Chapter Text
"Spamton, watch out!!"
Before his mind even gets the chance to process the warning, Spamton's body has already moved. It lurches to the side and he stumbles from the vertigo of jumping to safety that fast. He lands hard on the wooden stage floor right as the whole stage shakes from the force of the body that collapses onto it. Spamton scrambles to look behind himself, at what happened, despite already knowing what it was that landed behind him.
"Tenna! Tenna, what the hell-"
He cries, getting to his feet and throwing himself back down to where Tenna is sprawled limp and unconscious on the floor. His screen is dark and his limbs are splayed in a way that makes it obvious that he was already unconscious before he even started falling. He didn't get the chance to brace for his fall at all.
This... isn't a normal occurrence, Tenna doesn't just pass out like this, much less trip without even attempting to cushion his fall with his arms. He toppled like a felled tree, shaking the ground with the force.
Spamton lays his hand flat on the plastic casing of Tenna's screen. It's still a little warm like the rest of him is. He's alive, sure, even though there isn't a single sign of it at the moment. There aren't many explanations aside from the obvious one for why this happened, but Spamton still whips his head up at the crew members dashing towards the downed Darkner, and barks at them, voice unsteady and winded from the shock and fear.
"What the hell just happened!?"
One of the Zappers approaching are reaching down to pick up Tenna's cord, laid loose on the floor and connecting to his internal core through the winding mechanism on his lower back, like it always is. It pulls out incredibly long and winds back in by Tenna himself like tensing a muscle. It's what allows him to move around at all inside TV World, it's just long enough for him to reach anywhere in his world, but that's the limit of how far it extends too. Tenna is well versed in keeping it only as extended as is necessary, depending on where he's located in his dark world, drawing it back in whenever exiting somewhere, and back tracking as necessary. He's been doing it for decades, he's never tried differently. Living his life adjusting to always keeping this power cable plugged in is second nature to him, so much so that others tend to forget it's even there, seeing the black line pulled from one end of a room to another or down a hallway is as normal as the stars on the green room walls. It's a lifeline the whole studio is accustomed to accommodating and mindfully stepping around.
And right now, as the Zapper carefully pulls at it, the cord comes back completely slack.
"He got unplugged, sir."
Anger shoots up in Spamton without warning at the confirmation and he jumps to his feet, storming off backstage, eyes wide with rage and disbelief.
Unbelievable. Unacceptable. Who on earth-!
They all know how important it is to keep Tenna plugged in!? They all know what happens when he's unplugged like this. What happens to the studio, to the show, to Tenna. The lights have dimmed all over the studio, that's what happens when Tenna is unplugged. It's not the same as when he sleeps, he's completely turned off, there's no direct connection between him and the dark world, and he's the one powering the whole damn thing. Everything stops working when he's unplugged. The Lightners will see static snow, they'll wonder. And even though time flowing differently in the dark world means only a minute at most passes in the light world, it's enough to make the Lightners puzzled and annoyed with the disturbance. With Tenna. Who isn't even conscious while they bash at his light world plastic casing to try and get the signal back.
The passageways from the stage to the green room are dark, the wall texture is off. It'll return once Tenna wakes, but as it is now there's a distinct wrongness to the world when the boss is absent.
When Spamton finds out who's responsible he's gonna- They'll be sorry, sabotaging the show like this.
And there's Tenna too. There's Tenna, who goes from animatedly presenting his game show with wild arm movents sweeping through the air and energetic leaps, voice loud and commanding as he jovially throws quips and one liners around. And the next second he's gone, instantly. Like a light flicked off, his screen is dark and his body is limp. He has no choice but to topple to the ground right then and there, much too large and heavy for anyone to catch him or even cushion his fall. All they can do is watch it happen in slow motion and hope no one gets hit. And even after he's slammed into the ground he'll wake up, dazed, shaken, and upset; confused as he comes to, but usually quick to realize what happened. It sits in him long after. He's explained the experience to Spamton once. How it feels and how the feeling remains long after he's woken up. The unsettled feeling, the gap in his memory. It's painful to watch, it's another half of the reason why the crew members are so careful around the cord; no one wants to put Tenna through that. Spamton too. It bothers him enough already that the power cord keeps Tenna physically tied down to his world.
