Work Text:
“We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors!” As the screen switches to some car ad, the TV’s owner flicks the power button off, before tossing the remote aside and sighing. “There’s nothing good on TV anymore, all these talk shows are hosted by uncharismatic losers,” he complains to no one in particular. “I guess I hardly get to judge, my show was cancelled for a reason.”
He sighs again, reaching over to his coffee table, where he’d set a pile of bills to be dealt with later. Now that later had arrived, he once again has to face the fact that money from reruns of his show was starting to dry up, just as every other stream of income of his had been. Though his house and everything in it (aside from an older CRT he’d kept for nostalgia’s sake) was top-of-the-line, he’d bought it all in the 80’s when he was Mr. Tenna, the late-night star; now that the money was running out, Anthony Tenna, the washed-up unemployed has-been, would probably have to sell it all off and move into a smaller living situation.
“Lost my show, lost my fame, lost my friends, now I’m losing my house.” He wonders if that bombastic host he’d once been would even recognize himself now, three decades and a million regrets later. If I’m being honest, I don’t even know if I recognize myself.
He’s drawn out of his existential dread by the ringing of his phone - a rotary corded dial phone he’d refused to replace. He briefly considers not answering, assuming it’s just a collection notice or scam call, but decides against it. “Hello?”
“Tenna, luv! How’ve you been?” The gruff voice of Ramb, one of the only employees of his who he’d stayed in contact with after the show, greets him.
“Oh, you know, living the dream.” He briefly glances at the pile of unwashed dishes in his sink, the boxes of takeout in his recycling and the stacks of old VHS tapes littered through his living room. “How about you?”
“I’m great. Listen, I’ve got some incredible news for ya, luv. You know that big variety show, MTT TV? ”
“I’ve heard of it, yes.” Truthfully, after running out of mediocre 80’s movies and growing tired of new late-night shows (and refusing to stoop to the level of watching reruns of his own,) he’d given a few episodes of the show after seeing how highly it had been rated. Though the host’s humor was a little… vulgar, for his taste, he couldn’t deny the kid had star-power, and an effortless air of confidence that reminded him a little too much of himself in his prime.
“So the host, Mettaton, does guest segments every week, usually with some big relevant star or pop culture figure, but I got a call - from him, directly - asking if you would be on the show!!”
He couldn’t believe it. Like, he genuinely couldn’t. When he’d designated Ramb as his ‘agent’ after the show ended, it hadn’t taken him long to realize the only people asking for him were questionable internet shows or, more often, prank callers. “Ramb, are you sure that was really him?”
“Right, I knew you would say that, so I had his producer give me a call, and the number lined up with the officially listed one! This is as real as it gets!”
Oh. So this is real. Why the heck would anyone want some washed-up old late-night host on their show? Aside from making fun of them - from what he’d seen on the show, Mettaton doesn’t seem like that kind of person - he can’t think of anything of value someone like him would bring to a broadcast, especially not one as hip and vibrant and new as this one! And even if he agreed to it, would he even still know how to be in front of a camera? It’s been years now, and he doesn’t exactly have the charm he did in the 80’s - especially compared to Mettaton! Despite looking to be in his late 20’s, the kid acted like he’d been in front of a camera for decades - he’s confident, funny, witty, and purely objectively speaking, attractive; all the things Tenna had been in his prime, and all the things he lacked now.
As if he could hear his internal monologue, Ramb chimed in. “Look, I know it’s been a while. But being on TV is like riding a bike - once you learn, you never forget!”
“How would you know? You’ve never been on TV.”
“Eh, an educated guess. Either way, you’ll do great! And it’s not like the onus will be on you to be doing all the show stuff, you’re the guest, after all, y’know?”
The former star took in his friend’s words.
“Oh, and also, let’s be real here. You really need the money, and the offer from Mettaton is way more than generous - definitely better than you’d be able to find doing anything else.”
