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Tenna swore he’d make things up to Spamton for the rest of his life. As much as Spamton’s downfall was set up by his own doing, there was no denying his responsibility in sealing the former Addison’s coffin. That contract that directly contradicted the benefactor’s. The one Spamton frantically avoided, but could never fully explain why. Spamton had tried to warn him of some unspoken danger, numerous times… but it went into the antennas and out the speakers. For Tenna cared about his own desire to be big for the Light World a little more than Spamton’s safety.
It was no secret to either of them how that ended.
After an understandably rocky reunion, the two finally reached a point where they could admit their feelings to one another. Feelings that had never died, but merely morphed. Changed as all things do when they age. Blazing passion had mellowed into a gentle love beyond words. A tenderness they had never extended to one another all those years ago, short of a handful of interactions they could count on their fingers.
However, deeply woven between the pair, some artifacts from the past lingered.
Whether that resulted in an outburst, breakdown, or argument depended on the leading events. Tenna occasionally had moments of panic or rage, especially early into the rekindled relationship. The fear of abandonment had been seated so deeply within his soul for decades, and it worsened after that nightmare came true. If he felt even the inkling that Spamton was going to leave, the puppet was held down, locked in, pleaded with, or worse until Tenna wore himself down or someone, usually Pink, intervened. Gradually, though, it got through to the CRT that the puppet would stay with him, through thick or thin. That he was his star, only him.
Spamton, however, was the most susceptible to the more intense and frequent of these artifacts. Whether it was because he suspected he was being discarded, felt trapped, WAS trapped, threatened… or if there was no other reason other than purely feeling that Tenna deserved it, Spamton exhibited an array of intense breaks at any time of day.
Facing them initially was not something the CRT was prepared for, but he quickly learned how to be there. How to wind the smaller darkner down. To ensure he felt safe.
By caring for him in this manner, something softened in the television. He felt needed. For the first time in who knows how long, someone needed him…and only him. He was the only one Spamton allowed to hold him. He was the only one Spamton would entertain listening to. Spamton learned to come to him for help, even if he was the cause of the puppet’s troubles. Only he seemed to hold the key to silencing the recovering darkner's disheveled mind.
That need translated as security for Tenna. By being needed, he no longer felt threatened by the prospects of abandonment. He no longer felt Spamton would pack up and leave without as much as a word. Through that assurance, the CRT’s artifacts fizzled out piece by piece. He no longer had the same outbursts at home. No longer felt the need to trap Spamton to ensure he stayed.
But not every artifact completely faded.
Certain wounds were physical
~
“Cut!” a squeaky voice commanded.
The bells rang out, and the studio’s lights returned to their normal brightness off set. It would take some time for the crew to set up the next scene, giving Tenna and his co-hosts a much-needed breather from the workload…and one another.
Tenna descended from the stage with that showman’s smile still plastered across his screen and an exaggerated pep to his step. Swinging his arms, guiding his fist from his hip to his breast at a comical speed akin to a cartoon character, the CRT nearly hurled when a sickening, cold, tearing sensation suddenly radiated through his shoulders the moment he extended his arm a little too far. Muttering a profanity too quiet for the censors to detect, he bit his lip to suppress any other sound that dared to escape.
“You okay, sir?” a Pippin inquired.
Thinking quickly, Tenna masked his grimace with a grin.
“Of COURSE! Nothing to worry about!” he beamed. “Tell you what, let’s take THIRTY. I think we could ALL use a break!”
“I don’t think anybody is fed up with you yet,” a Green Pippin deadpanned.
“What!? I wanted to have lunch with the Addisons! It’s too early!” a red Pippin complained, stirring up a commotion within the posy behind them.
“Spoke too soon,” the Green Pippin mumbled, prompting a sarcastic tune from a Shadowguy.
“You’s want me to talk to em boss?” a Zapper noisily whispered to Tenna, gesturing at the frustrated Pippins.