Spamton follows the cord through the hallways to the greenroom, letting the black cable hang loosely in his open palm while he trails it to where he finds the culprit.
He knew it. He freaking knew it. Those good for nothing dice, they've always had it out for Tenna-!
"You-!!" he snarls as he rushes right up in a wild storm of anger and disgust into the face of the Pippins who's currently dusting themselves off, assessing a leg that looks to be in some degree of pain or discomfort after getting twisted in the cord. They're almost knocked to the ground once more as Spamton grips them by the collar and shakes them, face red with rage.
"Do you have any idea what you just did!?"
The Pippins holds up their hands placatingly, wincing at the intensity of Spamton's assault on them.
"I tripped! It was an accident, okay? Everyone's made this mistake at least once, it's not like he dies from this!" the Pippins defends, their hands gripping Spamton's wrists to try and ease the hold on their collar to no avail. There's more strength in those hands than it looks like, that's always been the case with the mailman.
Spamton grits his teeth, eyeing the cord on the floor, a noticeable sharp twist in it that acts as a clear indicator for where the pull strong enough to unplug it occurred. It does look like an accident, like how it always happens in situations like these. Everyone at the studio is careful, everyone watches out for the cord, mindfully steps aside from it or untangles it if they come across a twist in it. It's part of the daily protocol in this studio, just like closing the door behind you or switching off the light in a room you're leaving. It's second nature, but accidents still happen from time to time. Just like now.
But it doesn't matter. Who cares if it's an accident if the end result is the same? The studio is dim and Tenna is unconscious. He almost took Spamton with him. Spamton hasn't even taken the time to check if Tenna's screen was damaged in the fall, but that's usually what happens too. If he lands on top of a limb it gets injured, if his tubes get knocked loose or his casing is cracked he gets a migraine and gaps in his memory, if he glass screen gets damaged it messes with his vision. How is that okay just because it happened by accident? It's simply unacceptable. It cannot happen. And yet no matter what Spamton does to prevent it, to punish those responsible, it happens. Rarely, but it happens nonetheless. That Spamton is helpless to do anything about it is an ache he can't get rid of. He hates being helpless. He hates not being able to control fate. He can't even catch Tenna when he falls. He is simply too small to make a difference anywhere.
"You think that suddenly makes it okay!? You're not the one knocked out on the stage floor! You're not the one who almost got flattened underneath him! You're just the good for nothing who was careless enough to not watch their damn step when gallivanting around the green room!"
The Pippins sobers some, leveling Spamton with a withering glare as they pause their struggle against Spamton's grip. Their voice drips with disdain as they retort.
"Glass houses, Mr. Spamton."
Irritation, rage, and shame boils in Spamton as he clicks his tongue sharply and releases the Pippins with a harsh shove that has them stumbling slightly before catching themselves.
"I don't have time for this-!" he hisses and storms past the Pippins towards the backstage technical room. The room is dark and slightly dusty, lined with generators and technical wiring. It's as it always is, though Spamton usually only comes in here for the purpose he's here for now as well. At the furthest wall there's a single power outlet at the center, isolated from any of the other machinery, empty and with the familiar plug end of Tenna's tail lying untethered on the floor about a foot away. Above the outlet are two big, brightly colored signs stuck on the wall, the first one saying, in bold, bright letters; "DO NOT UNPLUG!!!" and the second, slightly asymmetrically placed, saying; "SERIOUSLY, DO NOT UNPLUG ME!!!".
So much for that...
Spamton picks up the tail end and plugs it back into the socket, lamenting not for the first time how terrifying it is that this is all there is to protect Tenna's lifeline. It's so mundane, so simple. A lifeline that's so fickle that a powerful enough yank can sever it.
