Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was slow going.

The quiet bubbling streams and the soft ambient cavern echoes were the only sounds following the two monsters, shuffling footsteps muffled in the damp earth as they limped along. Their path was lined with the twists and turns of the old puzzle mazes, glowing mushrooms dotted about the damp earth, and though it lacked the marshy aspect of the regions behind them the humidity and heavy darkness of Waterfall's depths was all encompassing. Were it not for the glow from the taller monster's face they'd have been forced to take the usual route, but Tenna's screenlight bathed the obscure rocks and mud and clumps of black weeds, allowing them passage.

They would've been making good time, but Spamton kept by his side as Tenna hobbled forward, holding his arm as a lopsided still-too-short crutch to work alongside his creaking cane. Every motion, every step, seemed as if it was being announced in the quiet surrounding them, grating metal on metal, the thicker popping of tubing clinching and then straightening, loose wires whisking underneath his baggy clothing, and Tenna couldn't stop the flickering of his screen, the static curl of the expression on his cracked face, glass nose sharpening up before fizzling fuzzy with spent humming magic. When they came upon a dip in the ground, a slight slope and uphill raise, his hand tightened upon his partner's wrist with a frustrated puff of steam from the vents of his head, hissing static crawl of a noise whining in his internals.

His husband flashed him a squinted look of what was probably sympathy, though to Tenna's screen he felt the crawl of pity in the strain of his pulsing joints and his squeeze definitely pinched a bit more than wanted as Spamton winced before twisting around from his grip and helped pull him up the rest of the incline.

“J JUST A B1T LLONgER, C A T H O D E.” Spamton's voice sounded so loud out here, not much earth or trash or waterfalls to block and muffle, and the scraping of his wagging loose jaw just barely hid the thinner pitch of his shaky tone. “WW W3 GOTTA PI CK UPP THE P4cE H ERE, ‘K?”

Tenna flashed him a silent strained smile in answer as he straightened up from the haul, metal framework creaking and groaning together as he swayed - the old cracks and splinters of his screen didn't do the best job at hiding his protruding grimaced fangs. Spamton's eyes had thankfully already turned away, carefully twisting around and shoving his loose jaw back into place as he scoured their surroundings once more.

He's been doing that since they had left home hours earlier. At the time Tenna had only just sat down before the counter, elbows jerkily jutted to balance as the chill humid air of the nearby waterfall flooded through the open window, when his husband had come racing through the door with a babbling barrage of hoarse shouting and eerie cut offs of noise, gesturing mindlessly around in some sort of incomprehensible explanation. At first he had been confused, maybe a bit amused, but the moment the dust had started drifting down Spamton's face to the rest of him, glittering and muting the colors of his coat, dark eyes starting to bead up in the frustration, he had quickly realized the gabbering gibberish was much more serious.

What little words Spamton had been able to spit up at him from his trembling bullets was alarming enough, an evacuation and urgency that the monster couldn't seem to get himself to explain, but as he had tossed aside his mailbag and started digging around under their shared bed Tenna had found himself hauling back up into a stand and began steeling and conserving his energy for…something.

Whatever it was, it was an emergency. His dial changing words were lost on the shorter monster, and he had slowly, creakily slipped back on his jacket and took up his set aside old cane to then lean by the front door and wait.

The fact that Spamton had, after finding whatever he had been shoving around for, fell into a deep kneel and head bowed to the ground with his hands clasped before him around the object, bulleted words spilling out with fanatic haste, eyes screwed up tight-

Tenna didn't interrupt his husband's prayer, short and quick and desperate as it was, and Spamton had only shaken violently a few times after stumbling outside, the object stuffed into a pocket. His hand on the shorter monsters shoulder calmed him, seemed to draw him back, and his dusty eyes had cleared somewhat before Spamton took the lead and started the both of them on their path ahead.

Now they were here, a few miles of distance and hours worth of time, slowed down by how many breaks and pauses and the slow dragging steps Tenna could take. It wasn't as if he didn't want to be quick, Spamton's earlier words ringing rough and hoarse in his casing, that flurry of almost panic that kept flashing in his eyes, behind his glasses as the two of them had tried to hurry along - but it was no use. Tenna could only move on at a snail's pace.

His vents expelled blistering circulated air, the burn of his internals and curdle of his wires making the plume around him stink of dusty ozone and heated hot rubber. Vaguely he wished they had done some maintenance on him recently, to have alleviated some of the pressure he could feel rocking and bubbling in his system. His frustration over this entire situation was starting to eat through the patience he could afford for his husband's usual, or thus unusual, antics. The fact that this was important, and seemed a very serious situation, ate at him in parallel time, and it kept gnawing at his circuits and very SOUL that this was happening in the first place.

He didn't know what was going on. Spamton was hyper alert, keeping an eye out all around them for some sort of threat that Tenna had no knowledge of, and as he ached and pained with pushed through exhaustion it was starting to become just too much for him.

Spamton made an “OOF-!” of noise as Tenna scraped into a swaying halt, body weight shifting to and fro before adjusting to let himself lean on his cane. For a moment it was quiet, his husband adjusting his crooked hat and sliding glasses, clacking his jaw a few times with wisps of dust drifting about his stiff face, before he peered up at Tenna's silent form with a whuff of an exhale.

“TH3RE'S S N0 TImE TO W4S TE, A NT TT. WWE GOT 2 G0.”

There was no hesitation as Spamton slipped a hand to one of Tenna's own, completely ignoring the fact that Tenna had curled his hands up into fists as answer and instead easing jointed stiff fingers between faintly trembling metallic plates, gears, and pinch points.

Tenna relented, though his third hand rose unsteadily up to his dials and he slowly leaned, glow of his static frizzed screen washing over his mailman and making Spamton stare up at him. The tense set of his jaw grinded side to side, beady eyes narrowed in the glare, glass lenses reflecting back half flashes of light and mirror image screen, and Spamton inhaled sharply as if he was about to interrupt-

But Tenna pushed forward, thoroughly, wearily, near completely done.

“-s right, of course that's right-”
“-and yet-”
“-t what you said, back there when it was-”
“-need an explanation eventually, you know-”
“-re on our way now, don't worry about-”
“-and the walk is a long one, it'll take us miles to-”
“-nd what, I get the cold shoulder and you the silent treatment? What are we, high schoolers-”
“-t just ask anyone what's going on, I'm asking-”
“-es SPAM stand f-”
“it's all about the why of-”
“-T A TEST. THIS IS MANDATORY. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, BY ORDER OF THE ROYAL SCIENTIST. TAKE THE SAFEST ROUTE TO HOTLAND AND DO NOT APPROACH ANYONE YOU CANNOT IMMEDIATELY IDENTIFY. THE ROYAL GUARD WILL BE THERE TO HELP. DO NOT WASTE TIME, DO NOT GATHER YOUR BELONGINGS, DO NOT APPROACH ANY HUMANS. THIS EMERGENCY BROADCAST HAS BEEN RECORDED AND WILL BE REPEATED. — THIS IS NOT A TEST-”

Admittedly, Tenna might have at first let the words get away from him, spilling out the frustration, the fear response he couldn't help but want to dispel the moment Spamton had come home, terrified and afraid - but the stumbled on broadcast burst that apart. He stiffened up, frozen as fuzz lines and static bloom crawled about his screen and pulsed about his cracked points, obscuring the picture before half clearing then washing away again, his shaking hands raised to his face but the motion aborted last minute.

On his screen there was a familiar looking monster set up behind a desk with hands steepled, papers stacked neatly in front. The angle was off a bit, picture quality not quite focused, lighting carelessly done - a flimsy, thrown together look, unprofessional even, and what didn't help were the flashes of shadows and monsters running past, back and forth with background speech that didn't even try to whisper but were too panicked to be audible anyway. The actor himself stayed perfectly still, calm, collected, and when the video repeated there was a noticeable adjustment to the feed, flickering lines and shifting horizontal before cleaning up once more.

For all that Tenna has seen of this singular superstar of the underground, the merchandise that piled up in the dumps and the some odd channels that crammed up in his feed and speech that he, perhaps a bit spitefully, forced himself to explicitly avoid, this was not the Mettaton that acted with the usual flair and parading around on screen, soaking up whatever viewership, lacking or not, with the same gusto as ever.

There was no panic in the monotone voice, and not a single tremble or shudder in the stocky metal boxed frame. This was acting of a different kind, and the familiarity of it, the seriousness of an emergency broadcast, struck him in his very SOUL.

Then the channel flipped away, static overtaking and volume bleeding to dead noise as Spamton suddenly tugged his head and neck down by the necktie, spinning his dials forcefully. A quick slap from Tenna made the shorter monster reel back, jaw grit tight and eyes steely, and Tenna stood up straight, tall, leaning, swaying as he clasped a hand over his controls, expression gone into static and pointed nose staring down in shocked disbelief. Outraged, offended as well, and it broke through the chill static snow that had been flooding upwards through his circuits.

The last time he had ever had a broadcast like that on his face had been when the royal children were confirmed dead. That had been the last time he had a real job, had been allowed into the King and Queens home - and the last time anyone had ever laid hands on his dials without his express permission.

Before he could speak up, sparking with static agitation, stress, Spamton spoke first.

“1TT T'$$ 4 L L G01nG 2 [$!X$], A4 NT.” The extreme garbling of the words made Spamton wince, grinding his jaw as dusty clouds rose and spread about his throat, bullets spat up with more force and hoarse jittering noise. He scrubbed a hand over his face, stiff fingers carding through the foggy dust before giving up with a frustrated thrash and stomp of the ground, and then his dust filled glasses snapped back to staring up at Tenna. “YY UU S4W, A A HUM4N I$, IS - FL1P B4 CK 11F Y OU W4nT, 1 1 I D0N ‘T C4R3, BBU T W3 N33D 2 K3 3P M0 V1N G.”