“NO! No! You ALL can have your NORMAL lunch! Let’s just take a BREAK for thirty minutes! OKAY?” Tenna frantically responded before a riot broke out.
“Oh boy! How charitable y’ar today! Excellent call, Mr. Tenna!” the Zapper praised.
“GROOVY,” Tenna hissed through his teeth, gripping his affected shoulder before turning his heel and bolting out of the studio.
Tenna made a beeline for his dressing room. Kicking open the doors and leaving them to slam closed on their own accord, he bolted straight for the cluttered vanity. He gripped either side of the furniture’s table top with little regard for the papers and perfumes scattered about. Both hands, deadlocked in a grip, trembled as the strain worsened the pain within his nerves.
Fuck.
Fuck! It hurts!
Only after lowering himself onto the stool did his grip relent. Shooting pains radiated from both shoulders, through his arms, down his back, up his neck, ultimately pulsing through his boxy head in a sort of mechanical pre-migraine. The unusual electrical activity interfered with his screen, resulting in his expression faltering and shaking, followed by piercing crunches of static.
It hurts, it hurts, it HURTS!
Beads of moisture collected near the uppermost corners of his screen as the pain pulsed through his entire upper body. Flashes of that night replayed in his mind the more the pain burned within the welded scars on either arm. The initial pain of the blade, the burning cold of the snow, the weakness that overtook his entire body as every ounce of his life poured out before the Lightners. Before Spamton, too.
What if they left me there?
He scraped the tears from his screen, then looked into the mirror.
They WOULDN’T, right?
Tenna forced himself to stare at his smiling reflection, even as his screen appeared to glitch with every throbbing pain.
Spamton wouldn’t have saved me back then, surely not. But Kris? Susie? They always intended to, right?
Even if I used them.
They understood! They are smart kids! They understood I HAD TO! I HAD TO!
A couple of thin tears streamed past his quivering smile.
Pick yourself up, Mr. Ant Tenna! Pick yourself up!
He slapped both hands over where his eyes ought to be and scrubbed the glass clean with the sides of his palms.
This isn’t how stars behave!
Yet the motion did little more than smear, fogging up his vision more than it would have been if he had let the tears fall.
YOU’RE NOT THAT DARKNER ANYMORE!
His smile finally fell.
You’re not that darkner anymore!!!
PICK. YOURSELF. UP.
The mounting pressure Tenna piled onto himself did nothing to comfort his relentless pain. For a while, he stared. He just stared at himself and let the tears trickle freely from his screen, in between his chassis, and finally into his lap. Strangely to him, as they fell, the pain within his arms diminished into something tingly and dull. Painful but tolerable. As long as he didn’t tense, the pain agreed to rest.
Five minutes…
What’s five minutes…right?
…
Tenna curled his lips inwards to siffle their involuntary trembling.
Five minutes, Ant.
The glass below his ‘eyes’ raised slightly, pooling an increasing swell of tears before, finally, the dam burst. A stream gushed freely down either side of his face. Now, the expression looking back at him resembled something broken. Something shameful. He couldn’t bear to look. Both hands cradled his face as either elbow planted itself on the vanity. When that mounting pressure became too heavy, he folded his arms and nestled his screen within his sleeves, staining the red of his suit into a crimson. Tenna’s breathing grew rapidly shaky and damp as he sobbed.
It hurts so much. It hurts so much.
Breathing grew increasingly difficult. Hungry for air, his chest heaved to a great degree with every rapid, shallow breath that was never quite satisfying. With each exhale, a wail followed in a restrained trial. As much as he tried to suppress the noise, with such a large capacity for air at his height, the sorrowful sounds inevitably reverberated through the room.
A thunderous boom emitted from the opposite side of the room.
“I CANT BELIEVE THESE [STUPID ADS]! [THIS] STUPID [Dandelion yellow] AD!”
