Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Spamton had always been a con man; swindling others for his personal gain was the norm. It was his nature after all, that's what the lightners had created him for.

He didn't mean any ill-will; he was aware Kris was in a situation akin to his own. He was stuck at rock bottom, and all he needed was a little bit of [genorisity] to get back into business! Who could really blame him?

But he hoped that wouldn't be for long, that finally he'd be able to take back from the world that took everything from him. The ones that cast him aside as if he were nothing, the moment his sales began to drop.

But this. This was it, his golden ticket, his one-way trip to the sweet relief of freedom.

There was a slight tension building behind his static-filled glasses, an anxiety that wouldn't settle quite right in his stomach, worsening with the thumping beat in his chest. It only seemed to get louder, as it pounded in tandem to the rhythm of his silent courier's swift steps.

Would this really work? Could this really grant him his freedom? He wasn't sure of it, but as he was now, he had little to lose.

He couldn't make out much from his limited view, just muffled voices and muted colors peeking through. What was happening out there? Were they in the mansion? He had no way to tell.

He had confidence that Kris would deliver on their end of the deal; no one in their right mind would turn down a Spamton G Spamton ™ [specil] certified deal!

They were just as desperate, just as hopeless… They would help him… they just had to!

Just as the spiral of affirmations in Spamton's mind had begun to wane, Kris's steps came to a halt.

The anticipation stirring in his nerves flared up. He couldn't wait... He was so close… So very close to his dream… to the wish that he had made out of pure desperation, to flee from the fate that the angel had so cruelly imposed upon him. He would crawl his way out of this dark abyss to reach those shining gates at any cost, to personally give that damned Angel the finger himself.

Kris summoned the disk from their inventory, carefully holding it in their grip. They stood on their tiptoes and reached up, inserting the loaded disk into its rightful spot. They retreated a few steps back, eyes fixed on the stagnant figure, waiting for a sign of life.

A suffocating stillness filled the room. They held their breath as they waited for movement—any movement—but the body slumped before them only offered nothing but cold, dead silence.

They tapped the mechanism.

…

Nothing..

They shook it.

…

Nothing happened...

They hit it hard, the impact leaving a shooting pain in their knuckles as it clanged against the metal covering of their glove.

…

Not even a shudder in response…

They stepped back, winding themselves up—before delivering a hard, desperate kick, hearing the loud hollow reverberation of metal clanking and sparking against their armor.

…

Nothing… Nothing at all.

They finally withdrew and looked down in defeat, a genuine look of disbelief plastered on their face. Faced with no other options, Kris began to saunter off towards the room's exit.

They stopped before turning the corner, giving the broken down body one last look, having their suspicions wordlessly answered.

They trekked their way back to the first floor of the mansion, leaving their wasted efforts behind.

…

At the moment the disk was inserted, Spamton felt his senses suddenly overwhelmed. He felt a sharp, searing pain all over, like his nerves were being lit on fire, like someone was forcefully ripping out his spine and pulling it through his mouth.

He couldn't think straight, couldn't make sense of the noise billowing through his pounding head.

As soon as the pain had started, it began to slowly subside, easing out into a numb tingling.

Just then, a light began to peek through the small cracks in his vision. It intensified, quickly assaulting his eyes.

The light was blinding. It was overwhelming… It was… It was… beautiful…

Was he seeing Heaven? Oh, he certainly hoped he was. Were his prayers to the Angel finally being answered?

Everything felt as if it was melting away; he couldn't tell where he was anymore, or even who he was anymore.

His attempts at speech fell on deaf ears, lost in the overwhelming silence of his surroundings.

…

…

…

He couldn't tell how long it was before his other senses finally returned to him; the first thing he heard was a voice clearing through the heavy silence, calling out to him.

-"…M…Spamton." A far-off voice resounded from above him.

Huh? It was a woman's voice, but unlike any he knew.

"…Mr. Spamton… You need to get up!" The woman's voice called out again with more clarity.

In that moment, he was finally able to open his bleary eyes, the light slowly dispersing around the unfamiliar small room he had found himself in. The sudden flood of information piling in all at once disoriented him, exacerbating the pain in his head.

He was in… a closet? There was a low sound in the air; it was the hum of the old electronics that filled the dusty shelves. Cobwebs lined the closet walls, with tacky dust and lint clinging to every surface.

No more were the familiar neons that saturated the shops and stalls in Cyber city, but only the pale colors of the room beyond the closet's confines.

Once he got a better look at his surroundings, he turned his attention to the silhouette that loomed above him. She was a woman of short stature, hunched over, gripping a cane to keep her footing steady. Her hair was curly, the color long since faded and grayed by old age. Her light green skin was covered in scales, and her back was enveloped with a matching bright green shell.

"For shame, Mr. Spamton! I've heard word of your recklessness before, but falling asleep in such a place!" She said his name- how did she know his name? And his recklessness? What would some stranger like her know?

He wasn't about to let some crazed old woman tell him off. A retort formed on his tongue, but as he spoke, his voice failed. The words died in a pathetic, gravelly wheeze that sharpened into a painful cough. He crumpled in on himself, knees pulled to his chest, as shallow, ragged sounds got caught in his throat.

The old woman's face shifted to an expression of worry as she slowly bent down to his eye level, setting her shaking hand on his shoulder. "Now, now, Mr. Spamton, I don't know why you're here so late… But you must have your reasons." She said with a softer voice, concern laced in her tone.

His heart felt like it was beating a million miles a minute, the thumping resounding in his head. He couldn't speak—why couldn't he speak?! He tried to enunciate slowly, but the words came out hoarse and unintelligible, barely above a whisper. Tears started to well in his eyes as the pain traveled further upward. He brought his hands to his throat, hoping to gain some sort of leverage, but his panic only spiraled as he began to choke, the rasping sounds grating against his raw throat like sandpaper.

