Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

       Chapter 1: Inside My Head

“My head...something’s w-w-w-rong with my head” Cookie felt fuzzy. Like his arms and legs weren’t really connected to him, but were ghostly limp vestiges that moved randomly. A static seemed to emanate from his head and spread to his ears. It was a loud, sharp hiss. It overwhelmed him. He closed his greyish blue eyes and moaned, just to see if he could hear his voice over the hiss.

He couldn’t. He let the room spin around him, focusing on his deep breaths. They were rapid and shuddered. There was a brief moment he wondered if he would ever breathe correctly again. Was his life just this hiss? Even memories seemed overtaken by the fading world around him. Who was he, was he always a moaning man on the floor who can’t hear?

Just like that, there was silence. No, more than silence. It was a silence that seemed unnatural. Not just the absence of sound but of all life. He could hear his own heartbeat, and his own blood slosh in his body. His rapid breathing was the loudest sound to him. The breathing got quieter as he focused on the feeling of his own chest rising and falling. When his own head seemed unbearably still, he opened his eyes.

He panicked. Did I go blind? Why can’t I SEE anything? There was nothing but inky blackness. It felt suffocating. His breath caught in his throat. Then, his eyes adjusted.

It was a room. A long, inky black room. He started to pick out some odd shapes around him. Black, coiled wires stretched to the ceiling. He followed the wires up, up, and further still. High above him he could see the black ceiling. He wasn’t sure, but he could almost see the ceiling move and pulsate . Before he could really process what he was seeing, he felt some thick, gelatinous goo quickly rise to his waist. Involuntarily, he pushed his hands down to try and push the goo away from him. It rose, and kept rising. He began to wave his hands and yell. The goo entered his screaming mouth, gargling his cries for help.

The world around him changed again. Now it was a brightly lit room with a metallic pink screen propped up by black metal supports. Familiar podiums stood in front of the wall, eagerly awaiting nervous contestants. Cookie looked down. The goo covering his body was gone, and in its place was a metallic pink tuxedo, with a black undershirt and pink tie. He saw his perplexed face and bald head reflected in his uncomfortably tight black dress shoes. He wiped some cold sweat off his eyebrows before deeply exhaling. What the fuck was that shit? He thought to himself.

A nervous blonde teenager in black clothing walked up to him. She moved her headset down around her tiny neck and clutched a clipboard close to her. “Um, Mr. Cookie, sir? Are you ok?” Her name tag said “Beccajessany”.

Cookie did what he always has when shamefully caught in a vulnerable mood. He covered his naked emotion with a coat of snark. “ YES I’m ok! Do I look like I’m NOT ok? Because I AM.” A bit of spittle flew out of his mouth as he put on an acidic tone. “Thank you SO much for your concern , Bessica or whatever your friggin’ name is.”

She flinched, holding the clipboard closer to her. The clipboard was like a shield and security blanket combined. She lifted the headset to her ears and stood straight. Her voice became crisper, more professional. Why they gave the stage manager position to her is something Beccajessany would never understand. Especially since Cookie saw her as “Not-Helen”. He adored Helen, she was called the mom of the group. Helen would keep everything running like a well-oiled machine, take people under her wing, and really listen to everyone’s (mostly Cookie’s) problems. It was tough enough being a teenage boss, let alone replacing someone beloved.

“Stage is hot, We’re going live in two minutes! 2 to curtain! Get the props ready!”

Cookie adjusted his itchy collar. It was starched and poked his neck uncomfortably. The harried people around him immediately adjusted it back. They pulled down the back of his polyester jacket, applied powder to his sweaty forehead, and clipped a mic onto his lapel while breathing in his face. One skinny college dropout got a lint roller and callously used it between Cookie’s ankles, dragging it up between his thighs. He couldn’t help but always feel a little violated, his personal preference was everyone stay 12 feet away from him at all times. He missed the old days, before Binjpipe acquired You Don’t Know Jack. In the old days, he could show up in a comfortable t-shirt, baggy jeans, and old sneakers from his running days. He’d often show up with last night’s leftover noodles and booze on his breath. No one touched him up or put makeup on him, he was just allowed to be comfortable. They only asked him to wear deodorant and use mouthwash after 3 years had passed. 

Sometimes Cookie felt like a mannequin more than a person. A showpony that had to be poked, prodded, and groomed for tiny details that no sane person would ever care about. They asked him to tone down his innuendos, and to keep references to pop culture to nothing beyond 5 years ago. Except for Frasier. Apparently Binjpipe was a huge fan of Frasier. Why? He couldn’t begin to know. He preferred Party Of Five. He couldn’t even joke with the interns or stage managers! The audience used to love the jokes between the crew, even latching on to the wacky personalities of a few and elevating them to larger roles in the franchise. Even Cookie started as just a sarcastic sign-in greeter. He sighed, as the cheering of the crowd jolted him out of his rosy stroll down memory lane.