They've apparently tried catching the cord in the technical room door to keep it from moving, back before Spamton joined, and it was unsuccessful. The sensation was like getting a finger caught in a doorframe and someone slamming the door closed on it. As much as it looks like a normal power cable, it's an appendage that Tenna has sensation in throughout the entire length of it. And so it has to be this way, and it works fine as long as no traitorous Pippins are getting themselves tangled up in it and tearing it out of the socket.
With the plug returned to its rightful place, Spamton gets up, closing the door and carefully making sure to let the cord run underneath the door without resistance. Not that Tenna can feel it yet, he still needs his power button pressed after a forced shutdown like this.
The tangle in the cord where the Pippins had tripped has been straightened out by the time he reaches the green room again, but the Pippins is nowhere to be seen. Good, Spamton isn't sure he could keep his cool if he were to look at their stupid mug right now. Instead, Spamton notices Ramb watching him enter, expression calm and wry as he smiles in Spamton's direction. He was there earlier too, silently observing the little confrontation with the Pippins, but as usual he doesn't step in, just lets it unfold.
"Awful harsh on the lil' chap back there, don't you think, luv? Bit ironic, innit? Seeing as you're the record holder for unpluggings an' all."
Defensive, embarrassed anger rises up in Spamton as he continues walking past without pausing to address Ramb and his nonchalant jab.
"Save it, Ramb. I'm not in the mood for your judgement right now."
A shrug from the power strip as he leans on the counter like he's slightly bored, or just moving casually in a way only Ramb is able to. He's hard to get truly mad at, he's always a little too distant for any rage or animosity to really reach him.
"Not judging or nothin', luv. Just pointing out a bit of hypocrisy when I see it is all. Carry on then, go pick up the big lad. Let's hope he didn't crack his 'ead open too bad this time."
Vaguely unsettling and casually overstepping as usual, the bartender visibly takes no offense to Spamton's ire as he watches the TV Time co-star storming past him and out towards the stage again.
Everyone's just hellbent on pissing him off today. And it was going so well too.
On the stage, the lights are still dim, but more crew has arrived to help assist in the situation. Tenna's body has been moved into a recovery position while Spamton was away, legs slightly bent, arms splayed and secure. Lanino is in front of Tenna's screen, carefully checking the glass for any cracks or micro fractures along the outer edges, one hand brushing back and forth over the plastic bevel of the screen like a comforting motion had Tenna actually been conscious to register it. Elnina is behind the screen, bent down with a light while two Shadowguys are heaving Tenna's screen up just enough for Elnina to peek underneath it and check for damage to the screen casing or any leaking fluids. All of them stop to look at Spamton returning, expressions weary and concerned.
"He's plugged back in. Someone tripped over the cord. Happens. How is he? He good to switch on again?"
As Spamton moves towards Tenna's head, Lanino nods and steps aside to let Spamton take up the spot in front of Tenna. He joins Elnina behind Tenna's screen as she gets up, dusts her skirt off, and flicks off the light. Carefully, the Shadowguys let the back of Tenna's head back down.
"His screen wasn't damaged, but the casing has snapped from the force and it's formed a crack along the side," Elnina responds, crossing her arms and looking slightly somber. Her hair seems to be less fluffy too. "It's not so bad that it won't heal, but my forecast predicts a high chance of migraines for the next few days. You may have to carry the show tomorrow."
Lanino is quick to rub her shoulder, though the flames on his pauldrons also seem to be smaller. It's no wonder, this thing happening is always jarring to witness. There's no other scenario where Tenna ever falters this severely. It's rare enough to even see him sleep. For them at least.
A migraine then. That could be worse. Could be better too, but at least no tubes have snapped and the wiring is intact. Still... what in the world did he do to deserve even a migraine? Just for being cursed with physiology like this? Goddammit... Spamton can't stand it. And like always he's helpless as ever.
"And the show?"