He was scared; he didn't understand why this was happening. This body was supposed to serve him, not work against him! He started to feel light-headed as the ambient noise turned into head-splitting static, his vision clouding over as his tears finally began to spill.

"Oh dear, everything's going to be alright. You just need to calm down and breathe. Can you do that?" She said with a soft, hushed tone as she gently soothed his shoulder.

Breathe, right, he needed to breathe… Was he not doing that this whole time?

With his puppet body, he didn't breathe; the need for it was long since gone. This was different; he was in a new body, a body that was seemingly similar to his original.

Easing the constricting of his hands around his windpipe, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out, the tension in his chest slowly subsiding. He focused his thoughts, concentrating until the pain became nothing more than a dull nagging ache.

It took a moment before he finally got his bearings, and his hyperventilating eased down to slower, more even breaths. He looked back up to face the older woman in front of him, her hand still softly rubbing his shoulder.

All at once, his thoughts raced back—the reality of how pathetic he probably looked right now dawning on him, as he quickly wiped away his tears.

"Now, Mr. Spamton, could you tell me what you need to be at the library for at this hour?" She asked gently, her soothing coming to a gradual halt.

"I-I DON'T..I-" He winced after he spoke, suddenly being made aware of the lingering pain in his throat; it felt like it was on fire.

"I-I don't.. I just- ha.. woke up h-here." He strained out, lower this time, his throat catching at every word.

"Well, you got in there somehow. You don't suppose you might've gotten carried away with drinking again?" She patted him, letting out a chuckle. "Now I won't call the police on ya, dear, but I better not be catching you up to no good again." She said, slowly lifting back up, using her cane for stability.

As she rose, Spamton got a better look. He noticed a name tag on her shirt reading: 'Ms. Boom'. It was strange- she didn't ring any bells in his head, not by her name or appearance. Maybe she knew about him from his glory days? No, that couldn't be right.

Where was here anyways? She had mentioned a library, but that couldn't be right- he was just in Queen's mansion!

Was he kidnapped? Did the swatchlings find him? Did that little sponge go back on their word to help him-

Kris.

It was then that it clicked in his mind, his memories snapping back to him.

The Neo body…

…Heaven.

Was this the Light World? He couldn't think of any other rational explanation for his whereabouts.

If it was, he had to confirm it; he needed to know if his prayers amounted to anything.

"Well, I can't have you staying here all night, you know we close early on Saturdays for service." She said sternly, slowly turning around and motioning to the double doors with her cane.

Spamton wobbly stood to his feet and exited the closet, accidentally hitting his head on the frame, his large wings catching abruptly on the way out, sending him stumbling forward. He caught himself up against the wall, bracing his outstretched arm on it for support.

The room looked so small in the new perspective he now stood from, towering high enough that his head was only a foot away from the ceiling.

Ms. Boom brought her grip to his arm, giving him whatever little support she could. He flinched at the touch initially, wanting to decline it, but his unsteady footing said otherwise. "It's alright, dear, I'll walk you out."

He shakily made his way through the unfamiliar library, tracking his hand along the roof and walls to keep steady, guided by a strange yet kind older woman.

Finally reaching the exit door, she let go of his arm. She retreated behind the reception desk, grabbing a set of keys. "Oh, you're free to head on home, Mr. Spamton. I'll let this little incident go. Just don't get yourself in a stupor like that again, y'hear?" She said as she let out a chuckle, shaking her head in humored disbelief.

"Y-YOU BET HAHEHA, I'LL UH…DO B-BETTER NEXT T-TIME." He let out in a slightly hoarse, but clear enough, voice. In actuality, he wasn't sure how to respond to that. He definitely wasn't drunk, he knew that, but what other excuse could he give that would make sense to a lightner? He just decided to play into it. She was probably crazy anyway, given she kept acting as if she knew him—so where was the harm in it?

Opening the door, an amber glow began to fill his vision. It was bright- beautifully bright. The soft warmth emitting from it was comforting, as if it were blanketing him. He knew of the sun before and had seen it in photos on the internet, but seeing it in person truly was a different marvel in itself.

Did the lightners really wake up to this every day? The more he witnessed of their blessed reality, the deeper his envy began to cut.

He fully stepped through, bending slightly, being mindful of his wings. Ms. Boom stepped out after, locking the entry door behind him.

"Well now, you'd better get home safe, son. Those letters aren't gonna be delivering themselves!" That sentence confused him even more: Letters? Sure, he was a spam email, but she couldn't possibly know about that. She must be going senile.

She flashed him a warm smile, waving her hand as she slowly turned the corner. Against his better judgment, he lightly waved back, mirroring her with a strained, awkward grin.

After they said their goodbyes, he stood in place, dumbstruck, in awe and utter bafflement at the world unfolding before his eyes.

Spamton looked back to the sky above, into the radiant light that shone down, the light that was once denied from his view.

Heaven truly was more beautiful than he thought it would be. Now that he had been witness to it, he never wanted it out of his sight again. It was so… hypnotizing, in a way that made him feel like he wanted to set his eyes on that dazzling light forever…

…

That was until his eyes started watering, and it began to burn, really, REALLY bad.

He quickly turned away and brought his hands to his eyes, covering them and crumpling into himself.

"A-AUGH! I-IT BURNS, IT BURNS?? W-WHAT THE FUCK?!" His eyes started to well up with tears for the second time today; he prayed that no one was around, hoping to save himself from the embarrassment.

