Chapter Text
Spamton’s been quieter today.
Of course, he’s loudest when the cameras are rolling, putting on a show for the audience- less so once the lights turn off and the curtain closes- but he’s not quiet by any means.
Even when Tenna’s busy with his own itinerary, he’ll still hear Spamton throughout the day, interacting with the crew in that way of his; laughing loudly, or chatting with that not quite stilted smile, more genuine than the disarming grin he gives to the camera. Tenna thinks it’s charming either way; he just likes to see him smile.
But today he hasn’t heard him at all. He’s seen him, yes; earlier, sitting at Ramb’s booth in the greenroom as Tenna was passing through and couldn’t stop to talk, and now, as he spots him backstage, waiting in the wings just off of stage right. He’s looking out to the stage, back to Tenna.
Some pippins mull around nearby, finishing up the sound check. One clips a microphone to Spamton’s lapel before scampering off. Spamton is going on in a few minutes for a quick pre-show ad spot, before Tenna goes to host his show. He’s been doing more roles on the stage recently, as opposed to backstage work. So far, he’s been doing really well! Tenna’s proud of him.
When Tenna comes up behind him, Spamton is adjusting his cuffs nervously, waiting for his cue to enter the stage. His shoulders are slouched slightly, and his foot taps out an unsteady rhythm. He glances over as he hears Tenna approach.
“Spamton! There’s my star mailman! I’ve barely seen you at all today, how are you??”
Spamton’s eyes crinkle as he smiles up at Tenna. “Hey, Ant.”
He glances back out onto the stage, fidgeting hands now tapping at his crossed arms.
Tenna falters. Spamton’s always antsy, but he seems more distracted than usual.
“Is everything okay?”
Spamton stands up straighter. “Oh, yeah.” He casually waves a hand. “Just... didn’t get enough sleep last night, or something. Don’t worry about it.”
Tenna’s brow furrows. “Oh! Make sure you get some rest soon, okay?”
Spamton rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, I will, no need to fuss.”
The lights on the stage change, casting both of them in a warm glow.
“That’s my cue. See ya after the show, Tenna.”
“You got this!” Tenna calls to his back. Spamton sends him a wink over his shoulder.
As the stagehands bustle around Tenna, doing last minute checks for the next segment, Tenna observes Spamton. As he performs on the stage, he’s as excellent as ever. All the restlessness when speaking with Tenna is gone, replaced with perfect posture and diction. But... there’s a few moments where he hesitates just a half second too long.
Tenna turns for a moment as a pippins on a stepladder holds up a suit jacket for him to change into. He sticks his arms through the sleeves and pulls at the hems to adjust the fit, then smooths down the lapels, gaze still on Spamton.
He’s turning to present some products, lined up next to him on a pedestal- when he stumbles. Tenna almost doesn’t catch it; Spamton makes it look like he meant to lean on the pedestal, and anyone watching likely wouldn’t see it from the camera’s viewpoint. But Tenna does.
He’s immediately alert. He knew something was off. What’s wrong? Why didn’t Spamton tell him something was wrong? Or is it Tenna’s fault for not noticing, for not pressing harder?
Before he can do anything about it, the ad spot is over, and Spamton leaves the stage without any other issues. This is Tenna’s cue; he enters the stage as Spamton exits the opposite side. He won’t be able to check in with him between segments. But! It’s all good, he can see him after the show is over.
To Tenna’s credit, he doesn’t slip up at all during his performance, even though he keeps getting distracted thinking about Spamton. He tries to push those thoughts to the side and focus on TV!! A good host leaves their worries behind once they’re in front of the camera. Gotta put on a good show! Sure enough, he’s soon able to get back into the rhythm. The warmth of the spotlight is revitalizing, and he gets immersed in the performance.
He’s sure Spamton is fine. It’s like he said, he was just tired. There’s no need to worry.
The show goes off without a hitch, and after another successful episode dazzling the audience, the curtains close and the spotlights dim. Scattered actors and stagehands cross the stage, moving set pieces and prepping the stage for future segments.
“Wonderful work, everybody!” Tenna announces to the those gathered. “Another great show, as always!”
He’s just exited the stage when a pippins runs up to get his attention.
“Mr. Tenna, sir! Could you come to the greenroom, please? It’s about the mail guy.”
The warm buzz of a job well done is immediately replaced with a cold feeling of dread in Tenna’s chest.