Tenna stared down at him, static screen dimming with a harsh flashing flicker of interference - he didn't think he's ever seen his husband so agitated before. The framework of his own body trembled with the clatter of metal and plastic and glass, antennae screwing up in crooked knots as he drew his two free hands back to himself, to his chest as his shoulders fell. The letter bullets helped decipher some of the noise just a little bit, but Spamton's movements grew more frantic, gesturing jerkily around and making himself stumble with the force of his own motions, eyes narrowed into a thin mean squint as his hat slid crooked atop his head.

“W WW33 C4 N'T ST0P H3R 3, 1T’ SS$ N0T S4f3, W3’ R3 N0T S4F3, Y0 U'R3 N0T S 4F3-” He swung around, pointing up at Tenna, and his face was aglow with only the faintest of light from Tenna's screen, toothy jaw wagging loose, unhinged set of his painted wooden face straining with the creeping dusty fog, obscuring Spamton away even as he glared upwards pleadingly. “W3 N33 3D 2 G0!”

A moment of silence passed between them as Tenna tried to comprehend all that had happened in a span of a few minutes, two hands clasped together and fidgeting, third clenched, trembling, about his cane, exhausted weight now at a chilling standstill as vented hot air puffed from his head. The clacking creaks and low droning whine in his background hum of electric flow seemed so, so loud in the silent stillness.

Not a single Echo Flower nearby to repeat it all back, but then, every flower they had stumbled across had been utterly silent. Not a one uttered even a peep of passing presence.

For some reason, the remembrance of this terrified him.

Slowly, his hand reached back up to his dials.

“-...okay-”

The channel switched back to static with a quick click, dim and unexpressed, his borrowed voiceover so, so very quiet as he cut off the rest. His hands were shaking, and the low creaking grind of his body trembling felt so out of place to him for some reason, a bit farther away in an almost light headed wash of realization.

There was a human, underground, and they were killing people.

He didn't realize he was shuttering a static garble whine of noise until hands were curling with his own, stilling his fumbling and instead twining fingers together, wood with metal. So much had been going on in this mad rush away from whatever danger was behind them, his body exhausted, his mind fatigued by the constant onslaught of ‘too much, I'm doing too much, I'm hurting, this is hurting me, I need to stop, please stop, please hurry up and finish and stop-’

And thinking was just! Hard to do right now! If they had been at home Tenna would have curled up in bed and left all the capital T Thinking to Spamton for the rest of the evening.

But he can't do that. There was a mandatory evacuation happening, an emergency of cataclysmic proportions, and…

Tenna shuddered, squeezing his hands as his screen brightened up and washed static snow over the face of his peering up husband. Memory prickled up inside his heavy head, bubbled and thick with extreme weight and forgotten fog, and he knew-

“Hey, Tens, earlier at the bar you said somethin’ about the war. What was that all about?”

“Ohh, just a, hm. Slip of the tongue. I was just…making small talk.”

“Really? So I shouldn't assume anything about how old you are from that statement, hey?”

“Wha- Don't you know not to ask a monster their age? And I'm not that old!”

“Sure, Tenna, sure, calm your tits, I meant nothing by it! I was just a lil curious is all, stop pouting and come back over here~”

-that this was very, very serious.

His screenlight brightened Spamton's stiff face, outlining the shadows of strain and stress and tension and change, the hard set way he was holding himself together with the barest of terrified strings. Tenna shivered, feeling the ache of his body, the bruising pressure ever present and constant, and his tense painful fingers curled with his husbands blocky jointed own - the memories of times long since past that threatened to overwhelm him drew back, fading from the present with an internal wince.

As long as I am here, Tenna vowed silently, static lines pulsing in waves across his screen and pixel bloom warping across his cracked glass as his light washed over his husband, nothing will happen to you.

I won't let it.

“-it's time, let's t-”
“-re heading on, keep needing to go-”

Spamton stared up at him, lost in his own thoughts with the dust filling in his glasses and curling frighteningly around the side of his face, fuzzing his physical edges smooth before reverting back and draining into sudden clarity, and with a clack of the jaw and nod of the head he clasped their hands tighter, spun around, and led the both of them onward.

Their pace was still as slow, as achingly halting and exhaustive, and Spamton was still just as hyper alert, but now Tenna tackled this ~Physical Challenge~ with a bit more gusto and his mood, venting steam with huffs and puffs of static hissed inhales and exhales, creaking body and straining magic, sharpened with a clearer focus than it has in a very, very long time.

It wasn't dread that had settled into his chest, into his SOUL, but something about the quiet, the hushed hurriedness of Spamton's guiding pace, trembling hand in trembling hand-

Something more solid, more inevitable, held a place in his heart, and Tenna pushed on through the humid darkness, the damp and glowing mushrooms and slime molds, the false stars in the sky so dark, so far away now.

***

It would've felt like no time at all but for the shaking sharp pains in his legs, his ankles pinching with each step and knees popping and crackling with each shift of his weight. Now even Spamton's low hoarse little gasps of fatigue escaped him in bubbles of dusty asterisk bullets - but the faint glow ahead, obscured by the silhouettes of rocks and boulders and cliff edges, heralded their arrival to the bridges of Hotland.

The sluggish streams had turned into quick moving rivers, flanking them as the ground lost its muddy layers and grew dry and gravelly, the few plant growths turning to stone instead. The glowing mushrooms were replaced by set aside low lit lanterns, following along the true proper paths and trails. They've left the dark mazes of Waterfall's depths behind, and now hobbled through the outskirts. Up above them loomed rocky cliffs and wooden bridges - even further up should be the welcome sign, though the both of them were planning to bypass this.

During their quiet march Spamton had started sputtering up something else, trying to be quiet and failing miserably in his thick broken shouting - “H3AD TTO HOTLAnD, WE G0T T O RE AcH H0TL AN D, TH3 L4 B, SHHO ULD B33 SAF E R TH3rE, WE’ LL BE E S4FE THErE-”

It was enough of a goal, even if neither of them saw any sight or sound of another monster, nor anything of the Royal Guard. Ruefully Tenna thought of whoever might still be left in Waterfall, like that tortoise that had once made Spamton so mad he had fallen into complete incoherence for nearly the entire day, then grumpy for the rest of night - something about setting up shop so close by, even though Tenna had pointed out that the old monster's wares were far too light and specialized to have any effect on their own well rounded, if a bit junky, stock.

But then, he supposed with some hint of helpless frustration, the veteran probably knew what he was doing. Tenna had never quite been on the front lines, after all - his role had always been entertainment, distraction, support - retreat. He hardly remembered anything, anymore, time and the age of his physical body taking its toll on memory, and nowadays his mind focused on the present, not the past.

It hurt, too much. And he had more than enough pain in him, lifetimes worth of it, to just not add to the pile.

…Back when they had walked through the tunnel halls and passed the dark entrance to that shop, silent Echo Flowers and empty of other monster life, Tenna had gotten the distinct feeling crawling up his twisted metal spine that, maybe, the both of them should have stayed at home and held their storefront open instead.

But it was far too late for distraction now.

Retreat.

Pebbles and rocks kept slowing him down, loose sagging shoes dragging with his stumbled steps, more and more heavily leaning upon his cane for help with each hobble. His neck and spine were aching with the effort to keep his head held high, length of his wire tail dragging in the rubble and dirt - it must be so dirty by now, he hasn't even attempted to raise it up the entire way forward, much too focused on laying one foot after the other, continuing on as he followed Spamton's lead.

“AALM0ST THErE.” His husband rasped, just as tired as he was. They both knew this was too much for the both of them, it was just too much- “WE'R3 A L M O ST TH3R3.”

Tenna swayed with every step, leaning heavily down as his spine bent and his screenlight washed over the ground before him, the arm holding his cane trembling in heavy shudders of jerky motion, feeling his knees click in the deep of his joints, the threat of his entire body falling all apart looming like the horrible sticky mist that would sometimes rise in the depths of Waterfall whenever the temperature and airflow would reach stagnantly silent levels.

Faintly he heard Spamton's feet shuffling, hand in his slowly letting go, before his static ridden view bubbled barely there visuals around him and he more felt than saw hands gently lay stiff palms to the crumbled glass of his cracked screen. When Tenna tried to squint his vision through the static snow his husband's face was peering up at him with an exhausted expression, hanging with shaky worry and the vestiges of fear and panic still lingering on the edges of soft wisps of dusting cloud puffs.

“...L LET'S T4KE AA RES T, ANT T.” His voice was somewhat less shaky though, if not just as loud as he usually was, and Tenna heavily rocked his head in a semblance of a nod before he felt those hands drift from his screen back to his free hands, a moment of weary silence as they shuffled off to the side of the path.

Vaguely he comprehended the rocks, boulders smoothed by years upon years of many other monsters taking a seat by the trail, and when Spamton guided him down, all creaking and popping and the violent gritty grind of joints and body and sense of self, Tenna went without a complaint.

It felt…nice, to sit down again. Static churned low in his speakers, an almost subconscious effort to lower his energy usage as his thoughts slowed, as his body shook, aching stiff fingers curling into trembling fists. He could hear, sense the motion of the other monster, antennae swaying listlessly, and Spamton scooted right up beside him, solid wood hip against the stiff boned out metal casing of his own, a hard shoulder pressing to his limp elbow, and then greasy haired head leaned against his upper arm, tucking in and settling beside him with a heaved, bullet ridden spill of a sigh. A hand was still clasped with his, his face flickering in tired static and half blindness, and Tenna watched as a stiff thumb rubbed over the wedding band that poked innocently enough out from under his long ruined and pocketmarked gloves.

He knew it was careless, to wear it without any safeguards to his lifestyle - he's, haha, lost it a fair amount of times previously!