As he yelled out curses towards the sun, giving it the finger in self-inflicted anger, he began to realize something: his speech was no longer interrupted by advertisements anymore. It still had a bit of a rasp to it, but it lacked the staticky undertone it once possessed. It was clear enough that it almost resembled his original voice, minus a newfound stutter.

He wondered what else had changed about him. He was part of the Neo body now, but how exactly did it adjust to his code? How did it change now that he was in the Light World?

He needed to know, but he wouldn't get answers just standing around.

He made his way through town, passing by unfamiliar locals. He avoided their gazes, trying not to draw attention; he couldn't imagine navigating a conversation at a confusing time like this.

Trudging on, he felt a twinge of pain forming in his middle, but he pushed it aside. He needed answers now before anything else.

He came to a stop, caught by something in the corner of his eye; It was his own reflection in a window. He didn't spare a thought for whatever lay on the other side as he approached it.

He stared. This wasn't the Neo body; it couldn't be. It looked too real—nothing like the metal husk he remembered. He brought a hand to his face, his fingertips sinking naturally into his cheek. Soft. Real. No cold hollow plastic, not even the fuzz of static, or the rubbery give of an addison's skin. Just… flesh and warmth.

He didn't know what to expect from Neo, but it certainly wasn't this!

He didn't want to fully acknowledge it. He was terrified that the moment he did, the dream would shatter, and he’d wake up back in Cyber City—bottomed out in the belly of a filth-ridden dumpster.

But he knew- he knew that the body worked, far better than he could ever have envisioned! He became far more substantial than any ol' useless spam email, much more than any typical darkner...

There was no denying it; even if it was all a dream, Spamton G. Spamton had well and truly become a lightner.

As the realization struck, a feeling of unbridled elation washed over him. The years of unease under the thumb of his puppet master had done a number on him, but now, that didn't matter anymore; finally, he was free! Oh, he was so happy he could cry. He might have, if he weren't in public—but he wasn't about to do that for the third time that day.

He was ready to start celebrating—to pull out all the stops and get completely wasted—but a sudden tapping on his arm halted his train of thought.

He swung around, confused by the empty air in front of him, before remembering his newfound height. Looking down, he came face to face with two lightners—their faces were startlingly familiar.

It was Rudy and Asgore. They looked up at him, both sporting warm smiles on their faces.

"Hey there, big guy! What's got you standing out here?" Rudy asked curiously. "Y'know, if you got a hot date in there or something that you're trying to surprise, you're really not being subtle about it, not with your shadow taking up the window, haha!" He joked, jabbing at Spamton's arm as far up as Rudy could reach.

There was an air of awkward silence as Spamton stared down at the two, trying to process the situation. Why was Rudy being so friendly to him?

"Hey Spam, you alright? You're looking a bit out of it there." Asgore chimed in, moving in a bit closer with a slight worry to his smile.

Spam.. he said his name- well, half of it- but his name nonetheless. The old lady was strange enough, but he could just chalk it up to her just somehow figuring out his name… maybe he said it in his sleep?

But Asgore- he knew Asgore. How could he not? He was once one of TV Time's most dedicated viewers; he and… That CRT… wrote shows together specifically for Asgore all the time! And Rudy too; while not being an everyday viewer, he would come over every weekend or so back in the day to share a drink with Asgore, as they sat back and tuned into TV Time.

"I-I-IT'S JUST.. WELL.. I JUST W-WOKE UP Y-YOU SEE!" He said awkwardly, trying to come up with an excuse. "W-WASN'T THE B-B-BEST SLEEP I TELL YA! R-REAL HEAD SPLITTER THAT D-DREAM WAS." That wasn't a complete lie; whatever painful nightmare he had woken up from in that closet was an experience he undoubtedly never wanted any part of again.

"Ah, so you just needed a bit of a pick-me-up then. Big guys gotta eat, I get it." Rudy said with the same joking tone as before, shrugging his shoulders. He was confused by his comment for a moment before looking up to see a sign above him that read: 'QC's DINER'.

He also wasn't used to being called 'big guy', not to mention being looked up to. It was such a small, but meaningful thing to him, having been used to mostly being the shortest person in a room at any given time, the nickname gave a small boost to his ego.

"AH- W-WELL YOU-YOU KNOW ME HAHAEHEHA!" He said, rubbing the back of his neck, easing the soft fluff of his feathers.

"Well, you know me and Asgore here were just getting dinner too. Eating hospital food every day really isn't as good as the doctors may tell ya, can't say what they're putting in that stuff, but it can't be good if I'm still having to be cooped up there!" He said, laughing at his own joke.

"Hey, how about you come eat with us? It's been a while since we got together; my treat." Rudy's offer was tempting, but Spamton dreaded having to act for the whole evening. He hadn't needed to bust out those rusted skills since he last was on TV Time's payroll. "Yeah, with the festival preparations coming up, we really haven't had much time to catch up." Asgore said.

As he was about to respond, he was interrupted by a low growl from his stomach. So that was the source of the earlier pain; he just hadn't given it any thought in the midst of the last half hour's chaos. Now that he was paying attention, he realized he was famished—the sound followed by a sharp, insistent sting in his abdomen.

Maybe this wasn't a bad idea; a free meal, and it'd been a while since he last was invited out. Besides that, they knew Spamton- or the supposed Spamton of this world. He could squeeze out some well-needed info from them.

"F-FOR FREE? T-THEN IT'S A DEAL! LET'S CATCH UP!"

…

Their outing was going surprisingly well. It started awkward at first, Spamton not knowing where or how to chime in, mostly Asgore and Rudy taking charge of the conversation, but after a while, he got invested, less of it being an act and more of a genuine back and forth.