Tenna shot up and swiftly scraped his face clean before Spamton could notice what he had been doing. The way the smudges muted his natural glow stood out sorely, though.
“HE THINKS HE CAN [Steal the show]! [Mother knows best] MY [@$$]! LET [MII] TELL-“
Spamton froze midsentence, staring intently as his disheveled husband sat with the worst posture he had ever seen Tenna display. Hunched over, clothes stained, gripping the cushion of the stool, and digging his nails into its wooden underside… the smears across his screen. Tenna would never present himself in such a state at work.
“WHATS WITH YOU [CATHODE]?” Spamton asked more rudely than he would have liked. “WHATS [Incorrect, please try again]?”
“Spamton! I wasn’t EXPECTING you back so soon!”
“[EYE] CAN SAY THE SAME [4, 5, 6] YOU, [BOOB TUBE].”
“Right, right!” Tenna forced up a laugh. “It’s pretty early…” his voice trailed off, so he caught himself and asked Spamton with a painfully disingenuous cheer, “So what happened with you and Yellow? You sounded quite HEATED a moment ago.”
“NOTHING. [10%-]”
“Spammy, that’s CERTAINLY not true! Who else would you be referring to? Who else here is DANDILION yellow? You know, though, if you’re open to SUGGESTIONS,” Spamton grimaced at the CRT. “I think BUTTERCUPS would be a wonderful alternative to those FLEETING dandelions to describe your yellow commercial friend!”
“IM NOT [Open now] TO [Your response has been read and considered] [PaperShredder.ogg],” Spamton clicked his jaw closed until the quirk subsided. “WHATS GOING ON [TRASH HEAP]?”
He’s getting annoyed.
Surely he would storm off if I push him hard enough? Right?
We can forget this ever happened.
“In fact! I’m sure we can come up with some WONDERFUL new names for these so-called ‘Stupid Ads’ you claim to love and cherish! Why the blue one is as blue as the rainy weather! And he always looks pretty MELANCHOLY if I’m honest-“
“[CATHODE]!”
“Or maybe that orange fellow can be referred to as fire. Like the fire on Lanino’s shoulder or the one I set in the old studio!”
“[BOOB TUBE] [EYE] SWEAR-“
“HAH! Oh, do you remember that, Spammy? I’m SURE you do!”
“THIS ISNT [LaughSoundtrack.wav] [TRASH HEAP]”
“What about the PINK bastard who’s ALWAYS got something to say about how I run things around here-“
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Spamton fumed, his entire face turning a comical bright red.
There we go.
“STOP [Change your life today with] SUBJECTS! [EYE] DONT C@RE ABOUT THERE NAMES! I WANT TO [NO] WHATS WITH [You and you alone]!”
“There’s NOTHING going on here!” Tenna insisted.
“I [NO] UR LYING TO ME,” Spamton growled in a way Tenna hadn’t heard since the early arguments post-reunification.
And if he were honest, that darker tone horrified him.
“OKAY! OKAY! You got me! Oh, my little mailman, you are as CLEVER as you are STUBBORN!” Tenna chortled, raising his hands defensively. “I’m EXHAUSTED, Spamton. I haven’t gotten much sleep! And I’ve been running around here ALL morning! Surely you can understand that.”
Spamton’s grimace remained. It hadn’t faltered in the slightest.
“YOU WERE REALLY [HonkShoo.ogg] LAST NIGHT [TRASH HEAP],” the puppet snarled.
“What can I say? It’s HARD WORK carrying this entire studio on my shoulders! There’s so much to do! So much that NEEDS to be done!”
“UR TELLING ME THE [Mr. Ant Tenna’s TV Tiiiiime] IS [System Overloading]?! Y O U ?!”
“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN ABLE TO SAY MY NAME?!” Tenna screamed, genuinely stunned, but jolted back into shape when Spamton’s glare darkened to a point he felt violated by his eyes.
“YOU [Live while we’re alive] IN THE SPOTLIGHT! CUT THE [@#$!] WITH ME! WHAT IS WRONG [CATHODE]!”
