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sylphidine · 7 months

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[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 31

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: T,M. Tanner, Spamton Addison, Swatch Paletta

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Breather Level

Chapter summary: T.M. stumbles upon some of Spamton's unlockable content.

Author notes:

So sorry for the long delay in posting. World news affecting friends and family in both my online and offline lives, as well as my employment situation being precarious, have been a bit of a distraction.

In addition, writing the Spamton flashback chapters was a bit of an emotional drain on me, more than I expected. I put a lot of my own experiences into those chapters as a survivor of a power-imbalanced abusive relationship and rejection by blood family, leading to my own stint as a homeless person for some months, as well as trying to follow Spamton's arc in DELTARUNE Chapter 2.

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“Sorry I had to steal your boyfriend away from you, Birdman, but I needed those magic hands of his.”

“Mmmmmhmmm. Far be it from me to hoard all that talent for myself. You know I’ll always share, Moggy.”

“You g-guys? I’m st-st-still in the room, you know.”

“As if I could ever forget, Short Stuff.”

The three of them were currently squished together on the loveseat. Swatch had their arm around T.M.’s shoulders; Spamton lay across Swatch’s lap with his legs partially draped over T.M.'s lap as well, his head on one armrest and his feet braced on the other.

T.M. leaned over Swatch’s chest to ruffle Spamton’s hair. She expected him to pull away with some kind of comment about “hands off the merchandise”, but instead Spamton gave her an exaggerated wink and rubbed the side of her hand with the side of his head like a cat demanding skritches.

Well. That was unexpected. But she was glad to see him more cheerful than he’d been on Tuesday night. She still felt uncomfortable about the way she’d snapped at him, when he’d obviously just been looking for someone to talk to, and the days following had kept her too busy to make a formal apology.

All hell had broken loose, metaphorically speaking, at WRCI that week once the latest spike of world news crossed the AP wire service. Leroux Kaard had put out an all-hands alert to staffers that all DJs would need to learn how to record up-to-the-minute reports to play during their scheduled slots, to take some of the load off Kit Evslin, the station’s News Director, and Kit’s two assistants.

As Production Manager, T.M. had tapped Spamton first to help her with the back end in the production studio, because of his previous experience with mixing boards. She did the one-on-one training with the rest of the staff, he took over making the cartridges with messages from the station’s advertising patrons. She didn’t know anyone else, besides herself and Spamton, who would leave Prodo cleaner than the way they’d found it.

Now it was Saturday night at Swatch’s and Spamton’s place. The other two had done tag-team cooking to make chicken and broccoli with alfredo sauce, T.M. had brought over some cocktail shrimp. The leftovers were already parceled out, labeled, and packed in the fridge.

She smiled down at the short man, then shifted slightly back into the curve of Swatch’s arm. They tilted their head to lean onto the top of hers and said, “I’m too comfortable to move from this spot.”

Which was almost exactly what was on T.M.’s mind, In more ways than one.

And as if Spamton had also tapped into her brain, he started quietly singing, “Make the world go away…”

T.M. acknowledged that sentiment with a quiet “Mmmmmhmmmm”.

“Then it’s settled,” Swatch answered her. “None of us are ever leaving this couch again. Sorry, Moggy, you live here now.” “Suits me. My legs are asleep anyway.”

“How refined.”.

“Hey, that’s my line,” she pouted. “Someone ought to whip you into shape!”

“Hey, yourself. I’m not the one who writes ‘manage tasks’ next to every entry in her day planner!”

“And I’m not the one who stays up so late drawing and painting and gets so tired that they expect colors to flow from their fingertips when they wave their hand!”

“Are - are you two f-fighting or flir-flirting? It's hard to tell."

T.M. caught the uncertainty in Spamton's voice and made sure her tone didn't sound like a mocking one when she replied. "It's more play-fighting than anything, I guess. Me and Swatch were quoting our old teacher, Sister Agneta Marques. She was a real trip. More bark than bite."

Swatch was quick to interject, "And, no, she wasn't one of those nuns who slap your hand with a ruler, like you hear about. Her idea of whipping people into shape was having kids do something to stretch what they were already good at. The literal extra mile for the kids who liked to run, pre-algebra problems for the kids who liked math. She made it a challenge instead of discipline.”

“I wish there were more teachers like that around, but these days teachers don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with some of the shit kids pull. No wonder so many of them get burned out, even the nuns.” An idea struck her, and she asked, "So, Spamton, what about you? Any teachers in your past who influenced you?'

She wasn't prepared for the reaction she got. T.M. could literally see Spamton's leg muscles tense despite him not fully touching her, and she felt Swatch suck in a breath as she leaned on them.

Oops.

"Ooookay. What did I say wrong? I think I just wandered into a minefield."

Swatch stayed silent, and Spamton's verbal response wasn't immediate. She saw him tightly close his eyes; behind his lenses, his eyelids almost looked bruised. After a minute, he gave an incredibly cynical-sounding chuckle.

"Funny you should mention influences. Swatch and I have pretty much done nothing for the last week except talk about a particular teacher who ‘INFLUENCED’ me.” Another hard bark of laughter. “I wouldn't say that my 'teacher' was as well-meaning as yours."

Whoa.

Boy, had she ever struck a nerve. Spamton had spat that out without stuttering over a single syllable. His entire voice was different. Brasher, deeper, harsher, and getting louder as he went along. Almost as if someone else was speaking through him.