But Spamton always ended up finding it again, or at least something that looked similar enough to the original, Tenna's sight was bad enough most days and he's taken to just accept any odd differences or variations as the normal thing to happen to rings well worn. Best to not fixate on the consequences of his own actions, right? He had better things to think about.

But he still knew it was stupid of him. The gloves were fraying apart, all three of them slightly different in make and brand and quality at this point, and he always slipped his ring on the one that was worse off just for the plain fact that he wanted to be able to glance down throughout the day and see it. To know that little promise of theirs was always there, was real even, and wouldn't just…fade away into obscurity. Or be forgotten by everyone and everything, tossed out with the trash and wake up in the dump far, far away from a home that didn't recognize him-

Tenna jerkily rose up a free hand, a brief moment where his motion jolted Spamton before he half turned and pressed his palm to his husband's folded jacket collar. The thick navy blue fabric was old, crusted with dust and the drying filth of garbage water run off and constant humid air - trying to clean up was always a chore, because drying everything out afterwards meant a trip to Hotlands outskirts and it was rather obvious that doing so frequently would be too taxing for either of them. If Spamton decided his route took him this way he'd make an entire day of it, and Tenna would only see him arrive by early next morning, exhausted and always griping that he was never heading that way again. But the payouts were sometimes too good to stop, and Tenna tried to plan accordingly, usually with some form of dinner scraped up and thrown together, bed made and shop tidied as best as he could manage - Spamton was gone for hours, and that was honestly just enough for him to clean and rest and clean again to almost satisfaction, most times.

His palm pressed in close, feeling the tired shift of breath, the dull vibrations and sliding of wood and pulleys and string and the magic hidden underneath, feeling Spamton click his jaw, head raised as he watched with squinted beady eyes. When Tenna limply dragged down his uncooperative fingers, seeking and failing, the other monster released the hold he had with Tenna's other hand and instead went to his throat as well, fiddling and then pulling away the twine string and unveiling the little ring he had hung about his neck.

When he held it out Tenna burred out a low, glitchy hum of static, leaning further as to brush his screen gently against the side of his little mailman's head, light flickering over him in static waves. His shaky hand cupped his husbands, then curled about to both hold hand and ring - that little circlet of metal was his find, simple and not nearly as pretty or shiny or symbolic as the one on his finger, but…

It wasn't meant to be permanent. Tenna was going to find a better replacement someday, he had promised himself that ages ago, flustered and unable to find anything prettier to answer Spamton back with. His promise was just part one, an intermission, right smack dab in the middle of the season-

He'll do better. He just had to wait for the right opportunity, and then he could make it all up to Spamton, that he had been so blindsided by the pretty gift that he hadn't had one ready himself, had been too tired every day to have ever had the thought cross his mind, the possibility, the reasonable way of things and how they've lived together for so long, how Spamton has known Tenna for longer, and even after everything that had happened and how they both tried to not talk about the void that had been their pasts, even after taking Tenna in down there near the dump’s abyss and keeping him fixed up and chugging along, no matter the problems and issues that came up for doing so when Tenna himself could hardly be called an upstanding working and providing member of society - and how much he wished he could be, he wanted to provide, he had always wanted a family, he wanted to support his loved ones with every ounce of magic in him since the day he realized he could have what he always wanted-

Steam whuffed out of his vents in one big heavy sigh, glass nose crackling faintly as he nuzzled carelessly against his husband's head, making his hat go crooked and greasy brittle hair rise up with the static runoff of his screen. Tenna could hear him bark out a strained chuckle, tense, and when Spamton tucked the ring back and leaned into him he had already set aside his cane and wrapped all three arms about him, pulling in close as those soft harmless laughing bullets slipped out of his husbands mouth.

He could feel Spamton sucking in deep breaths, trying to calm himself, or maybe just center and clear his throat, and Tenna pressed his palms down baggy thin back in soothing, shaky circles.

His husband was trembling, still. A hand clasped clumsily with his own, the one with his ring, and Tenna's antennae drifted down to sway low and slow as his hand was brushed against closed blocky toothed mouth, an almost kiss and more press of comfort for a few moments.

“...A4RE. YOU.” Spamton paused, the grind of his teeth vibrating against Tenna's metal chassis, the noise muffled when pressed up against the worn layers of clothing he had hanging off his sharp unpadded metal shoulders. His voice was focused, wavery at the edges with the plumes of migrating dust and exhaled bullet exhaust. “O.K., A N T?”

Tenna fought the little shivery emotion that raced up his spine, a pinprick of fear and dread and utter foreboding - he would not shrink, he would not.

He had to detangle his third hand, turning dials as he stubbornly refused to pull away. Channels flickered in a dazed blurry static mess, but his audio didn't waver.

“-it's just that I'm-”
“-t all the peaches this year-”
“-SPAM-dandy tricks with-”
“-y fine material you've got there!”

His antennae lowered with each channel flip, hanging limp over his screen and brushing against Spamton's hat, and Tenna shook as he fought the urge to bury himself against his husband, shrink till he could hide away in a pocket and not have to deal with what was happening.

A part of him wanted to admit it. Wanted to tell Spamton he was tired, he was scared, that he wanted to go back home, he honest to the Angel just really wanted to go back home. But his words may not come out with the right intent, and the fact of the matter was that they both were still in danger, that they both needed to keep going. Hotland was just up this path, switchbacks and stone staircases and the heat of the thermal core of their underground world, the lab right there, and then they'd be safe.

He didn't really know where exactly they were heading after that, but…he trusted Spamton knew what he was doing. They just needed to find a Royal Guardsman, that was all.

…And maybe then he could shrink down and let Spamton take over for a while. It would hurt a little bit, his body not quite up to the size change no matter where his mind was, but if he could just shut off and let his mailman hold him close then it would be all worth it.

That thought, little daydream want that it was, was actually enough to give Tenna some surge of motivation back, energy reserves tapped into as he finally pulled away and grabbed up his cane once more, straight backed and creaking loudly in the motion.

Spamton hesitated, but he didn't need much prompting to hop off the boulder when Tenna struggled back to his feet, one hand waved out for balance and the other at his dials.

“-t to keep up, keep going forward now-”
“-just up over the hill, almost there, a-”

When his knees locked with a scraping click of noise and he overbalanced forward Spamton was already there, grabbing a hand and counter balancing him out as Tenna haltingly straightened into a stand that definitely didn't show just how exhausted and trembling with all the deep joint agony he was in. His screen flared with static and rippling dead lights, curling flush about the cracks and inadvertently forming bullet tears, but his free hand slicked any away with his frayed sleeve.

He tilted his head to look down at his husband, nose fuzzing up with static before the glass cleared, and when he flashed a wobbly little grin Spamton's stress lined eyes softened, clenched jaw loosening just a tad bit as he squeezed their still held hands together.

It was just a little longer. They were almost there.

And then Tenna's antennae swerved, jolting as he turned his screen, and Spamton was suddenly by his side and leaning, staring fixedly out into the darkness of the path back behind them. They both listened intently, the taller monster's extra senses stretched to taste what magic he could in the air, something, anything - his spine clinched uncomfortably when all he could pick up was unfamiliar dust.

Spamton was entirely still, focused and stiff, hands clenched into the fabric of Tenna's trousers. The scattering of pebbles and rocks, bounced up from careless steps, made the both of them inhale sharply, Tenna's vents hissing with the flush of overextended and overheated circuitry, Spamton's raspy and grave with tension. He didn't move even as Tenna pushed slightly against his grip, as if to take a step back, and didn't notice as Tenna's antennae curled and then pinned flat against his head, the crooked metal and bent kinks twisting with bruising pain.

Even with Tenna's faint light, screen now dimming, the darkness of the caverns was impenetrable - he was unable to even voice just how awful feeling, how horribly, anciently familiar it was to be facing such a high LV, how such a stench of death that came from the breeze of Waterfall's rivers that usually sent out cool clean air to the cliffs of Hotland was engulfing him with a fear so sharp and encompassing that all the pain and exhaustion suddenly felt so far, far away-

For a moment the footsteps slowed, hesitated. Skidding pebbles rolled to a stop, and the air was silent.

And then, out of the black, a human shape stepped out.

Tenna's screen blinked, surprised, as he tilted his head to stare down, down, down at them. The shock outweighed the vibrating tension in the air, a shapeless, hopeless relief taking out his logic for just long enough for him to twist his dials with a wretchedly painful precision, taking a swaying step forward.

“-Hello -”
“-there i-”
“-e kiddo!”

His antennae twisted up and about, searching for where the real danger must be - just look at how small they were! Young humans, really young ones, were just so tiny! There must have been a mistake, somehow, somewhere, because this kid looked entirely harmless. The little tutu and ballet shoes did look a little oversized, but this was no killer by any means!

“My c-”
“-name is-”

But he was yanked back, a wooden hand clasped about his coattails, and then he stumbled further as Spamton suddenly shoved himself in front of Tenna, arms held out with hands in fists, stance solid even as he shook and trembled with a strained glare on his face.

“YY YO U.” He hissed, swinging an arm to point at the kid - who, in the few seconds of all this, had done absolutely nothing but look at the both of them, expressionless and passive. “HUM4N CH iLD!

GG G G3T THE [$!X$] 0UT OF HErE, YYY U FR3AK!”

Tenna made a staticky rasp of a gasp, ignoring his aching body as he hurriedly slapped his hands atop his partner's head, squishing his hat down a bit as Spamton garbled at the treatment.

“-s not as if you can't-”
“-like you say, that's how i-”
“-SPAM Spread goes great with-”
“-d to watch your language!”