"Switched off. When the signal didn't return the family went to bed from what we can tell."
As he'd suspected. And feared. God, that's not gonna be fun to break to Tenna...
"Right, well. That means it's a wrap for tonight." Spamton announces towards the crew. "I'll handle our host, see ya tomorrow."
Spamton turns to direct his attention at Tenna's dark screen with a sigh. He listens as the crew shuffles and leaves the set, one hand resting on Tenna's screen the same way Lanino's had earlier. He strokes his thumb back and forth over the plastic casing. It's smooth and a little cool to the touch now. There really are no signs of life at all when he's like this. He might as well just be dead. It's deeply disconcerting.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Spamton leans forward and presses his forehead against Tenna's screen.
"It's not fair... it's not fucking fair, Tens. The hell you mean this is just the way things are and always will be? Isn't it terrifying? Don't you ever feel suffocated? Don't you ever wanna be free?"
Well, how could he be? He's been made to be tied down from the moment his screen first turned on. Born into a cage he can never escape. The thought makes Spamton sick.
Throat thick and chin quivering, Spamton reaches up behind Tenna's screen, pressing the power button and listening to the degauss noise as the screen flicks on, a pure blue screen with "TENNA" displayed in bright teal in the top right corner while the ray tubes fire up. Another flick back to black and then the bright light that accompanies Tenna's face materializing. Immediately, he is disoriented and dazed, body twitching in halted motions like every joint is stiff and rusted.
"Nh... what..."
Spamton tilts himself to be more at eye level with Tenna's face from where he's crouched. It feels a little odd, having to bend down to look at Tenna's face, it only really happens when they're in bed together or when Tenna shrinks. Or when something like this happens.
"Hey Big Shot, rise 'n shine. How're you feeling?"
Tenna groans in response, a feeble little sound that doesn't match his size and power at all. With the way he lays, splayed lethargically in a recovery position, he looks weaker and wearier than ever.
"My head hurts... did I..."
There's a slight slur in Tenna's speech, a clear indicator that he hasn't fully come to yet and that the incident has taken a toll on him. He pauses, gears turning inside that box head of his, before suddenly, he tenses, body coiling in alarm.
"...!!! The show!! Oh, god the show!!!"
Like a switch was flipped, Tenna shoots up into a sitting position, body swaying and tilting immediately and he braces himself on the floor with one hand, the other flying up to press against the side of his head where Elnina had pointed out the crack in the casing.
"Wha- Tenna, wait-"
"Ngh-! What happened to the show!? Are we still rolling? What segment was it again!? Argh-! I don't... I don't remember- it has to be the talk show quick round, we'll pick it back up!!"
Already Tenna's pushing himself up on his knees, body wobbling and Spamton moves, grabbing Tenna by the sleeve before he can stand up fully and dangling from his grip. He uses his weight, albeit diminutive compared to Tenna's, to yank down at Tenna's sleeve to try and halt his attempt at rushing up on his feet in his condition.
"Stop! Pause, big guy! Lay back down for a sec before you hurt yourself! It's done, Tenna, you got unplugged!"
"I know I did, I can tell! But we can still make it, before the family notices-"
Already though, Tenna is slowing down. He hasn't gotten to his feet, paused as he kneels shakily on the stage. With the lights back on, the spotlight shines on him as if in mockery. Spamton lets go, dropping onto his feet and moving in front of Tenna. Judging by the size of Tenna's thighs compared to Spamton's size, he's already shrank to half size.
It seems like Tenna realizes the reality of the situation himself, despite not wanting to acknowledge it.
"Tens... it's over, babe. They've gone to bed already. I'm sorry. Just take it easy for now, 'kay?"
Spamton reaches out with both hands open in front of Tenna, waiting for Tenna to place his hands in his. Eventually, Tenna does and Spamton looks up at the distressed expression on Tenna's face as his hands close around Tenna's as much as they're able to.
His heart aches.
