5+1 Times That Tenna Proved Darkners Can Dream

by LonnieLark_77

Summary:

One question has plagued Darkner scholars ever since the dawn of their creation: Do Darkners Dream? Darkners, as objects given life, already exist in a reality of dream and illusion, born of Lightner wishes, thoughts, and imagination. Did they, children of fantasy, truly possess the ability to have visions of their own? In short, could a dream, itself, dream?

One Darkner at least knows, with absolute certainty, that the answer is yes.

Or, 5+1 times that Tenna had a nightmare, and what awaited him when he awoke.

Chapter 1: Murphy's Law

Tenna rushed from place to place, checking every nook and cranny of the studio’s workings, making sure every staff member was being useful and setting up things in the right place. He wore a bright smile, but it was strained, sharp-toothed, sweat beading on his forehead as his fans slowly churned out a nervous rhythm. His long legs carried him across the studio with ease, staff quickly running out of the way of his sweeping dress shoes. As he passed the set department, he hummed in satisfaction upon seeing backdrops covered in reds, greens, and white, snow and greenery pasted everywhere. Backstage, he nodded his head at a pair of Shadowguys who were carefully placing sleighbells and slapsticks in the sound booth, letting out a shaky breath before he moved on. The Pippins working the props department yelled at him as his thundering footsteps rattled breakable glassware and jugs of (faux) eggnog. With a terse apology and a brief “good work!”, he passed onwards toward the weather room. Lanino and Elnina assured him all was well as they touched up their make-up. “It’s clear skies as far as we’re concerned,” Lanino told him, his shining weatherman’s grin sitting comfortably on his face. Elnina nodded in agreement, then leaned toward Tenna with a hand cupping her mouth, as if she was telling a secret. “Though, I believe today’s forecast calls for a dusting of snow later tonight,” she whispered with a wink.

Tenna smiled at them both, giving them a grandiose round of pre-recorded applause before turning on his heel with a wave. He sighed, rushing to where he technically was supposed to be. He nervously wrung his hands as he walked, his antennas bending at odd, anxious angles. Everything had to be perfect. It was the holidays, for crying out loud! That meant the Holidays, too! It meant more people gathering in the living room, with him as the glowing centerpiece, expecting heartwarming Christmas and Giftmas specials of all their favorite shows. It meant the whole kit and caboodle! As much as he adored the undivided attention, even he sweated under the scrutiny of the spotlight. Everything needed to run smoother than freshly-laid ice; even a single hitch had the potential of shutting down the show. Everything needed to be flawless; he needed to be flawless. He couldn’t let down his favorite viewers! What a disappointment he’d be! No, a failure! The holidays would be ruined!

Finally, as Tenna came upon the placement tape marking where he needed to be, he heard a Pippins call for places. “One minute to show time, people!” they shouted, rushing around backstage with a clipboard in their mitts, “I repeat, one minute to call!” Tenna took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he reached up to straighten his antennas. It just wouldn’t do to be this nervous! He had a whole night of holiday fun to host! And why should he have butterflies crowding his circuits anyway? He’s done this whole song and dance many times before; he’s known both of those families out there since before some of the kids were even born. He knows they love him. He loves them just as much, maybe even more; enough to get the shakes over a series of shows he knows by heart. At that thought, Tenna smiled, confidence rising in his chest as he smoothed out his suit coat and straightened his tie. Maybe that was all he needed to think about right now. He really loved his family and their friends; all this was was a chance to show how much he cared. A chance to make them laugh, smile, bask in the warmth of familiar holiday tradition. To him, he supposed, it didn’t need to be more than that.

Besides, he thought, I personally checked every little detail in every single department, and it all looked perfectly fine! He looked straight at the camera ahead of him, a large, flashy grin on his face as he watched a Zapper’s fingers count down from three. Tenna stood tall, a microphone in his hand poised in front of his lips, prepared for him to announce the first show. He still felt butterflies in his stomach, but as he stared at the camera, his family’s window into the studio, he realized it was excitement, not nerves, that was buzzing under his casing. The light on the camera turned red, and the Zapper pointed to Tenna. Show time. Tenna grinned and opened his mouth to begin the program. What could possibly go wrong?

*

Everything, apparently. Every single set had some kind of glitch, something that went absolutely haywire. Firstly, the schedule somehow, somehow got mixed around as if it was thrown in a blender, and almost immediately, backstage fell into chaos. Different departments were receiving different cues for different shows; no one truly knew which story was supposed to come next. The 5 o’clock and 6 o’clock shows were switched around, even though Tenna introduced them at their scheduled times. Sets got mixed up, props got lost in the frenzied grapple for order, sound effects went off at random, creating sudden bursts of incongruent cacophony. Even the weather board went berserk behind Elnina and Lanino as they attempted to tell the forecast, showing impossibly cold temperatures and apocalyptic precipitation. The couple thankfully played it off with a laugh, giving their own (hopefully accurate) report and joking at the board’s expense. Tenna laughed with them off-stage, though stress clung to every wire in his body. The only thing keeping him from screaming into a pillow in the greenroom was the assurance that the kids were giggling at the display as well. Then, in the middle of the annual airing of “The Grouch” the lights malfunctioned, painting every following show in harsh, saturated colors. Terrified, with one metaphorical eye trained on the light world, Tenna screamed at the backstage crew for someone, anyone to get the lights back up and running. A few Zappers rushed to the rafters to frantically fix them, only succeeding until the ending credits of “A Charles Green Holiday”, and even still, the colors weren’t quite right. Something definitely broke as staff rushed to and fro in all of the pandemonium. Probably multiple things. Oh, Angel, this whole mess was definitely going in as a loss on the next quarterly report.

Finally, as 10 o’clock rolled around, and the last holiday special ended, Tenna took the stage one last time. He drew a shaky breath, his TV host grin nearly falling into a grimace. This was it. All he had to do was bring it home, say his goodbyes and they could play reruns for the rest of the night, maybe go to bed, grab a snack, try to forget about this absolute disaster. Tenna stepped up to his mark in front of the camera, sweat beading on his forehead. “And that's all for tonight folks! Thank you for joining us on this evening full of.” He wrapped the back of his hand around his mouth, leaning toward the camera conspiratorially, “(Though, let’s hope you didn’t drink too much of that “spirit”, parents!)” Even through the uproarious studio laughter, he heard something else just offstage, some kind of commotion, something he couldn't quite make out. His smile twitched. It was fine, he just needed to get through this last speech and then he could go see if someone needed to get fired. “Be sure to join us later this month for our new years celebration! Featuring the classics you've come to expect: the annual marathon of” The ruckus was getting louder, so much so the camera surely could have picked it up. It was mainly people yelling, shouting something Tenna couldn't quite hear. He tightened his grip on the microphone. “F-from our studio t…” Okay, this was really getting distracting. Just what were they screaming about? “T-to your living room, happy holidays to all! And to all, a good nigh-”

“TENNA, LOOK OUT!”

Tenna jolted, whipping his gaze to the wings of the stage, where a large group of staff were frantically gesturing for him to move. “The lights, Tenna! The lights!” they cried. Suddenly, Tenna heard the unmistakable creak and groan of weakening metal. He turned his gaze upwards with a gasp, just as something in the rafters snapped, sending the full set of lights and metal scaffolding careening down toward him. Before he could even think, they crushed him, shattering his screen and plunging the world into darkness.

Chapter 2: Big Shot Behavior

Summary:

"Shaking off the nerves he’d stirred up, he took a deep breath before he marched out on stage, microphone poised in front of his mouth to introduce the program. He spun to center stage in a whirlwind of energy and limbs, a bright TV host grin lighting up his screen as he pointed out toward the camera, enthusiastically welcoming the audience to- wait.

Where was the audience?"

Notes:

Hi guys! :D
Sorry about the wait, this chapter fought me tooth and nail; probably wasn't the best idea to write chapter 2 last out of all of them, lol
Tenna also talks a lot in this chapter, which means a ton of fun word art but also a ton of very tedious word art
Thanks for reading!

Tenna adjusted his tie as he prepared to step out onstage, a confident grin firmly on his face as he took a microphone from a stand backstage. He had a good feeling about this evening’s broadcast. He didn’t know what about today bestowed that feeling upon him, but it was there nonetheless, making his screen shine as bright as his beaming smile. Perhaps that was the reason it took him a bit longer to recognize that it was dark, much too dark for the show to appear properly. Tenna pursed his lips and raised a hand to the side of his head. “MIKE!” he shouted, his other hand planted agitatedly at his hip, “We look like we’re about to shoot a  scene down here! Would you mind shining some  on the situation?” Tenna waited for a good thirty seconds, but the lights did not change by a single lumen. He frowned. “Mike? Hello?” No response. Only static. Tenna’s brow furrowed, anxiety slowly coiling around his middle. Were his antennas not working? They felt fine, he felt fine. He gave the side of his head a good whack just in case, but besides a few things rattling around, he felt no difference. And it made no difference when he tried to call again. His frown gave way to a scowl. Was Mike just not listening? Ignoring him? He sighed exasperatedly and focused inward. Fine, he thought, snapping his fingers, I guess if I want something done right, I’ll just do it mys-!

With a start, he realized it was still dark. He snapped his fingers again and again, but the lights refused to cooperate, keeping the studio dunked in a twilight atmosphere. Tenna hummed, staring at his hands, sweat starting to break out on his temple. Okay, so maybe this wasn't just Mike just being flippant with him. That was excellent news; Tenna wouldn't know what he would do without him. Just a technical glitch, then. A bit of an annoyance, sure, but not so much so that it would derail the show. It was something he'd just have to work around. He's done more with less! Shaking off the nerves he’d stirred up, he took a deep breath before he marched out on stage, microphone poised in front of his mouth to introduce the program. He spun to center stage in a whirlwind of energy and limbs, a bright TV host grin lighting up his screen as he pointed out toward the camera, enthusiastically welcoming the audience to- wait. Where was the audience?

His hand wilted from its exuberant pose as he realized it was pointing to empty seats. No, not even that; an empty room . There was nothing but darkness beyond the stage’s edge, a black void that seemingly shifted and swirled the longer Tenna looked into it. His smile fell and his hands slowly lowered, a crawling feeling clawing up his spine as he stared into the nothingness beyond him. Brows furrowed, he took a step back, and a cloud of white-gray particulates suddenly kicked up around him. Startled, he looked down at the stage floor, seeing a thin yet substantial layer of dust that covered the entirety of the stage. It was a thick enough coating for his shoes to leave crisp, clear footprints behind. The sinking feeling in his stomach was met by light annoyance. When was the last time anyone cleaned this set? Was that why the lights were so dim? Were they also just dirty? Covered in dust?