And he sounded PISSED.

Maybe not pissed at her, but pissed all the same.

T.M.'s mind went blank. Swatch's chest barely moved under her shoulder blade. Spamton's posture was completely rigid. The awkwardness in the room was practically palpable.

Spamton abruptly swung his legs to the edge of the loveseat and wriggled off Swatch's lap. As he clumsily got to his feet, he muttered, "I’m so fucking tired. Tired of - tired of thinking about this, and t–t-t-talking about it, and c-covering this shit over and over and over again. I n-n-need some space.”

T.M. watched him stumble out of the living room. A minute later she heard the door to the bedroom he and Swatch shared close; not a slam, but definitely in the forceful side.

Waves of embarrassment, confusion and guilt washed over her, and some of that must have conveyed itself to Swatch, because suddenly they had dragged her into their lap, their arms completely around her, their breath stirring her hair as they crooned, “it’s alright, it’s alright, you couldn’t have known.”

She tried to calm her own breathing; she hadn’t realized she was nearly gasping until some air almost went down the wrong pipe and she narrowly avoided coughing. She concentrated on the feeling and sound of Swatch’s heartbeat against her cheek.

Finally T.M. felt confident enough to make an attempt to speak. “Sorry I broke the mood, Swatchy.” She scootched back to sit on the cushion next to Swatch, not wanting to put too much weight on their bad leg.

“You did no such thing,” they reassured her. “Are you okay?”

So much for hiding from Swatch that Spamton’s tone had reminded her of her father’s voice in the buildup before words turned to blows. Swatch knew her too well.

“I will be,” she said. “Question is, is Spamton? Does he really want space, or should we go check on him? You’d know better than I would.”

“Hmmm.” Swatch leaned back and looked up at the ceiling for a minute, then back at her. “ I wouldn’t presume to guess; I’ve never had him ask for space from me before.” They gave a small sigh before continuing, “Between you and me, there are times when he’s downright clingy, and without breaking any confidences, he’s had reason to be.”

“Huh.”

“If I felt sure that it wouldn’t completely freak him out, I’d try a Wonder Wheel, like we used to do with Catechu when we were all kids.”

She had to ransack her memories before she recognized the reference. “Oh, yeah, Wonder Wheel! Protection circle so that the monsters wouldn’t get him. Why did Fairlight let us watch those horror movies so late at night, anyway?“

Swatch answered, “Because she knew that we’d literally have each other’s backs when we were scared, and she was right.”

T.M. smiled at the recollection. “And let me guess. Without breaking any confidences, would you say Spamton thought he had people who had his back, and those people let him down?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hmmm.”

She was suddenly reminded of the handful of times in the three years they’d been suitemates that GiGi had turned to T.M. for “Squishy Boob Comfort”, even though GiGi herself had a lot more in that area than T.M. had. GiGi meant nothing racy by it, but T.M. wasn’t so sure that Spamton would see it quite that way.

“Do we go for trying a Wonder Wheel anyway?” she asked now, before she could lose her nerve.

Swatch considered it for a minute, and then replied. “Worth a try, but I may have to crash at your place if it goes badly.”

“Understood.”

“No, I’m not sure if you do. If you don’t want Spamton to freak out, he absolutely *needs* to be the big spoon.”

T.M. blinked. “Ohhhhh-kay then. A little more TMI than I needed or wanted to know. So that puts you in the middle spot? Different. But I’ll go with it. Not like you and I have never napped together before.”

“Good on ya, Moggy.” Swatch got to their feet and gallantly extended their hand to help her up. They both walked quietly down the hallway and Swatch gently tapped on the bedroom door before slowly opening it.

In the darkened room, Spamton was curled up like a shrimp in the exact center of the bed, his eyes closed, his glasses off, one foot tucked under the other. He acknowledged Swatch’s and T.M.’s presence with a grunt..

Swatch cleared their throat and said in a questioning tone, “Permission to sit?” It sounded like a code to T.M.

Without moving from his tightly coiled position or opening his eyes, Spamton answered, “P-permission granted. You too, T.M.”

T.M. took her cue from Swatch and waited for them to sit before moving carefully around to the other side of the bed and sitting on the edge. It made for a bit of an odd position, with her body mostly turned away from the other two, but she was trying not to make any more blunders.

After a minute, Spamton said, “I still - still don’t want to talk.”

“Then we don’t have to talk.” Swatch took off their shoes and closed the bedroom door halfway so only a little light crept in from the hallway. They swung their legs onto the bed and lay flat on their back. “No talk, only cuddle.”

Spamton gave a sigh and repeated, “N-no talk, only c-cuddle.” He opened his eyes, looked at T.M., and gave her a watery smile. “You might as - as well st-stay over. It’s - it’s late, and there’s room.” He patted the bed and turned over, pillowing his head on Swatch’s chest.

Well.

In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.

“No talk, only cuddle,” T.M.agreed. She removed her Doc Martens boots, got onto the bed and lay down on her side so that she could drape one arm over both Spamton and Swatch.

She surprised herself by falling asleep, not even ten minutes later.

#deltarune fanfiction #human!au #t.m. tanner #swatch paletta #spamton addison #sylph writes #fic: call signs #deltarune chapter 2

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