Chapter Text
Addisons were a complex species, and Spamton, whatever he wanted to call himself now, was an even more complex man.
The biology of this particular darkner type didn’t quite work in a typical binary fashion. Instead, every addison came equipped capable of reproduction from both ends of the scale. This made mating exceptionally easy, no matter the gender or sex of the desired participant. Gender indicators of the addisons themselves were assigned personally, at whatever age or level of experience one saw fit.
But, of course, being a species that flourished off of quantity, mating wasn’t the only way to reproduce. Addisons had laying cycles. It wasn’t terribly often, far from it, but every few years an addison would form eggs, pipis, without the need for a partner. There were ways to prevent it, medicines that could be taken, home remedies that could offset it. Some addisons were unlucky (or perhaps lucky) enough to never even have such cycles.
The whole thing was meant to be easy, efficient, a flawless way for their species to propagate. The more ads, the better. But of course nothing was ever easy for Spamton.
The white addison remembered his first cycle, with its very unfortunate timing of being at the height of his once-fame. He had been nineteen, severely lacking in experience, and being worked to the bone by his benefactor, so he opted to have the eggs removed once it was too late to prevent.
The choice (if it were ever fully his) hadn’t stuck with him for the following years. At all. Nor did the cycles that came after. He did not think about those nights huddled in the trash, cold and alone with no way to properly deal with his predicament. He didn’t think about all the eggs that didn’t hatch, or the horrible ooze that leaked from their cracked shells. He didn’t think about the eggs that did hatch, or the haunting aftermath. He didn’t think about the eggs that hatched.
The cycles during his years on the streets had always been irregular, delayed, and at some point they stopped entirely. Just another symptom of his benefactor’s ‘gift’. He could hardly remember the last time he was forced to lay, or how long it had been since then. He supposed it would stay that way.
After all, that little white addison didn’t exist anymore. In his place was a broken puppet, untethered and abandoned by even the one behind the crossbar. Puppets don’t have laying cycles. Puppets don’t produce eggs. Puppets don’t have families of their own. At least that's what he repeated over and over in his head until the static dissipated.
He had far more important things to worry about in his life, anyway. Like trying to sell this poison to a completely unsuspecting ruddin.
They were standing outside his little makeshift stand beside the line of shops, browsing his proud selection of (stolen) merchandise. His stock was much larger than it had ever been in Cyber World, but he still kept the leftover wares from that little shop buried in the heart of the trash zone. No use in letting perfectly sellable items go to waste. Even if some of it was poison.
“This doesn’t look very…” the ruddin examined the jar of bubbly black liquid they held in their hands with careful eyes, probably searching for a label or list of ingredients that didn’t exist. “Are you sure this is edible?”
Spamton’s grin spread to an almost painful degree. “YES!! TH4T IS A [[100% Guaranteed]] SPAMTON G. SPAMTON [Specil]!! SAFE FOR [Ages 3 and up] AND FUN FOR THE WHOLE !!!”
The ruddin blinked in response, setting the jar down on the cardboard box that served as a countertop. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”
The puppet’s smile faltered, but he quickly forced it back on. “I CAN GIVE YOU A [30% Discount] ON OTHER ITEMS!! WHO DOESN’T NEED A [Busted] [[Top 10 Radio Hits]] FROM BEHIND THE TRASH?! OR A SPIFFY [Half-Priced] BUSIN3SS CASUAL TIE STRAIGHT FROM THE [[We Are Addisons]] PERSONAL [Collecshin]!!” His eye twitched behind his glasses, hands neatly folded over the counter.
“No thanks, bud. I can live without all this junk.” The ruddin backed off, their features scrunched up in disinterest? disdain? disgust? dis-something. Not an uncommon expression for his customers.
“WAIT!! ARE YOU [100% Certain] YOU DON’T NEED [Top of the Line] GRADE [Spamton] POIS-POTION?? IT’S [Guaranteed to have clear skin with 5 easy steps]!!”