 With a tight frown on his face, antennas humming with signal, he once again raised a hand to his ear. “Mike???” he called, his somewhat demanding tone tinted with a steady drip of fear, “What’s going on here? Am I- am I on the wrong set? Where is everyone? Every…thing?” Tenna’s fans kicked on as he waited for a response, receiving nothing but silence and the shifting not-sound of the void in front of him. The hand on his comm device came to cradle the top of his head, the other brought to his lips in worried thought. Why wouldn’t Mike answer? Where was he? Where was… everyone? Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t just Mike that was glaringly absent. He didn’t see any of his crew backstage; no Pippins sneakily taking bets on the show, no Shadowguys practicing their jazz solos through their chatter, no Zappers trying their hardest to organize the behind-the-scenes chaos. No Shuttas popping in for a quick photo shoot, no weather couple gushing over each other before they went to give the forecast. No mailman waiting in the wings for his sponsored segment. How did he not notice before? He couldn’t run this show as a solo act! Even if he could, there was no one around to watch! There- there had to be somebody to watch, the show needed it, he needed it! There wouldn’t be a show without an-

Suddenly, Tenna’s antennas perked up as they caught the barest wisps of voices, wafting through the darkness from somewhere in the void. He froze. Was he hearing things? Concentrating as much energy as he could to his antennas, he focused on any and all sounds that surrounded him, straining his hearing as far as it would go. After a beat of silence, his eyes metaphorically widened. No, no, he wasn’t just hearing things! The voices were still there, getting louder, clearer the longer he listened. Something akin to hope sparked in his chest. There was his audience! Maybe even his crew! All he needed to do was to go find them… wherever they were. They certainly sounded like they were somewhere far out in front of him, but the only thing he could see in that direction was churning darkness. 

Trepidatiously, he approached the front edge of the stage, a small cloud of dust displaced with each tentative step. As he came to the boundary between floorboards and the void, he eyed the inky blackness with wariness. The darkness appeared to lap at the edge of the stage like waves on a beach, ebbing and flowing as a liquid while simultaneously shining with a rigid structure, like glass or obsidian. Tenna kneeled down for a closer look, his mouth set in a thin line, the tip of his right dress shoe peeking over the edge of the stage. He raised a hand to his mouth in thought, abruptly realizing that it still held his microphone. He lowered his hand and stared at the mic, glancing between it and the void before ultimately tossing it into the inky depths. It bounced and rolled on some sort of dark surface, coming to a stop only a few feet away and barely half a foot down from the floorboards. Tenna hummed and straightened up, lifting a foot completely over the edge of the stage. Slowly, he lowered it towards the darkness, his toes reaching a solid surface fairly quickly. As soon as the entirety of his foot was on the ground, he brought the other foot to join it, breaking into a dash toward the crowd of voices.

At least, he hoped that was where he was headed. Really, he had no clue where he was going; everything in this place seemed to be simultaneously something and nothing at all. There was nothing to see here, nothing to touch, smell, taste. There was only darkness; darkness and the sound of a crowd somewhere within it. As he ran, he relied solely on his ears to guide him, hoping and praying they were taking him in the right direction. By all accounts, it appeared that they were. The further he ran into the void, the louder the voices became, but he still couldn’t see any evidence of people. The dim light of the stage had faded behind him ages ago, leaving only himself as the sole source of light in the darkness. Even then, with his face essentially acting as his own flashlight, the only thing that crossed his vision was the void. That was, until a speck in the distance caught his attention. It wasn’t illuminated, but something about it made it stand out from the surrounding darkness, like orange against a blue background. It sat dead ahead, where his antennas confirmed the voices to be coming from. Tenna broke out into a sprint, the voices getting louder and louder until he finally came upon a crowd of people.

He didn’t recognize any of the figures; they were indistinct, hidden in shadow, but nonetheless Tenna’s face split into a wide smile as he approached them. “Well, howdy-do there, folks!” he greeted, standing tall and waving enthusiastically, “How are we all doing on this fine evening?” He held his hands on his hips, a broad grin lighting up his screen as he waited for a response. He waited. And waited. But none came. No one even glanced in his direction, just mulling about on their own paths as if he wasn’t even there. Tenna shrunk by a few inches, and he nervously adjusted his tie, fighting to keep the corners of his lips up. “Ah-heh… not a fan of conversation, eh? That’s alright folks! I know not everyone is as much of a  as I am!” He wrapped a hand around his mouth, leaning towards the bustling crowd, “(And I do mean that literally).” Tenna knocked on the side of his rectangular head for emphasis, grinning in expectation of at least a few chuckles, maybe even a few turned heads. 

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Tenna’s antennas wilted a little, and he straightened back up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeesh, tough crowd! Ha, ha…” he coughed awkwardly into his fist, smile falling completely into a grimace. “Alright, alright, I admit that wasn’t my best work in witticisms, but…” A slightly frustrated noise escaped him, his arms starting to gesture exasperatedly at the crowd, “Come on , folks! At least give a television something to work with here! How can I give you the best viewing experience possible if I don’t know what channels you’d tune in for? Just-!” Tenna’s face scrunched up in vexation as he drew a deep, long breath, letting it out slowly as he forced a bright smile back onto his screen. “Y’know what, we can figure all that out later!” He grew back a few inches, pointing into the crowd with gusto. “You all look like you could use some good ol’ well-rounded entertainment! Lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing!” His arms flew up over his head before they deliberately lowered in a dramatic arch, punctuating his showmanship as he boomed, “Mr. Ant Tenna’s ” 

The announcement seemed to echo in the void, as loud as it was, yet not a single person gave him even a second of their attention. The beginnings of desperation started to stir in his stomach as he continued. “Ah- I uh… I see that my reputation does not precede me,” he chuckled tensely, jittery hands adjusting his already perfect tie, “But let me tell you, this isn’t just any old monotonous program, Cadoos and Cadettes! Nosirree, we’ve got an absolute bucketload of variety that’s sure to make you  at your ! Games, quizzes, shows and movies, absolutely wild , at-home audience participation, the whole shebang!” He looked out at the crowd, his zest and energy waning as no one in the crowd looked back. His smile wobbled, sweat beading on the side of his casing. “There’s gotta be something over there to put a smile on all those faces! So why don’t we head on down to the studio? It’s just a quick skip and a hop over- uh… wait, which… way…?”

Brows furrowed, he looked out at the sea of ink and shadow. A hesitant noise escaped him and he paused, lips twisted in worry. Logically, he knew he should be able to just run back the way he came, that the studio lights were still on, buried in the dark, but… a nagging feeling wrapped around his middle, insisting that something had changed . Even if he couldn't see it. Maybe… maybe the studio wasn't even there anymore. Tenna swallowed thickly, turning back toward the crowd with a spin and a dazzling smile, striking a pose as soon as he completed the rotation. “Ah- y'know what, nevermind! We can have a show right here, live, straight from your house! That's right, folks, we don't need a stage to have a show! And certainly not that one! A set filled with just dust makes for some pretty bad TV.” He leaned forward again, like he was sharing an inside joke, “(And trust me, I know TV!)”

The pause for laughter written on his internal cue card was met with an increasingly painful silence. His teeth grit under his smile, and he fought to keep his fangs in check. Just what did he have to do to get these people to look at him? “Okay. Okay! Too much jabber, huh?” Tenna held up his hands as if in surrender, “Alright, folks, I get it! I really do!   speaks louder than words, right? Right? ” Again, there was no response. Tenna pointed to a random figure in the crowd, sharp teeth peeking out from under his lips despite his best efforts. “This guy knows what I’m talking about!” The figure moved out of line with Tenna’s outstretched finger, brushing off the direct address without so much as a pause. Tenna lowered his hand, noticing with a dawning dread that it was trembling. He quickly drew his hands back towards himself, clasping them tightly together behind his back. No, no no no, he couldn’t get the shakes now! Now was the time for focus, precision , that couldn’t happen with nerves jamming up his circuits! 

A jittery feeling crawled underneath Tenna’s casing, making his movements quick, jerky, much too stiff to be natural. Even so, he straightened his spine, puffing out his chest in faux confidence. “Ah… aha, right, I keep forgetting you folks don’t like chatter!” He raised one hand to his mouth and zipped his lips. “No problem! At! All! Talk shows aren’t all I’ve got programmed!” With a snap of his fingers and a bright sparkle of magic, Tenna’s red suitcoat was replaced with his black tux and a striped hat nestled itself between his antennas. A cane appeared above his hand with a pop!, and he caught it with a flourish, using the momentum of the action to break into a spin. As he came to a stop, he lifted his hat and cane in a jazzy pose. “How’s a dance number suit your fancy?” Even with his screen flashing, still, no one turned to look. Tenna’s mouth twisted into a tight-lipped smile, and he plopped the hat back onto his head, twirling the cane between his fingers. “Well! Why don’t we… give it a go anyway, huh?   isn’t a top rated show for nothing!”

With a grin on his screen, he took the cane in both of his hands, holding it daintily as he began to tap his feet. The clack of the tap shoes provided a light percussion as he accompanied his routine with a jaunty tune, something he heard from a re-showing of an old movie from the 60s. Spinning, clicking his heels, he danced with a surprising grace for a darkner of his large stature, his smile relaxing as the rhythm washed over him. The energy and joy of the song was infectious, slowly rising under his casing like bubbles as he moved into a spirited twirl. He gained a few inches, grinning. This was more like it! This was a more familiar soundscape: the tap shoes against the floor, the music, the whoops and whistles of the adoring crowd- oh. No, those were still missing.

Tenna’s gaze abruptly turned back to the crowd of people, finding still, still, no one would return it. Gradually, the sound of his tapping slowed until it stopped entirely, his voice petering out into a muffled, almost wounded noise. “Mm. N-not a fan after all, huh?” Then, out of the corner of his mouth, “(I admit my singing is a C♯ at best, but I didn’t think it’d B♭!)” He grimaced, then shook his head, fervent. “Okay. T-that’s fine! I can do other things!” He quickly snapped once again, returning his attire to its default state before scratching his head agitatedly in thought. “How… How about a movie? Or- or some channel surfing! You decide which direction this performance takes, folks!” He pointedly ignored the following silence, filling it with his own increasingly frantic breathing. “No? Ah- Well, that’s… that’s probably a good call,” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “We’d need the studio for all that anyway! Let’s see, how about… physical comedy! Slapstick!” He lifted a thumb and finger to the bottom of his screen, as if stroking his chin in contemplation. “It’s… not usually my part to play, but hey, I can always try something new! Nothing’s too  for this CRT-oh!”

The non-reaction that followed appeared to be easier to swallow this time. It was fine , he knew they didn’t respond to verbal jokes (or… anything he said, really), but he had a plan! He just needed to stretch some new comedic muscles, is all; maybe find something to work with, like a banana peel or… As Tenna looked across his surroundings, he was abruptly reminded that there was nothing there. No props, no lights, not even really a floor; only the dark, the shadowed crowd, and his increasingly anxious self. He lightly tapped the ground with his heel and frowned at the hard, tile-like reverberations. Suddenly, even the thought of taking a tumble here made his delicate screen recoil. “Ah- y'know what, why don’t we try something else?” he asked the crowd, a slight tremor in his voice, “A crack in the ol’ plastic noggin would be quite the , don't'cha think?” No response. Tenna waved a dismissive hand at the silence, a tight chuckle bubbling up in his throat. “Ha, hahaha, that’s alright folks! You don’t need to say it, I know you agree!”

After a few beats, his nervous laughter morphed into mutters, and Tenna began to pace, hands gesturing with a desperate restlessness. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay, let’s see, uh… what else…?” He paced, back and forth, back and forth, antennas bouncing agitatedly as he tried to think. “Maybe… no no, that wouldn’t- what about…? No, we don’t have-” he whispered, a growl starting in his throat, “Oh, Angel help me, what do I- what can I…?” All of the usual hits had failed spectacularly, and anything new either required materials he didn’t have or risked permanent damage. A despondent whine escaped him, and his fangs worried his lip. He was out of ideas, out of materials, out of options… except. Tenna abruptly stopped with a gasp and a snap of his fingers, spinning back toward the crowd with an excited (borderline manic) grin. “I’ve got it!” he shouted, pointer finger raised high, “One last ace up my sleeves, folks! The perfect performance that’s sure to grab your attention!” Leaning forward, with a hand around his mouth, he continued, “(It’s sure worked wonders for keeping the kids entertained!)”