“...You’ve got me there. Do you really think I’ll actually be able to, you know, perform like my old self? I’m old, washed up and-”
“Ant, luv, you’ll be fine. I’m sure there’s a good reason the kid picked you over anyone else for the show, and I know it’ll go great. And if it doesn’t, you get paid up front anyway, so who cares?”
Tenna laughs. “You know what? Fair point. I’ll do it.”
“Great, ‘cus I kinda, sorta, already told them you’d do it.” Before Tenna could get in a word of indignation, he rushes out “I’ll have them send over the details, good luck!” and hangs up.
“Wait, you little-” The line goes dead, and Tenna sighs. What the heck am I getting into?
--
Tenna is willing to admit that he may be freaking out. As he’s sat in an over-accessorized dressing room, staring into his reflection as he fumbles with a bright yellow tie he hadn’t worn in years and tucks it into his red blazer, he’s grateful to whatever deity may exist that he still fits into his old suit, even if a bit more snugly than he would have hoped. He’s never looked older to himself, with the brightly-colored 80’s attire and out-of-style rectangular thick-frame glasses contrasting his graying hair to look like something out of a belated midlife crisis.
I am a has-been late-night host nearing 60, what on earth am I doing here? He shakes his head. Get it together, Tenna, you’ve been on TV before!! It’s just like what Ramb said, once you learn, you never forget! You can-
He’s startled out of his pep talk by a loud knocking on the door.
“Come in!” He replies in a tone he refuses to call a yelp.
Opening the door is Mettaton himself, as young and hip and ‘in’ as he looked on TV, his black hair covering one eye and reaching down to his shoulders like some glam rock icon, with a studded jacket and metal jewelry to match. What the hell am I doing here??
His eyes (well, eye) meeting Tenna, he grins. “Mr. Tenna! Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you in person! Sorry to be a fanboy but I’ve always loved your show! I still think ‘it’s TV time!’ when I go on air!” He chuckles.
Tenna, registering this is the point where a normal person would respond, picks his jaw up off the floor and tries to formulate a coherent sentence.
“Oh - well - uhm - that’s great! I’m, uhh, glad you liked it!” Tries, and fails.
“Oh, yes, I adored it growing up! I honestly drew a lot of inspiration from it for my own show - we do a lot of games and such on here too, and your show really pioneered that genre! I saw it got rebooted with a new host a couple years later, but to be honest, I found it so drab, you know? It really didn’t have any of that original charm!”
Thankfully, Tenna isn’t given the time to contemplate what the hell he should say to that, when a shout from down the hall informs them they’re on in five.
“Alright, I’ll see you on stage!” The younger star turns to leave. “Oh, I’m not sure how much you’ve been on stage recently, but don’t worry too much - my crew and I run a tight ship here, so all you have to do is look pretty and work your magic, right?”
“Yep! No problem! Hunky doody! Break a leg!” He gives a thumbs-up, praying his blush is not as visible as it feels.
Mettaton’s grin widens. “Likewise, darling!” He turns and struts off to the stage.
I am so screwed.
--
When Mettaton had pitched the idea of having Mr. Tenna on as a guest, his producers and staff had looked at him with collective confusion - some being too young to know who he was (Mettaton himself was only introduced to the show by his parents a few years before it had ended, to which the child had spent the next decade watching and taking inspiration from reruns) and others who did know of him, not knowing why Mettaton would want him on the show.
“Practically every show on the air takes inspiration from his! He’s one of the greats! His show pioneered- ”
One of the producers cut him off. “Okay, I get it, but what makes you think anyone in the audience will know who he is? The average age of our viewers is young enough that they wouldn’t have even been born when that show ended.”
He glared. “I mean this in the kindest way possible; I do not give a fuck. This is why we have introductions for our guests, and his stage presence alone will more than make up for the fact that he’s been out of the spotlight for a while, mark my words.”