Tenna averted his gaze from Spamton as the puppet’s little eyes burned two little holes into his screen. A wave of tension wracked his aching body as a rush of synthetic cortisol coursed through his internal wires, agitating the welded scars in both arms. A hiss, a little too loud to miss, slipped through his teeth as he gripped the most affected of the wounds. Tenna dug one of his fangs into his bottom lip in a bid to divert the pain there, somewhere less sensitive. Less electric. Less catastrophic on the rest of his frame. Alas, he stood there trembling, consumed by a burning, throbbing blanket of nerve pain radiating intensely from both arms to the point those pesky tears slipped down his face, unable to be hidden. For even when he turned his head, his reflection was visible to the softening little darkner by the door.
“[CATHODE]…” Spamton mumbled, slowly approaching. “DOES [IT] [It hurts! It hurts] AGAIN?”
Tenna tried to speak, but his throat tightened the moment he opened his mouth. A few strained whimpers were all that escaped him before nodding sheepishly in response.
“I [Always bet on-] THAT MEANS UR THINKING ABOUT… THAT NIGHT [$2.99]… RIGHT?”
Tenna’s lack of a response spoke volumes. In an instant, Spamton's hostility melted into a rare tenderness he never dared to show to anyone aside from Tenna. With each step he took towards Tenna equated to a foot the larger darkner would lose. He shrank and shrank until he was smaller than the puppet scooping him up off the stool.
Spamton held the now smaller darkner to his chest, with one arm under his thighs and the other across his back, restraining him in the most loving way he could imagine. At his usual size, it was impossible to imagine. Even when Spamton entered the Neo body, it felt too equal. It didn’t produce the same overwhelming crush he often inflicted on Spamton. Being wholly engulfed like this was truly a sensation foreign to Tenna. Something he never could get used to, as he seldom shrank to such a degree around anyone, even Spamton, for long enough to be picked up.
“THERE THERE,” Spamton cooed to the best of his ability.
“I’m sorry I’m so glooby,” Tenna strained before clicking off his screen and planting it square into Spamton’s shoulder.
“ITS OK TO BE [GLOOBY],” Spamton assured.
As Tenna gradually allowed himself to sob into Spamton, the puppet carried him over to the massive couch beside the vanity. Stripping a hand away from Tenna for only a moment to hoist himself up, the moment he was situated on the cushions, that arm snapped back around the other’s back. And the moment he sat down, snuggly wedged between two of the upright cushions, he leaned back enough to absorb all of Tenna’s weight. Now, his arms had no need to secure him. The CRT could lie limp without any support.
It took the puppet a moment to move again, as if pondering his next move. When he did, he placed one hand upon Tenna’s lower back and the other lightly on the back of his head. His fingertips, resting on his lower back, dug gingerly into the clothed silicone skin, scratching circles into him well away from the scars. The other hand merely traced stripes and shapes along the plastic casing, barely grazing him. Both sensations, so starkly different and yet equally as thoughtful, overwhelmed the CRT’s burning sensation of pain. Spamton could feel his shrunken body melt away beneath his hands with every stroke.
A great weight lifted from Tenna’s shoulders.
The two would silently bask in each other’s company well past the thirty-minute mark Tenna had set. Even as a commotion stirred outside the dressing room, Spamton remained unbothered. Unfazed. Now daring to explore further, he grazed his fingers over Tenna’s upper back, continuing his efforts according to Tenna’s physical reactions.
“I’m” Tenna pulled back slightly and clicked on his face, sniffling. ‘I’m really SORRY about this, Spammy.”
“WHY…?” he questioned, yielding his motions to Tenna’s shifting.
“I shouldn’t be depending on you like THIS. Not after everything.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”
“What I went through! It PALES in comparison to you! And… and I caused your pain. I… I can’t SERIOUSLY be coming to you after THAT. It’s RIDICULOUS, Spamton!”