With a dramatic flourish, Tenna straightened to his full height, his screen flashing to bright static. A drumroll played from his speakers for a beat, two, until finally, with a trumpet’s “ta-da!”, the static cleared. In its place bounced a colored DVD logo, moving slowly but purposefully across a black background. Behind the screensaver, Tenna smiled in anticipation. Without fail, that little bouncing logo had kept Kris and Asriel's eyes locked onto him, sometimes for hours at a time, as they waited for it to hit the corner of his screen. Surely it could at least garner some sort of reaction from these people! Their eyes would be on him in no time; he just had to be patient!

Tenna froze in his ostentatious pose, keeping his screen facing the crowd, waiting for any sign of attention, even a brief gander in his direction. A few moments passed, dunked in complete quiet. He counted thirty seconds with increasingly shaking limbs. Seconds turned into a couple minutes and more; he lost count after five. With every passing second, every logo-corner collision, every figure passing by without so much as a single glance or acknowledgement, he felt his insides wind tighter and tighter. His cooling fans kicked on as his breath turned frantic, his antennas starting to bend at sharp, bitter angles. He waited, but there was no reward for his patience. 

With a growl rumbling deep in his throat, he snapped out of his suspended pose and snarled, teeth and claws fully bared. “Alright, that’s it, I have had it up to  with you all!” he whipped his hand above his head, palm stiff and facing down, the other hand clenched in a trembling fist at his side. “What’s a TV got to do to entertain you people? Or get any kind of reaction? I’ve tried every trick in the channel guide and yet still you don’t even- I don’t-” he cut off with a sharp breath, brows furrowed, a shaking, tight grimace on his face. “Even- even just a look, just a look would-” his gaze swept across the crowd, met only by nonplussed faces that turned pointedly away from him. Offense, anxiety, and despair clashed underneath his casing and he gripped the sides of his head, screen bathed in static. “Just- someone please , just -!” A clawed hand reached for the nearest figure, desperation clinging to every wire, “ LOOK AT ME-!”

He grasped the person’s shadowed shoulders, turning them towards them so at least one person would- wait. Wait, what the-? His claws had swiped clean through their torso, and they just continued walking, as if he had done nothing at all. As if he was nothing at all. Tenna stared after them until they seemed to dissipate into the darkness, turning back to his hand, left aloft in the air and… where was his glove? He flinched back as the light of his screen reflected off the bare metal of his hand, and his fingers flexed in surprise, letting out a strident creak. His stomach dropped at the noise, fear starting to dig its claws into his chest as he brought the hand closer to his face, scrutinizing the joints in his fingers to see-

Rust.

That was rust .

 

A terrified squeak ripped out of his speakers, and he rushed to scratch off the red corrosion. The fingers on his other hand creaked and groaned in their attempt to do so and he jumped, catching sight of orange-red plaque that coated those joints as well. Panic started to fill his head with static, both hands now frantically clawing at each other as his vision narrowed to only the rust. For as many brown metal shavings that his nails scraped off, to his horror, the spots of oxidation started to grow , spreading across his fingers, palms, traveling further yet up his forearms. His joints started to lock at painful angles, refusing to budge as the rust consumed them. Head spinning, muttering petrified denials under his breath, he began to walk backward, his quaking, pained hands held far in front of him, as if he could run away from his own limbs. Underneath his jacket sleeves, he could feel the rust overtake his elbows, sealing them in place as his screen flipped to dark static, his fans wheezing with the strain of his near hysterical breathing. Tears gathered behind his screen as his shoulders seized, the corrosion digging deep into the sockets, feeling as if the joint lubricant had been replaced with broken glass. He hissed, back curling over as he continued backward until suddenly-

His foot didn’t find purchase. He gasped as he tipped backward, pain shooting down his arms as they attempted to flail, joints grinding against the rough metal. With a startled cry, he fell, careening through the dark, his tie flapping in front of him, rushing wind drowning his audio processors. The wires on the back of his neck buzzed in terrified anticipation, telling him with a desperate certainty that the ground was fast approaching, that he would assuredly crash and splinter and shatter and-

A shrill yell cut through the tranquil atmosphere of Tenna's bedroom as he abruptly woke, and despite knowing he was the only person in the room, it took Tenna a worrying amount of time to realize that he was the one screaming. That may have, in part, been due to the absolutely piercing headache pounding behind his screen. He groaned as soon as his fans slowed to a more reasonable RPS, and he rolled over toward his nightstand, reaching for the small alarm clock on the tabletop. He missed a couple times, his palm pawing clumsily at the wood around it before it finally landed on the dark block of plastic with a clack . With a huff, he turned the clock face toward him and squinted. The illuminated numbers appeared to blur and fuzz together, illegible to his gaze until he turned his screen on. With the last crumbs of sleep washed away, his vision started to focus, blobs of light on the clock coalescing to form “4:52 AM”. His display clicked off with an audible twang and he sighed, retracting his arm to lazily drape over the top of his screen. He laid there for a few moments, taking deep, slow breaths, before he grumbled and gingerly pulled himself up from his pillow. 

Pushing aside his comforter, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and placed his elbows on his knees, his hands coming to rest on either side of his head. A particularly sharp pang pulsed behind his temples and he groaned, brows pinched in discomfort as his fingers attempted to massage the sides of his plastic casing. The action didn’t do much to quell the headache, but it worked wonders on the residual terror still simmering at his core. It dissipated bit by bit as he focused on the smooth, silent movement of his fingers, relief slowly washing over him as his joints flexed without resistance or strident complaint. After a few moments, he took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as his hands dropped to dangle between his knees. His face reappeared as he glanced back at his alarm clock, the display now reading “4:59”.

He pursed his lips, but ultimately shrugged, moving to get out of bed. His alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour yet, but he doubted the raging headache would allow him that extra sixty minutes of sleep. Besides, based on how he felt, he probably needed the additional time to make himself look more presentable and less like a bedraggled racoon. With a grunt, he braced his hands against the edge of the mattress, looking at the floor as he prepared to push himself off the bed. Suddenly, he froze, befuddled at the sight before him. His feet, normally covered by fuzzy TV Time-branded socks at nighttime, were fit snugly into his bright yellow dress shoes. He stared in bewilderment, catching a glimpse of black trousers as well. With a start, he quickly patted down the rest of his clothes. Did he actually sleep in his suit ? Ugh, he just got it pressed! Now it was going to be all wrinkled and he didn't have time to- oh. No, he wasn't wearing his suit coat. On his sleeves, his fingers met the soft fabric of his starry pajama shirt, followed by that of his night cap, which was sitting loosely around his antennas. He hummed, and suddenly felt his throat press against a band of silky cloth. That made him pause. Looking down at himself, he saw no sign of his usual yellow tie; what could possibly be around his neck? Antennas perked in confusion, he fumbled with the clasp of whatever it was, struggling for a moment before it finally loosened, falling into his waiting grasp. As soon as his fingers curled around the smooth fabric, he raised his hand to his screen, and immediately snorted. 

It was his tux bowtie. A baffled smile found its way on his face as he stared at it. Where did it even come from? He hasn’t worn his tux in ages, he’s had no need for it. With all of the sponsored sections he did with his co-star, it was just easier (and cost effective) to keep the matching red suit on all the time. Dr. Tennaville could afford a vacation, maybe even an early retirement with the way things were going! Tenna lightly shook his head with a grin, lifting his fingers to snap, but a sudden stinging twinge under his temple shut the action down. Tenna grimaced. Okay. Pain meds first, then he could get changed. After tossing the bowtie onto his bed, he opened his nightstand drawer, fishing around a sea of disorganized odds and ends for the bottle of Nyletol he knew was buried inside. Ever since the first pharma ad of the stuff rolled, he'd always kept a bottle in near every drawer; it sure worked like a charm for various aches and pains, just as the voiceover advertised! Finally, his fingertips curled around a plastic bottle, but to his dismay, it was empty. His lips pulled into a frown and he squeezed the bottle, breathing deep and low as he tried to remember where the next closest stache was. With his head pounding as it was, his thoughts churned with effort, but after a few moments of concentration, he recalled placing a bottle of Nyletol in his private green room.

With a huff, he slowly got to his feet, tottering in place as a wave of vertigo wracked his head. It passed after a moment, thankfully, and he stumbled toward the door that separated his bedroom from the hall to his private greenroom. The door opened silently, allowing his clomping footsteps to solely fill the still atmosphere as he walked. Absently, he noticed that the hallway was dim, illuminated mainly by his own screen. His subconscious prickled at the observation and Tenna adamantly pushed down his bristling hackles. The only reason it was dark was that the studio was still powered down for the night; the family rarely ever watched shows this early. This, he knew . Still, some part of him violently recoiled at the sight of the shadows that shifted anytime he moved his gaze, only settling down when he closed the greenroom door behind him. He let out a short breath, nervously slicking back his antennas as his vision narrowed to the drawer he knew housed his pain medication. Rushing over as best he could, he pulled on the triangular handle, finding a half-full bottle of Nyletol almost immediately. With a relieved grin, he plucked the bottle from the drawer, turning toward the vending machine in the corner in search of something to wash it down with.

“...[Cathode]?”

Tenna jolted and practically choked on his next breath, whipping his head to one of the couches with a startled squeak. Spamton’s confused face met his spooked gaze. They awkwardly stared at each other for a moment, until Spamton snorted, a bemused grin stretched across his lips. “Nice [Mix n’ Match] [Hanging By A Thread]s.” Tenna pointedly looked away and crossed his arms, a smile attempting to conceal the embarrassed pink tint that had risen on his screen. “Haha, Spam! I uh…” he coughed, trying and failing to appear collected, “I didn’t know you were… here.” Spamton cackled, relaxing back into the couch. “Obviously. Was the [Fresh from the Juice!] so strong you forgot Y0u [inviting little cottages-] me to stay?” 

He did? Tenna’s brow furrowed in confusion as he sputtered. “Well, I- it’s not… wait, why are you here? We have a guest room, remember?” Spamton waved a dismissive hand, a nervous chuckle in his throat. “Ah, don’t [Worried About-?] IT, with the amount we [Drunken Sailor], I doubt I would have made it there [N]yway.” A more genuinely amused grin pushed up his lips as he raised a teasing eyebrow. “I’m more surprised your lightweight [@%#] actually managed to [[100% make-up remover]] it 2 the door, [10% off]-” his smile fell a little as he cut himself off, jaw clenched, “[World-Famous Tenor Pav-]. [Built-in Tennis Court]- T. [Telly]- Te-.” He looked away, a silent hiss of frustration slipping through grinding teeth. Tenna pointedly ignored the… what did Spamton call them? Tics? Pop-ups? Well, whatever they were called, he knew they were a sore point; drawing attention to them would just be rubbing salt in the wound, especially since they had been getting worse lately. Though, strangely enough, they never seemed to be an issue when Spamton was on stage, in front of a camera.