Now, as he interviews Tenna in an episode lovingly satirizing the late-night-talk genre, Mettaton can’t help but feel vindicated. To the untrained eye, it would have been impossible to tell Tenna had ever left the stage at all - his charisma flows so naturally and even without the live studio audience he’s used to, he feeds off the energy of a well-landed joke or effortless bit in a way that reminds Mettaton what drew him into the man’s show so long ago. Even having clearly aged - which, in Mettaton’s mind, isn’t a point against the man or what he now considers an extremely valid childhood crush he’d had for him for a while as a kid staring enraptured at his TV screen - he still carries an energy on stage that so many hosts have tried and failed to replicate since.
All too quickly, the show draws to a close, and Mettaton gives his signature sign-off as the cameras cut.
Tenna glances over. “...So how’d I do?”
The same showman smile he’d had for the whole recording is still there, though it’s now laced with the same unmistakable nervousness and self-doubt he’d noticed on the man in the dressing room.
“ You’re asking me!? ” The incredulous look on his face could not be faked. “First of all, you’ve been doing this far longer than I have - you are, by definition, the expert here! And second, I thought I was getting outshined on my own damn stage there for a bit! You were phenomenal! Absolutely downright beautiful! Glamorous, even!”
Even if he was lying it on a bit thick for dramatic flair, he truly meant it - the man was clearly in his element on stage, and he can’t deny that it hurts just a little to see him shrinking back into his shell. The last decades have not been kind to you, have they?
Regardless of his dramatics, he seems to get through to Tenna at least a little, as some of the tension in his face is replaced with clear relief, and a blush that Mettaton silently decides he has to see more of. When he finally responds, it’s with a little bit of the confidence he’d just seen on the stage. “I really appreciate that. For what it’s worth, having a glamorous host running the show certainly didn’t hurt.” He finishes it off with a made-for-television smirk that Mettaton knows would have sent a blush onto the face of anyone less well-versed in acting. (Not him, though. He refuses to acknowledge the warmth in his face as being anything more than the post-show exhaustion setting in.)
He responds in turn with his own TV charisma cranked up to ten; “With double the glamor of a usual episode? I can already feel the ratings skyrocketing, trust me, darling.” Tenna rolls his eyes, even as both the smile and blush deepen visibly on his face.
Though they spend what must have been hours, if the glare from the janitor ushering them out so he can close up the building was any indication, talking about anything and everything, the time to leave arrives far too quickly for Mettaton’s liking.
“Well, I think if we stay any longer, the cleaning staff are going to absolutely despise me,” the younger sighs.
“That’s not a demographic you should be ticking off - they have direct access to the contents of the trashcans and toilets, after all!”
Mettaton laughs. “Oh yes, I wouldn’t want to arrive to an unpleasant gift in my dressing room tomorrow.”
As they get up to leave, Tenna pauses. “Before we go, I wanted to thank you for having me on the show. It was really nice to be back on stage, and it was even better to be on stage with someone as talented as yourself. So, thank you.” He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, not making eye contact.
“No, thank you for being here - it’s not every day you get to meet a childhood inspiration, much less perform with one, and it blew everything I had dreamed of out of the water. You’re incredible at what you do, you always have been, and I’m delighted to have gotten to share the stage with you.”
The older’s blush returns - is he not used to being complimented anymore? - and he smiles, something more radiant than any camera-ready grin he’d shown on stage and real enough to make Mettaton’s heart race a little. “That means a lot. Really.”
Wait did I just say I’ve dreamed about- “Well, I’ve gotta get going! Super nice to meet you, darling! I’ll see you around!” He waves, shoving that thought back into his head. Tenna waves back, still with that disarming grin, and if Mettaton finds himself unable to get that smile out of his head the entire drive home, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.
--
While weekly meetings with the producers and creatives behind his show were never his favorite event, Mettaton couldn’t help but find himself giddy for this one. True to his expectations and beyond, the ratings had been sky-high for his latest episode, and the fans seemed to adore Mr. Tenna’s presence as much as he had. Today then, he doesn’t just get to pitch his biggest change to the show yet, but he gets to do it with all the smugness of a rightful ‘I told you so.’