"Alrighty then, hon, you ready to order? You've been looking over the menu for a while." The supposed QC herself asked, holding a notepad out in front of her. "Would you just like your usual? I'm surprised you're even looking through the menu when you always just end up getting the same thing." She asked, clicking her pen, already anticipating his answer.

"T-THE USUAL THEN."

Spamton wasn't really sure what he wanted. The menu was hard to read; the text was too small, Spamton admittedly wasn't very good at reading or writing in cursive, and having to squint his eyes so much to read was starting to strain them. He figured that if it was something 'he' usually got, then it surely couldn't be too bad, and if living in squalor for over a decade taught him anything, it was not to be picky when it came to food, even if he really didn't even need to eat back then.

She wrote down whatever mystery food he'd ordered, jotting down Rudy's and Asgore's as well, walking her way back to the counter.

He didn't care about what it was, so long as it made the pain in his stomach go away. He clutched one arm around his middle, realizing just how thin his waist was in this body. He couldn't see it well from the baggy button-up and jacket he had on, but he could feel his ribs heavily protruding, and the prominent dip of his stomach underneath them.

Whoever this 'Spamton' was before he came along didn't seem to take the best care of this body.

"Everything okay Spam? You got a bit quiet there." Asgore asked.

Seems he missed a chunk of their conversation. The pain was making it hard to focus, and the lingering smell of fresh coffee and fatty bacon wafting through the air certainly wasn't doing him any favors. The overwhelming mix of the scent and the pain was beginning to make him feel sick.

It was a different kind of hunger pang than he was used to in his old body; it felt real, it felt vivid—it felt like, for once, it would have consequences if left ignored.

"MM-IM F-IINE.. I JUST D-DON'T.. REMEMBER THE LAST T-TIME I ATE." He admitted, a bit too uncaring about the way it slipped out, enough for Rudy and Asgore both to share a twinge of concern on their faces.

"Well then, feel free to get whatever you need. It's still on the house." Rudy said with a wide smile. He was grateful for the gesture, but he felt that Rudy would later come to regret it.

Snapping back to the present, Qc finally came back around, bringing an assortment of dishes with her, way more than he remembered them ordering.

"Here you go, your usual, hon."

All of this was his usual!?

It seemed like a lot for just one person, but once he started thinking about it, the more it made sense. Spamton was now double the size of an average person; it would only make sense for him to eat double the portions.

He almost felt bad for Rudy, having to pay for all of this, but he did insist on it, and he's not one to turn down the [genorisity] of a free meal!

Having said their prayers to the Angel, the three of them dug in. Spamton finished with record-breaking speed, making quick work of his feast before Asgore and Rudy were even halfway through theirs. The sight baffled them; they sat with mouths agape, as if they were watching a car crash.

With that issue resolved, Spamton sighed in relief. The painful hollow ache that had been stirring in his guts was finally subsiding.

For a while, the three just made small talk, jumping from topic to topic, like the latest news in hometown to the upcoming festival, Asgore excitedly talking about his son returning home from college.

The topic shifted to that of their kid's after-school activities, Rudy led that topic, speaking fondly about his beloved daughter. He was the only one really adding to that conversation, given Spamton didn't have any kids- well, at least he prayed this world's version of him didn't- and Asgore was… 'involuntarily absent', as he best put it.

They talked about good times; warm, happy recollections that Spamton could only pretend to recall, but the clarity in their descriptions was enough to conjure a scene in his mind.

A part of him deep down ached at the thought, that he was never a part of those cherished memories, at least as he was now, just nothing more than a hollow imitation of the man they were mistaking him for.

Why was that thought working him up? He didn't understand- couldn't understand. They were nothing more than strangers to him, acquaintances at best. They were the other Spamton's friends, not his.

He should know better than to let some pathetic sentimentality cloud his judgment- his relationships had all failed him in the past. He didn't need some worthless thing like that dragging him down.

All he was here for was information, nothing more, nothing less. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand.

"S-S-SO.. C-COULD YOU REMIND ME HOW WE FIRST M-MET? HOW ABOUT A G-GOOOD OL' TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE." He said, trying to come off as casual as he could, hoping that they would fall for the bait.

"What! You holding out on us, big guy? You're not gonna tell us you forgot or something, right?" Rudy said, raising an eyebrow, sarcasm laced in his tone.

"O-O-OF COURSE I WOULDN'T F-FORGET! W-WHAT KIND OF NO GOOD B-BACK-STABBING F-FRIEND DO YOU TAKE ME FOR!? D-DON'T THINK I'D BE HERE NOW IF I DID R-RIGHT? HAEHEAHEHA!" Spamton really wasn't a good liar; he wasn't even sure why he was trying so hard to keep up this facade. Even if he was in someone else's body, he was still too arrogant to lose face in front of them.

"I-I'M JUST-… JU-UST NOT THE BEST AT E-EX-EXPLAINING THINGS YOU KNOW. IT W-WON'T SOUND R-RIGHT FROM ME." He said, a bit of truth slipping through. He always hated his inability to articulate his words right; it didn't lend well to a career in advertising that well, his headlines always coming off too forceful at times.

"Okay, fine, I'll humor you. My storytelling skills aren't anything frame-worthy, so don't you be expecting a sonnet." Rudy said, bringing his hand to his chin, rubbing it in contemplation.

"Well, it was during this time of the year, I remember we were still setting up for the festival." He said. Spamton set his hands on his lap, leaning a bit further over the table, giving his full attention. "Ten years go by fast, don't they? Really doesn't feel that long ago. I mean, can you really look at this face and tell me I've aged a day since? " Rudy brought his hand to his face for emphasis, giving a smug, confident look.