“Y’know,” Tenna hummed, nonchalant, “We’ve been business partners for a while now; formalities seem a bit redundant at this point. You can call me Ant, if you like.” Spamton’s gaze flicked back to him in surprise, staring for a moment before he relaxed, his award-winning grin set firmly back in place. “Alright, Ant,” he said, propping his feet on top of the coffee table littered with glasses and remnants of diluted battery acid, his hands tucked behind his head. He squinted up at Tenna, a spark of mischief in his eye. “Anthony?” Tenna flashed him an irked, toothy smile before swiftly twirling back toward the vending machine, “Don’t push it, mailman.” The sound of Spamton’s laughter rang out behind him as he punched in the code for two flatsodas, fishing both of them out of the machine with one large hand. Tenna straightened back to his feet and immediately stumbled, a pained noise slipping past his lips as a throbbing headrush rolled over him. An amused “He4dach3?” sounded behind him, and he responded with a vague noise of agreement, grumbling as the room gradually stopped spinning. As soon as he felt he could move without ending up on the floor, he turned back to the couch, holding up the soda and shaking the pain meds with a brow raised in question, a grin on his screen. “You too, I imagine?” 

Spamton scoffed, but nonetheless held out a hand, the pinch in his forehead indicating the answer was very much yes. Tenna chuckled as he walked back toward the sofa, handing Spamton a flatsoda before gently taking a seat himself. Placing his own soda on the coffee table, he turned his focus to the bottle of Nylatol, struggling with the child-proof cap for a moment before it finally popped open. He shook a few tablets onto his palm before offering it to Spamton, who took noticeably more pills into his own hand. Tenna smirked. “That bad of a hangover, huh? And you call me the .” Spamton shot him a wry grin. “Y0u’re one to [Walkie Talkie], Mr. [$19.99] piece suit!” Tenna laughed, cracking open his soda with a claw. “Touche.” With a shrug, he popped the medication into his mouth, taking a swig of soda to wash it down. Spamton did much the same, throwing an arm around the back of the couch, resting his soda can on his knee.

The headache meds slowly worked their magic as the two stars idly chatted in the semi-darkness, periodically taking sips of their drinks. Gradually, as the roaring in Tenna’s head simmered to a light pang, the tight bundle of nerves still writhing at his core settled. Now, the dark felt less constricting, more comforting, simply there to save their skulls from the potentially painful fluorescents above. He relaxed into the cushions at his back as he listened to Spamton animatedly explain why the cars in Cyber City had legs, a light smile nestled comfortably on his face. Silently, Tenna huffed, mentally ripping the shadowed memories of the nightmare to pieces. That dream could drown in slime for all he cared. He knew he had an audience, at the very least an audience of four, sometimes even eight! And that number was on track to just get bigger. Someday soon, he knew, he knew he was going to be a big shot.

With his boisterous, grinning co-star at his side, how could he not be?

Chapter 3: White Noise

Summary:

"Under any other circumstance, he loved loud noise. Being loud and in charge was a core part of himself. Everything was always turned up to max; every announcement was an excited shout at the top of his lungs, every light was turned on its brightest setting, each piece of music and sound effect were blaring to just shy of an obnoxious degree. But this noise was different. This noise hurt.
As had become increasingly common over the past few months, Tenna wished for quiet.

For peace."

The family was fighting again. Right in front of him. Very, very loudly. Tenna’s audio processor continuously peaked as their two voices screamed at each other, snarls and bared teeth practically audible in the rageful shouts. The yelling was so deafening, so thunderous in its animosity that it almost appeared that it was the only sound in the universe, drowning out the whirring and buzzing of Tenna’s internal mechanisms, even to his own ear. Under any other circumstance, he loved loud noise. Being loud and in charge was a core part of himself. Everything was always turned up to max; every announcement was an excited shout at the top of his lungs, every light was turned on its brightest setting, each piece of music and sound effect were blaring to just shy of an obnoxious degree. But this noise was different. This noise hurt . As had become increasingly common over the past few months, Tenna wished for quiet, for peace .

After a particularly harsh screech, Tenna pressed his palms to the side of his head, hoping to at least muffle the vitriol. Forasmuch as he tried, his hands provided no reprieve, the sounds of the escalating fight slipping through his fingers like water through mesh, somehow even louder than they were before. His lip wobbled, chest and throat tight with disquiet. He turned toward the source, seeing postures and gestures and expressions matching the irate shouts. Distress clenched his heart at the sight. It felt like ages since he last saw a smile on either of those faces. No matter how much he tried, a frown, glare, snarl, something of that nature always seemed to land on their muzzles, sticking to their lips for days at a time. And it felt like a punch to the screen every time he saw it. Maybe… maybe he just had to try harder . Tenna set his brow and drew a deep breath, mouth set in a thin line before he opened it to speak. “Hey, folks!” He shouted, voice colored with static from the volume he was forced to use, “How’s about we go to a commercial break, huh? Y’know, clear the air a bit? Take a few breaths, recollect ourselves, come back to this topic when you’re less inclined to-“ Another scream interrupted him and he winced, “Do… do that , I…” The shouts just got louder, and Tenna put his palms up in a placating gesture, a nervous smile on his face. “Please, just- just stop  at each other! Tori, Asgore, come on! Please , I… you’re- y-you’re upsetting the ki-!”

Abruptly, Tenna realized that Kris and Asriel were not there. Tenna let out a small breath, slightly relieved. That, at least, was a slight blessing amidst the turbulent tempest of shrieks. Whether they were huddled in their room or out someplace else, at the very least they didn’t have to see their parents fighting. Spurred on by that small comfort, Tenna tried again to persuade the two adults to stop, reasoning turning to pleading, begging as the shouting continued to rise in volume and intensity. Anything he said seemed to be drowned out by the violent battle of barbs, the couple paying no attention to him whatsoever. Even when he swore they could’ve heard his pleas, at least could have heard the word “stop”, they didn’t even spare him a glance, their eyes trained solely, furiously, on each other. 

Tenna grimaced, then straightened his shoulders, resolute. Well. If words wouldn’t get through to them, maybe… maybe action would. With his antennas pinned backward, he marched up to the couple, reaching forward in an attempt to physically separate them. They just needed space, some time to cool off, surely. Then they could stop fighting, maybe even try to make up, to smile, to be a happy family again. Maybe then, he could be of more use to them, too. His hands reached outward, poised to intervene, to provide a barrier, but just before he could, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“ALWAYS [  Double-g Snoop Dogg!] INTO  0 THER P3OPLE’S [Great Business Opportunities In-!], HUH, [[Cathode]]?”

Tenna jolted back and whipped around, gaze frantically searching until it landed on the source of the voice: Spamton. A very disheveled, angry -looking Spamton. Tenna’s hackles raised at the sight. Of all the people to show up now , it had to be that conniving, arrogant little shark of a mailman. Tenna groaned and looked away, a scowl on his face as he crossed his arms. “Oh, that’s coming from you. You’re the one who was always weaseling your way into anything you could get your grubby little paws on! All you ever did was take!”

Spamton’s face screwed up in anger, tinged red as his mouth opened once more. “N- NO N0, YOU       ! NEED I [Alexa,   Set Reminder For-] YOU, THAT YOU [Surprise Giftbox] [[Everything Must Go!]]! YOU GAVE ALL OF THAT [Generosity] FOR [At The Low Low Price Of    ] FR3E!!! IT WAS ME WHO [Y]OU TRIED TO [[Thick As Theives]] FROM!” Tenna cringed, shoulders hiking up toward his ears as Spamton continued to shout at him. It was even louder now, with the salesman's screeches added into the mix. But unlike the couple's, these shouts were focused on Tenna and Tenna alone. The strident, nasally sound grated against his wires like claws against a chalkboard. Gripping the side of his head, he turned back around with a frown, taking a deep breath before resuming his initial mission. One thing at a time, he thought, I can tell him off after I take the volume down a peg. Behind him, Spamton sputtered. “WOW! WOW! NOW Y0UR [Remind Me Later] ME?!” A sound akin to a scoff wrenched out of his throat, before he audibly rolled his eyes. “WHY AM I [AAAAA@A@A!!]? THAT’S ON [Brand Deals] FOR YOU, [Antman and the-]. AFTERALL, YOU LEFT ME TO THIS [Bargain Hunt] [[Fall From Grace]]!”

Tenna’s fingers stopped just short of Toriel and Asgore’s shoulders, trembling in midair. His screen turned to dark static as he slowly looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me…?” Tenna suddenly whipped back around, growing to well over twenty feet as he snarled. “EXCUSE ME?!?!!” He snapped back, almost literally; his snarl bore his fangs, his claws unsheathed even with his hands balled into fists. “You left me! We were about to close the deal of a lifetime, truly make it big, together, but you just- just packed up shop without a single glance behind you! What, were the drinks and business promotions not good enough for you? Or did you just decide to split town before someone caught onto your little scheme?”

Even with Tenna towering over him, gesturing wildly, Spamton appeared unfazed, tilting his head in annoyed confusion, his hands on his hips. “SCHEME? WHAT ARE YOU T4LK  1NG ABOUT? WHAT [Foolproof Plan]?!”

“Don’t you dare play dumb with me,” Tenna hissed through clenched teeth, "You never intended to share your  with me, did you? You were just playing me like a cheap , taking everything you could before you were backed into a corner!” He dramatically straightened, pointing an accusatory finger at Spamton with fury-fueled flourish. “And that’s even if you had something to share! Is that why you never told me anything? Because there was nothing to tell?” Tenna scoffed. “Were you even the one to build your business? Or did you just ride the coattails of anyone who was dumb enough to let you?” Spamton’s hands balled into fists at his side, face turning completely red as steam blew from his ears. “[$&@#!!] YOU, [Trash Heap]!!1!” he screamed, his voice accompanied by a blaring car horn, “My [Starship USS Enterprise] WAS BUILT WITH MY 0 WN      ! IT WAS MY [Custom Engraved Mug], MY [BIG SHOT] PERSONALITY THAT GREW MY [Oceans Rise. Empires Fall!], NOT ANY [Generous Benefactors]! I DIDN'T HAVE [[Helping Hands]], NO OUTSIDE [Help! It Burns! Please Help!]! I DIDN'T NEED IT, I DIDN'T EVEN NEED YOU, [Pile of Scrap]!” Tenna’s screen flashed dark for a second and he flinched back, as if he were struck. He shrunk a few feet, clinging to the indignation and anger in his chest to desperately ignore the sharp, writhing hurt that suddenly mixed with them. His face reappeared, though his scowl wasn’t as fierce, a slight wobble in his lips. “Oh really?” he growled, “Tell that to your ‘mysterious benefactor’ on the phone! I’m sure they’d just be positively  to hear that from their most desperately fanatic client!”

A spark of fear flashed across Spamton’s face before it was quickly masked by rage, his jaw practically unhinging as he began shouting anew. Tenna’s screaming immediately followed, his nasally tenor joining the discordant choir of fury that surrounded him. Everything seemed to blur into a cacophonous mess of enraged voices and biting words, clawing against his insides without a hint of meaning. Tenna couldn’t understand what was being shouted at him, or even what he was shouting back, but he could understand the feelings that charged them. He knew he was now a part of the roaring inferno of sound, his rage simultaneously fueling the flames and protecting him from their scorching heat. Even so, after what felt like an eternity, Tenna boiled over. “Yeah? Well you know what?” he screamed at the mailman, his screen barred with static, showing only his pointed snarl, “I’m glad you left! Some business partner you were, taking everything I had to offer and giving nothing but empty promises in return! So go on, do it again! Just get out! ”

But he was already gone. In his place stood his family; all four of them. Tenna panted, frozen in place and staring wide-eyed at them, because for the first time in Angel knows how long, they were staring back . But their expressions… there were emotions on their faces that Tenna had hoped never to see in his life. Shock, hurt, disappointment, but most of all, anger . Tenna was so startled that it was only then that he noticed it was quiet. The shouts had abruptly vanished, leaving only tense silence behind. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, a shaky smile quirking up his face as he opened his mouth to finally address his family when-

The yelling started up again, returning with a cold, harsh vengeance. Tenna flinched back, seeing toothy scowls once again on Toriel and Asgore’s faces, only this time, their eyes were trained on him. His smile disappeared in an instant, and he looked worriedly down at the children. His heart nearly stopped at what he saw. What he heard. Their faces held matching glowers to their parents, and they, too, were yelling, screaming, both pairs of eyes locked angrily onto his screen.