“ST0P STOP SToP ST OP ST0P-!” Tenna laid off as Spamton flailed, creaking as he stepped back and raised his trembly hands up. Before he could say anything, try to explain that one couldn't just treat a child, human or not, like that, absolutely not, the shorter monster whirled around to clack his jaw up at him, beady eyes wide and hoarse voice going shrill and manic. “YY U, YOU, ST0P! WE NE3D, W3 NEeD, WE-”

His teeth clamped together in a tight muffled scream, hardly pausing to cough and spit up the bullets, before he was yanking at Tenna's jacket, stiff hands clawing rough holds as he tried unsuccessfully to bring Tenna down screen to eye, pulling at him pitifully.

“W3,” he rasped, and Tenna had to shuffle and adjust himself to not fall, relying heavily on his cane for balance as the shorter monster continued to try and shove him backwards, “W E N33D. T0. L E4 V E. NOW.”

Tenna stared down at him, dumbfounded, exhausted, maybe a little loopy from the adrenaline and magic rush, the tension and suspension before that had snapped when the human had shown up, just a child, it was just a kid, what was there to fear! Why was Spamton so, so…terrified?

Then he creakily swung his head around, tilting to give the human a reassuring, if a bit wobbly and tiredly embarrassing smile, maybe some words to try and make a joke out of it, laugh off this silly behavior from his husband, things have just been so stressful lately what with the whole evacuation and all-

-and saw that the human had gotten closer.

In fact, they were currently getting closer, quick hops and skips and almost tumbled, weirdly practiced twirls and spins, quick and fast on the tips of their ballet shoes, face just as passive as ever as they drew in too close, just behind Spamton's back before-

The shorter monster made a horrible squawk of sound as Tenna snapped his two free arms about him and yanked them both backwards, screen fizzling with sharp spits of static and grit horrified face. His cane caught and dragged against stones, trying to find his footing as the human recovered from swinging their now very obviously dangerous shoes, backing off as their face made no sign for recognition or care.

The electricity running up and down his stinging spine made him bury Spamton closer to himself, tucking under his hanging worn clothes and against overheated frame, a shudder of that overwhelming, terrifying fear overtaking his previous false relief.

This was…this was wrong. He tried to understand them, antennae twitching and curling crooked at the tender pain of forcing himself do so, and Tenna stumbled back a few more steps, clutching the other monster closer to him. The human just stood there, face passive, empty, before they raised their arms up above their head in an arch, balancing on their tiptoes, and started a slow, steady spin, not once looking at either of them.

They were just a child. Human, yes, but this…this was a child, and something deep within him flinched from that, repulsed at even the thought of violence, defensive or not, and his hands shook as they tightened around Spamton, screen flickering static snow, waves and blizzards and swirling distortions.

His partner was trembling in his arms, silent for once, not even the clacking of his jaw - his hands were balled up in Tenna's clothes, holding onto him tightly.

The air felt thicker, tense, and Tenna couldn't stop watching as the human started to spin around faster and faster, picking up speed and momentum, a whirl of blurry blue and purple and pale dusty pink. The aura of death stung his antennae, senses going wobbly with a tight knit fear that shocked ice cold through his circuits, his wires surging with the stress and entire body shaking with all the loud metallic scraping apart cacophony he's always loathed.

They were moving so fast.

They were just a child-

And they are attacking us-!

He jerked to the side, not quite a dodge and more like tripping out of the way as little legs shot out to try and kick at him, killing intent sending shivers through his antennae, tail coiling tight about his leg as he tried to not fall flat on his face with a staticky yelp - Spamton cursed in his arms, flailing and finally slipping from Tenna's grasp, landing on the ground and without hesitation grabbing and yanking him further away.

The human had backed off again, their turn ending - a moment of maybe dizziness, not quite used to the movements, before once more they began to spin.

Tenna raised his hand to his dials, wobbling with fatigue and pain, screen a mess of static lines and blooming dead pixels and weak bullet tears, but Spamton was shoving him once more, taking a stand before him instead.

“WW WE E CAn'T-” His voice was hoarse, ragged, and Spamton snarled the bullets out, glasses crooked and dark eyes narrowed into slits with a frustrated shake of his head, glaring at the human. “-C4 N'T RR UN, CAN ‘T, YY Y U-”

Tenna stared at him, still cold in shock, still unable to truly process what this all was - he was just so tired, but that was overshadowed by the fear, by the strong sense of horror and panic and dust, by the looming LOVE that he now realized had confronted him, overwhelming and horrible and creeping into an old scar in a pit of himself that he had long sealed away and had tried ever so hard to move on from-

This was a child-

His screen flashed, blitzing in and out, faceless, as he glanced over at the human, spinning faster and faster.

They are trying to kill us-

He felt his framework groan, creaking tense as he shuddered, an absolute terror trying to flood his systems - and then the human was leaping at them again, graceful if not for their size and jerky odd motions that clashed with the technique, aiming straight for the smaller monster, the closer target-

They are trying to kill-

Tenna was tired out, exhausted, in pain - on normal days with normal problems he'd reserve what energy he had left, accomplish whatever goal Spamton wanted of him, and then take a few days to recover. Not what he preferred, but a monster had to do what a monster had to do and he's always been able to pull through without over doing it. He's never really had to tap into his magic reserves excessively, and he knew very well that he was better off for it. Going all out would…well.

Tenna has hardly had the need to practice his bullet patterns, his own magic usage, stretch out that invisible limb of his SOUL - not since way back when, of course, well before even the technological boom that had dropped from the surface and given his body a ‘change of perspective’, as he used to like to call it.

So, when the human struck out with a high, powerful kick, lashing out in a lower targeted aim as Spamton steeled himself, preparing to take it like any proper FIGHT and thus attack back on his turn, there normally wouldn't have been much that either monster could have done to stop the killing intent in the humans SOUL.

But, Tenna was not a normal monster.

The human reeled back, spinning awkwardly and then pivoting as a swirling gust of stars lanced across them, pinpricks of splashed red as the bullets grazed them with sharp, laughing faced points. They spun around and around, for a moment their empty face tugging down with a confused frown, twitchy, before that sapped back out of their expression and they stopped their motion, turning to stare at their two targets.

Spamton was just as surprised, caught offguard, and he jerked his head around to stare up at Tenna beside him. Shaky but standing straight, cane held tight and stable with one stiff arm, Tenna had his other two up with whiffs of dusty used magic trickling from his wires, stiff fingers raised as if to snap again.

“...WWHAT-”

He didn't get a moment to speak, snapped back to the battle as the human, wasting no time, raced forward and leapt at them. There was a grim focus to them now, solidifying SOUL intent, the high LV a force of unnatural terror looming like a thundercloud in the battlefield.

There would be no use to try and dodge now, the human locked onto both monster's shared exhausted weakness - Spamton prepared to tank the hit, shifting on his feet and trying to predict if he needed to leap in front of-

But Tenna, in a shrieking grind of metal on metal rumble, stepped forward in front to meet the attack just seconds before, arms raised up and braced as star lights bloomed about the frayed sleeves of his jacket.

Electric bullets scatter shocked out as the human struck, enough to make Tenna sway back a moment as his magic took the brunt of the force in a phasing radiational barrier - it wasn't without cost, his screen clicking into black before flickering back to static, then snarled face and phased in nose, fangs standing out in the cracked glass as his internals tried to right themselves from the blow and keep standing.

His arms shook violently, fabric shredded from the rupture of his magic shielding, and there was a clattering of flayed metal plating and lost screws and debris, loops of wires sliding out from the rail framework of his internal structure. His gloves too were worse for wear, but they hadn't taken the brunt of the damage and he was still able to fold his aching fingers into fists, steam and hot, hot burning smoke gushing from his vents in a loud static garble of an exhale.

He…hadn't quite anticipated how much damage that would do to him. It hadn't just been his arms - the sheer force and intent had shot straight to his very SOUL, the horror of just how much this human must hate him, to be able to do this to him, weak as he was but he was Mr. “Ant” Tenna, the King of Only, Lord of the Screens, he may cave more these days due to age and lack of energy but he was no pushover-

When his arms lowered his shoulders pinched something awful, face flickering as he swayed, leaning heavy on his cane and hearing, feeling it strain and crack underneath him. His legs felt like jelly, knees locking before he gusted in an inhale of the dry air and regained some strength back, and Tenna sluggishly raised his flickering screen and caught the tail end of Spamton's retaliating attack, spawned overlarge packages trailing long twine thread, dashing themselves into bursting letters and words of various shapes and sounds upon the ground and making the human have to dance away, the now very visible red SOUL of theirs pushing and pulling their body along.

Spamton's attack was a wash of a spammed mess, and quite a few slammed into the unprepared human - when they backed off, their gaze dropped away from them and they instead went to rummage in their pockets, ignoring the monsters completely. While Tenna vaguely, foggily thought this would mean they should press their advantage, instead Spamton was suddenly right by his side.

His glasses were dusty, almost obscuring his eyes a moment before clearing, wide and dark and stiff rictus grinning face drawn even stiffer with alarm. His husband grabbed at his arms, hesitant and shaky but pressing touch to his loose wires and busted strips of metal wielding, the sensation unpleasantly familiar but pinching sharper than the usual damage something like a fall or natural rusting would entail - Tenna pressed a hand to his chest, metal and fabric and dust runoff, and he could feel his very SOUL quivering.

“YYY U C4N'T DO TH4T!” Spamton was talking, hoarse, harsh and near snarling - his wooden hands were shaking terribly, jointed fingers twitching erratic, and he shook his head with sharp snapping clacks of his jaw as he looked from Tenna's arms to his screen. “[-pressf1for-]H3LP, R11 GhT NOW, D4 MN IT!”

Tenna shakily raised a weak arm, wavering as his joints loosened and more metal fractures chipped and lost connecting pieces, before Spamton was grabbing his hand and pressing his trembling fingers against the green glow of the spat up bullet in his palm, letters that quickly were smushed together to form the imitation magic shape, mimicry of little angel wings and toy halo.