"You know, Rudy, I don't think you look a day over forty-five!" Asgore replied, chuckling, prompting Rudy to jab him in the side. "Hey, hey, watch it there Dreemurr, don't go pushing your luck," Rudy replied. "Speak for yourself, pal. I may be in my forties, but I think I've aged like fine wine." He said, chuckling to himself.

"Well, anyway, getting back on topic, it was around the time of the festival, and you showed up in our small little town out of the blue. I remembered seeing your face in a few magazines before, about you being some big hotshot in the city. " So this Spamton was a salesman too? Or a celebrity, maybe? The thought gave him a small sense of pride for his other self.

"Back when QC used to sell alcohol, you ended up getting drunk off your ass, spouting a bunch of crazed nonsense. You kept rambling about someone screwing you over- I just figured you got your heart broken by some big city player, especially with how much you kept crying." That pride immediately dissipated.

This was just pitiful. He was hoping that his counterpart had some better luck than him, that at least he wasn't homeless… Spamton at least hoped that was the case.

He squirmed a bit in his seat, the corners of his mouth turning down, his face a subtle shade of pink from the shame.

"Hey now, don't make that face, you asked for this, so you don't get to complain! Let me finish before you start doing that." Oh no, he didn't want to hear it. If his last sentences were anything to go by, it couldn't be good. "Well, you got drunk, and since you weren't in any state to drive back to the city, I ended up offering you our couch to crash for the night.

"I woke up that morning to you raiding our fridge—you had some real audacity on you back then. Carol wasn't the happiest about it either when she got home. She used to hate your guts." He laughed, reminiscing as if it were just a fond bygone memory.

"It was the day of the festival, and I ended up inviting you, since you didn't seem to be in any rush to get home. Asgore here and his family tagged along with us too." Rudy said.

"I remember that year! Tori was hosting a big bake sale at the festival, so I was having to do supply runs for her all weekend." Asgore chimed in.

"That year was great, huh? The kids were all in good spirits; that's when Dess was still with us too." Rudy said fondly.

Huh? Right, she was Rudy's older daughter. She had gone missing a little bit before Spamton unceremoniously left TV Time.

"A-AND T-THEN AFTER THAT?" Spamton asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be pretending like he already knew.

"Well, at the end of the day, when the festival was wrapping up, you ended up admitting that you weren't really sure where to go. You said that there wasn't anything left for you in the city." That struck an all too familiar nerve with him.

"We ended up going to the Dreemurr's place for dinner." Rudy said. "Tori had quite a lot of leftovers from the bake sale, and she and Carol whipped up an amazing meal too! The kids were there playing, and we all just ended up around the TV at the end of the night." Asgore added in. Sounds nice; Spamton wished he could remember it.

"When you left, it was a little while before we saw you again, but the next time we did, you were already moving into town," Rudy said, "And that's about it. You want me to read you a bedtime story next too or what?" Rudy snickered.

"W-W-WHAT!! I-I DON'T NEED THAT!! IT'S JUST BEEN A LONG TIME! L-LOOK I F-FORGOT A F-F-FEW THINGS HERE AND THERE, B-BUT THAT'S IT!!!" Spamton spat out, his curiosity satiated for now.

"Ah, so you did forget, that's real inconsiderate of you pal." Rudy said tauntingly.

"IT'S N-NOT ON PURPOSE! I-I'M AN HONEST MAN, I SWEAR!!" Spamton defended, oblivious to Rudy's very clear sarcasm.

Rudy started laughing, finding humor in Spamton's little outburst.

The conversation continued, the trio bouncing around a few different topics. He was having fun. He couldn't recall the last time he was able to unwind and laugh- genuinely laugh. It was the most he'd ever done in years.

…

After two hours of back-and-forth banter, the three of them decided to call it a night.

"Hoo buddy, I'm spent! I'd better get back to the hospital, I promised Noelle I'd be at church tomorrow, so I gotta take it easy the rest of the night." Rudy said, his breath a bit more ragged.

"Well, fellas, I'm off. I'll see you at service tomorrow, big guy." He said, patting Spamton on the arm.

"S-SERVICE? WHAT SERVICE?" Spamton couldn't possibly imagine facing the Angel, especially not now, considering the blasphemy he hurled at them earlier.

"What do you mean, 'what service'? Spam, you're not gonna be skipping out this time, are you? You never skip church." That was a sentence he never thought he'd hear about himself; was the Spamton of this world really that devoted?

He wanted to say no, but decided against it. Suddenly not showing up might be a bit suspicious, and Spamton was dedicated to maintaining his facade. Besides, he didn't have much going on in terms of future plans at the moment anyway.

"A-AH R-RIGHT! UHM YEAH, I'LL UH… I-I'LL BE THERE. HAHA." He said hesitantly.

"Right then, let's do this again sometime, you two." Rudy said as he slowly walked off, waving as he did.

Once Rudy was out of earshot, Spamton piped up. "Y-Y'KNOW IT SL-LIPPED MY MIND, WH-WHAT TI-TIME IS CHURCH TOMORROW?" He asked, hoping Asgore would know.

"Oh well, you know I don't attend. Though I'm pretty sure the morning service starts at 9:30. I'd like to go more often, but it's a bit awkward with me and Tori's uhm… situation." Asgore said, his face turning a bit somber after the last sentence.

"Hey, you live close to my shop, how about I walk you back? It'll give us a bit of time to catch up." Oh, thank the Angel. Spamton wanted to ask where he even lived, but wasn't sure how to bring it up without sounding suspicious. Going around and trying to unlock random houses was something he could try, but he didn't like the idea of incarceration being his first accomplishment here.

"W-WELL, LEAD THE WAY," Spamton said, motioning forward. Asgore took the lead as Spamton tried to match Asgore's slower pace, but with his height being double that of Asgore's and him piloting a still unfamiliar body, he kept getting dangerously close to tripping over himself.