Cookie harshly shooed away the people prodding him, even slapping away the hands powdering his head. “Stop touching me! By the way, Gavin? Next time try not to pig out on the onion rings. Or if you do, maybe try a breath mint?! GOD!” In his peripheral vision he saw him clutch his makeup brush so hard, the handle broke in his hand. These small outbursts made Cookie feel he had just the tiniest bit of control over the whirlwind his life became lately.

The jaunty music started as the crowd cheered. Cookie drummed his hands on the podium in time to the beat, and hummed the melody.

The pink wall became a screen, showing old clips. Oddly, in the much older clips he could see his younger face. Nervous, bright eyed, desperate for approval. He could watch the real time aging of his face as new wrinkles appeared next to his eyes and the furrows of his forehead. His posture straightened as his confidence grew. Cookie saw himself grow happier, healthier, and breezy as each clip aired. Until the Binjpipe takeover. Then he didn't seem to age at all. Not one wrinkle. It was odd, he’d been doing this show for….how long? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been with Binjpipe. Not even his first day with them. The easygoing posture he had started to look stiff, and awkward. There looked to be a growing unease and fear behind his eyes. To any outsider, he looked both immortal, and like a man utterly broken in spirit.

It unnerved him. There was a desperate knowing in some of the clips. Life's not great, but why do I look so scared? He thought. 

The all-too-familiar saccharine sweet voice flitted through the loudspeaker. "BINJPIPE is proud to present: You Don't Know Jack, voted number 1 game show in all nursing homes!"

Cookie smiled brightly as the horn solo came in. "Hi, I'm Cookie Masterson and I….uh….I….." Something felt off about the contestants' eyes. They seemed hollow and unfeeling. Cookie glanced down for a moment and saw his pristine black suit.

Wait, black? Didn't this suit used to be pink?

The screen stopped, and he noticed everyone in the room was looking at him with concern. It caught him off guard, like they were looking both into and through him. Something about the hundreds of eyes staring at him made him feel small and naked. Like his skin was gone, and he could feel their gaze whistle through his rib bones. Beccajessany’s voice whispered in his earpiece, “Cookie? You ok there? We’re rolling…” Cookie cleared his throat and put on a happy face. “Oh, sorry. I was just daydreaming about Chris Evans wearing nothing but...uh….. pizza slices.” Everyone politely chuckled as the music continued. Before the first category, Cookie was allowed to banter with the contestants. He had exactly 45 seconds to banter before the graphics and set changed to fit the category. During his casual banter he used this opportunity to sort his pens by Best Pen to Worst pen, and to stack the index cards into a single smoothly lined box. If things were cluttered it distracted him.

“So, could only find 3 friends huh? Was the erotic Pokemon club closed or something?” Cookie asked the first contestant as he leaned his elbows on the side of the podiums, wrinkling the pink taffeta fabric around his wrists. The first contestant threw his head back and laughed, his pink hair bouncing down his back. He smirked. “2 more than you have, Cookie!”

A genuinely bright smile stretched on Cookie’s lips. He LOVED it when contestants banter back.

“Hey, leave me and my mom out of this, ok?” Cookie smirked. This was going to be a good episode. The second contestant, a clean-cut redheaded girl in a floral dress chimed in. “Your mom wasn’t left out of it last night! HEYO!” She high fived contestant 3, a larger man with a goatee. The goatee highlighted his white teeth as they formed into a gentle grin.

Cookie put on mock indignance. “Hey, my mom is a saint! I’M the slut of the family!” He puffed out his chest in pride of his self-deprecating title. The first contestant belly laughed with shock on his face. Something about hearing this smooth voiced man say “slut” was hilarious to him. Beccajessany gave Cookie the signal to move on, which was a tap on a nonexistent watch on her tiny wrist.

Cookie nodded and stood up straighter. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road! And your first category is…..”

Beccajessany’s voice barked out to the crew. “Play 1st question segue! Play the cartoon!”
A small band of people gathered to the left of the stage. Every question’s segue number had a different band, and they tried to outreach to local musicians and bands. Keeps the community together! Well, he wasn’t sure what Binjpipe was doing. Maybe they demanded only Top 40 artists or Youtube stars. It would explain why the budget was so low, if all their money was lining celebrity’s pockets. At least this one was incredibly catchy. He couldn’t help but wiggle his shoulders and hips in a sad attempt at a samba dance.

He looked out into the audience during his dance and noticed every seated person was deathly still. Like dolls when people are done playing with them. Usually they would nod their head to the music, or even stare at their phone with a disappointed expression. Hell, he’d prefer to see someone sleeping. Something about seeing 500 blank faces made his spine tingle. Worse, the clothing on the audience was odd. It was a perfect rainbow gradient from the left to the right. Was there a gay pride parade nearby? No, that can’t be right , Cookie thought. I’d know about it!

It didn’t seem possible that 500 people organically decided to sit in a perfect rainbow gradient.

This is unreal! He thought. Huh…..unreal….wait….