It didn't waste time with dramatics, it's creators' distress shaping its magic use, and Tenna gave the thing a wobbly smile as it pressed little nubby hands to his damaged arms with a strained grin before dissipating away. The soothing flush of healing magic was appreciated, and did some wonders for his energy, but it couldn't piece back together the physical parts of his robotic body. The act also couldn't mitigate the magic drain in Spamton, a wheeze from his husband as Tenna felt him lean against his side, twitching hands clasping tight to his dusty jacket.

He wanted to say something, wanted to try and plan something, anything at all - but their turn was ended, and his screen caught sight of the human once more spinning, spinning, flicking crumbs of a quick snack off their face as they picked up speed once more.

If this entire situation wasn't so terrifying, then the sight of such a small human wearing oversized tutu and ballet shoes would have made him laugh at the silliness of it all. He still just might, if the flickering bits of hysteria at the edges of his screen grew any stronger.

Spamton was staring up at him, exhaustion in his eyes, fear and terror strung tight in his clenched up jaw. Tenna's screen flickered, blurry half color bars behind the cracks and scratches, static muffled as his SOUL twinged deep inside him.

This was no comedy special, and he…he had to focus.

Spamton needs to run.

Because I…can't.

He didn't have time to get to his dials before the human was rushing them again, faster pivots and leaps, their tutu so inundated with dust that each motion sent plumes off them in their wake - their aim was once more on the smaller target, head down and face obscured by the shadow of their bangs.

Spamton grabbed, shouted uselessly at him as Tenna straightened back up with the creaking and groaning of his body, stiff and shuddering dust in shallow runoffs from under his clothes. With his third arm, cane used as barrier and shield before his partner at his side, he raised his shaking arms once more and stepped in to block the incoming attack.

The human did not hold back, but the burst of lightning and shards of shrapnel sent them reeling, tripping up and spitting blood as the bullets did their job. Their turn was ended, even as Tenna shook from the force, the damage-

Loosening his arms and raising both trembling hands, stiff fingers spread, Tenna's screen flashed a blaringly bright spotlight of white, flickering epileptic with a rising drone of unspent electric noise, current and magic building up in his body and rising a static field to sting through his clothes - and then he slammed both hands together, the ricochet of the attack splitting through the air with a distorted wave right into the humans still recovering form.

They stumbled some more, shook their head dizzily, even tried to raise their arms to possibly clear their fractured sight, but the shock bullets Tenna rained down on them afterwards splintered with their now split vision and their dodging suffered greatly from it. His own screen was lipped with the residue energy, rippling about the cracks in his glass and putting pressure into, throughout his head, deep pulsing that wavered and matched with the static droning, and Tenna wobbled for a few extra moments as the human fought through the attack.

And then he dropped heavily down to a kneel, shredded arms pressing limply to the ground for some semblance of stability, cane still held tight as he shook and trembled from the exertion. Dust and splintered glass rained down from him, momentarily summoning up a crooked face to spit up watery oil and coolant before it all just took to oozing from the cracks of his screen instead, and Tenna shuddered, fought off a convulsion that tightened through his wires and feedback, static whine going half agonized wail in his speakers.

More dust trickled from his framework, and he almost collapsed when he shakily pressed a limp hand against his chest - his SOUL was…

Ditzily his thoughts swirled around the disappointment of his performance, unable to even do the flying leap and splits he had once upon a time been rather proud of. His acrobatics, coupled with his fluctuating sizing, once so smooth and elegant and just so easy to act out all the dramatics in the world with, was long gone now and all he had to show for it was a recoil wave straight back into his own face. Static coughed out of him in a criminally gut wrenching laugh, whining high pitched before cutting off with a few sparks and pops.

When he rose his heavy head up, screen fluctuating spastic in static snow flurries, dust and decaying glass slivers, Tenna caught sight of the tail end of Spamtons attack - bullet words, curses highlighted and paper cuttings, large and bold and italic, some even in weird signs and symbols that jittered spastic as they splintered in sharp shots about the dusty ground, before the magic twine that was pinned into each one was lashed violently upwards then down, roiling words clashing together in a garbage mess before the strings snapped, scrambling out and away into the darkness.

His husband was still standing, jaw hanging loose and crooked, gasping for each breath and shaking so hard his wooden body was starting to clatter together. When he looked back at Tenna, eyes wide and clear of the dust that was clouding up the side of his face, dissipating down his neck and draining the color of his jacket, the stark panic was undermined by something else, steadfast and, even now, unbroken.

As Tenna tried to recuperate, tried to pull himself back up but was able to do little then straighten up a bit, creaking knees complaining loudly as his joints groaned and grinded rough against each other, his very own dust catching gritty and shuddering into his mechanics - Spamton was by his side again, a brief squeeze to his shoulder before those hard eyes swept back onto the human.

The…the human, Tenna thought soberly, electricity buzzing erratic in his overwhelmed circuits, the burn of his wires and the billowing smoke gushing from his vents now, every breath heavy and foul. The child was recovering again, gulping down some sort of pastry with a ravenous intent - still they did not raise their eyes to look at either monster, face obscured, hidden away.

The way they moved, the sheer intent, the absurd motivation in their SOUL…

He was really starting to wonder if this was even a human in the first place.

His husband wobbled back in front of him, the exhaustion now showing in the damp straining of his wooden finish, the smudge of his paint and wagging of his limp jaw, each gasp for air enunciated by hidden inner workings and garbled half curses tumbling from his teeth.

Neither of them had long left. It was dawning on Tenna, almost too slow but almost too fast, settling numbingly cold in with the hefty pressure that was billowing in his head, screen crackling with the use of his magic and the shorting of his glass fuzzy nose, in and out of focus. There was weight, and an airy leak that hissed and popped with each spark and shock that his smoking body steamed out, and if the human doesn't cast the finishing blow then…

Well, there was only so much some healing magic and half remembered mechanic skills could do for someone like him, wasn't there? He's known that, for a long time now. Just didn't like dwelling on such thoughts, you know - never liked to be alone long enough to mull it all over. After all, he had been entertainment! King of Only, and that had always been enough for his audience.

He used to help put aside the struggles of everyday life and keep monsters entertained, keep everyone going, keep them all happy. It was his purpose, back then and even now - if his audience had ended up dropping to a viewership of one, well, it wasn't all bad, was it? Some days Spamton needed all the distraction he could get, and Tenna was the one to give it to him.

His head was really starting to hurt, a different pain, a dreadful one - pressure behind his screen, and a nagging bruising crack, deep in his internals, static snow tunnel visioning, swirling down, down a drain of dead spots and scraped away phosphorus.

Spamton stood there before him, facing the spinning human as they started their approach, their turn. Tenna stared at the back of his head, greasy thinning hair, old navy blue jacket, crusty fraying mailcap, short silhouette familiar even as the twisting color blurs of the human started to get closer, and closer, and closer-

Distraction-

Tenna lunged forward - the parting of air from the kicks didn't quite connect, dragging the other monster out of harm's way and instead clapping against the bursting bright duo stars flung from his ruined sleeves, the two overlage bullets splitting with gasping grinning smiles, all teeth, before they ricocheted and rim shot all about the human, their dusty trails swirling with bullet debris and pulsing cymbal hits. The sudden attack, the cheat, pushed the human back, rudely interrupting their turn and forced them to contend with the two homing bullets instead of their target.

Spamton had ended up falling back into his arms, but this time was already trying to wiggle out of Tenna's hold, wheezing up curses and slapping his hands frantically against Tenna's curling own. His every intent was to be shield, to protect and defend, to do everything in his power to hold off the inevitable - Tenna's screen flizzled static down upon him, unstable glow over the clattering strain of his partners struggle, the dusty ragged gravel exhales he kept coughing up, the way his stiff fingers kept locking up even as they scrambled and tried to claw a slippery escape from the larger monsters utterly ravaged jacket sleeves and metal peeled arms.

Tenna's screenlight washed over the magic damp sweat on his partners forehead, slicking the wood of his cheeks and chin, blocky teeth that grinded through gritty dust as each exhaled word wheezed out half formed bullets. Spamton's monochrome glasses reflected back a moment, then were transparent as he wiggled and fought, dark eyes screwed up in gasping frustration. Tiny beading tears were pooling in the glass, then underneath the thick frame in rivulets.

Unrepentant, going with the grain, and Spamton shuddered in his arms, clasped close and held to Tenna's chest, as the first uncontrolled sob coughed its way out of him.

Tenna didn't hesitate, screen dimming to almost black besides the static snow, and he pressed his screen against his husband's back, into his thinning hair, bruised antennae swinging forward for one last time to rub and buzz and take in the scent, the sense of presence, the magical aura of everything that ever was that made up the very idea of Spamton G. Spamton.

All solidified, core memory, into Tenna's overheating, suffocating circuits, wrapped and held like a well loved treasure in the creaking pressure pushes and pulls of his heavy, heavy head.

Tenna registered the blurry shape of the human, his rimshot bullets dissipating at last.

He nuzzled his husband close, third hand finally letting his cane fall and instead rising to his dials.

His speakers crackled, wavered before forcing solid, and there was pinching agony to it but Tenna reached, he really, truly reached deep within himself, wires sparking and shorting out, internals whirring and smoking and gasping in, radiating heat from the blister black char of his circuits - and the voice he spoke with was overlaid with improper recording static and interference, channel not even showing in a gutter of static bar lines and feedback snow.

It was words spoken ages ago, so long ago that the both of them could only remember in bits and starts through the darker dark of memory loss, dreams and nightmares - but, hampered by static and time and loss, it was his voice that whispered low and soft and Tenna put his everything into it.