"SO UHM.. W-WHAT ARE YOU UP TO THESE D-DAYS? H-HOW'S YOUR UHM… SHOP?" Spamton said, trying to make light conversation.

"Well, to be frank, it hasn't been doing the best lately. Honestly hasn't been doing well for a while. I'm just glad Carol's pretty lenient when it comes to me not being able to pay my dues on time." He responded, lowering his head in shame.

"W-WELL THAT'S NICE AT LEAST." Spamton felt a bit of indignation from learning that. If only his previous landlord were half as generous.

"I-I USED TO RUN A-A SHOP TOO Y'KNOW. IT N-NEVER DID THAT WELL EITHER." Spamton said, his tone laced with chagrin. "I DI-D-DIDN'T HAVE M-MUCH A-AT THE TIME, THE L-LI-ITTLE I M-MADE BARELY GOT ME A-ANYWHERE."

He hated admitting that his work was in vain. He always played it off in front of customers, always acting like he had everything under control, that he knew everything would work itself out, but Spamton didn't know a damn thing- he never had. Even back on TV Time, it was always someone else working the magic for him, someone else pulling the strings and making him shine. It frustrated him to be reminded of that; that his little shop was just one miserable failure in an ever-expanding list.

"You never told me you owned a shop! That must've been when you were living it up in the city, huh?" Asgore beamed, seemingly amused to learn something new about his friend.

Shoot, he forgot that this was supposed to be about the other Spamton's life, not his.

"Y-YEAH! THAT WAS A REALLY LONG T-T-TIME AGO, I N-NEVER THOUGHT TO B-B-BRING I-IT UP."

He hoped that the excuse was enough, not wanting to bring his life as a darkner into this further.

"Speaking of your life in the city, what exactly made you decide to move here in the first place? I saw you in the papers a few times back in the day, so I know you had a lot going for you." Asgore asked.

That was a question Spamton didn't feel at all equipped to answer. He only got brief ideas of who the other him was, and answering them wrong might come back to bite him later.

"W-W-WELL IT'S JUST… I-I GUESS I E-ENDED UP LIKING IT H-HERE, T-THE BIG CITY LIFE WAS T-TOO S-SUFFOCATING." That's the best excuse he could gather from what he'd learned about his counterpart, and the simplest one too. The simpler it stayed, the better; he wasn't about to start making a list of lies that he would have to constantly keep track of.

He figured that they were getting close, so he searched his pockets, praying that the other Spamton had brought his keys with him.

He dug his hand into his ill-fitting jacket, landing his grasp on the object he'd been feeling for. A small, simple keyring with 3 different keys on it, one more obviously for a car. There was a small pendant hanging from the keyring, an enamel letter charm with a little cyan heart seal.

There was another part of the keyring that caught his eye; a gold band hanging from a chain, the inner part of it engraved with the initials A.T.

He couldn't quite place it, but the ring gave him a sick feeling when he read it. A terrible sense of deja vu.

He chose not to dwell on it, letting the thought slip into the back of his mind.

"Well, I'm glad you stayed. Things really wouldn't be the same without you. We all really care about you, y'know." Spamton stopped in his tracks, Asgore's words catching him completely off guard. He knew that the sentence didn't mean anything- Asgore wasn't talking about him after all-, but the idea made a part of him twist up inside.

He felt a ball of jealousy swirling within him; that this other him actually had people who cared, people who stuck by him through thick and thin.

Good for him.

But that didn't mean anything anymore. If any part of that Spamton was real, then the person they knew was long since gone now.

Asgore stopped and looked back, seeing the conflicted look plastered on Spamton's face. "Everything okay?" Asgore questioned.

"Y-YEAH.. Yeah.. I-it's f-fine, I'm-m fine." Spamton said, his voice gradually lowering, the response being more of a reassurance to himself than anything.

"J-J-Just t-tired is all, it's b-been a long day." He was exhausted, mentally and physically. There was a lot of information that he still had yet to process, but he figured that that would be an issue for tomorrow.

"Well, we're here anyway." Spamton followed the direction of Asgore's gaze, It being that of a quaint little house. Was this his? It looked way too nice for something he supposedly owned. It was a decent size, and it looked very well-kept. Was this Spamton into gardening or something?

"I'd better get to it then, I have a lot of work to catch up on. Gotta have my flowers ready to go for the festival!" Asgore said, stretching his arms above his head. "Have a good day, Spam. I'll see you tomorrow." He said, patting Spamton on the back, as he trudged off towards his shop.

"A-AH S-SEE YA LATER." He responded, his voice thick with exhaustion. Despite how much he had actually enjoyed the day, the prospect of getting to sleep in an actual bed for once was making him antsy.

Spamton made his way to the door while fumbling with his keys, almost dropping them in his unfamiliar grip.

This really brought him back, back to when he would sneak into Queen's mansion, back when the Neo body was his grace, his salvation. Time and time again, he'd risk it all just to get even the smallest glance of it.

To be here now with his prayers fully realized… Perhaps the angel truly was merciful after all.

Spamton unlocked the door, cautiously opening it. He tried the switch, but no light greeted him, only the droning sounds of a slowly revolving ceiling fan.

He peered into the room, trying to make sense of the shadows before him. He made his way through the frame, having to slightly squeeze through. Being big was nice, but the more he had to keep his size in mind, the more he realized just how inconvenient it would be.

He fumbled for the pull switch in the middle of the room, missing it a few times before securing it in his grip. The light flooded the space, blinding him temporarily. As he adjusted, he was met with a surprisingly cozy living room; the lighting was warm, and it smelled of the familiar scent of cigarettes and butterscotch cinnamon pie.