Tenna’s breathing picked up as he immediately crumbled, taking shaking steps back as the family advanced toward him, pointing accusatory fingers and gesticulating wildly as they shrieked at him. He tried to explain, plead, holding out his hands in an attempt to placate them, but they just kept getting closer, their furious shouting growing more intense with each step. Tears gathered behind his screen and his legs collapsed underneath him, sending him to his knees as they came upon him. He shrunk, or they grew (he couldn’t care to tell the difference), but either way they now towered over him, goliaths fueled with rage and contempt, releasing powerful bursts of sound that rattled his being to its very core. He gripped the side of his head as tears flowed freely down his static-covered screen, curling over himself until his head nearly touched his knees. Sobbing, shaking, he begged them to stop, pleading with them to just let him explain, give him a chance to help, make them smile, laugh again, but he could barely even hear himself . His claws started to dig into his casing, desperate, an endless string of “ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I- I’m sorry, please-” falling from his trembling lips as the yelling became louder and louder until-

Tenna jerked awake, sending the piles of scripts and schedules below him flying. Some still stuck to his arms, to his screen, and he frantically swiped to get them off. As he panted, gripping the arms of his desk chair, he felt a familiar energy buzzing deep within his core, his antennas humming with signal. A knot formed in his stomach as he looked up to the clock hanging on the wall above him. There were only two reasons someone in the household would turn the TV on this late, and Tenna had a feeling he knew which one it was. Taking a deep, calming breath, with his mouth set in a thin line, he trained his senses to the light world. Sure enough, he saw a small figure curled up on the couch, bathed in his own silvery glow. Red, plastic horns peaked out from under a tightly-wrapped blanket cocoon, which quivered with its occupant’s quiet sniffling. Tenna’s heart ached at the scene, and the muffled, angry voices trailing down from upstairs only solidified its despondency. Notably, Tenna didn’t see even a glimpse of Asriel, and in fact had not since he left early that evening. The young kid must not have come home yet; Tenna doubted he would leave Kris alone in the state they were in if he was in the house. For not the first time in the past few months, Tenna wished he could step in in Asriel’s absence. What he wouldn’t give to be able to take Kris in his arms, hold them close and whisper comfort and reassurance until the worst of the storm upstairs was over. But as it stood, his arms were too short to reach past the dark; he could do nothing while their worlds remained separate. Nothing, except…

Tenna abruptly rose from his desk, sending the spinning chair twirling behind him. Briefly, he glanced down at himself with a frown and snapped his fingers, sparkles of magic erupting from his fingertips. In the blink of an eye, a fresh shirt and pair of slacks replaced the ones held over from the day prior, but his tie and socks refused to change. And perhaps most annoyingly, his red suit coat was nowhere to be found. Tenna’s brow furrowed, and he snapped again, only to produce the same result. He grumbled, then shook his head, rushing out the door with a hand to his ear, antennas as straight as he could make them. Now dashing through the winding hallways of the studio, he pinged whoever was currently on “late-night rerun duty” to cut to commercial until further notice. He knew none of the shows currently airing would probably be good enough for Kris. They needed something loud, wacky, preferably pleasant and entertaining enough to be the perfect distraction. And if there was one thing Tenna had learned to do over the past few months, it was distract.

As he walked, long strides evident of a man (or machine) on a mission, he passed by multiple members of his crew, most of whom steering clear of his charging path. There were a few; however, who attempted to keep up his pace, asking what exactly he was doing so late, what exactly was wrong. He told them that there was an emergency change in the schedule, that the twilight hour programming wasn’t quite up to par with their viewer’s tastes. “But not to worry, folks!” he assured, a strained grin stretched across his screen, “I’m on my way to remedy the situation right this minute! It’s nothing to raise the alarm over, everything’s perfectly under control! Now, why don’t you go back to… whatever it was you were doing this late.” The staff members gave him an odd look, somewhere between skepticism and concern, but ultimately did as they were told, leaving Tenna to continue on his journey alone. Tenna only slowed his pace when he caught sight of a weathered door at the end of a narrow hallway, tucked away into the back corner of the studio. He shrank gradually as he approached the door, turning the knob when he was just short enough to duck through the opening. As he entered the room, his antennas brushed the chipped sign above the door frame. Almost illegibly, the worn paint read “RECORDS”.

Tenna hardly ever came back to the records room himself, for a multitude of reasons. It was dusty, cramped, and quite frankly, an absolute minefield for a darkner of his stature. There were stacks of tapes and film piled high throughout the room, creating narrow walkways that twisted and turned at sharp angles, almost guaranteed to topple if he wasn’t careful. The possibility of getting his gloves and suit absolutely covered in dust and dirt also served as a strong ward for the little room. It just never seemed worth it to step inside such a dingy little hole in the wall for reruns of all things. Besides, he had employees . If he really needed something to play from the selection of old shows, he could always have someone else (preferably someone much smaller) take care of it for him. He supposed he could have done the same tonight, but… on nights like these, Tenna wanted to do this himself. For Kris.

Kris deserved nothing more than something they really loved, an old favorite, a tried and true comfort classic . That kind of inspired choice required a more personal knowledge of the studio’s number one viewer, and no one in the studio knew Kris better than Tenna (well, except maybe Ramb, but Tenna wouldn’t admit that even under threat of permanent shutdown). Tenna knew he could hand-pick the perfect reruns much easier and quicker than any of his employees; why should Kris have to settle for any less than the best he had to offer? Besides… Tenna also needed a distraction. Doing something for his (dare he say) favorite viewer, however small, was certainly a welcome one.

Thankfully, the majority of the shows Tenna was interested in were closer to the front of the room, nestled in the shelves just behind the section full of old advertisements. Even so, he still needed to traverse a little of the narrow maze to reach them. Bringing his arms up and in, his elbows almost level with his shoulders, he slowly began to tiptoe and lean around wobbly towers of tapes, gradually, carefully making his way to the records of cartoons. He traversed the cluttered room without much issue, reaching his destination with barely a rattle of his surroundings. With a sigh of relief, he dropped his arms, and immediately jumped as his hand brushed a large stack of taped ads. He scrambled to try and save the tapes from their fate, but it was too late. The tower toppled to the floor with a crash, and Tenna let out a startled curse before quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. He grimaced. Hopefully the censors didn’t hear that.

Tenna groaned, running a hand down his screen before he sighed, arms crossed in front of his chest as he shoved the tapes back into a vague pile with his foot. He- or, more likely, someone else could take care of that later. He had more important things to focus on. After clearing the path to the best of his ability, he turned back around, taking a step forward to look over the shelves of cartoons when-

Crunch.

Tenna cringed, clenching his hands into fists and taking a deep breath to resist the urge to scream. Slowly, he looked down to the floor and stepped back, taking his foot off of the now cracked tape on the ground. He sighed, preparing to shove it back with the others when he suddenly registered just what was written on the label. Everything within him froze. In big, bold strokes of red ink, the torn paper label read “Big Shot Autos: Take a Ride Around Town! 06/97”.

A scowl immediately overtook his display, but it quickly wobbled into a softer frown. With his brows furrowed, he slowly leaned over and gingerly picked up the damaged tape, straightening up just as carefully. He held the tape as if he expected it to crumble to dust at any moment, running a thumb over a peeling corner of its label as his screen turned to static. For a moment, he stared down at the recording in his hands, his own voice, both past and non-existent, echoing behind his display.

Y’know what? I’m glad you left!

His grip on the tape tightened. Was he? Was he really glad to see him gone?

So go on, do it again! Leave!!

If the feelings of betrayal and rage simmering just below the surface were anything to go by, the answer was yes.

Spammy? What’s wrong- Spamton! 

Then again, the swirling, persistent grief gnawing at his core fervently insisted upon a different conclusion.

What- Where are you going!? Spamton?!

The plastic creaked underneath his clawed, shaking fingers.

Why- Why did he leave me?

Suddenly, Tenna jolted as a small, hiccuping sob cut through the dark and static like a spear. He shook his head as his face reappeared, giving the old, dusty recording one last glance before returning it to the pile behind him. Time worked a bit differently in the dark world, but even then, it didn’t afford him much room to get distracted. Finally turning back to the archive of cartoons, he pushed all of those complicated feelings down and out of the way. He’d… he’d deal with them later, when things weren’t so… tense. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward, carefully ensuring there were no more tapes beneath his feet as he did so. Now in front of the shelving, Tenna ran a finger along the tapes that were packed into the bookcase, pursing his lips as he “squinted” at their labels.  Most of the recordings he could see were of old public broadcasting “edu-tainment” shows: “Where on the Globe is Scarlet Santiago?”, “Maple Talks”, “Dino Locomotive”, “Wild Pratts”, “Retrieve It! With Woof Woofman”-

Tenna paused over those tapes. That show… call it bias, but he couldn’t help but feel excited anytime the kids tuned in for it. He had always felt a sort of strange kinship with its cartoon dog host. After all, they were both gameshow hosts: inherently bold, flamboyant, and… well, animated characters. But what stood out to Tenna the most whenever the program was airing was Woof’s interactions with the child contestants. Real-life, Lightner child contestants. Even as a cartoon, Woof could talk to the kids, be the one to run the show, give them games and points and fun and smiles and laughter . And they, in turn, could look him in the eyes and thank him for his efforts. Whenever Kris and Asriel watched, part of Tenna imagined himself in Woof’s place, hosting game boards for his favorite viewers, where they could actually see his beaming face, hear his delighted voice, and could respond in kind. Tenna’s lips twisted in deliberation, a finger tapping on one episode of the show before he ultimately pulled it from the shelf, along with a couple others. Edu-tainment media was more a younger Asriel’s taste than it was Kris’s, but… Kris had seemed at the very least entertained whenever they watched Retrieve It! with their brother, and… Angel help him, Tenna needed a bit of comfort too. Maybe he could play some of these episodes later, just a few. After he showed cartoons more up Kris’s alley, of course.

A couple tapes in hand, Tenna quickly moved on to a different section, hopefully one filled with shows focused more on “mindless fun” and wacky, animated hijinx. He glanced over labels on the new tapes, reading more promising titles: “Warrior Jim”, “Davy Specter”, “Cam Probable”, “Young Mutant Samurai Yaks”, “Enterprise Time”, and-

Ah-ha! Bingo.

His antennas perked up as he spotted a large assortment of bright yellow tapes, all labeled “Robert Sponge Roundpants” with various air dates. Perfect . With a grin, he quickly snagged a couple of well-worn episodes, along with an episode or two of YMSY. Ah, good ol’ Pennieatrium; they never failed to deliver.