“Helloooo, darlings!” He grinned, taking his seat fashionably late as usual.
The executive producer, looking more mildly annoyed than usual, sighed. “Well Mettaton, loathe I be to admit it, you were right about Mr. Tenna. The ratings don’t lie, it seems like he was a hit with the audience.”
“Yeah, I gotta say, boss, he’s still got it!” One of the writers chimed in, and the rest of the room gave their nods and quiet agreements.
“I’m so glad you all share my thoughts on the episode! In fact, I found it to be so delightful that I wanted to share another idea of mine with you all, if you wouldn’t mind!” Luckily, they are contractually obligated not to mind, considering his name is the one on the show, so he continues. “What are our thoughts on making Mr. Tenna a permanent figure in the show? I had been thinking about how much I would love a cohost, and you positively cannot deny our chemistry on-camera! Even if it weren’t for every episode, wouldn’t it be great to have him on some more?”
There was near silence for a moment as the producers muttered amongst themselves, while both Mettaton and the creatives looked on expectantly. Then the executive producer spoke up.
“Even if the ratings don’t stay as high as this episode, it’s clear that the age of the average viewer was diversified by Mr. Tenna’s presence, and viewers of every age responded well to him. Combined with the added longevity and flexibility to a show that a cohost provides, it’s clear to us that his contract would most likely more than pay for itself.” Trust the producers to look at everything in terms of dollar signs, Mettaton annoyedly thinks, but he stays quiet. “If you can convince him of it, we will support his permanent addition to the show. Since this show not being affiliated or owned by any one network, our decision on this matter is final, and the only other person you have to get on board is Mr. Tenna himself.”
The creatives erupt into cheers, with Mettaton high-fiving nearly everyone on that side of the table. The executive producer mutters something about being more of a parent than a producer, but Mettaton pretends not to hear it. “Alright then! As soon as we’re done here, I’ll give him a call! When he agrees, I’ll let you know and you can get him signed on, please and thank you,” he winks.
He rolls his eyes and looks over to another producer. “Hey Rick, do we have it in the budget for me to get a raise?”
“Was that a joke? From an executive producer? Do I need to call HR?” Mettaton covers his face in faux scandal.
“Alright, alright, now back to business. I was informed by…” Within two minutes, Mettaton had zoned out entirely - a new record - and found his mind back on his soon-to-be co-star. I have a feeling we’re going to get along famously.
--
For the first time in an embarrassingly long time, something went well for Tenna, and even though it was a one-off, he knows himself well enough to know he can and will be riding both that high of being adored by an audience, and that paycheck , for the next foreseeable future.
This was great! Just the motivator I need to get things back in order, maybe find a job working on a TV set somewhere and get a consistent income source again, maybe start working out, and turn things around! And I’ll start by finally cleaning my house! He glances to the sink, where that pile of dishes - every single dish he owned, since he’d been living solely off takeout at this point - looked particularly daunting. And I’ll start by finally cleaning my house TOMORROW!
For now, even though he’s been doing so borderline obsessively since the episode aired, he decides to sit down and check the audience reception on the internet from his somehow still functional 90’s desktop, which had gone unused for most of its lifespan, until he’d called Ramb to teach him how to use it earlier that day. He had also asked him to help decipher some of the modern lingo being used to describe him, but for some reason, Ramb had hung up after he’d asked what a ‘dilf’ was.
Even without understanding a lot of the newer generations’ descriptors, he was able to parse out at least most of the comments, and they’d been admittedly far more positive than he’d expected! Most ranged from the surprised and delighted to the… not family-friendly, to the slightly backhanded ( ‘watchin MTT’s new episode and i forgot how fun that Tenna guy was, why’d his old show fire him anyway?’ )
Some of them did bring back some memories - memories of his own stubbornness and refusal to adapt to the times, and memories of watching his own rigidness be what prevented the show from bending with the hurricane of change and crashing down before his eyes. Memories of him crashing down too, his own a much slower descent of loss after loss - the audience, his show, his coworkers, his friends, his purpose. A thought hits him like a semi-truck.