“I’m certain!” They were all but running away now, leaving an irritated salesman with nothing to show for his efforts.
Spamton groaned and dropped his head into his hands, fingers tugging softly at black locks. That was the fourth (fifth?) failed sale this week. He usually had better luck with Card Kingdom darkners, because they weren’t familiar with his tricks and scams. Word must be getting out. Great. Just what he needed. He was an honest man, for heaven's sake! It wasn’t his fault if a customer chose to ingest a product.
“No luck?” The puppet was brought out of his spiral of self-pity by a hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head to see the pink addison, Vid, smiling sadly at him. “I saw that ruddin run off, I assume they didn’t buy anything…?”
“NADA! Z1LCH! AND I ALMOST HAD ‘EM TOO!” Spamton grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “[Loyal Customers] ARE GETTING HARDER AND HARDER TO [Swindle] THESE DAYS.”
Vid scoffed, picking up the forgotten jar of black ooze and looking it over. “Well, maybe if you weren’t selling them glorified poison…”
“HEY!! IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S [[Chance of Survival 0%]] IT’LL JUST KNOCK YOUR [Lightbulbs] OUT AND LAND YOU IN [Go to the emergency room immediately if you suspect your child has ingest-]” Spamton snapped his jaw shut tight so neither of them would have to endure that tic.
“Right…” The pink ad set the jar back down, gently, as if he were afraid the contents would spill if he didn’t. “Try selling less… hospital landing stuff. I told you you’re welcome to help me sell my teas down at my shop.”
Spamton crinkled his nose and shook his head. How many times would Vid offer that? “I DON’T WANNA SELL THAT [Natural Herbs] CR4P!! I’M NOT HELPING SOME OTHER [schmoe] WITH HIS [Unethical business practices] WHEN I’VE GOT MY OWN TO RUN!”
“Well that schmoe is your brother and I’m just trying to help you out, Spam. I know business is rough. And I know I was never much help in the past, so…” Vid looked away before clearing his throat. “So sorry for wanting to do it now.”
The smaller salesman tapped his foot impatiently, his expression softening just a bit. “YOUR [Service is much appreciated] BUT I’M FULLY CAPABLE OF [Working 9 to 5] 0N MY OWN.”
Vid breathed out a sigh. “Whatever you say. Just remember that- hey, isn’t that my tie?” The ad pointed to the hot pink necktie displayed over the counter next to an old, clunky radio.
“N-NO!! I JUST [Lost and Found] IT!!” Spamton sputtered and quickly snatched the tie from its place to hide it behind his back.
“Spam, you’re not selling my tie-”
“OH!! WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE [Take time off for a lovely-] I’VE GOTTA [[Vamoose]]!!” Spamton shot in the opposite direction, tie in hand, making a quick getaway before Vid could react.
“Wait! Spam!” He heard the other call out but he just kept running, hoping to make his way to the castle.
It wasn’t that far ahead, though it felt like running a marathon to get there in a hurry. He ran past the line of shops and houses at a desperate pace, and he was sure people saw him, but it wasn’t like it was the first time he had made a spectacle in the streets.
Once he made it up the stone steps and past the gate he determined his safety, entering through the castle doors and carefully treading his way down the main hall hoping no one would spot him. If he could just make it back to his room-
“Mr. Spamton! Welcome back!” Ralsei called out and [$%^&] , of course he would be caught. The puppet whipped around to face the prince and forced a smile, tie still clutched in his hands.
“HELLO [Your Fluffiness] WHAT BRINGS YOU TO THIS [5 star hotel] ON [-a late night?]??”
Ralsei gave an awkward laugh as he descended the staircase. “Uh… well, I live here.”
Right. Obviously he knew that. Spamton’s grin twitched. “Y3P!! SURE DO!! WELL I’LL BE [Making my way downtown] NOW!!” He continued forward without looking back at the prince, mentally scolding himself for whatever the hell that interaction was.