Now with his arms nearly completely full, Tenna made his way back to the door, being extra careful to not make a bigger mess than he already had. As soon as he was once more in the hallway, he shot up to his normal towering height and dashed toward the main control booth. Technically, he could change the schedule from wherever he wanted (he was the TV afterall), but at this hour, he didn’t have the energy or willpower to do it the old fashioned way. That was the whole reason he had the main control booth installed, anyway. It could do whatever TV magic Tenna could to manipulate the sets, lights, channels, separate from yet loosely linked with his own magic and will. It provided a way for someone else to run the show from backstage, giving Tenna room to concentrate on one thing at a time. And tonight, the only thing he wanted to concentrate on was Kris.

As soon as Tenna reached the booth, he lightly kicked at the door in the facsimile of a knock, his hands too busy carrying the tapes to do so. “Hello?” he called. Nothing answered except a slight shuffle and a squeak from inside the room. His brow furrowed as he knocked again, more forcefully this time, mentally kicking himself for not thinking to ping whoever was inside ahead of time. “Hello? I know you’re in there, and you’ve probably got the hands that I don’t at the moment. D’you think you could open the door? Now? I’m on a bit of a tight schedule here.” Still no response, no pitter-patter of feet rushing to the door. Irritation and urgency bubbled under Tenna’s casing and he bit his lip to suppress a frustrated growl. “Listen pal, I can appreciate you taking this job seriously, but this is a little ridiculous. I called you earlier, remember? To cut to commercial until further notice? Yeah? Well this is . I’m trying to change the schedule to-!”

Suddenly, noise overcame the room beyond the door, sounding like a chair being knocked over, scrambling footsteps rushing toward Tenna. The doorknob turned and the door swung open, revealing a very anxious, almost sheepish Pippins. “O-oh! Sorry ‘bout that, Boss,” they chuckled nervously, “I thought you were here to chew me out or somethin’, y’know?” If Tenna had eyes they would have narrowed. As it stood, he simply raised an eyebrow. “Is… there something that warrants me  over?” The Pippins broke out in a nervous sweat. “Uh…” Their eyes flicked about like flies around a lamp before they settled on Tenna’s suspicion-filled gaze, a shaky smile on their angled face. “N- no…?”

Tenna gave them a hard stare for a moment, then deflated with a tired sigh. “Y’know what? I don’t care right now, just-” His screen flashed to black, head slightly drooping as the sniffles a world away started to grow into quiet sobs. “Just let me in. Please .” The Pippin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and they quickly pushed the door further open, stepping aside to let their towering employer in. “S-sure thing, Boss!” they chirped, astonished at their luck, “What’s…” They trailed off, finally noticing the tapes Tenna had clutched close to his chest as he brushed past them. Understanding blossomed on their face and they swallowed thickly. “Oh…” they said, almost a whisper, “It’s… It’s one of those nights, huh?” They wrung their hands as they watched Tenna pause at the control panel, his shoulders sagging as he started to place the tapes down on the table. He ran a hand down his screen as soon as it was free, leaving it to rest fitfully at the back of his neck. “Yeah…” he sighed, quieter than the Pippins had ever heard him, “Yeah, it is.”

The Pippins jumped as Tenna suddenly straightened with a sniff and a clap, turning around to fully face them with a smile that was just a bit too bright. “But you don’t need to worry about all that , I’ve got it covered! In fact, how about you take the rest of the night off?” The Pippins watched their employer worriedly, an uneasy frown on their face. They weren’t normally the type to question the die when it rolled in their favor, but… “Are… are you sure, Boss? I don’t mind-” A sharp laugh interrupted them. “Of course I’m sure!” Tenna insisted, a hint of pointed teeth peaking out from his trembling smile, “Ha, ha, just- just go do whatever it is you do in your free time, huh? I can take it from here! Besides, I think….” He abruptly stopped, antennas wilting a little as he looked back to the tapes. “I think I’ll… be here for a while.” With a worried crease denting the top edge of their face, the Pippins nodded and began shuffling toward the door. “O… Okay, Mr. Tenna, I’ll… get outta your way, then.” They paused just before they shut the door, one of their mitts wrapped around its wood. “Just… call if you need anything, yeah?” Tenna waved them off with a vague noise of agreement, his attention now fully on the dials and knobs before him. The Pippins hummed before ultimately scurrying into the hallway, letting the door close softly behind them.

Tenna let out a breath as soon as he heard the click of the door latch, shrinking down a few feet as he practically collapsed in the office chair behind the control board. Even at a more reasonable height, it creaked under his mechanical bulk and he winced, easing up to the front of the chair before pulling himself toward the panel. He cracked his knuckles, a more performative than practical gesture, before ejecting whatever ad loop was playing in the VCR port. The tape slid out easily enough, and Tenna brusquely set it aside, quickly replacing it with one of the yellow VHS tapes he brought with him. He adjusted the lighting in the studio to be on the dimmer side, just bright enough to be eye-catching and engaging in the dark, and turned the dial for volume up, hopefully enough to drown out any sounds that weren’t goofy sound effects and witty one-liners. Satisfied, he glanced at the world above in his periphery, seeing (and hearing) Kris flipping through channels, of which most were displaying only static. With one finger hovering over the play button in anticipation, Tenna watched as Kris’s thumb lowered toward the remote. As soon as they clicked to change the channel, he hit play as well, allowing the rerun to start on whatever channel was next on the list. Hopefully, Kris wouldn’t notice (or care, if they did) that the classical music channel was broadcasting cartoons. Tenna smiled as he felt the cycle of channel surfing pause, and he laid back in his chair, fully turning his focus to the reality beyond his screen.

He saw the moment Kris noticed the episode that was running. They froze, processing what was playing before they set the remote down, pulling the blanket around them tighter as they settled further into the couch. In the dark, behind the curtain of his own silver glow, Tenna beamed. They were watching. They were watching . Despite the circumstances, Tenna couldn’t help the warmth that bubbled behind his display. It felt nice to be wanted, to be watched, especially as a result of his own work. He just knew Roundpants was the right way to go! As the episode played out, Tenna watched as slowly, ever so slowly, Kris’s quivering ebbed to barely a tremor, their sniffles coming fewer and farther between. And- wait, was that a laugh? Tenna strained his hearing, and sure enough, a small giggle followed a (surprisingly dark) joke from onscreen. Their laugh was quiet, tired, rough and scratchy from tears but there all the same. Pure, unbridled joy rose under Tenna’s casing at the sound, and his screen grew brighter. It was working!

Suddenly, Kris flinched, their face crumbling as a particularly loud shout cut through the cartoon’s dialogue. In seconds, any muscles that had relaxed since the start of the episode were tense once more, and the blanket cocoon began to tremble anew. Tenna’s heart plummeted at the sight, but determination pushed it back up. This just wouldn’t do, he wouldn’t stand for it! Nothing made his number one viewer sad while they were watching, not if he had anything to say about it! Focusing on himself, Tenna adjusted his volume internally, cranking it up almost to the point of being obnoxiously loud. Experimentally, he took a moment just to listen, straining his hearing as far as it would go. Angry voices still tarnished the soundscape, but they were muffled, in the background, barely a whisper under the blaring music and cartoonish slapstick. With a hum of satisfaction, he turned his attention back to Kris, who, he realized with a start, also had their attention on him . Not the show playing on his screen, but Tenna himself. Their face held a strange expression, somewhere between confusion and curiosity, as their eyes flicked between him and the remote lying innocently next to them on the couch. Their eyes eventually settled on him and they tilted their head, befuddled. Under this kind of attention, Tenna sweated. Oh no; TVs don’t normally do things on their own, do they? Was he too obvious? He should have made sure they weren’t looking, ugh, rookie mistake! Oh, no, had he messed this up already?!

Mind a-whirr with anxiety, he watched as Kris squinted at him from under their bangs, looking at him as if he was an anomaly, a puzzle to be solved. They waited for a few moments, just staring, before they ultimately shrugged, sinking back into the couch as they returned their focus to Robert Sponge. Tenna sighed with relief, relaxing as he watched Kris gradually do the same. He put in another episode as soon as the first one ended, replacing the new one with another as soon as its credits rolled, and so on. As the night went on, Tenna watched as Kris’s breathing slowed to deep, even intakes, their eyes, concealed as they were by bangs, fluttering closed. He lowered his volume bit by bit, and by the end of the last YSMY episode he had picked out, they were out like a light. They looked peaceful like that, sprawled on the couch, tangled in their blanket that had tousled their hair. But what caught Tenna's metaphorical eye the most was the slight smile on their lips. It wasn't much of a grin, barely even an upturn of their mouth at all, but compared to the quivering frowns from earlier in the night, it might as well have been the brightest, most joyous smile in the world. Tenna's heart soared at the sight.

Tenna took in as much of the peaceful scene as he could before he returned his senses to the dark World. A small smile of his own was on his face as he gained his bearings, a warm and fuzzy feeling hugging his insides, just below where his hands rested on his stomach. He slowly sat up and ejected the last episode of YMSY, placing the tape in the “to be rewinded” pile to be dealt with later. He made to get up, but stopped as he noticed the last few tapes still sitting on the other side of the table. He paused for a moment, fingers drumming on the tabletop as he considered the bright blue VHSs. Kris was asleep; he had already done his job (and quite well too, if he did say so himself). There was really no need to keep hijacking the broadcast like this, no need to keep playing reruns. But what the heck? He was here, with only a few tapes left, ones that Kris probably wouldn't have engaged as much with anyway. Why shouldn't he play them?

Turning down his volume until it was barely above mute, he plucked up one of the tapes and gently poked it into the VCR, pressing play as soon as the plastic flap clacked back in place. He sat back in the desk chair as his screen almost immediately started to display a very round, very orange cartoon dog. The animated canine turned to the camera, greeting the audience and introducing himself with his usual awkward swagger. With a wide grin, Woof excitedly explained whatever new-fangled, unreasonably expensive piece of tech he had recently bought, and Petals, his cat assistant, shot him an exasperated look as he attempted to use it. The action accomplished nothing outside of creating a larger mess, more problems, and, conveniently, the hook for the episode’s challenges. Tenna chuckled lightly at the shenanigans, a laugh which quickly morphed into a yawn. At the motion, his exhaustion suddenly made itself known to him, making his limbs feel heavy and the chair seem a lot more comfortable than it had been not two seconds ago. He sank further into the chair as his mind began to settle, thoughts becoming less coherent as they petered in and out to the tune of the Retrieve It! theme song. Slowly, as Woof introduced the contestants and their challenges, Tenna’s antennas drooped lazily, his face disappearing as his eyes slipped shut. And little by little, guided by the sound of children’s laughter and the voice of a host that increasingly sounded like his own, Tenna allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep.

Chapter 4: Don't Leave Me

Summary:

"Haha! Wish I could go, but I'm just a big electric box attached to the wall!! Haha!!"

Or, local family television is saddled with abandonment issues. More on this at 11!

Tenna woke with a jolt, his fans screaming in exertion. They were spinning so fast he worried they may tear right out of his chest, but despite their efforts, he still felt like he was overheating. He quickly sat up in search of something to help him cool down, but the motion was perhaps too quick. He threw out an arm toward the wall as a wave of vertigo washed over him, clinging to both the wall and the cushion below him desperately as he waited for it to pass. As soon as the static over his vision cleared and his fans slowed to an acceptable pace, he more gently dragged himself upwards. He jumped as he caught a glance of the wall, immediately retracting the claws he didn’t even realize had come out. Freshly-made, jagged gouges in the drywall stared back at him, the prismatic wallpaper shriveling and curling around them. Tenna lifted his hand from the marks and buried his face in it with a groan. That wall paper was expensive, it would be such a pain to replace. Though, he supposed he could always just cover them up with a painting or a new poster. Just ignore them, sweep it under the rug… like he always did.