Tenna's worst fears and they're shoved into his face on a daily basis. He's constantly confronted with the reality of them, constantly fighting them with every fiber of his being... No wonder he's so neurotic at times. No wonder he's so intense and self destructive over his show. When you live life so utterly dependent on the whims of something you have no control over, it's hard not to have terror and despair etched into every wire of your circuitry and weaved into every thread of your perfectly pressed suit. Try as he might, Tenna will never have control over his own life, no matter how powerful he is. Spamton can lament his own lack of freedom, but this, right here, this is what it truly means to be trapped. Tenna has the power, the ambition, the wings, to fly and soar. And yet he's tied down to his damn post for eternity.
And where's Spamton in all this? Useless as how he was back in Cyber City. What's standing there holding Tenna's hands gonna do in the grand scheme of the injustice that is Tenna's fate?
A shaky little sob escapes Tenna as his expression crumbles, body deflating and hunching as he shrinks further. A silver lining, however small and foolish, in this moment, is that at least Tenna is reaching a size where Spamton gets to hold him for a change. And so he does, moving to stand next to Tenna once he's reached the size of a regular tall man, and he pulls him sideways against his own chest, holding Tenna's head and stroking the top of it.
"I'm sorry, Tens. I'm really sorry. We'll make up for it with an even bigger and better show next time, when you're feeling better."
Tenna doesn't respond, he just leans against Spamton's chest and shifts his head. A minute pause in his body marks the moment when he spots his own tail, twisted and curled in excess length on the stage and he grabs it in a fist, lifting it up to stare at it.
His hand is trembling.
Spamton can hear the hitch in his breath and he can feel the subtle vibration against his chest as Tenna grinds his teeth. He understands the sentiment as they both stare at the power cord clenched in Tenna's fist. A different life, a different world, maybe things wouldn't have to be this way.
Maybe in some other universe, Tenna is free to travel anywhere he wants. Maybe somewhere, he's free to not worry about this at all, fate dependent on a fucking plug in a power socket.
But in this world he is, and Spamton sees Tenna's lips twist in agony and disdain, baring those razor sharp fangs in the process as the pressure within him builds and builds. Spamton quickly reaches out and lays a hand on top of Tenna's fist, halting the rising rage and despair before Tenna can act on it and do something stupid.
For all in the world it looked for a moment like Tenna was going to snap the cord in half entirely.
Spamton doesn't want to think too hard on the implications of that.
"Be nice to that tail of yours, Tens. It's had a rough day too. Let go of it."
Tenna doesn't budge, even without eyes Spamton can see how intensely he's staring at it. Like if he willed it, the thing would burst into flames or melt inside his fist. Spamton squeezes Tenna's hand a little. It's shaking so much. He feels helpless.
"Come on, big guy, you can do it. Let it go."
Finally, Tenna does, the cable dropping to the floor with a plastic-y clack. It's slightly crumpled from Tenna's ruthless grip, but it'll straighten out on its own. He turns Tenna in his arms and hugs him properly, rubbing between Tenna's shoulders and cradling the back of his head.
"Wasn't even me who did it this time, can you believe it?"
Spamton jokes, tilting his head a little to knock it lightly against Tenna's.
There's silence after, for a long while, until a small, congested sniffle escapes the CRT. Expression sobering, Spamton just hugs Tenna closer. He looks out at the empty studio and the seats lined up in front of the stage, all vacant. The lights are back on in the studio, but it looks bleaker than when they'd been dimmed. An ache has settled in the back of his throat and it burns. Outside the studio the snow is falling and the sky is dark as always. And that's all Tenna has ever known. It's all he ever will know. Like the world's most colorful and brilliant macaw crammed into a miserable little bird cage. They didn't even have the mercy to clip his wings.
How's any of this fair?
"It's gonna be okay, Tenna... I promise it'll be okay."
And once again, Spamton knows, deep within his core, that he doesn't have the power to keep that promise at all. He doesn't have the power to do a god damn thing.