“ I love you. ”

Then Tenna was shoving the other monster away from him, magic crackling in his ruined gloved hands, raised and ready to snap his fingers, and the last Spamton saw of his living husband was a smile, wide and wobbly and ever so fond - before the shelled capsule encircled all around him, snow and dust and cold, closing with a sharp click as the world cut off into magic fogged glass.

***

Cushioned, bland dusty white and a weather worn dull red, hardly even there in the magic shield anymore and near entirely sound proof, Spamton laid there on his back for a moment, damp eyed and stunned.

Then he was up, scrubbing the tears away and wobbling, keeping his shaking arms out for balance, cursing bullets raining down fast and garbled as a flash of sudden hinging rage swirled the red of his cheeks even deeper into the wood. The sides of the capsule were rough, gritty, almost sandy as he pressed stiff fingers to them, the curve encasing him on all sides, but he seemed to be a perfect size and he could almost stand up entirely straight, just ducking his head down ever so slightly as his cap caught on the top.

He's been in this thing before. Once or twice, if his memory serves him, and both times he'd gotten blazing mad about it afterwards. He's slipped and fallen all about Waterfall multiple times, and Snowdin and even Hotland, Spamton wasn't made of glass, he wasn't [-fragilegoods-] - and yet, the one time he had slipped from the top of a trash pile a good many feet above the murky swamp, Tenna had felt the need to swoop in and snap a spell about him before he hit the ground. All the cushioning in the world couldn't stop physics, the law of motion and the work of gravity, and Spamton had been a bruised up sore mess for days afterwards, not to mention Tenna having both overheated himself in the stress as well as tried to catch the falling capsule, shorted a few of his audio wires, melted some shoddy soldering and popping a coil and an upper arm out of the socket to boot. That had taken days worth of pain to fix up afterwards.

The entire thing rocked a bit at his movements, unstable on the rocky ground outside, and Spamton's breath was raw, inhale exhale, before speeding up as he struggled to not fall over again, struggled to not start flailing and attacking the sides of this, this stupid cage, struggled to not think about what Tenna had said or what this meant-

There was a sound, outside, loud and reverberating even through the soundproofing of magic, he could hear the echo going through the massive caverns, and the capsule rocked side to side from the force. Spamton fell, clawing at the padding of the walls, trying to peer through the much too dusty, filmy white tint, but it was useless to try and see anything out there and he ended up staying down for a moment, trying to gasp in air as he realized it had gone eerily silent all of a sudden, inside and outside, head empty, frozen stiff thoughts.

His gut curled, going very, very nauseated, hands clenching into fists before loosening, and the monster whimpered up a gnashing toothed sound as he swallowed down the urge to vomit. His SOUL was pounding inside him, used up magic making his wooden exterior damp and creaky rotten, and Spamton lay there and strained his ears to the best of his ability, trying his utmost to sense anything, anything at all outside this magic enclosure.

…It was starting to rain dust down on him, drifting little snowfalls to coat his clothes, before dissipating away in magic runoff.

He shuddered in, out a breath, sitting there as his body tried to recuperate from the strain of the fight, the drain of what little his magic could accomplish when under stress - the inner joints and strings within his wooden plated skin were aching with tense use, sore and bruised to [-hell'sbells-] and back.

He felt so…numb.

Spamton stared at his trembling hands for a moment, jaw hanging loose, dust in his glasses. The ball joints of his segmented fingers were grimy, from mud and dirt and…and dust. They scraped uncomfortably when he moved them, grit and gravel, and his inner stringed nerves throbbed, a deep, far away agony, hidden under the surface.

His hands ached, and they started to shake more violently as the rest of him shuddered in, out his next breath, heady pressure rising in his chest and heart and SOUL-

And then there was a THWUMP!, against the side of the capsule. Spamton jerked his head up, almost relief, almost hope choking up into his throat - but the shadowed imprint of a hand on the shield was much too small.

He locked up, jaw clicking into place stiffly as he stared. It was quiet, and still. The dust fogged lining of the magic didn't let up on visibility, but for a few seconds, a long dragging moment, it almost looked as if something bright red and smeared dribbled about the imprint, the small shadow fingers tensing as a slithering drop rolled downward.

Then the hand was gone, yanked back, and Spamton garbled out a grunt of a yelp as the capsule was suddenly hit with a hefty smack. It really wasn't all that strong, less focused force and more frustration, a lashing out - the shell rolled, flinging the monster around for a few moments before stilling once more. Dust rained down on him quicker now, dissipated and fading out in glittery heaps, and Spamton slowly got back to his wobbly feet with only a few coughs and mumble slurred bullet curses.

His hands seemed to sink into the magic shield now, feeling a faint give, powdery, sandy - it wasn't instant, the spell finally giving away, but in the five minutes of standing there, the shaking coming in and out in waves, Spamton found his head blissfully, cursedly empty of any and all thought.

He felt frozen, stuck, stage fright in the spotlights. His body trembled from exhausted pain, overextended magic use, the outpour fatigue of his terror and panic - and yet, every single thought in his mind had gone silent.

The capsule fell apart slowly, rotten dust and eaten away magic crumbling it away.

Spamton almost hesitated in climbing out, fear of the unknown, of an ambush, an attack, his SOUL in his throat.

“...A4 A NT T…?”

Then he saw the smoke, not quite dwindled or puttered out, and he was scrambling his way out in a frantic spaz of motion, sudden gasping out of every breath with half formed words and curses and oaths, nearly sobbing out in the silent darkness that now surrounded them both.

The human, if that's what it truly was, was long gone now. Subconsciously Spamton knew he was small fry, hardly any EXP for a hardened killer, hardly worth the effort it would take to cut him down even-

Tenna was on his back, arms splayed in limp twisted angles and a gushing foul smoke burning up from within his open aired screen. There was glass everywhere, oil and coolant and dust, and blood even, but Spamton's eyes were on the fallen monster and nothing else.

His blurry gaze roamed over the torn up sleeves, two arms ravaged beyond repair, busted open and glutted with trickling dust and hanging loose wires, the third curled as if weakly in on itself - all three hands were clawed out, a vision of the last twitching, tightening before loosening, at the every end. Tenna's clothes were in disarray, self destructive shrapnel damage and the extreme motions of the fight having torn and yanked on each piece of his get up, his legs stiff and straight, unyielding in comparison. The casing of his head, fringed with leftover teal green bits of lingering glass, was cracked and crooked loose, the force having shattered the band and blown the back open in a crooked smashed mess of mismatched torn apart electronics that seemed to have streaked and spread out about him in the dirt and rock like a glistening halo of metal and wires and oil.

Spamton realized, half there and half not as he stared, that Tenna's tail had loosened up from coiling about leg, now just a limp noodle of a wire with a busted mess of a plug attached to one side, the other strung along with the rest of the [-trashpile-].

For some reason, for some unholy, [-ANGEL-] forsaken reason, Spamton found his jaw cracking open just the slightest bit and a ragged cough of a chuckle dripped from him.

That quickly became a barking of laughter, garbled and spat up in his heaving for breath, each inhale exhaling out in clacking shrieks as he clutched at his belly, unable to understand-

But then he was crouching down by Tenna's head, by his side, trembling stiff hand curled with an unresponsive locked up one, and Spamton understood perfectly, exquisitely well what had just happened.

His vision shed away, dust behind his lenses, filling in where much was empty - every breath was flecked with the stuff, feeling it all around him, all locked in his joints, the smell of a past battle and ozone and burnt plastic and blistered rubber, the taste of it in his stiff clenched mouth, atop a tongue he didn't think he even had anymore. His senses were inebriated, baptized now by a shroud he could never quite accept, and here his husband's body lay here before him as it rotted.

The realization brought him back, snapped his thoughts forward in a violent uncontrollable sound that ended up being a wobbled gargle of a cough.

“YYY Y0U U [$X!$]1NG 1D1 0T.” The snarl didn't feel real in his voice, the anger just a spitting motion, instinctive, his bullets weakly slithering from his maw as Spamton squeezed his grip with the other monsters. “W HYY DD1D, D1D YYU U D0 TH 4 T ? WWH Y….”

His husband didn't give him an answer, only the thick stench of burning smoke from his insides, the smell of it. Besides the faint crackle of those inner workings melting, overheated to the extreme, in and on each other, there was no other sound.

No dull humming, no radiational static, no background electricity, passing in and out through circuits and wires like another's audible breath. Even with his hand in the others, cold metal as ever, torn up gloves as ever, golden band of a ring as ever - there was no deep vibration, none of the slight hints of existence that had followed Tenna around and made his presence so known even from a distance. The big guy was just awful at hiding, and couldn't sneak around to save his life - he hadn't wanted to be hidden away, as Tenna had always wanted a spotlight of some sort, right?

Spamton felt his jaw clench, a grind of his teeth as his throat threatened to close up again - to him, all that had ever held the Boss Monster back had been his body, needing repair so constantly and only getting Spamtons lackluster skills for years upon years upon years…

He's never felt ashamed of his own abilities, of what he could do with electronics and engineering. He's never questioned himself and how well he's kept Tenna put together.

But Spamton sure always wished he could've found someone that knew what they were doing.

And, and now…well, if that human thing was really on a straight war path, perhaps it wouldn't matter anyway. There'd be no one left to fix Tenna up.

…there wasn't much of Tenna left to fix up, either.

A choking noise gargled out of him, kneeling there in the dirt and hacking up gags of jumbled bullet letters, spit and bile as well, his empty stomach twisting and turning and eating in on itself. There was dust now, spooling from under torn fabric and trickling out of broken, sheared wires, metal plates and steel bars going soft at the edges. The smoke guttering from within seemed thinner, smelled thicker, and Spamton sat there with his heaving breathes, stuttering every few moments as he watched with unseeing eyes - his own numbing dust had blessedly covered them, his face, clouding over and through and underneath his wooden exterior, inhaling, exhaling it with each forced breath.

