Chapter Text
Spamton stopped talking when Survey died.
He was only a child when it happened, perhaps a few years old. On that grim day, the little, white Addison should have been tucked in at home. The Queen had ordered it so: no child of monster was to be drafted, no matter how dire the war became. So, why was Spamton buzzing between hundreds of armed soldiers? The monsters of that particular company knew well enough. He was their messenger boy.
“Scuse yah.” A turtle chuckled at the child sprawled over his boot. “Watcha got there, son?”
Spamton, having tripped in his eagerness, coughed. His chest hurt. “Well, Sir Boom,” he grumbled, peeling himself off the knight’s boot, “it’s direct orders from the King.“
“Yah don’t say. Mind tellin’ an old pal?”
“No can do.” Spamton shook his head. “For Captain’s eyes only!” With that, he sped back down the line.
Even at his young age, Spamton could sense the rising tension, the growing confusion. Why hadn’t they gone yet? What were they waiting for? Spamton had asked himself the same questions. Their enemy was right there, after all. The humans, at least from what he could see, were sleeping in their tents. If the monsters just rushed that camp, they’d have it by noon with minimal casualties. Yet, there they were, just waiting. Unbeknown to Spamton, his crumpled letter held the answers to their questions.
When it found the Captain’s hand, Spamton could only watch as his face contorted with rage. “What are you playing at, boy?” he spat, his claws digging into the parchment. “If Asgore so desperately wants to cease this attack, he best come down and tell everyone that himself.“
Spamton shrunk. “But the King—“
“The King be damned!” The Captain screamed, spit flying. “My company rides at dawn!”
Once the first strings of light bled over the hills, the Captain ordered the attack.
In a barrage of sharpened swords and spears, the company rushed down the steep slope, some slipping on the mud and rolling the rest of the way down. Spamton, who had been panicking by a tree, only froze once a thought crossed his mind: his family, they were on the frontlines.
What if something was wrong with the attack? What would happen to Clicks and Banner? What about Sponsor and Survey? Tears sprung to Spamton’s eyes as he stumbled down the hill with the other shouting soldiers.
Clicks was the first Addison found by Spamton. He was scrambling off the muddied terrain, reaching for his sword, when Spamton grabbed his shoulder.
“Spam?” Clicks blurted. “Why aren’t you at camp?”
“The King called off the attack!” Spamton shouted with fear behind his frames. “We should go. Please, let’s go.”
“What? Are you crazy?” Clicks scoffed, shoving Spamton to the mud. “Go find Banner. I’m not leaving.”
So, Spamton found Banner, just around the hill’s base, when the company pierced the edge of the enemy camp. The screams that erupted down the line struck a primal fear within his soul. It practically wavered.
“Go back? Now?” Banner rasped once they dragged Spamton behind a nearby tent. “We can’t do that.”
“But—“
“Go home, Spamton,” they said, their orange fist shaking around their dagger. “If I catch you here again, I’ll drag you back myself. Got it?”
Spamton couldn’t argue with Banner. Their word was final, a period at end. But with Sponsor? Spamton could yell until his speech box cracked. Shoving past Banner’s legs, Spamton dived back into the frenzy of swords, spears, and limbs.
He had never seen so much blood.
As the first flames sparked, setting the main tents ablaze, Spamton just barely managed to grab Sponsor’s leg, causing him to stagger as his arrow fired. It whirled into the chaos of humans and monsters, only to plunge into a monster’s side. She burst into dust before either Addison could react.
“Not one of us,” Sponsor reassured before grabbing Spamton and pulling him close. “Now, what are you doing here?
Spamton wasn’t listening. A gust of wind had blown away the dust before it could settle. She was lost forever. What if that happened to his family? What then?
“Hey, hey, don’t look at that.” Sponsor pulled away and forced a smile. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“The King stopped the attack,” he mustered, though his voice shook, “but the Captain wouldn’t listen.”
“What?”
“I’m not lying, Sor.” Tears prick at Spamton’s eyes. “I promise I’m not.”
Sponsor’s grip tightened. “I believe you, okay? We just—“ He looked over his shoulder then back at Spamton. “We have to get out of here.”
The two Addisons took three steps forward before Sponsor drew his bow again. One sharp arrow chased after another, whistling through the dust. The enemy just kept on coming. A hand even wrenched Spamton away from Sponsor’s pant leg. The yellow Addison just barely managed to stab his arrow into the human’s flesh.
“Shit! Where are they coming from?” Sponsor yelled, yanking the arrow back, strings of fresh blood flying.
Spamton flinched away. That’s when he saw it: the large hills just beyond the camp. The rising sun spilt rays of golden light over a lone knight. They stood still, their sword held up to the heavens. When they pointed their weapon onward, the screams of a hundred thousand soldiers rang out over the valley. A new enemy company, four times the size of theirs, came rushing down the hills.
This was a trap, not a triumph.
Spamton had to find Survey.
Breaking off from Sponsor, Spamton shoved himself back into the chaos, swerving between swung swords and tangled limbs. A beam of wood from a burning tent came crashing down. Spamton missed it by the inch of his nose. He staggered back, biting back a scream, before he scrambled off the mud into the other direction.
“I’m not leaving you here!” A voice shouted above the shrieks and hollers. “Come on! Get up!”
Spamton whirled around, his eyes blown wide.
In the distance, only a few feet away, Survey staggered with their arm around a hurt human. Of course this is where they’d be: among the injured, despite not fully understanding why humans bled and bruised. They just couldn’t get themselves to fight, not like the Addisons, and yet here they were. Survey refused to abandon their family.
When they noticed Spamton, their face contorted, fear washing over them like rainwater. Who they should help was no longer a question. Between the injured human and their little brother, they’d always choose family. It was the way of the Addison. Survey lowered the human back down. Spamton bolted to Survey.
Spamton could see it then: their cabin, not so far from here. Clicks, bringing four steaming cups of tea into the dining room. Banner, following with a tray of freshly baked cookies. Sponser, already seated, sticking out his leg to trip Banner again. And Survey, probably overlooking Spamton’s shoulder, pointing out a spelling error in his homework. These moments around the dinner table were Spamton’s favourite. Now, running up to Survey, he craved nothing more than that: his family, together again.
A sword plunged through the plastic of Survey’s chest.
Spamton stopped. “Survey?”
“That’s me,” they croaked, their shoulders shaking. “Are you—“ Survey crumpled. “Don’t cry.“
No, please.
“Be good, okay?”
Please, don’t do this.
“Promise you’ll be good?”
He couldn’t.
Survey turned to dust.
Once the shifting mass of grey vanished with the howling wind, a figure manifested in the clear, clutching a sword both dusty and red: a human, crimson-eyed.
“Go,” they breathed.
For Survey’s sake, Spamton listened, his small fingers clutching at his throat as he coughed and sobbed back through the camp.