Aw, shit, here we go again.
Total credit for this idea goes to /beabigshot's dream/idea for the salt route- I wish my dreams were as developed as yours!
Quick TLDR for the details of this route (and some creative liberties of my own):
This route begins and is permalocked by gathering five salt piles and talking to Spamton- he asks to join you so he can find his keys, which locks the others out of your party.
From there on, everything in the Dark World is destroyed except for Susie, Ralsei, Noelle, and Lancer, who disappear completely. Queen is fought and killed with ease- and most notably the blue Addison, Spamton's former friend, is killed.
After Queen is fought, Spamton and Kris sit together by the fountain. Spamton will continue to ask if he made you proud- the only way to progress is to tell him no. When this is done, Spamton will leave the party and dust- either because of suicide or being entirely reliant on Kris/The Player.
Themes of self-loathing, manipulation, suicidal ideation, and suicide are present. Please proceed with caution if any of these are known triggers for you.
Also- writing this fic was an exercise in how many variations of "Addison" I could come up with. Final count was 26.
Title is from Jhariah's DEBT COLLECTOR, which is a Spamton song no matter how you swing it.
The City was never prepared for something like them.
Before, when he was still trying in vain to (be a big shot), he'd always brag to Add and Addie about one day, they'd be so big even heaven couldn't stop him.
Spamton's wings melted eventually, and the soundtrack to his downfall was empty garbage noise. Should've known, he thinks. I of all people should know that if the deal's too good, it's probably a scam.
The memory of their exile was faded and censored- could be Them, could be his own mind failing him- but when he thinks about it, he just sees the shiny silver key Queen had given him. Only the best got custom rooms in the castle. That key, more than anything else, proved they finally were a [BIG SHOT].
He doesn't remember where the key is now. Maybe- maybe he should sneak back in, maybe something in that luxurious room could spark his comeback. They could be accepted back into [HEAVEN] again.
His strings stretch and pull violently, the usual reprimand for blasphemy.
Accept your fate. Nobody can choose who they are in the world, why should you be [specil]
They wanted to be special.
Spamton wants off the strings.
This is as firm and irrefutable as anything else in the world- the sun comes up, Spamton's a puppet, Spamton wants to be free so badly they could [die]. The way of their world is that everyone's a puppet; whether they know or not. But he's never met anyone who knows they're a puppet, either.
Until they meet [their most esteemed customer!]
He's looking for his keys, he always is, better than lying in the [goddamned GARBAGE CAN], when he sees them.
Sees their strings, more like.
Spamton sees strings. Sees them on everybody. Most of them are distant, never noticeable unless you look- and they're always unshakable. Strings are invulnerable. Spamton has taken knives and bullets and pliers and shears as close to his head as he dared- nothing can remove them.
This [$%^&*(&^%] kid, though.
Their strings are quivering with effort, thin in some places and thick in others, never going more than an inch of length without messy scratches and hasty cuts through them. They're wrapped around the kid's wrists and throat thickly, and the kid looks like they're panicking. They should be, Spamton can see the tiny nicks around their hands and upper neck area from where they tried to cut themselves free. The scratches are held so tightly together that the blood has dried on them.
Spamton's stomach flips.
The kid introduces themselves as "Kris", and he asks for their help with their keys. Kris accepts, though they look like they'll start crying any second (probably can't anymore). Salt is spilling out of their inventory.
They get into battles, everyone does down here (since the strings ensnared them, anyway), but Kris just laughs. (Bitter and panicked.) They duck behind a shield, and tell Spamton to [FIGHT].
Spamton doesn't want to, but his mind conveniently glosses over that little fact. They need to be better, need to be the [BIG SHOT] he always knew he could be, and he needs their keys. So, they laugh and launch into an attack, raining down bullets onto the Maice in front of them.
*[YOU WON!]
Things blur.
He remembers flashes, solving puzzles, digging that little [Ring] out of his stash at home (the dumpster), and the [FIGHT]ing.
God, the [FIGHT]ing. Kris hasn't mentioned their keys since, just tells him he's doing a good job, he's getting stronger, don't you wanna be A [BIG SHOT] AGAIN-
It doesn't matter anymore.
Her Majesty, Queen, (a dear friend once. They miss the days before the strings.) only looks at them with disappointment before attacking them both. She doesn't fall easy, but she falls- she's strong, but she always thought she'd get the robot in the basement working before that strength would be needed. She always believed he could possess it.
They will hate themselves, will repent forever, but the second Queen falls into the abyss is the second the Strings recede, and both hero and salesman slump in relief.
Spamton moves to leave, they're a [BIG SHOT] now, [hyperlink blocked] is no longer watching, he's free.
Kris holds him back with shaking hands. They slump to the floor like the Strings were the only thing holding them upright. They're choking back painful-sounding sobs, and Spamton's legs give out. They slump down next to Kris. The carpet is luxurious, but if he looks down he'll see Queen's face and-
He doesn't look down.
Kris is messing with a stone statue in their pocket, so gently it's almost unbearable to watch. He doesn't know if Kris talks outside of the Strings (why would they, he thinks. Speak no evil.), but if they did, he thinks they would be apologizing for something.
Spamton considers if he wants an apology. He never did get his keys, of course, but the end is always the same. He was destined to be a big shot, after all.
There's just one more thing he wants.
"Did I make you proud?"
"Yes."
Their answer is so immediate it's shocking. Kris huffs and leans their forehead into their palms, statue left lovingly back in their pocket.
"I can't- you- they- my friends- they deserved safety. You deserve peace."
"Did I make you proud?"
"Yes."
Spamton feels the wave of nausea return. He leans back, Kris nudging closer to them hesitantly. There's no point going anywhere, anymore. The Strings will have to tear them apart- tear the fabric of this reality they value so much, before Kris will seem to move again. Spamton resolves to stay. As long as Kris wants them, anyway.
"Did I?"
"Yes."