“W3….TH TH1$ W4$N'T $UP PP0$3D T0 H4PP 3N.” He wheezed, but it was softer now, weaker - he felt light headed, dusty around the edges, numb. The garbage noise of his voice was unrecognizable even to him, hushed in its loud crackle, bullet letters bursting into dust as they dropped. “N-N0T 2 U$, N0 T 2 YYY 0U. 1 W4$ $UPP0$3D 2, 1 W4$….”

He wanted to blame the monster before him. Spamton wanted to blame him, yell and shout and scream - but Tenna wouldn't answer him back in kind, wouldn't get all defensive and then closed off, glooby and shrunken even with the pain, all enough to make Spamton pity him and even feel bad for starting the argument in the first place.

Tenna wouldn't ever respond to him again.

Something spiked in his chest, something almost ice cold, sudden and jolting, and Spamton shakily scrubbed and waved the dust around his eyes and glasses away, gritty scraping against wood as he heaved gasping smoke tainted breaths. Another glance over his husband made him shudder, want to flinch back, or even, in some hidden away part of himself, run - but instead he squeezed both hands about Tenna's, trying to not react to how he could feel the give, the brittle stiffness of the metal fingers between his.

He almost took the ring, eyeing it, selfishness swirling haphazardly in his throat, a want to keep at least some part of Tenna with him besides all the dust - before something else caught his eye.

There was a faint glow, flickering underneath clothes and deteriorating metal.

For a moment Spamton stayed very still, frozen, dark eyes widening at the realization - and then he was pouncing, shoving the ragged arms aside to give him space and clawing away the jacket, tearing at the ripped up shirts, exposing the metal barrel chassis underneath. Frankensteined together over the years, pieces welded and screwed and even nailed shut when worse had come to worse, and already holes were eating it away, dust piling up and trickling down in small growing mounds. The smoke from Tenna's burst open head was growing weaker, not quite so acrid but just as bitter, and Spamton pressed his hands against the brittle dusty remains of his partner's chest and tilted his head to peer into one of those static flickering gaps.

Then he pulled back, jaw hanging loose for a few shuddering stiff moments-

“Y-Y0U'R3…YYY U ‘R3 W41T1NG 4 M33, 4N NT…?”

-before clattering in a shuddering jitter of…something. The emotions in him whirled, curdling against the numb shock that was still cradling him close, and starting with a coughed out chuckle that ended in full blown gargle scream of laughter Spamton pressed his hands to his face and tried unsuccessfully to not let the shriek turn into something frenzied.

He ran his hands through his hair, uncaring as joints caught and just yanking out with quick jerky motions, the pinpoints of pain giving him something, anything to try and anchor to. When he leaned forward again, almost pressure enough to cave in the brittle dusting metal, almost enough to shove his hands inside, break apart the ribbing and stiff framework that still protected Tenna, dig deep inside and curl his hands around and drag his husband out-

Another of those cold shocks stopped him, jolting, and instead Spamton scraped his hands up, down the Boss Monsters chest, catching and grinding rough along dust and sandy fabric clothing and dissolving metal. His breath was coming up heaved, crooked jaw loose and inner maw gasping in, out, and the numbing fog along his face was a tide of spread and recede that made him even more fuzzy headed and, and panicked whenever his sight was obscured.

When he glanced up at that shattered screen, at the glass and dust that surrounded Tenna, at the oily delicate metal spread halo that was calcifying and dissolving into sandy remains too, Spamton felt something deep in his SOUL break.

He pressed a hand to his jacket pocket, feeling the not quite there shape, before with a shuddering hiss of an exhale he shoved his fingers inside and pulled his second most beloved treasure out before him. It didn't quite glint, the long sharp shadow of it atop his palm, and faintly he knew he could squint his eyes and peer through it's shard insides and out the other side - could raise it to his first most beloved of all treasures and look in to catch instead a glimpse of Tenna's cleaved open head lying amongst snowfall.

If he raised it to his own hands, he'd see thick twists of string, neon green in the murky darkness, knitted into the wood and magic of his flesh and trailing high and taut in the black up above.

It was ice cold, in his hand. It was the only thing he had left.

…It was the only thing left he could do.

Spamton breathed, slow, dreadfully thick, and his exhale had harmless bullets spitting from his teeth.

“L-L00K, 44 4NT, Y0U KN 0W H0W 1'M 4 PRE 3TTY G0 0D BU$1NE$$M4N, R1GHT? 3V3N 1FF 1T ‘$ B33N 4WH1 L3, 11 1 C4N UP$C4LE 4N 41RT1GHT [-rocksinsideaglasshouse-] T0 A F1$H 0UT 0F W4T3R, 1F 1 1 TR13D H4RD 3N0UGH.” The noise from his maw was shatter stained, and an ugly roil came up at the deep burgle his bullet spit enunciated out of him - but Spamton leaned over and carefully started to peel and chip and break past layers of rotting dusting metal, gentle even in these motions. His hands, one now cupping the long blurry shadow and the other cracking away the powdering metal parts, had finally stopped their terrible shaking. “$0, $0 WH3N 1 H 4V3 4 D34L, U U KN0 W 1T'$ 4 G00D 0N3. 4ND 1T 1$! 1 H4VE 0 N 3, JU$T F0R YY 0U.”

The light inside flickered, dimming then brightening, a static sheen to its colorless glow. The metal cracked under his one handed digging, wires snapping away, tubes ripping, gushing dust as the magic within seeped, slowly, away - and still Spamton raised the glass shard closer, its shadow splitting and curling upon his palm now, flooding thin lines of darkness.

“JU$T…JU $T F0R U. B3TW33N YY 0U 4ND M-M3.”

He could see Tenna now, cradled in the core of his ruined scarecrow body, once upon a long time ago wood and straw, now mechanical metal and electric swaddling to the magic essence that pushed and pulled and controlled the automaton that made up the entirety of Mr. “Ant” Tenna, Lord of the Screens.

“W3 'V3 4LR34DY M4D3 4 PR0M1$3 2G3TH3R, D1D N'T W3?” Spamton made a noise that might have been a chuckle, but it wheezed raw and hoarse from his throat - his magic, what little was left in the dredges of himself, was being sopped forward, tingling in his fingertips, ringing in his ears, beating along with his bared SOUL. His now free hand, the opening excavated enough to see and lean into, carefully coax out the [-heartshaped.obj-] as Tenna quivered, drifted back before gently floating closer to him, listening. He gripped the crystal, hand turning and stiff fingers secured around it, as if it was a small knife or dagger - double edged sword. The shadow it made on his worn painted wood looked almost organic. “...T0 B33…T0 B3 T0G3 TH3R, N0 M4T T3R WH4 T - N0T T00 B4D $0UN D1NG, R-R1GHT?”

He went quiet, for a moment. Just his strained gasps, and the soft shifting of dissolving magic, the so so low static thrum of the barred Boss Monster SOUL before him.

He didn't look to Tenna's screen, or the makeshift ring he had gifted to him, years ago. He reached out, guided the light closer, drifting, still lingering in the damaged shell of Tenna's body - glided close to his shaky wooden palm, not quite warmth but something, something else radiating off the slow static pulses of former life. He didn't look anywhere but at his husband's SOUL, staring wide eyed and quiet, still, into the very last essence of the monster he loved.

“…WH WH4T'$ 0N3 M 0 R 3 D3AL, P4RT N3R ?”

And, with that, Spamton twisted the shard, forcing himself and his own thrumming SOUL forward into a fall, onto the shadow's sharpened point at the same time as he stabbed it into the dusting remains of Tenna's SOUL.

With a gusted exhale of smoke and magic, all went dark.

***

“-and that's a what if question-”
“-all in a series of a few days-”
“-t, you can't do that-”
“-repair, remaster, remake, we have it all-”
“-and what about me then, what-”

Tenna's multitude of channel voices skipped and scraped between the clicking roll of his dial, interrupting the comfortable silence between them as Spamton worked on bundling up the loose wires of the larger monster's missing arm, coiling together before tying them off with a plastic zip-tie.

He paused, blinking away from his focus and raising his head to look the other monster in the screen - dark and dim, flipped channels hardly gracing color or shape or clarity through the scratched and chipped glass. Tenna tapped his ungloved fingers to the side of his head, a scraping roll of motion that Spamton recognized as him mulling things over, before his husband wobbled his heavy head back and forth in a halfhearted nodding motion.

“-it's as if I-”
“-t that's it, they don't want-”
“-f you worry too much, then I-”
“-all happen one day, it's-”

He paused, this time with a static warble that made Spamton pull back, clack his jaw a few times as he cupped the exposed bundles of wiring, forcing his already aching hands to be gentle - he wondered if he had been too rough when going through the motions.

Tenna's three hands clenched into fists, a brief buzz and hiss of air exhaust from his vents - frustrated, and his screen flickered and rolled with interference as a result.

“-nd that's if you can't-”
“-m a fixer, fixin's what I do-”
“-then maybe that's okay, too-”

“AA NT, WHa T’$ WR0NG ?” Spamton scooted off the bed, moving so that they were face to face instead, him standing before the taller monster as he gently reached out and clasped both hands with one of his husband's own, looking up at him carefully. “D DID ‘NT DO AnY TH ING TH4T HU RT, DID I?”

He could now feel Tenna's frustration, the low creaking grind of his internals louder now without his upper clothing layers to muffle the electronic chugging of his exposed metal pieced chest, not to mention the lashing sweeps of his plug tail scraping on the floor.