“What?? What happened?” He’s already speedwalking down the hall, worst case scenarios running through his head. A few darkners jump out of his way as he passes.
The pippins runs to keep up. “Well, he kind of, uh, passed out in the hallway.”
“He what?!”
At Tenna’s expression, they hastily ameliorate, “He’s okay now!! He was just asking for you-”
Tenna reaches the greenroom in record time, shoving the doors open so hard they bounce against the wall. His gaze darts across the room frantically. It isn’t busy right now. He can see Ramb at the bar, who in turn is watching-
There he is. In one of the couches, Spamton sits, one arm braced on the armrest, the other cradling his head. A shadowguy stands near him, holding a half-full glass of water. They let out a short arpeggio when they see Tenna.
“Spamton!” He rushes over, kneeling by Spamton’s side. “Are you alright???”
It takes Spamton longer to notice him than it should have, considering his overt disregard of the man’s personal space- and the fact that he’s the largest person in the studio.
He looks up at Tenna and blinks slowly, rubbing at his eye with one hand. “Ten...? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be doin’ your show?” He looks even paler than usual, except for a warm flush to his cheeks, and some wisps of hair have escaped their normally neat coif.
A feeling of unease roils in Tenna’s chassis. “Spamton, the- the show’s over. I just finished.”
Spamton makes a noncommittal noise.
“You were asking for me?” Tenna offers.
He blinks. “Was I?”
Tenna knows Spamton is very particular about touch, which is why it’s even more concerning that placing his hand on Spamton’s forehead yields no response, except for him closing his eyes. In another circumstance, Tenna might find joy in the fact that Spamton takes some comfort in his touch, but right now raw worry overrides anything else.
“Spamton, you’re burning up!”
“I am feelin’ a bit warm, yeah,” he says distantly.
Tenna fears he won’t get any answers from him. “What happened?” He asks the smattering of assembled darkners. The pippins has caught up and is leaning against the bar, panting.
The shadowguy explains in a descending glissando how the two of them had been out in the hall after the ad spot when they noticed Spamton acting oddly.
“Uh huh,” the pippins adds, pushing themself up onto a stool. “He just sort of leaned against the wall, and then he was sitting on the floor.”
“He seemed right out of it when they brought him in here,” Ramb offers from where’s he’s been observing the whole time. “Still does,” he adds sympathetically.
Tenna moves his hand to rest on Spamton’s shoulder. “Okay. Spamton, you’re going to go rest. I’m canceling all your work for the rest of the day.”
“You’re the boss.” Is his subdued response. Uncharacteristically, he doesn’t protest. However, he makes no move to get up, and his eyes are still closed.
Well, he can’t rest here. “Do you- do you need me to carry you to your room?” He doesn’t know if Spamton could even walk there at this rate.
His head jerks up, more alert now. “Nah, nah, I’m fine, I’ll make it.” He moves Tenna’s hand away and pushes against his legs to stand. To his credit, he barely wobbles. However, Tenna can’t help but doubt his abilities at the moment.
“Well, let me walk you there at least.”
As they walk, Tenna offers a nod of thanks to the assembled darkners.
“Feel better, mate,” Ramb says.
Spamton maybe mumbles a response. Tenna is practically hovering over him as they exit the greenroom, hand at his shoulder in case he were to fall.
Once they are out of eyeshot of the greenroom, he feels a hand tug on his sleeve. Spamton has stopped walking.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?” Tenna repeats.
“You can carry me now,” Spamton elaborates. He’s looking down at the floor.
Oh. Of course Spamton wouldn’t want to be carried out of the room in front of people. It’s good that there weren’t many folks in the greenroom, nor any out in the hall currently. He knows, if Spamton were more lucid, he’d absolutely hate people seeing him like this, even if they were only trying to help.
“Oh! Are you sure? Is that okay? I mean. Of course I’ll carry you! I’m not saying that I don’t want to, I’d love to- uh, I mean, only if it’s okay with you.” He really would like to. He just doesn’t want to be too overbearing and scare Spamton away, or have him change his mind, or... something.
Spamton is looking up at him now. He doesn’t say anything, just squints at Tenna’s screen.
“Uh, let me just-” He crouches to gently scoop Spamton into his arms. The man immediately wraps one arm over his shoulder, the other grasping Tenna’s lapel. His head sinks to rest on Tenna’s chest.
As he begins to walk again, Tenna is suddenly struck by just how warm Spamton is. He felt it before, but... Usually Spamton runs cool, especially contrasted to Tenna, who is practically a hot plate, especially when he’s active and working.