“Wait! Before you go,” Ralsei called again and again Spamton turned to face him, and the goat boy pulled out a small crate from the closest. “I have some things for your shop, it’s mostly used items like old clothes or electronics, but they’re all in pretty good shape.” Ralsei held out the crate for Spamton to inspect and the salesman experimentally dug through to see what he could find. Sure enough, it was filled with clothes and random odd devices. “I didn’t want to just throw them out, and I remembered you saying you were going to open up a stand, so…”
Spamton rummaged through the items, his brow growing tighter the more he looked. There was even what looked to be an old radio, undoubtedly in better shape than the one he had sitting on his shop counter right now.
Ralsei noticed his inner turmoil, because the goat’s friendly smile dropped slightly and he tilted his head curiously and cautiously. “If it isn’t to your liking, I completely understa-”
“Thank you,” Spamton managed to mutter, the drastic change in tone taking Ralsei aback for just a second before his smile returned.
“You’re welcome! If I find anything else that could have value I’ll be sure to hand it your way.”
Spamton took the crate into his arms with a newfound excitement and giggled to himself thinking about all the possibilities this opened up. That ruddin will be seething when they realize all the great deals they missed out on! He could practically see them groveling at his storefront now.
There was a faint vibration in his pants pocket, and the puppet reached in to pull out his cellular phone. (A gift from his siblings; the damn thing was completely muted save for the hum of a text message. They knew well enough that calls were off limits.)
Spamton held the phone awkwardly in his hand while he cradled the box of goods, and he clicked on the screen to see the message- it was from Banner. It read ‘ dinners gonna be at 6 hope u come ’ with a smiley face. The puppet groaned in frustration. He had nearly forgotten about the family dinners the blue addison liked to serve. Banner had done so even before… before , and every week or so he would text the younger ad and ask him to join the other four like they all used to do oh so many years ago.
Looked like Spamton wouldn’t get to keep that tie. But it hardly mattered anymore, he had a far better stock now! He grinned to himself just thinking about it.
With the one hand he managed to send back a thumbs up emoji and shove the phone back in his pocket. He had to get these items back to his room so he could properly sort through them, then he could worry about family time.
________
“And then he just ran off with my tie!” The pink addison laughed as he retold the day’s events, the other three brightly colored darkners sitting across from each other at the table and laughing along.
Spamton sat at the far end by Banner, grumbling to himself as Vid’s story went on. He leaned his head against his palm and faked a yawn to show disinterest. “H3Y THAT WAS MY [Top Selling Merchandise] FAIR AND SQUARE!”
“Spam, you stole it. Did you just rummage through my closet or something? Oh god, you didn’t take anything else, did you?”
“NO!! YOUR [Selection of goods] IS [F tier celebrity outfits] AT BEST.”
“Wow, fuck you,” Vid said with a smile, adjusting his styled blazer in emphasis.
“Don’t fret, Vid. We all know your sense of style is a bit lackluster, but I can always design something for you,” Survey snickered beside him, earning a light punch to the arm.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people? I get my tie stolen and now I’m being ganged up on?” The pink ad shook his head and wagged his finger. “Nuh uh. I should’ve known not to trust you idiots.”
“Come on guys, eat your food before it gets cold.” Poppy tapped his fork against his glass to silence the group, and Banner and Survey did as told. Vid did as well, but not without a huff, and Spamton just stared into the bowl of soup and plate of potatoes like he had been asked to eat cardboard. (Which honestly sounded more appetizing at the moment.)
He really didn’t understand why, but just looking at the food was making him feel nauseous, like he was back in the trash trying to force down a moldy CD bagel as his first meal of the week. He enjoyed Banner’s cooking, and he was far from a picky eater considering his previous diet, so this reaction baffled him.