“IS TT Be CAU SE YY U D0N'T LIKE TH E T1ES? I T O L D YO U BE4, GoT PLAS TIC OR TW1NE, ‘ND TW INE CATCHE$ F I R E TOO O EA SY SO ThE Z1PS R WWHA T W3 G OT-”

“-no, no no no-”

Tenna jerked forward, screen nearly brushing against Spamton's long nose, and the cracked glass flushed and flashed, rolling static snow and blurry shapes of color and motion. The hand he had on his dial shook, a brief moment where he seemed to gather himself with a shuddery inhale of air through his cooling systems, and then Tenna tuned his channels with the utmost of his focus.

“-if-”
“-I-”
“-break-”
“-and you can't-”
“-fix-”

A low pop of noise, a thin shudder through Tenna's frame as he puffed a thin line of smoke from somewhere in his creaking abdomen - his two unoccupied hands rose up, grabbing Spamton's shoulders before he could make an attempt to interrupt him, ignoring as the smaller monster clacked his loose jaw and garbled upset noise at him.

“-I-”
“-want you-”
“-to be-”
“-okay-”
“-with that-”

Tenna's grasp tightened for a second, before loosening and instead smoothing upwards to cup the other monster's face, stopping his aggravated bullet words in their tracks. The growing monochrome dust along the edges of Spamton's jawline flowed, thin and gritty, puffy, over and through Tenna's fine, delicate, and rusted mechanical finger parts.

“-I want you-” Tenna's channels were strained with static, the force of a show's words choppy as the screen feed fluctuated. “-to be-”
“-okay-”
“-if I-”
“-am-”
“-gone-”

Another little pop of sound, a visible spark between crooked antennae, wilted metal stalks and dull heavy bulbs falling to either side of Tenna's blocky head casing.

Spamton stared up at him for a moment, jaw set closed and held tense, the dusty lenses of his glasses not at all hiding the narrowing of his beady eyes.

Then he raised up his own twitchy hands, gently grasped both sides of Tenna's head, fingers grasping around edges and thumbs pressing to the lip of glass screen and mixture mash of metal and plastic - before with a firm pull he yanked his husband down, made him puff hot smoky air from his vents and whine a staticky groan at the motion.

“IF YY YO U Br3AK,” he barked, jaw clapping loud and sharp as his bullet words bounced harmlessly off his husband's dim screen, “I WILL F1X u. NO I FS, ANDsS, OR B U T S AB OuT ITT.”

He gave the monster a light shake, not quite enough to constitute as one by definition but more to get the point across.

“U FaLL, I'LL F1X YO U. YU TR IP, Y OU SL IP, U B4NG Up UR H AND OR TWIST AN ANK LE oR THROW 0 U T YU R BACK - I. WILL. FiX YOU.”

Tenna's hand tensed about his dial, a hiss of static scraping from his sore speakers as his other hands dropped back down to Spamton's shoulders, giving him a light, distressed, squeeze.

“-but I-”

Spamton pulled the monster's head close, careful, gentle as he let his own forehead tap against Tenna's crackling screen. Static radiation fuzz made his bristly hair rise a little, and he could feel Tenna's antennae sway, then hover over him.

“N0 BUT TS. NO NO ThING.” After staring into the blurry colors of the low volumed channel playing on his husbands screen, Spamton let his eyes close as he huffed out a sigh, his own halting voice inadvertently softening with the loose swing of his jaw. “A N T, I II W0uLD N'T…IF YY YU W3RE 2…IF I CO ULDN ‘T FF1 X…”

He quieted, suddenly, achingly unsure - entirely unwilling to even entertain the thought, nor the chain of events that would proceed it. He could feel Tenna tensing up, a shivery shake that made some of his internals audibly rattle, and those big pinching hands squeezed his shoulders again, this time less forceful and more an attempt at comfort, taking to rubbing up and down his arms. There was a light clack of noise, as Spamton suddenly leaned up those last few inches and tapped his teeth to that screen, a bubbled [-kissysoundeffect.mp3-] escaping his jaws.

Then he pulled back, shook his head with a gurgling laugh that spat up asterisk hewn bullet letters that tumbled from his blocky teeth.

“YY YOU G0T NOTH ING 2 WORRY AB OUT, C A T H O D E. ‘M NoT GONNA L ET U G3T AW AY TH A T EASY.” He pat the side of his husband's head casing, stiff stuck in grin turned up to the max as he squinted his beady eyes, ignored the wash and wave of dusting that numbed up the sides of his cheeks, filling one side of his glasses lens. “C4N’ T G3T RiD O F ME. UR StUCK W1TH ME FOREv ER YYU KN O W, [-boobtube-].”

Tenna was quiet, cracked screen dull, heavy with static snow - then he dipped his head with the sparking of an interference ridden laugh track, descending into the bubbly hisses of mechanical noise that Spamton recognized to be Tenna's own little expressed chuckles. His static ridden hair was brushed, rubbed and pressed against by those antennae, rolling over him with a tittering of vent exhaled hot air and a last twist of his dial. The soft light washing over him fromTenna's screen had brightened, a glowing kaleidoscope of pink blossomed shades, not quit enough for a flower but ending up quite close.

“-okay, okay then, b-”
“-e, my little-”
“-e mailman th-”
“-s whatever you wanna say-”
“-d I'll be-”
“-that's with you-”
“-e in the dark-”
“-forever and ever and ever and ever-”

***

The human paused, wet from their hike back through the bogs but refreshed now from their SAVE. Before them was the slope they had taken earlier, and below was the dusty clearing where they had their previous battle - a sense of deja vu made them hesitate, but they've been here a few times now and, though it left them injured earlier, they had finally beaten the obstacle that had been down there. They may have missed the easy EXP afterwards due to that odd shield, being too injured and out of foodstuffs to recover enough to destroy it and the monster within, and now that they were back it was obvious they had missed their chance. The monster was gone.

So was any of the remains of the other one. Just dust now.

The human slid down the incline, dislodging pebbles and rocks, hands battering against the gritty ground, and when they righted themself they took to wandering the area, kicking through piles of dust and leaving small footprints all about the powdery ground.

Some of it was…odd. Almost goopy, a little sticky before dissolving away - sort of familiar, the human thought, but not from around here. They raised their head, slowly looked around, and they can't see it from here but the lab must be past those tall cliffs, further away from the humid wet of Waterfalls outskirts.

If they really wanted, there was a trail. It led out into the dark, a disjointed, dizzyingly wide about path back into the heart of Waterfall - dust, a sort of magic infused slime, all slowly fading away.

The human kicked at more dust piles, then turned to stare, stiff and still, out into the darkness.

They understood another sense of deja vu - somewhere else, sometime else, they couldn't kill anything but a sad, sad little snowbird. Back then they hadn't wanted to kill anything. Now they weren't sure if it would be the same, here and now. But if they followed, if they tracked this target down, they may not be able to kill it properly. It may not even have any EXP. It may not be worth it.

The human paused, then slowly turned their head, this way and that, surveying the ground - with all this dust, it may not even be alive anymore anyway.

They understood then, and climbed back up the slope, turning to head towards the last bridges between Waterfall and Hotland.

There was a much, much bigger fight for them up ahead.

***

Gerson nodded his head as the Woshua attempted a salute, then watched as they hurriedly joined with the rest of the troupe and continued onwards. He'd met up with them only a short while ago, the group of temporarily hired Guards scouring Waterfall for anymore survivors - for all the bad news he's been catching up on, the flickering hope the Royal Scientist was feeding was definitely something to keep alive. It sounded like she was holding strong, and Gerson knew he would make his way to Hotland sooner rather than later to lend what aid he could. Hearing that even the King had fallen, that some trap had gone off wrong and let the human travel through the Core practically unbothered…it was a damning blow, and no matter the fatal mistake anyone who took charge as Alphys had needed the support from those who were left.

Gerson Boom would follow this group and help any of the injured they stumble upon, though that may be too much to hope for. More than likely, he was going to be helping gather dust and arrange funeral rites here real soon.

He turned away, looking instead upon the old shack the troupe had stumbled on during their search. There was very little evidence that the human had been in the area, but the light coating of dust upon the doorstep, glittering across the door and covering the handle implied something else. It left a dark weight in his shell, knowing who lived here - Gerson had seen them earlier from his shop, a brief peek as the two monsters fled through Waterfalls tunnels.

He had been hoping they'd caught the River Person before the waterways were abandoned, but…

The old turtle pushed at the door, just a nudge prompting it to swing open, just barely hanging on to its split hinges. The interior was still lit, claustrophobic in its narrow walls and the piles of scavenged junk scattered, thrown about everywhere - Gerson trod carefully, a sad weight in his old gut as he gingerly shuffled around more dust piles.

Further back must be the bedroom, and it stilled him, seeing the bed and the large piles of dust that now accumulated there. Atop it all, however, was something dark and shiny. A sharp shadow.

Gerson hesitated only a moment, before with a bow of the head and a quiet prayer, gingerly picked up the glass. Wouldn't do to have just any old monster find this out here, and he was sure at this point that neither owner of the shack at this point would've felt particularly strongly about not being memorialized with a sharp bit of shadow to their grave.

…He'd seen something come back here, earlier. Retracing steps away from Hotland and instead deeper into the damp core of Waterfall. Had almost called out too, instantly able to tell that the human would not be coming back this way - but the make of the thing, the shape of it, had stilled his greeting from the tunnel entrance of his shop.

It had been big, and slow, and made quite a lot of noise, the kind that sent shiver nails down your shell and made you hesitate approaching. The human, a familiar force indeed, had been one thing - this, unfamiliar and warbling erratically in many different changing voices to itself, had been another.

…It had almost looked to have wings, dragging in the mud behind it, and had glowed with spinning odd spotlights.

The monster, if it had been one…or possibly two, was now gone. There was no trace of it in this shack, only dust remains and this shard that he couldn't quite see, only peer at its shadow before into the pocket it goes.

Gerson spoke a few more lines of prayer, back before the doorway now as he recited a wish of peace upon the site and sent the two off into the unknown, together.

Then he closed the door.