“Spammy, why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?”
Soft hair tickles his face as Tenna tilts his head down slightly, and he catches Spamton’s frown. His eyes are closed.
“Didn’t know,” he responds. “Thought I... dunno.”
Tenna is about to press, but he feels a little bad with how miserable Spamton looks.
“Here we are,” he says instead. They’ve made it to Spamton’s room.
Tenna enters, careful to duck them both through the doorway. It’s dim, the only illumination from the star-shaped lights strung near the ceiling.
The room is not very large- it’s tall enough for Tenna, but they all are- they’re generally supposed to be for temporary contestants, and he’s been meaning to get Spamton a more permanent room in the studio for when he’s not in Cyber City, since he’s been working here more. Still, it has a bed, a dresser and closet and a small attached washroom. And, because Spamton’s been using it as a pseudo office space, there’s a small chair and desk with his phone.
He lowers Spamton to sit on the bed, and kneels down to slip off the man’s shoes. Tenna is secretly delighted to see he’s wearing socks he got for him, soft and patterned with little stars.
Spamton has enough presence of mind to take off his suit jacket, which unceremoniously ends up on the floor. He immediately slumps over to curl on his side, arms wrapped around himself and legs pulled up onto the bed.
“Oh,” Tenna says, picking up the jacket to hang up. “Do you want me to get you more comfortable clothes?” He’s still in his dress shirt.
“M’fine. Thanks, Ant.”
He’s shivering now, so Tenna pulls the blanket up over his shoulders. Spamton snags it and pulls it close to his face.
He considers for a moment as he hangs up the jacket. Spamton should be fine after getting enough rest. He probably doesn’t need Tenna here, but he can’t help but worry. Someone should be here to keep an eye on him, and while he could technically make one of his employees check on him, that doesn’t sit right with Tenna. He doesn’t want to send someone random into Spamton’s room without his permission anyway.
Besides, he doesn’t actually know what Spamton is sick with. Though darkners and lightners differ in their physiology, some aspects are similar. From what he’s gathered in passing from Cyber World darkners such as Spamton, Ramb and others when they’ve visited, certain folks can be more susceptible to viruses that might not affect Tenna or other TV Worlders as much. Regardless, he doesn’t want Spamton to be alone if he’s feeling so off, or if he might need help.
Sometimes, in the Dreemurr household, one of the kids would get sick. He remembers times when little Kris or Asriel would stay home from school, curled up on the couch to watch him. So, if he could help them during a sick day, maybe just being in the room with Spamton could help him feel better! TV always helps! Besides, even if he can’t make his fever go away, sometimes it can be nice to just have someone with you.
Although, Tenna could at least do some work at the same time. It’s not like he could just- sit and watch Spamton for hours while he slept, right...? That would be weird.
Mind made up, he pauses at the door. “Spamton, I’m going to leave for a minute, but I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Mhm.” He’s already half asleep. Tenna’s not sure he even heard what he’d said.
Tenna briskly walks down the hallway to his own office. He puts a hand up to his antenna. “Mike, cancel all my appointments for today. Spamton’s, as well.” He’s done on stage for today anyway.
He trusts that Mike and his employees can run the place for a while. The weather are on soon- they’ll do just fine.
After fetching some paperwork from his office, he also stops by the little medical closet they have in the studio, which has revivemints and other healing items in case of an accident or emergency.
They don’t often need to use medicine, but there are some various materials for TV and VCR maintenance, as well as antivirus medication and similar items brought over from Cyber World. While he could also just grab food, he doesn’t know if Spamton will have the appetite for it. He manages to find a painkiller that should work, before heading back.
When he returns, Spamton is dead to the world. He’s in the same position Tenna left him in, and doesn’t respond to the click of the door opening.
Tenna is glad he’s able to get some rest, at least. The poor guy needs it.
After leaving the medicine and a cup of water on the bedside table, he takes a seat on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed to keep an ear on Spamton. Various papers are stacked in his lap.
The string lights cast a hazy glow at the edges of the room, but Tenna’s screen casts enough light for him to see.
He’s been workshopping new ideas for another board for the show. He’ll have to run them by Spamton once he feels better; he knows he likes drafting out the blueprints. He absently twirls his pen in his fingers.
