his dressing room to sob his screen out. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one. 

“Tennnnaaaaaaa, buddyyyyyy!” Spamton had created a shot glass pyramid, almost knocking it over as he leaned his cheek on the counter, a brilliant grin on his flushed face, “How’d it go?? You go virus yet?” 

“V-viral…” Tenna rubbed his upper arm, close enough in height as he sat down that he could look his partner in the eye, “I don’t know if they caught it on camera. Crowd will probably talk.” He bit his lip, tapping his finger on the counter, “We’re gonna reshoot next week.” 

“Sos much for thirst- [THIRTY MINUTES OR LESS].” He took up his shot glass in a toast, knocking it back, then slumping so his face landed firmly on the counter. 

Tenna frowned, leaning over to Ramb as he fixed up his usual cosmo, “Ramb, how many did you give him??” 

“About seven before I swapped to cyber cola. I don’t think he noticed.” Ramb raised a brow, “Rough shoot today? Thought he wasn’t on anythin’.” 

“That’s. None of your business.” 

“Hm. Fair enough.” He poured the swirling cocktail into a glass and pushed it over on a napkin, “Best not let him drive anywhere. Stuff he went for’s like Napalm.”

“I’m fuckin’ fiiiiiiiine, we’re good!” Spamton brought his head up, his bangs pressed back, loose bits sticking out of his usual slicked pomp. “Those things? So smooth, they can driiiiive themselves if you wanna them to. Long as you got the key!” He patted his pocket. “The key that… right here… fuck did my jacket go…?” 

An image briefly flashed on Tenna’s screen - a small, red jacket slung over the back of his dressing chair - which he turned away from Spamton. He took a quick sip of his cocktail, sucked in a breath, and turned back to Spamton, “Listen, about earlier-“ 

“What ‘bout it?” Spamton slurred. 

“I’m just- I don’t know what I was thinking, and I’m - it won’t happen again, so… so we can just forget about it.” He gripped the stem of his glass. “You can forget I did anything.”

Spamton snorted and leaned into the counter, smacking it with his palm, then turning his head to look at Tenna. “Hey, if we’re lucky…” he toasted with his empty shot. “Won’t remember a thing come mornin.” 

Ah. That explained it. Tenna’s shoulders sank, “I-I really am sor-“

“I don’t need your pity.” It came out straighter then his other dialogue, his expression still in that drunken feel good flush that didn’t match with the warning tone of his voice. “It was a mistake. And it won’t happen again.” 

“R-right… it…” Tenna caught a glimpse of Spamton’s eye, staring intently at his screen, and he nodded his head, taking another swig of cosmo. “It won’t happen again.” 

“There we gooo!” His small hand clapped Tenna on the back, all chipper smiles again, “Hey Ramb!! Shots for my guy here, huh? Let’s [FORGEDDABOUTIT] together, am I right??” 

Perhaps it was better that way. He didn’t know how much alcohol it would take to blitz the image of Spamton’s terrified face out of his brain, but he was willing to try, hangover be damned. Tapping on the counter for another two shots of regret, turning back to Spamton, “I’m s-… thanks. For understanding.”

“Hey, don’t mention it, pal!” He clapped him on the back, then lowered his voice, “Seriously, don’t. I might just [DIE].”