He remembered how much the pleasant, sweet fragrance would faintly linger throughout the TV Time studio. It smelled like home. It smelled like love.

He let the tension in his shoulders relax as he let himself sink onto the couch, the furniture creaking a little as he shifted on it, the frame slightly dipping under his weight. He gripped onto the soft velvety blanket draped over the cushions, bringing it up to his face and taking a deep inhale.

A clean floral scent overtook his senses, mixed in with the aforementioned butterscotch. He appreciated how mellow the aroma was; it was such a small thing to appreciate, but enduring the overwhelming stench of rotted food and waste was an everyday constant for him, one that he had begun to grow incredibly sick of.

After a moment, he stood back up, draping the soft blanket around his shoulders. He walked into the kitchen, giving it a good once-over. He started scrounging through the many shelves and cabinets, trying to get a good sense of where everything was.

"W-WHAT?! THERE'S E-EVERYTHING IN HERE!!" He said, looking through the pantry off to the side, it was almost completely stocked.

He opened the fridge next, finally being greeted with the source of the sweet smell that persisted through the air: a full tin of Toriel's world-famous butterscotch cinnamon pie! It was covered with cling film, with a small sticky note on the top that read: 'Thanks for your help with the school fundraiser! A little gift to show our appreciation. - Toriel'.

Spamton was no stranger to charity work, having done several ad segments for it in the past. The idea gave him a sense of pride in his other self.

He was always curious to try it one day, Tenn— …That cathode was eager too. They tried recreating it once from the bits of information they had of her recipe. It had turned out fine in the end, but he doubted theirs could beat the original.

He took it out of the fridge, bringing it back with him to the couch, removing the plastic and unceremoniously taking a heaping spoonful out of the center. The first bite of it was heavenly; it felt like it was melting in his mouth. The taste was velvety and rich, almost custard-like, with a bit of a subtle spice to it, the different flavors blending in perfect harmony. Their attempt didn't even come close to it.

"SOO GWOOD- MMM.." Spamton beamed, talking with his mouth stuffed with the delicious dessert, taking his time and savoring it on his tongue.

Before he knew it, he had already eaten half the tin. Not wanting to run out of it so quickly, he begrudgingly covered the pie back up, setting it back in its rightful spot.

He could hardly believe it, but he was finally full for the first time since his prior transformation. He always felt the need to eat, even though it really didn't do anything for him. Even if he tried gorging himself to his limit, all he could feel was the sensation of hunger painfully gnawing away at his insides. Without any solution, Spamton figured that trying to satisfy his hunger was pointless, so he stopped trying, figuring that it was a waste of money anyway.

It was nice to stop worrying about trivial things like that. For once, he felt happy, he felt… Comforted. He didn't have any immediate problems to chase after, no phone calls to pick up, nobody he was forced to answer to. Not anymore.

Abandoning his blanket on the couch, he walked out from the kitchen, down the hall, checking each door on the way through.

He opened the door to the bathroom, letting himself inside, stopping and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror's reflection, much clearer than the window before.

He stood in front of it, studying his features. His face still looked very much like his puppet face, but with the sharp edges more evenly smoothed out, with a short bit of fluff on his face. He also lacked the noisy hinged jaw that he had. It seemed like all of his features were more elongated, giving him a much more proportional appearance.

A part of him was really curious to see what the rest of his body looked like.

Spamton began removing his blazer; it was a bit difficult with his wings in the way, but it seemed like his counterpart wore clothing specifically made to fit him. The vent in the back was higher up than usual to accommodate. The button-up he wore was open where his wings were, with a fastener on the back of his neck and a few towards the bottom of his shirt respectively.

His fur was mostly jet black like his hair, but on his upper half were spots of a muted magenta that peeked through in the light. In the middle of his chest was a triangle-shaped pattern, light pink in color, blending into a pale white in its center.

Most of his upper body was covered in black feathers, except for his midsection, which had the same barely visible white peach fuzz as his face. He noticed it before in the diner, but his waist was thin- almost sickly thin. He could make out a slight weight in it, likely from the hearty meal he'd just had.

He moved further down, removing his brown slacks. There was a similar, smaller matching triangle pattern above his pelvis. His legs were much like his chest, covered in the same jet black fluff, cutting off at his knees. His lower legs were bird-like, the scales being a dark black, sporting sharp white talons. His arms and hands were covered in the same feathery fluff, but his fingers were similar to those of his puppet form's, white and segmented bony fingers that ended in a sharp point.

Now fully bare, he started to feel a tension building up inside him as he assessed the figure laid before his eyes.

Spamton had always despised his puppet body. To him, it was off-putting, the sharp edges and harsh creases only accentuating his least favorite parts of himself. His clothes would snag in the joints, his limbs would pop out if he moved incorrectly, and his face was painfully pulled tight into a permanent, uncanny smile.

He hated what he had become. It looked wrong, it felt wrong. It was nothing more than a twisted mockery of his former self.

But this… this body was different, this body was everything. It was perfect. Despite the ever-present grin still plastered on his face, it didn't unsettle him anymore. As odd as it was, he found himself strangely attractive.

He backed up and gave himself another look up and down, fully taking in his form. His breath slightly hitched at the sight, his face beginning to heat up.

He felt a sudden wave of arousal, making him press his thighs together as he squirmed.

He couldn't tell why, but this new body was really doing something for him. He tried to ignore it, to perish the thought from his mind, but the heat building between his legs was making it hard to focus, as slick pooled on the inside of his thigh.