“Is there something wrong with your soup, Spam? Did Ban add too much garlic? I always tell him to lay off the garlic.” Survey piped in.
“I barely added any!” Banner retorted before turning his attention towards Spamton. “If you don’t want it, that's alright, though. I can make you something else if you’d like-”
“N0PE!! I’M SO EXCITED FOR SOME [Delicis] [[Homemade soup recipes]]!!” The smallest ad put on a strained smile and scooped up some soup in his spoon, forcing it in his mouth and down his throat before going for another.
It didn’t taste bad necessarily, though each spoonful had him feeling more and more sick. He would survive, though. The amount of expired and rotten food he had to live on for years had made him exceptionally good at keeping down his lunch. So he went for a bite of potato, forcing it down just the same.
“Are you sure it’s okay? It’s really no trouble if-”
“NNMHMM!” Spamton hummed between bites, blocky teeth clenched together in a haphazard grin. He wasn’t about to let this food go to waste, homeless Spamton would’ve killed (and nearly did) to have a meal like this. Stupid [#*$&]ty stomach.
“If anything it could use more garlic,” Vid mumbled while he stuffed his face full of potato.
“Next time I’ll just make you all separate batches.” Banner sighed, worried gaze still locked on Spamton.
The puppet had nearly finished his soup when he felt his guts scream at him to stop, and his grin broke when the overpowering urge to get out the unwanted food hit him like a truck. His hands shot to his mouth and he tumbled out of his chair to rush to the bathroom, leaving the other four ads in stunned silence.
As soon as he made it to the bathroom he immediately wretched, arms clutched around his sides and breaths coming out short and labored. A glitch shot through his body as the aftermath and he sat on the tiled floor and curled in on himself, his stomach still aching and his throat now sore.
He couldn’t make sense of why it ached. It had felt okay earlier, though admittedly he had a nasty habit of skipping meals because he was so used to not eating at all. He was no stranger to abdominal pain, never was, but this felt different in a way he couldn’t quite place.
“Spam? Are you alright?” Banner’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.
“Yeah, you’re not getting sick are you?” Poppy added.
“I’//M [Fine of $25,000] JUST [organic home grown peaches] R3ALLY!!” Spamton’s voice bugged out slightly from the acid in his throat, and he cleared it with a groan.
“Maybe your food is just that bad, Ban,” he heard Vid whisper, and a stern shush followed.
“Spam, have you felt like this at all today before now?”
The little ad didn’t really know how to answer that. It would require admitting that this was his first real meal of the day, and that was sure to yield unpleasant results. “NOT THAT I C4N [Memory test results]!”
“What have you eaten today besides the soup?”
Damn Poppy and his damn questions. Spamton ran his hands down his face and sighed. “[[N/A]]”
There was a stretch of silence, until Banner’s voice returned. “Um, could you say that again?”
Spamton grinded his teeth in frustration. “I. HAV3N’T. EATEN.”
Another silence followed, and he knew that one couldn’t have been because they didn’t understand.
“Okay, Spam. That’s okay. Do you think your stomach hurts because you haven’t been eating?” The yellow ad asked.
Well, considering how often he went without proper meals, he doubted it. It never affected him this badly, maybe a bit of a stomach ache here and there, but never such intense nausea.
“Could it be your cycle, Spam?” Survey finally spoke up amongst the crowd of voices, and everything went quiet again. They must have felt the need to elaborate, because they hurriedly continued on, “it’s just, that’s exactly how I feel on mine, all nauseous for no reason and I can barely keep any food down so I just avoid it. I don’t know if you still… get yours, though…”
There was a heavy air surrounding that last comment, and Spamton felt the contents of his stomach begin to rise again at the mention of his cycle. It had been so excruciatingly long since he was last forced to endure one, but what he could remember of the experience was eerily similar to the current feelings in his body. It had to be a coincidence. He wasn’t capable of that anymore.
“Spam? Could Surv be right?” Banner was the one to break the tense silence.