For a while, the only sound that can be heard is the rustling of papers and scratching pen, the hum behind Tenna’s screen, and the whisper of fabric as he turns to check on Spamton, who has only moved once, to pull the blanket closer in his sleep.
Eventually, enough time has passed that Tenna has gotten up a few times to stretch the stiffness from his limbs, and to check on Spamton periodically. It’s maybe been a couple hours or so, enough time that he’s considering what else he can do to stave off tiredness. He’s just set the papers off to the side and settled back down on the floor when he feels another gaze on him.
He turns to see Spamton watching him with half-lidded eyes.
He tries to keep his volume low. “Oh, Spammy, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”
His only response is a slow, unfocused blink.
Tenna twists his body so he can lean on the bed and see him better, turning down the brightness of his screen so as not to startle him.
“Spamton...? Is everything alright?”
Spamton murmurs something so quiet he can barely hear it.
Tenna leans closer. “What was that? Sorry- do you need something? More water?”
“I’m sorry,” Spamton says softly. He’s looking at Tenna, but not at him. His gaze is directed at a point below his screen.
Tenna frowns. A cold unease is creeping through his wires. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Spam. W-why are you sorry?”
He doesn’t slur at all; despite the flush of fever on his cheeks, his voice is clear, and eerily calm. “It must be so cold... and... I couldn’t find your arms. I’m sorry. I looked.”
Tenna almost recoils. Something feels wrong. “Ha, ha- my arms are right here? Are- are... are you cold?” His voice falters.
Spamton curls further into himself. His hand has crept up to rub absently at his jaw, right at the hinge of the joint.
“I tried to stop it. This is my fault- I didn’t want any of this to happen to you.”
Tenna is sitting directly in front of Spamton now, and he puts his hand on his arm comfortingly- he can feel him trembling through the blanket.
Tenna’s voice trembles in turn. “Spamton, I- I’m here. I’m okay.” He doesn’t know how to snap Spamton out of whatever terrible nightmare he thinks he’s in. He rubs his arm gently, trying to convey to him that he’s safe.
He doesn’t seem to hear him. “I just wanted us to...”
His breath hitches once. His voice starts to crumble, and Tenna has to strain to hear him as he starts to drone lowly. It almost sounds like he’s repeating something. Tenna thinks he catches the phrase, ‘cleaved red’ as Spamton murmurs to himself. His gaze is distant, like Tenna isn’t even there.
He doesn’t know what to do.
“Spamton, I-” He rests his hand over Spamton’s smaller one, on his cheek.
Spamton blinks with a start. He’s stopped speaking, and there’s a slow, dragging moment, like it takes effort, but his gaze begins to refocus, until he’s looking at Tenna’s face. The tight pressure in Tenna’s chest eases, just slightly.
“Tenna?” Spamton sounds confused and... relieved. He moves his hand to grasp onto Tenna’s, who is caressing his hot forehead with his thumb.
“That’s me,” Tenna says weakly. He brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of Spamton’s face.
“Good. Good, that’s... good,” Spamton responds placidly.
Tenna takes a slow, deep breath. It shudders on the exhale. “Hey, let’s- let’s get you some medicine, okay?”
Tenna is able to prop Spamton to sit up for a moment so he can get some water and medicine in him. He’s unusually pliant as Tenna guides him to drink, before having him lay back down.
Tenna ends up with his head pillowed on his arms, half on the bed and half kneeling on the floor. He still keeps one hand on Spamton’s warm face, on his jaw; it seemed like it was bothering him, earlier. Spamton has his arms wrapped around Tenna’s, practically hugging him. He’s immediately conked out again, and Tenna can still feel faint tremors running through his body, even while he sleeps.
He can’t help but muse on Spamton’s words. He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly, but the words were very pointed. A strange bad dream? Maybe. But... something about it doesn’t sit right with Tenna. It sounds like he’s worried that something bad is going to happen to Tenna... and he blames himself for it? What sort of thing did his subconscious conjure that would make him think like that? And why??
Because- he knows Spamton. He does. He wouldn’t hurt Tenna. And he wouldn’t do something that would cause Tenna to... get hurt like that? He couldn’t if he tried.
And... the talk about his arms- it sounded like something out of a bad horror movie. It wasn’t even scary, it was more strange than anything, but- something about the way he said it is particularly disturbing to Tenna. Maybe he’s just reading into a fever dream too much, but he still feels strangely rattled after the whole thing.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, trying to connect pieces that he doesn’t have. He dozes off still mulling over the words.