Spamton stared, perplexed, at the still smaller darkner.
“SO YOU WERE [Plan ahead] TO NEVER COME TO [Yours Truly]? HOW IS [THAT] [Fair deal]?!” the puppet balked.
“Wha-“ Tenna gestured frantically in place for a moment. “I JUST said why!”
“THATS A STUPID REASON, [IDIOT BOX]”
“Where did THAT name come from?!”
“SHUT UP!” Spamton scoffed, laying Tenna down on his back across the cushions. “HOW IS THIS GONNA WORK IF U [404 Page not Found]?!”
Tenna’s antennas drooped when he was pried from his chest and his tender caress. But they bounced back to attention the moment Spamton lay on his side beside him.
“[EYE] ASKED YOU A QUESTION,” he retorted, flustering Tenna.
“Right! I… I heard you. Um,” Tenna tugged his tie loose as he found himself scrambling for words.
“YEAH IT WONT, [IDIOT BOX]. YOULL SUFFER [Alone on a Friday night] WHEN [Yours Truly] IS HERE! TALK ABOUT [Unbalance the sales] [CATHODE].”
A segmented arm snapped its way around Tenna’s waist before tugging him against the other’s chest once more. Tenna wished to the heavens his pain would subside enough for him to lie on his side, too, and be spooned by the other. Alas, it wasn’t a bet he was willing to make at the moment. So, he lay on his back with his side pressed into Spamton. He lay secure under the pressure of one arm, melting into place as that arm’s hand slightly untucked his dress shirt, slipped under the cloth, and grazed the silicone skin on his waist. Such a simple touch sent warm, fluttering waves through his entire body, prompting his smile to wobble, his screen to dust pink, and a flower to bloom at the tip of his nose. This touch, in its own right, was electric in nature as well. Yet it was so pleasantly different from those from his scars. So sickly sweet in the way they overwhelmed him.
Before Spamton could move to caress his chassis as well, his hand was forced to withdraw as Tenna rapidly regrew. The puppet scrambled to climb the upright cushions like a cat, and he remained still until Tenna could regulate his growth at his usual fifteen feet tall.
“CAREFUL [CATHODE] YOUR GONNA CRUSH [MII]” Spamton squawked.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Spammy! I COULDN’T control it this time!” Tenna apologized.
“FEELING LIKE UR IN [Working order] AGAIN?” he questioned, regardless.
“YES! I feel GREAT!” Tenna snatched the smaller darkner under his arms and lifted him until he was level with his screen.
“WOAH!” He shrieked, disoriented.
Something more would have erupted from the puppet if a large, staticy kiss hadn’t been planted on his forehead.
“Thank you, love letter,” Tenna cooed the moment he withdrew with a soft smack. “For everything.”
Spamton stared at him, dumbfounded. And when he realized his loss of words, his face snapped to beet red once more, exciting Tenna further.
“DONT MENTION IT,” Spamton mumbled, whether he really meant that was genuinely anyone’s guess. “YOU BACK TO WORK NOW?”
“I suppose I should make my presence KNOWN again before this place FALLS APART,” the CRT chuckled.
One final peck was pressed onto the bridge of Spamton’s nose before Tenna slowly set him down.
“I’ll see you tonight, Spamton. And, HOPEFULLY, you can smooth over whatever was going on with you and Yellow.”
“YEAH YEAH. [EYE] WILL. HES JUST A [STUPID AD].”
“I love you,” Tenna cooed.
Tenna let out a soft, breathy chuckle as he observed the still flustered little darkner shuffling in place.
“[Hyperlink Blocked] YOU [$2.99], [10/10]…” Spamton mumbled.
Following one, truly final gesture of simply raking two claws against Spamton’s scalp through his hair, Tenna pried himself away, off the couch, and out of the dressing room, ready to tackle the remainder of the day with a raw energy the crew has not witnessed in a long while.