In the midst of his rumination, he suddenly remembered he had another anchor that saved him from his attack of dizziness. His gaze flicked down to his other hand and he grumbled, seeing stuffing spilling out of similar cuts in the couch upholstery. Yes, he abruptly realized, the couch; his private greenroom’s couch. He sighed and swung his legs over its side, placing both of his (now claw-less) hands on his lower back. Grimacing, he arched his spine, a multitude of joints and metal vertebrae cracking and creaking in protest. He grunted in discomfort before deflating with a sigh, holding his head in his hands, his elbows perched on his knees. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he actually slept in his bed. He didn’t have time to sleep, he just had so much work to do! What if Kris or Asriel came back and wanted to watch something? What if Toriel felt in the mood for a cooking show? What if the kids had friends over, looking for a night of movies and video games? They hadn’t wanted any of that for a long time, sure, but… if- when they wanted to watch him again he couldn’t be caught unprepared! The show had to go on, and a show needs scripts, lights, sound, all of the details, both big and small, that made it perfect, captivating, so laughably entertaining they wouldn’t ever think of leaving again! So what if he missed a couple days of sleep? That’s what the shock therapy was for! He was fine! Everything was FINE!

In the silence of his greenroom, Tenna shivered, antennas drooping as he shrunk down a few sizes. Oh, who was he kidding? It had been years since anyone even spared him a passing glance, let alone turned him on to watch TV. Asgore had left a long time ago. He hadn’t seen Asriel in months. Kris he only saw as they left and came from school, shuffling to and from their room with an unfamiliar teenage slouch, often clutching their phone in their hand. Even Toriel, the last person to really ever care to look at him, found other things to pass her time. And she, out of all of them, was the one that finally pulled his plug. Out of all the members of the family, it hurt the most coming from her.

With his head bowed, his gaze fell nearly exclusively onto the checkered floor, where he quickly noticed he was still wearing his yellow dress shoes. And now that he was looking, it seemed he didn’t bother to change out of his slacks or button-up either. Even his tie still hung loosely around his collar, crinkled from its time semi-wedged between couch cushions. Tenna pinched at the fabric of his shirt and cringed. A clammy sweat covered the outside of his casing, causing the dress top to uncomfortably cling to his metallic skin, somehow stiff and sticky at the same time. He groaned in disgust and braced himself to venture out for a change of clothes. At one time, he could have just done a quick change with a snap of his fingers, but that TV magic had long since lost its touch. He just… didn’t have the energy for it anymore. Tenna sighed, hands on his knees prepared to push himself up when suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. Tenna jumped, gripping the edge of the sofa as he waited in tense silence. Who could possibly be at his door this late? Whoever wasn’t asleep should have been working, no one had any reason to be there. For crying out loud, it was nearly 4 AM! He couldn’t pay anyone a million points to try to deal with him at his grumpiest hour. Unless… What day was it again?

“Boss? It’s uh- it’s Mike.”

Tenna immediately relaxed. Mike. Good ol’ Mike. He didn’t judge Tenna for his (slightly hysterical, leaning on manic) ramblings, he didn’t give Tenna pitying looks when he thought the screen was pointed away. But most of all, he didn’t blab to the others when he found Tenna on nights like these, when he was covered in sweat and tears and grime, when his clothes held a dash of day-old musk and wrinkles, when he felt smaller than the insect that shared his name. Tenna didn’t need to keep up the “put-together” show for Mike. He knew how to keep the secrets he found backstage.

A tired but relieved smile found its way on Tenna’s lips and he stood, walking over to the door with a wobble in his step. His right leg still felt asleep, numb and tingling with sparks of pins and needles, but he managed, opening the door with a bright screen. “Mike!” He greeted, perhaps a little loudly for the late hour, “Oh, you  microphone, you! You couldn’t have come at a better time! Come in, come in!” Tenna grew nearly taller than the doorframe as he excitedly gestured for the squat microphone to enter, leaving the door open as he made to hobble back to the couch. Mike hesitantly stepped over the threshold, watching with concern as his employer staggered along his path to the (noticeably ripped) cushions. 

Now seated, Tenna grinned brightly, so much so his screen buzzed. “Now, what brings you backstage, Mike? I’m honestly a little surprised to see you this early in the morning.” Mike stopped in his tracks and tilted his head, confused. “Uh… it’s Wednesday, Boss. I’m here for your therapy appointment, remember?” A wave of static flew over Tenna’s face as he blinked, looking behind Mike to see a familiar electrical machine. How did he not notice that before? Mike rubbed the back of his head. “I was surprised that you were already awake. Usually I’m the one who has to drag you out of bed.” Tenna shrunk to his more “normal” (though still very tall) stature. “Oh,” he said, new sweat starting to bead on the side of his head, “O-of course! I remember, I’m just… a bit wired, I suppose.” He laughed nervously, “I’ve just been so busy, I must have lost track of time! Bring in ol’ , would you?”

Mike paused, uncertain. He took in Tenna’s disheveled appearance, his noticeable shaking, his faltering smile, the lines indicating deep eyebags under non-existent eyes. Mike set his brow and shook his head, determined. “Y’know… I think we should reschedule for tomorrow, Boss.” Tenna’s smile fell, the top of his frame crinkling in confusion. “Wait, what? Why??” Mike grimaced, not that Tenna could see, under the mask. “I just think you should get a bit more shut-eye before gettin’ juiced up. At least one more night.” He gestured vaguely to all of Tenna, “Just at least until you don’t look like death warmed over, y’know? I don’t want to find out what therapy’ll do to your circuits if they’re already runnin’ on empty.” 

Tenna’s shoulders hiked upward, his antennas drooping over his face. “O-oh…” he nearly whispered, his face flashing to static as he turned to look at the floor. “Well, that’s-“ he shrunk a few feet, “I suppose that’s… a valid concern! Guess I’ll just…” He curled into himself, gripping his arms nervously. “Go… go back to… bed…” Mike paused for a second, staring at his employer with concern. Tenna’s tone of voice didn’t sit right with him; it never did, really, when his boss talked like this. It sounded much too small for someone normally so larger than life, even if such a tone had become increasingly common over the past few months. Mike scratched his chin, thinking, before he brightened with an idea. Ensuring Tenna’s attention wasn’t on him, he gestured to his two cohorts standing behind the doorframe, snapping for them to pay attention. “Hold it a sec, Boss,” he said, “How’s about we move to your room, eh? I’m sure those cushions are soft, but even your steel spine can’t take sleeping on the couch for too long.” Tenna’s face reappeared on his screen as he turned to look at Mike, trepidation set into his expression. “Oh, I don’t know, Mike, I- I like to be close to my work, you know?” He threw a hand out toward his desk, which was covered in piles of paper. “Besides,” he chuckled, a wobbly smile on his face, “This  has weathered the couch more times than I can count. I think it can handle one more night.” Mike put his mitts on his hips, leaning forward in an exasperated pose. “Well sure, maybe, but that don’t mean it has to, y’know?” He shook his head, gesturing for Tenna to get up. “C’mon, Boss,” he cajoled, “I’ll get your star jim-jams warm in the dryer, make a cup of sleepy-time tea, break out the white noise machine, the whole shebang!” Tenna’s screen brightened the tiniest amount. “Why, that sounds positively , Mike,” He started, glancing at his desk and deflating a bit before continuing, “But…” 

“But nothin’,” Mike interrupted, walking toward the couch with purpose in his stride, “That work’ll still be there tomorrow, and it’ll thank you to take a look at it with a rested head.” He grabbed Tenna’s hand and pulled with all his might, attempting to physically drag him off the couch. Even with Tenna at a smaller height, with his bulk and Mike’s slight stature, the action wasn’t very effective. Even still, Mike continued to try, his feet bracing against the bottom of the couch, his back nearly level with the ground. “Come on, Mr. Tenna,” he grunted, straining with effort despite accomplishing nothing, “Y’can’t be stubborn all n- WOAH-!” Suddenly, Tenna’s glove slipped off his hand, sending Mike tumbling backward with an oof! Almost immediately, he jumped back to his feet, frantically patting down his costume to make sure everything was still in place. Thankfully, nothing seemed amiss. Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, wondering why he didn’t switch with the “muscles” Mike to try and pull Tenna off of the couch, he heard a sound that hadn’t graced the studio in a long time. Tenna was laughing. Genuinely laughing. It was not a performative laugh for his audience of staff; not a tense, breathy chuckle of self-deprecation; nor a manic, screeching chortle born of despair. This laugh was loose, relaxed; quieter than it had been in the old days, perhaps, but real all the same.

Mike stared in astonishment as Tenna calmed down, his employer, now back to normal size, wiping an imaginary tear from his screen. “Well, if you’re going to literally  about it,” Tenna grinned, getting to his feet with a grunt, “I suppose I’ll have to take you up on that offer, Mike.” He leaned down toward Mike, the back of his hand curled around his mouth as he whispered, “(Just as long as you’re not pulling my leg too!)” Tenna straightened back up with another round of laughter, one hand braced on his stomach from how robust it was. Mike grinned, “C’mon, Boss, when have I ever lied to you?” he said, waving for the other two “Mikes” behind him to scatter. “You just go relax, w- I’ll take care of everything else.” He began to rush out the door, to make good on his offer, when Tenna’s voice stopped him. “Mike?” Mike slowly turned, anxious to leave before his accomplices came looking for him. “Y-yeah, Boss?” Tenna kneeled to pick up his fallen glove, cradling it in his palm before looking back up at his assistant. He smiled, feeling tears well up behind his screen, his throat tight with bittersweet warmth. 

 

“...Thank you.”

Notes:

Thanks for reading folks! :D
I had a lot of fun with this chapter; the Mikes (even just one of them) are fun to write, hopefully I did them justice
Also, it's been a hot minute since I drew the comic for this chapter, and I forgot how many tricky perspectives and poses I tried to pull off lol
Perspective is hard :,D

Chapter 5: Visions of Grandeur

Summary:

In a land formed of dreams and illusion, who is to say if the waking world isn't the nightmare?

Notes:

Something a little different for this chapter
Tenna can have a nice, happy dream for once
As a treat :)

Notes:

I made myself feel really sad when I drew this chapter; y'all, he misses his family so much it hurts
Though, maybe at least a little bit of that sadness was also from having to draw backgrounds lol
And as always, thanks for reading! :D

Chapter 6: Trash to Treasure

Summary:

“'Well,' The shadow responded, finally turning around with a tray of various tools and a shrug, 'You did end up here.' They set the tray down on seemingly thin air, the dark pulsating around it as they leaned over Tenna, so close he could almost feel the cold nothingness that comprised them.

'Only unwanted things find themselves here.'”