He could feel his erection writhing against himself, attempting to gain more friction; his heartbeat quickened, his breath becoming increasingly ragged and heavy. A part of him really wanted to entertain this feeling more, to chase this high with the stroke of his hand—but getting off to his own body felt too odd, even for him.

He pushed the thought aside, forcing his excitement into the dark recesses of his mind.

Not wanting to pay attention to the situation any more than needed, he turned away in search of a distraction. He made his way toward the tub, turning the knob and testing the temperature with his fingers. Once it was full, he lowered himself in.

It was nice, the grounding feeling of fullness and the cozy warmth of the bath were nearly lulling him to sleep.

He pumped a generous handful of soap into his palm, lathering it before running it through his feathers. Spamton didn't really need a bath- he smelt just fine- but he felt comforted by the idea of taking one again. Even if he didn't need it, he wanted to scrub the years of grime and filth away.

He began moving down to his arms, working the foam into his soft coat. He should probably consider time in the future; his overabundance of feathers would definitely take too long to clean if he were in a rush.

Getting lost in the calming sensations, his thoughts began to wander to a memory much like this moment. Spamton was smaller then, back when he was just the typical addison you'd find on any street corner.

He could feel someone else stroking his hair, running their fingers through the knots in it. The larger hands were gentle, working at it at an achingly slow pace. He reached up behind himself, pulling their hand down and leaning his face into their touch.

They responded, caressing his face, holding it lovingly in their comforting grip. As their other hand moved down further, below the water's surface. He could feel their digits traveling his body, sending shudders down his spine.

He felt a finger on his chin, tilting his head upward and bringing them face-to-face. He strained to see their visage, but the image in his head was too blurred to make out. He could see their lips moving, yet he couldn't parse their voice over the sound of running water.

He focused on their lips, trying to read them, as they wordlessly mouthed that all-too-familiar sentence.

"I love you, Spammy."—

Spamton abruptly jolted up from his relaxed position, interrupting himself from indulging in those thoughts.

No, no, no, hell no! He wouldn't dare let himself think about that, never again. That obsolete mound of garbage didn't deserve his thoughts.

His breathing was irregular again, his face flushed with a deep shade of red. Spamton squirmed uncomfortably in his position, the still ever-present need below his waistline nagging at him.

He didn't understand it- he was getting worked up again. This wasn't about the Neo body anymore, so why?

"A-AAHH… A-ANGEL ABOVE WHAT'S W-WRONG WITH YOU?!" He questioned. He brought his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms on top and burying his face in them.

"…disgusting."

…

Spamton sat in silence for a while, trying to block out the noise in his head. He wouldn't acknowledge it; he refused to acknowledge it. That CRT didn't deserve his attention; he didn't deserve his arousal. Spamton was a lightner now; he was onto bigger and better things all on his own! He could find someone better now, someone who was worth his investment. That trash didn't matter to him anymore—he was insignificant.

It was only a matter of time before he ended up in the dump too.

His stomach flipped unpleasantly when the thought came; a familiar feeling of uneasy dread began to claw itself into him.

He wouldn't let the feeling linger; he pushed it away, trying to stifle his rising guilt.

Trying to escape the thought, he splashed his face with the now-lukewarm bathwater. He washed up thoughtlessly; any desire for relaxation had long since vanished. All he wanted was for this day to finally be over.

He sluggishly pulled himself out, stumbling a bit over the tub's rim. He took a towel off the adjoining rack, beginning to pat himself dry.

He took one last brief look in the mirror, as a sort of silent confirmation. This really was his life now; he'd have to adjust to these changes.

Once dry, he made his way out of the bathroom and down the hall. He reached his bedroom door and let himself in. The room was spacious, filled with a soft ambient light from the window—just enough to make out his surroundings.

The sight of the bed instantly eased the tension building in his shoulders, the relieved exhaustion overwhelming him. Choosing to turn in for the night, he plopped himself face-first onto the mattress, taking in another deep inhale of the sheets. They smelled nice, like freshly cleaned laundry, with a faint lingering hint of warm vanilla.

He rolled over onto his side, unfolding his wings and letting them sprawl out behind him.

Spamton wasn't about to take this luxury for granted; he feared that his warm reality would slip away from him the moment he awoke again.

He gripped the comforter, sharply tugging it from beneath the mattress. He cocooned himself in the soft fabric, hastily padding around himself with pillows, meticulously building a nest of sorts.

The feeling of softness encompassing him was grounding. It felt snug, it felt safe.

He took in a deep breath, savoring the sweet air of his surroundings as the heat concentrated the smell. He cherished the scent and the solace of his new sanctuary; it was a far cry from the putrid landfill he had once begrudgingly called home.

He had a place of his own, one that he didn't have to share.

He no longer had to worry about discarded food falling on him in his sleep.

About trash piling up and invading his space, driving him back out onto the streets.

No longer would rodents gnaw and eat away at his stuffing, forcing Spamton to heal himself over and over again.

Wouldn't feel insects writhing underneath his plastic shell, painfully burrowing into his flesh.

Those memories were agonizing; they were nauseating. They made him gag.

Not wanting to interrupt his chance of sleeping well tonight, he forced those thoughts away, bringing himself back to the present. He was safe now, and that was all that mattered.

He wondered if everyone else's perception had changed too. Would Kris still remember him? He sure hoped so. He'd have to thank them the next time they met, for helping him earn this second chance.

Exhaustion began to overtake him. As he dozed off, he had a single thought on his mind: a promise, one that he was determined to keep. He wouldn't let this slip through his fingers; he would make the most of this life.

He made a silent prayer to the Angel—prayed that the next time he woke up, he'd be here. Prayed that it wasn't all just a wistful dream.

His thoughts slowly fizzled out as he drifted off. Sleeping soundly for the first time in over a decade.