He can’t watch that happen to this kid.
As if on cue with his spiraling, the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Heya, is this Mr. Tenna?”
That voice. Unmistakably, that was Mettaton.
“Uh, yes.” Great, way to be smooth, Tenna.
“Oh, good! I got the number from your agent, but he was so excited after I told him about my idea that he was talking too fast for me to keep up with, I’m glad I copied the number down right!”
“Your… idea?”
“Oh, right! Sorry, still a bit frazzled right now, you know how it is! So I don’t know if you’ve checked it out, but the audiences adored our episode, even my execs were thrilled with the ratings, and I had an absolute blast as well, of course! So that got me thinking, it would be so fabulous to have you on again, so I pitched it to the producers and they agreed - we’d like to offer you a permanent spot as my cohost! We can work around your schedule, of course, and it wouldn’t have to be for every episode, and we’d be sure you were compensated quite enough, so what do you think?”
What did he think? Tenna’s head was filled with conflicting thoughts. He’d love nothing more than to be back in the spotlight, especially beside someone as talented as Mettaton, but that lingering thought. He’d already tanked his career, he couldn’t live with himself if he managed to tank this kid’s. Mettaton was everything Tenna had been, had always wanted to be, and he was getting the success he deserved from it, so how could Tenna come along and drive it all away, just like he’d done for his own success - for everything good in his life?
“...Are you still there?” The worry in his voice reminded Tenna that he’d been dead silent, probably concerningly so, for a while.
“Yes, sorry! I appreciate the offer, I really do, and I’ll get back to you! Just need to think about it for a bit, make sure I can fit it in my schedule,” he lied, “and I’ll call you right back!”
“...I see.” The concern in his voice hadn’t been settled, if anything it had worsened. “If the workload is too taxing, we could have it as a weekly segment or ease into it-”
“No, no, it’s fine, really! Just need to give it some thought, but I’ll call you back!”
“Alright. …I look forward to it. Have a good night, Mr. Tenna.”
“You too! Talk to you soon!” He hangs up.
“I can’t watch that kid end up like me. This is better for him. For both of us,” he decides. “If I never call him back, he’ll forget about me eventually, just like everyone else. This is for the best.”
--
A few hours pass.
Then a day.
Then two.
Then a week.
Mettaton hears nothing from him. After the first two days, he’d begun to call back himself, first once a day, then several times, but every time he’d be sent to voicemail. He felt hurt, betrayed, but more than anything, concerned. The man strikes him as someone who had been left one too many times, whose insecurities have been left to fester for a few years too long. While he doesn’t know exactly what’s going through his head, he could read the man well enough to know that he hadn’t just been nervous - he’d been afraid. Afraid of being mocked, of being hated, of being abandoned, of being forgotten, of being left again. But could Mettaton blame him? When he thinks about how much his show means to him, the idea of having it all ripped away terrifies him just as much.
So he resolves to make sure Mr. Tenna is okay somehow - if he can’t reach him, he knows someone who can.
--
“Mettaton! To what do I owe the pleasure? Has Tenna agreed to your plan?” Ramb’s raspy voice comes as a relief to Mettaton, who’d been desperately hoping the man would pick up - if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what else he could have done.
“Actually, no. I asked him about it and he said to give him a bit to think about it. It’s been a week and a half, I’ve left like twenty voice mails and I haven’t heard a thing, and I’m starting to worry a little.” Understatement of the goddamn century.
He hears a sigh from the other end of the line. “Not this shit again…”
“I appreciate you reaching out to me, luv. Sometimes Tenna just gets… stuck in his own head, y’know? He’s been through a whole lot and it sometimes gets the best of him and stops him from doing something I’m sure he really wants to do. I’ll drop by and check on him, alright?”
“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t mention it, luv. Expect a call from me or Tenna in a bit, okay? Don’t worry too much ‘til then.”