No. No , they couldn’t be right. There was absolutely no chance.
“How long has it been since your last cycle? If you… do still get them.”
He hated the caution in their voices, the uncertainty. It reminded him of when they were first reunited, the four older ads tip-toeing around every possible subject trying to make sure they didn’t cross a line, that they didn’t enter territory they were painfully unfamiliar with. Because there was so much they didn’t know or fully understand about the puppet, and it would stay that way even after he had been honest about what happened with his benefactor.
Well, as honest as he could be.
“Spam? You don’t have to answer-”
“I H4VEN’T HAD A [keep track of your menstrual cycle with this handy app] IN [[Top 10-]] T3N. YEARS.”
The silence that followed his confession was deafening, and Spamton clutched his sides tighter to ward off the threatening static fading into his mind.
“You’re supposed to have one at least every three or four years…” Vid’s voice was barely above a whisper, and it made rage boil up inside the smaller ad.
“DON’T YOU THINK I [No! Stop, please!] THAT?! I’M NOT EXACTLY [Factory Settings] IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED!”
“I know, Spam, s-sorry…” the pink ad mumbled.
“Is it possible that you’ve gotten it again?” Survey asked, the hope in their voice sickening.
“Surv, I don’t think-”
“T-Think about it! You’ve been living on the streets for a long time, barely eating or anything, your body must have been completely out of rhythm. But now that you’re back on a routine, maybe it’s started up again. It-it makes perfect sense!”
It did make perfect sense, in a way, and that terrified him because no, it wasn’t possible, his body was far too broken and corrupted, the one on the phone made sure of that. He couldn’t possibly be allowed to experience anything close to addison biology because he wasn’t an addison, hadn’t been one in a very, very long time.
“Do you think it’s possible, Spam?”
It wasn’t. Right? “[No way José]!! ABSOLUTELY NOT!!”
“Then you wouldn’t mind stopping by the doctor just to make sure?” Vid spoke up and that got Spamton fuming, why couldn’t they just take his word for it?!
“YOU’RE NOT TAKING ME TO SOME [[quack.sfx]]!! I TOLD YOU I’M [Read the fine print for more details!]!!”
By his and only his luck, it was that exact moment that the puppet felt another wave of nausea hit him and he leaned back up to vomit into the toilet.
“Please, Spam. It’s better safe than sorry, right?”
Spamton heaved as a particularly violent glitch racked his body. When his form restabilized and the colors in his vision were normal (as normal as they could be with permanent retina damage), he stood up and squeezed his hand around the door handle. He made no move to open it.
“We won’t force you to go if you don't want to,” Poppy sounded. “But, and as much as I hate to admit it, Vid is right.” There was a ‘hey!’ from the pink ad before Poppy continued, “it would be a smart idea to get yourself checked out, even if it turns out to be nothing. I remember you told us yourself that even you’re not sure what happens with your body sometimes, so I think it’s something to consider.”
Spamton’s grip on the handle grew tighter as he took this in. Of course the yellow ad would use that against him. Confiding in his colorful counterparts only ever came back to bite him.
There was a static in his brain, forever present and growing in intensity with each passing second his hand didn’t move. He couldn’t deny that they were right. And that terrified him. He didn’t want them to be right, because that meant facing something he didn’t think he was ready to. Or ever would be.
Despite his doubts, the puppet turned the handle and there were the four ads, staring him down with varied expressions of worry and relief. It was enough to make him want to crawl back into the bathroom and hide away forever, but he held his ground.
“How are you feeling?” Banner asked, his tone careful and concise.
“LIKE [$*%^].”
The admittance only worsened the looks on each of their faces.
“WIll you allow one of us to take you to the doctor tomorrow?”
Against Spamton’s best interest, he just groaned. “F1NE.”
That at least soothed the fog thick tension in the room a bit, and the blue ad sighed in relief.
They owed him so many ties for this.