Work Text:
The Cold Place was aptly named, though the worst part was the wind. Battat was grateful for the insulation of the Mike costume as he marched through the deep snow. Jongler and Pluey, similarly suited up and splitting up to cover more ground, were barely visible in the distance.
Pluey shrieked a barely saxophonic noise up ahead. When Battat and Jongler caught up to them, they were brushing snow off of something red with their microphone-patterned mitts, urgently squealing something about Tenna. "You founds him!" Jongler shouted, hooking one arm under each of...
"Where are his arms?! No, don't worry about the arms! Get him inside and we'll find the arms later!" Battat cried, helping the other two Mikes lift Tenna's unconscious and very heavy body. Jongler held Tenna's enormous box of a head on their powerful shoulders, Pluey supported the middle, and Battat took the ankles. It felt like hours before they reached the Green Room and dropped him onto a couch.
"You two find his arms. I'll make sure he's stable," Battat said. Pluey and Jongler ran back out into the snow, leaving Battat to assess the damage.
The first thing he did was brushing the snow away from where Tenna's shoulders used to be. Only wires were left, but they sparked and twitched — Tenna was alive. Battat exhaled shakily and wiped the snow from his screen, antennas, and everywhere else. "You're gonna be okay," he said softly, though he probably couldn't hear him. "You can count on me."
Tenna's screen was dark and silent, with cracks running through it. His left antenna was broken off in the middle. He'd definitely be in pain if he woke up now, but Battat would have to open him up to see how serious it was. He took his screwdriver, and a deep breath, and went to work.
A bit of snow had entered through his vents, and Battat got it out before it could melt and make things worse. "Mike's got you," he muttered as he fixed what he could without the use of replacement parts. Now he was sure that Tenna would make it, as long as nothing happened to those dangerously exposed wires. He had Tenna's head fully open when Jongler and Pluey returned, carrying two long snow-covered things.
"Careful! Don't get snow in his head!" Battat hurriedly screwed Tenna back together while the other two dusted the snow off of the severed arms.
"How do we puts 'em back on?" Jongler said. Pluey played something complex and antiphonal that Battat somehow understood. He nodded and lined up an arm with its socket. "I'm gonna need a couple dozen tiny pieces of duct tape."
One by one, Battat affixed every wire to its counterpart, wrapping clumsily torn duct tape around the spots where they joined. He gently tested lifting Tenna's arms to make sure they'd hold.
"Jongler, you can do the honors." They wound duct tape around Tenna's shoulders. Pluey cut it and patted it down.
Battat stood up to oversee their collective handiwork. It was ugly and rushed and made Tenna look like a pile of hastily assembled garbage instead of the star he was, but it would hold. He'd pull through.
"I think we did it, boss," said Jongler. Pluey sang a thoughtful jazz lick and draped a blanket over Tenna. He stirred, his antennas weakly prodding the air, and Battat pulled Jongler out of Tenna's line of sight so he wouldn't notice there's three of them.
Tenna's visual input flickered to life and he saw Mike, in his taciturn cat form, leaning over him with care. "Mi—..." His voice fell silent ("his speakers are shot," whispered Battat) as he lifted a heavy arm under the blanket ("but his arms are working!" Jongler whispered back). His shoulders burned with an unfamiliar kind of pain, and every crack in his face hurt. Mike spoke in low and gentle saxophone noises, urging him to rest. Tenna's display dimmed to the sleepy glow he kept it at during the darkest of horror movie marathons.
Pluey softly uttered the lick they used to mean they were taking a break, and went behind the couch. Jongler came to Tenna's side. "You was almost in big trouble, boss," they said. "If we — I — hadn't gotten you outta dat snow, you'd be pushin' up—"
A noise came out of Tenna. It wasn't quite speech, but it could have been the middle of a word. Battat gave Jongler the signal. "Hang on," they said and ducked behind the couch for Battat to have his turn.
"Go get him something for the pain," Battat whispered. Jongler gave a firm nod and ran off.
"But you're safe now," he said in a more Mike-ish voice. "I fixed you up—" (he really did do most of the non-literal heavy lifting himself, and he internally glowed with pride at that thought) "—enough to keep you alive, and we'll do the rest after a good night's sleep. Replacing your screen, welding your arms, getting that antenna fixed, the works!" Battat smiled, though it made no difference through the costume.
His smile fell as Tenna pushed against the cushions, trying to sit up. "Hey hey hey, no no no, you need to hold still! You'll hurt yourself!" Pluey would know what to say... "Wait a sec," Battat said and swapped himself out with Pluey, who dutifully trotted into place.
They trilled with concern and Tenna relaxed his taped-on arms, wincing as tears flowed into the cracks in his screen. Jongler appeared in the corner of their vision and Pluey's cat ear — both the real one and the costume one — twitched with intent; in an instant Battat was propping up Tenna's head as Jongler placed the unnecessarily large pill in his mouth and Pluey washed it down by pouring water in and forcing him to swallow. Pluey crowed a triumphant little fanfare and clapped their hands.
"You'll feel better soon, boss," said Jongler. Pluey nodded along, pretending the words were coming from their own mouth. Tenna never got wise to this. "I promise," Battat added. He thought he saw Tenna's good antenna reaching up from where it drooped against the couch, and he smiled to himself.
"Want me to sing ya a lullaby?" Jongler asked softly. Tenna's antenna leaned further towards Pluey, and they improvised a slow waltz for him in the sweetest voice a saxophone could sing, swaying back and forth to the soporific rhythm. His screen dimmed further and turned off, and for a fraction of a second, when his speakers cooperated, the Mikes heard his characteristic cartoonish snore.
Battat put a hand on Pluey's shoulder and spoke quietly. "You're a godsend, Pluey. Don't know what we'd do without you."
"What about me?" Jongler said.
"God, you too." Battat clutched at the hair of his costume. "If you hadn't been there to help carry him, he'd have..."
"Hey, I couldn't have done it by myself neither. It was a team effort." Pluey clapped and warbled in agreement.
"You're right. We make a good team, you guys."