Notes:

So, fun fact: this chapter was originally going to be a stand-alone one shot, but hyperfixation took the wheel and resulted in this whole slightly overcomplicated fic :D
I had a blast working on it though, even if I wrote everything out of order lol

Tenna froze as soon as his gaze fell on the shadowy figure in front of him. He wasn't sure exactly who or what they were, but from what he could see, they appeared to be fiddling around with something on their work bench. None of their attention seemed to be on him, which was, to his surprise, a relief. Something about the way they were standing, the way they held up what Tenna now could see were tools for their scrutiny, seemingly uncaring about their (likely) prisoner; it made Tenna's stomach curdle in dread. Tenna tore his eyes from the shadow to glance back down at himself, giving the dark straps securing him to the table another experimental tug. Even with his size, the strips of inky blackness refused to budge, turning sticky, tar-like with any resistance. Tenna's brow furrowed and his breath hitched as he turned his gaze back to the figure. He bit his lip, anxious, before setting his expression. If he was going to be here, tied to a table, completely scared out of his circuits, he at least wanted to know why. 

Tenna swallowed nervously, a slowly simmering anxiety coiling around his middle. He took a breath and pasted on his flashiest TV host smile as he opened his mouth to speak. “Excuse me, valued viewer!” his voicebox boomed, static clinging stubbornly to his tone. He cleared his throat as the shadowed figure turned to gaze at him. “Ah-hah… I’m afraid your host has forgotten where we’re filming! Any chance you could… um…” Tenna trailed off as the shadow slowly glided closer, a tool clenched in what Tenna assumed was their hands. Though they didn’t have a face, something about the way they were staring down at him conveyed cold annoyance. And worse, perhaps even a bit of indifference. Tenna’s bravado flickered as their bulk loomed over his face, sweat beading on the side of his casing as he noticed it was something sharp in their grip. His voice sounded small even to his ear as he shakily continued, “T-tell me… where I am…?”

The shadow sighed, seemingly already irritated. “So you’re awake, are you?” They groaned, “Great. Always a pleasure to deal with you lot when you’re awake. And a talker too?” They threw their head back in what looked to be an exaggerated eye roll before stalking back to their work desk, grumbling. “Lovely. Sure you’ve got another sob story I just can’t wait to hear.” Tenna bristled. “Well hey now, ” he exclaimed, “That kind of attitude won’t get you anywhere, especially not in this business!” He paused, looking nervously at the shelves stacked to the brim with gutted electronics and appliances. “Though, uh… what… is this business, exactly? You- You didn’t really give me an answer earlier.” The shadow looked over their shoulder at him briefly before tossing something onto their desk with a loud metallic clatter. Tenna flinched, and the shadow shrugged, reaching up toward the wall for another tool. “You’re in the junkyard,” They said simply, monotone.

Tenna’s heart sank into his stomach, panic clawing steadily up his spine. “” he screeched, his cooling fans kicking into a higher gear along with his breath. He struggled against the shadowy restraints to no avail, and a jittery, desperate smile zipped onto his screen. “That- ha ha, that can’t be right!” he breathily chuckled, slightly manic as static flickered across his face. “I… I-I’m TV! Neverending entertainment! A-a surefire way to crack a smile, and in color no less! Sure, I may be a bit… rough around the edges, but- but surely not enough to… for me to be…” The shadow appeared nonplussed by his increasing panic, gathering more tools as they responded, “Whether you believe me or not doesn’t really matter. You are in the junkyard. You were broken, unwanted, unneeded, and so you were thrown away.” Even despite the whirlwind of fear and despair thrashing around in Tenna’s chest, a sharp feeling of indignation rose to the surface. “Unwanted?!” He scoffed, antennae twitching in offense, “Broken, I’ll… begrudgingly give you. Unneeded? Maybe. But Unwanted? No no no.” Tenna shook his head fervently and scowled, turning his nose up at the very idea. “I have it from a very reputable source that I am very much wanted; that I have a good, loving home,” He coughed, deflating, “Um. S-somewhere…”

“Well,” The shadow responded, finally turning around with a tray of various tools and a shrug, “You did end up here.” They set the tray down on seemingly thin air, the dark pulsating around it as they leaned over Tenna, so close he could almost feel the cold nothingness that comprised them, “Only unwanted things find themselves here.” Tenna’s mouth quivered, and his screen turned to static. He turned his head away, having no response to give. “But, y’know,” The shadow continued, an amorphous limb rustling the tray of tools before plucking a pair of scissors from the pile. “That’s what I’m here for. I find use in unwanted things.”

Before Tenna could make any sort of comment, the sound of ripping fabric jammed through his ears. He jolted, whipping his gaze to the shadow, then to what they were doing. What they were cutting. “HEY!” he shouted, indignant. “What’s the big idea?! That’s a  suit coat you’re shredding! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get clothes my size?” He turned his head to an imaginary camera on the opposite side of the table, speaking through the corner of his mouth in the absence of a hand to cover it, “(Or sizes for that matter?)” Instead of canned studio laughter, the only sound that followed was that of scissors cleaving through seams, buttons, sleeves, any reaction on the part of the shadow noticeably absent. Tenna’s tacked-on smile wavered until it fell into a grimace, and he turned his gaze back to the figure leering over him. They were tossing strips of red cloth behind them, uncaring where they landed, if they landed at all. Some scraps seemed to be swallowed by the dark, black bleeding into the fabric until they vanished completely. Tenna scowled. It really was an expensive suit coat, one of his favorites, now reduced to nothing more than ragged fabric scraps. He huffed, glaring directly at what he assumed was the shadow’s face, “A-are you even listening to m- woah Woah WOAH HEY WHAT THE-!!!!”

Strident high-pitched feedback screeched through his speakers as he felt the cold metal of the scissor blades graze his collar, much too close to the delicate wiring in his neck. The shadow cringed back at the noise, growling as Tenna continued to babble wildly. “MAMA MIA Watch where you’re swinging those things! One wrong snip and it would have been , lights out, show’s over!” The shadow threw the scissors back onto the tray with a loud crash, raising their limbs in frustration. “Ugh!” they growled, “Would you just shut up already? I can’t work with you shrieking my ear off every two seconds.” The shadow suddenly paused, as if a thought had just occurred to them. They stared at Tenna, tracing the outline of his boxy, mechanical head in thought before finally landing on the wires in his neck. If they had eyes, they would have narrowed in consideration. “I wonder… if there’s a way to make you shut up.”

Suddenly, Tenna felt something curling around his head, feeling as if strands of frigid velvet were slithering around his various ports, buttons, vents, even his antennas. He jerked at the contact, and a shiver wracked his spine as the shadow lifted the back of his head from the table. Their touch was like ice, biting cold bleeding through Tenna’s casing at every point of contact. What felt like hands were crawling around the back of his head, scuttling from corner to corner like a sock filled with ants in search of something, pushing buttons, twisting screws, pulling wires-!

Wait. Were those his RCA cables?

“Ah! Here we go.”

Tenna’s stomach dropped as he felt the shadow clench two plugs at the back of his head. His cooling fans began to whir and groan with the strain of his frantic breathing, the sound of metal repeatedly hitting the table filling the room as he shook. “No- no no no, please-” he begged, lips wobbling, “Please, please DON-SHHHHK!” The shadow violently yanked the plugs out of place, humming in satisfaction as Tenna's pleas abruptly quieted. Tenna attempted to speak, cry out, scream, make a sound, anything, but all that came out was the low hum of static. The shadow had thankfully left the yellow cord alone, sparing his vision, but without the red and white wires in their proper ports, his voice box was no more than a hunk of plastic and metal strung in his neck. His face disappeared under a layer of visual noise as his shoulders shook in silent sobs, shivering as the shadow gripped the collar of his shirt. The blade of the scissors soon followed, perching just above the thread holding his top button.

“Now,” the shadow chirped, a hint of contentment in their voice, “Back to business. Let's see what use we can find here.”

With a single, fluid motion, the shadow swiped the scissor blade down the length of Tenna's shirt, slashing the buttons’ connection to the fabric. Tenna jerked, the static volume spiking a little, as if he had yelped. The shadow grabbed hold of both sides of the button down and brusquely ripped them apart, exposing the clunky metal casing beneath. They paused, looked at their tools for a moment, then back at Tenna, contemplative. They wrapped a knuckle on the chest plate with a hum. “Hm. I'll need something a little more heavy-duty for this.” They looked around the room, their gaze slowly searching the shelves item by item until they caught sight of what they needed. It almost looked like a smile crawled onto their face as they left Tenna's line of sight to retrieve it. When they returned, the first thing that crossed Tenna's vision was teeth. Many, many sharp, metal teeth attached to a circular disk of the same luster. 

Tenna sucked in a startled breath at the sight of the saw, his struggling and trembling increasing ten-fold as it whirred to life with an ear-piercing whine. His shoes squeaked against the table in their vain attempt to flee as the spinning blade lowered inch by inch toward his exposed abdomen, the shadowy restraints turning to inky glue under his frantic struggling. He wildly shook his head in lieu of verbal pleas, looking desperately at the shadow for any sign of mercy. Even if they had a face, the shadow had none to show.

With a strident scream, the saw's teeth tore into Tenna's chest, carving out a large rectangle from his casing. Testing bars flashed on Tenna's screen and his head flew backward with a crash, static screeches ripping from his disconnected voicebox as white-hot agony shot through him. Sparks flew from the slowly grinding metal and he convulsed, claws carving desperate troughs in the table below him. He felt like he was set on fire, then tossed in a river and left to short-circuit, the pain radiating from his chest seeming to consume him completely. He screamed. He cried. He must have, he knows he must have, but the only sound that left his mouth was loud, distorted static. It was at least loud enough for him to barely hear the saw being powered down and placed on the floor.

Tenna sobbed as well as he could, short hiccups interrupting his static drone. Everything hurt, everything burned. He just wanted to go home. But, he supposed, he didn’t have a home anymore. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? His family didn’t want him anymore. Neither did anyone else. Somehow, he cried even harder, trying to curl into himself despite the restraints.

She… She promised.

Suddenly, tendrils of cold darkness seeped through the new tears in his casing, ripping the loose piece away and tossing it aside, proclaiming it worthless. Tenna jolted as the tendrils started to slither deeper, wrapping around his warm core like feathered icicles. Cold bled into his center, and he felt his processing start to slow. His violent tremors trickled to barely a shiver, his limbs grew heavier, too weak to pull against the straps, any movement done as if through molasses. Even so, Tenna felt with acute, painful awareness as more tools started to pick and twist at his innards.

With a few turns of a screwdriver and a hearty yank, his VCR and DVD player were gone. Some good leverage with a crowbar cleaved his filters. A few errant snips of wire cutters and there went control of his arms, his legs. His limbs stopped shaking altogether, lying limp and numb around him. The shadow huffed, seemingly frustrated, but they didn’t stop there. No, they simply dug even deeper. They used pliers to pull out his coils, causing him to spasm and jerk. The shadow threw them away with a scoff. They forwent tools to barbarically tug out his fans and he gasped, gaping for air that suddenly had no place to go. The fans landed on the floor with a broken crunch as the shadow searched more aggressively, tearing through wires and tubes with a grumbling mutter. There went some of his spark plugs, his capacitor, his cathodes. His vision faded; the darkness closed in, threatening to swallow his empty husk of a body just as it had his innards. Through clouding vision, he could see the shadow rip out his old battery, tarnish staining the terminals, and shake their head with a grumble. They threw the battery behind them and angrily shoved Tenna off the table, finally feeding the last bit of him to the surrounding blackness. As Tenna crashed into the void below, black feathers closing around his cold, pained body, he heard the shadow utter one last word. One that cut deeper than any saw or knife.

“Useless.”

Notes:

I imagine the ghost cousins watched The Brave Little Toaster prior to this chapter lol
And that's all, folks! Thank you all so much for reading, I've really appreciated all of your comments and kind words <3