Now's Your Chance!!! Spamton x Reader

Safe Haven

After what must have been hours of being coddled so very sweetly, you're left a little dazed, a little flustered, and a lot lost for the time of day.

Spamton had to leave to attend to some business or other. He wasn't specific, but he seemed in a hurry. You can only wonder what that means.

In the meantime, you try to get your bearings. You quickly notice the lack of windows in the room, though knowing the sky of the Dark World, that probably wouldn't have helped much. There are no clocks, either. You guess you'll have to ask Spamton for one later.

You run your fingers absently over your knuckles.

You knocked out Queen, and he finished the fight, he told you. It's over.

Does that mean Spamton is king, now?

It's hard to imagine. As much as you adore him, you can't picture him ruling over much of anybody. Maybe a small staff, at best. But then again, even the outdated managerial skills of a 90s-era business owner surely make for better leadership than that of a tyrant.

...Even if the thought of royal fax machines makes you laugh.

You suppose you'll have to help him. Be a royal advisor, of sorts.

You feel small in the face of that.

You don't know when you asked for that responsibility. You hardly had the time to even think about the future beyond revenge. It was always about the prophecy, about Spamton's struggles, about your despair and potential. But what comes now?

And what did you miss in all the time you spent sleeping?

You sit up in bed, ignoring the burning ache spreading through your body. You swing your legs off the side, and you use your bedside table to support yourself as you try to stand.

Your legs wobble with the effort. You lean hard against the table, cringing as pain arcs through your undamaged body. Your head spins.

When the pain begins to fade, you make your first step. Already, the ache is shrinking back, and you're able to move more freely.

You make your way to the door with growing confidence in your movements. You move to open the door, twisting the knob.

It rattles, but does not open.

You try to turn it again, and it makes the same noise, remaining solidly locked.

Locked.

Why would the door be locked?

There's panic, there's fear, there's even the tiniest bit of resentment before you calm yourself down.

You said a lot of things that must have stressed Spamton out. You've been sleeping for days, and on waking up, you immediately accused him of murder, of creating a Dark Fountain, of not being real. Your impression of reality was definitely off. He probably thought that you would hurt yourself if you were left to wander without him.

As much as it frustrates you, you get it. You would probably lock yourself up, too.

You sigh and turn back to the room.

It's far from small, but that doesn't change how cramped you feel in it now. Spending all day in bed seemed perfectly lovely a minute ago, but now you feel like you'll turn to dust if you don't take a walk.

Again, you notice the lack of windows and clocks.

How long will you have to wait until Spamton's back? You want full access to the house, or whatever this place is. You want to go outside. You want to find out what happened to all the plugged-in Darkners, and if the ones who avoided the wires are okay.