“Alright, talk to you later.”
“See ya.” Mettaton slips his phone back into his pocket and takes a breath. With his worries calmed, even if only slightly, he heads back to his dressing room to prepare for the next episode.
--
“God, does this guy even know what a joke is? Who is letting these people host shows these days?” Tenna complains from his couch. “I swear, every single one of them is a knockoff, except…” He glances guiltily at the phone, which he’s covered in pillows to muffle the frequent calls and voicemails of, since he refuses to unplug it just in case . “No, this is for the best. Knock it off, Tenna.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“One second!” Who the heck could be at the door now? He stands, brushes as many of the crumbs off of his pajamas as he can - I’m wearing pajamas at two in the afternoon - and checks the peephole, finding an annoyed-looking Ramb tapping his foot impatiently outside. He opens the door.
Ramb looks him up and down. “You look like shit.”
Tenna glares back. “Oh yeah? Well you look like -” he sighs. “No, you’re right, I do look pretty terrible.”
Ramb’s expression softens. “Not even gonna try? This is worse than I thought. Alright, back inside, sit down.” He closes the door behind him and marches them both to the couch. “So what’s going on?”
“What? Nothing, everything is-”
“I talked to Mettaton.”
“Crap.”
“Crap indeed. Why’d you reject his offer? And why’d you leave him hanging for so long? You scared the shit outta him - he’s the one who asked me to check on you, y’know!”
Something Tenna refuses to acknowledge pulls on his heart when he hears that Mettaton cares enough about him to worry, but the feeling is stamped down by the memory of why he’s doing this - and how Mettaton would definitely hate him if he found that reason out himself.
“I don’t know, I-”
“Bullshit. That’s the ‘I’m self-sabatoging because I think it’ll help someone else’ look. Why are you really pulling a stunt like this?”
He sighs. “You know me too well, you know that? But fine, you got me. I just… I don’t want to tank someone else’s show like I did my own.”
“Of all the stupid - Tenna, you’ve seen the ratings for that episode, right? People LOVE you! You’d be denying both him and the world something they crave if you don’t man up about this!”
“No, you don’t get it, my stubbornness and fear of change was what killed my show, I can’t let it kill his too!”
“Then - and hear me out, this is a long shot - stop being stubborn and afraid of change? These are things you can do something about, and you really probably should if you don’t want to just wallow in self-pity forever. So take the jump and trust that Mettaton is good enough at what he does to know what he wants, yeah? You said it yourself, he’s amazing, so if you can’t trust yourself with this, then trust him. ”
“...Look, I know you’re objectively right, but I’m not happy about it.” Despite that, he smiled.
“I’m always right, thought you’d’ve been used to it by now, luv!” he laughs. “But seriously, give the damn kid a call, alright? I’m right here in your corner for whatever happens, but I know you can damn well handle yourself.”
“Thanks, Ramb, where would I be without you?”
“I honestly do not want to think about it.” He grins.
“Alright, I’ll call him in a little bit, promise.”
“Okay, but if I get a call from him saying you still haven’t called, I’m driving back over to kick your ass, got it?”
“Got it. And really, thanks again.”
“No problem. Take care, okay?”
“You too.”
--
Mettaton has just gotten home from another day of simmering worry and busywork when his phone rings. He almost drops his phone upon seeing the number, but answers the call frantically. “Hey, Tenna, I’m glad y-”
“I’ll do it.”
“...You will!?”
“Yes. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you, I was… being a bit stupid, but I’ve made my decision. I’ll be in as many episodes as you want me, and I’d love to help around the studio whenever I’m off, if you’d like as well.”
Mettaton silently cheers, mentally popping the champagne and thanking the gods and Ramb for their kindness. “Beautiful! I’ll have my producers get you all signed on, and I’ll see you again soon!”
“I look forward to it. See you soon.”
The line goes dead and Tenna smiles. Even if he can’t be sure things won’t go wrong again, maybe, just maybe, that would be worth the risk for something right.