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The granite countertop of the new TV Time! kitchen set was littered with bags of flour and sugar, packs of butter, and various spices. Tenna set down a set of mixing bowls and measuring cups before readjusting his apron and admiring his setup with his hands on his hips. "HERE WE ARE!!" he announced with a beam. He clapped his hands together, gesturing to an imaginary camera and waving to an empty audience. "Now that we have all the ingredients, it's time to welcome our SPECIAL GUEST CHEF!!!"
Tenna slumped forward, as if tugged by an invisible force. His screen flickered with erratic colors and static. Suddenly, he jolted back up. His friendly grin disappeared, replaced by a fanged smile. His face continued to glitch ever so often, revealing a sharp jagged mouth and a zig-zagged slash across his screen. The digital phantom that took over Tenna’s body stretched his clawed hands out for a moment before crossing his arms. “This is silly.”
That’s what makes a good SHOW!” Tenna’s voice protested from within his mind. “You remember the RECIPE, right?”
“OBVIOUSLY,” the hijacker scoffed, busying himself with measuring out the flour and salt. The recipe steps were engrained into his code just as much as Tenna’s after all those years. How could he ever forget all the baking shows he aired for Toriel? Or the times the family gathered around his glow to watch the latest high-stakes cooking competitions with plates of freshly baked pastries? After adding in the cubes of butter and pouring out a small dish of ice water, he reached for the mixer.
"WAIT!!"
Antennas flying straight up, the ghost nearly jumped at Tenna's outburst. He scowled. "What is it NOW?"
"Don't use a MIXER, mix by hand!"
"Why?" The irritated phantom set down the mixer and reached for a whisk instead. "It's more efficient to use a mixer."
The hijacker felt the fond reminiscence in Tenna's voice before he heard it. A nostalgic warmth spread through his chest like a sip of hot chocolate on a snowy day. “True, but Tori always did it that way for that extra little MAGIC. All it takes is some extra EFFORT, don’t you think?”
If the phantom had eyes, he would be rolling them. The top of his screen casing furrowed. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one mixing."
"HAHA!"
After adding in the water a little at a time, the other Tenna finished combining the dough and deftly covered it in plastic wrap. He frowned, staring down at the freshly mixed lump. “This is supposed to chill for 2 HOURS, this segment’s not supposed to be that lo—”
“It’s a BAKING SHOW,” Tenna interrupted, turning the ghost’s attention to the fridge. “Obviously the dough’s already been pre-made to PERFECTION backstage.”
The digital phantom opened the fridge and sure enough, he pulled out a flat disk of dough wrapped in plastic wrap. “...you $*!?.”
“Ah-bup-bup! Family friendly show!! YOU of all Darkners should know that.”
Fine. He wasn’t about to let this Tenna stand him down. The ghost thought for a moment. “You…FALSE ADVERTISER!”
There was a pause. The phantom hesitated, starting to open his mouth to say something else until he heard Tenna’s bark of laughter. “YEOWCH! Digging up dirty scandals from the past, are we? Now that’s what we call LOW-BROW humor!!”
The other Tenna’s shoulders relaxed. The atmosphere in the kitchen felt light, easygoing. Just another day on set, albeit without an audience. Yet something still nagged at him. An inexplicable sense of guilt and foreboding. Ripping the plastic wrapping open with his claws, he laid out the disk on the rolling mat. He tried to press out the dough, but the disk hardly made a dent. Still stiff, cold from coming straight out of the fridge. Almost like…
Neon green claws sinking into plastic and metal. The hijacker gritted his teeth, trying to focus on his solid hands, not the masses of glitches overtaking his vision. Vivid scenes crackled out of control through his memory. Over and over, the same remorseless song and dance. Smothering, drowning Tennas into oblivion. Expressions on screens that were supposed to be his own. Shock, agony, terror. The hijacker relished those final moments, the sheer manic power that rushed to his head with sick glee. He was Tenna, the only one that deserves to exist above all the others.
But that wasn't who Tenna was. The phantom's screen flickered violently, electricity zapping through his circuits in panic. How could he? Tenna was right back then. He was the monster, the parasite. It wasn't fair. He only ever wanted to survive, he just didn't want to get thrown away—
"Tenna? TENNA! SNAP OUT OF IT!!"
One of his arms grabbed the hijacker around the waist, and in an instant he was pulled back to the void into Tenna's arms.
The hijacker tried to pull away. He didn't deserve this comfort, this kindness from the very doppelganger he's murdered so many times over. His claws dug into Tenna's arm, threatening to rip his coat, but Tenna paid no mind. He hugged the other Tenna tightly, letting him bury his face into his shoulder as the other's chest heaved and his outline glitched erratically. "It's alright," Tenna murmured quietly to his broken facsimile. "It's ok, we can take a quick break from this segment. I'm here."
—
The drifting digital ghost wasn't sure when he fell asleep. He lifted his head up groggily, watching as Tenna put away the pots and pans and wiped down the table. The air felt warm, with the smell of cinnamon and butterscotch wafting from the oven.
“Tenna! You’re awake!!”
“Ugh.” Rubbing the side of his screen, the hijacker sat up and looked at Tenna’s view of the pie baking in the oven. “Told you this was a bad idea.”
“NONSENSE! Technical difficulties will happen sometimes. The rest of the pie turned out HUNKY-DOODY, we just need to wait for it to bake. Besides,” Tenna’s voice dropped to a stage whisper, taking on a concerned tone. “You needed the rest. Are you alright?”
The ghost was silent. He looked away, his jagged mouth downturned in a scowl. Outside, Tenna nodded in understanding. He gestured back towards the kitchen table. “There’s some time left before the pie’s done, and some extra dough on the table. Why don’t you have a go at it?”
As if on cue, the digital phantom took his place in the body and stared at the leftover lump of dough on the countertop in front of him. He poked at it, unsure what to do. He heard Tenna's voice pipe up.
"Remember when Toriel gave the kids leftover dough to play with while the pie was baking?"
"Yeah." His voice came out crackly and quiet. Rolling the soft dough in his hands, the ghost pressed and kneaded it flat. "Those RASCALS, Noelle would cut out snowflakes and shape little snowmen but Asriel and Kris were hurling gobs of it at each other from across the living room."
"One of them SMACKED me in the face! It took Tori ages to get the stains off my screen."
"It was the length of one hour-long special."
"AGES."
A small smile began to spread across the hijacker’s screen at Tenna's exaggerated exasperation. He sectioned the dough, rolling them into little balls while listening to Tenna's voice chatting away about all the other baking shenanigans the kids got up to while Toriel was in the kitchen. The memories played in his own mind like a film reel, matching up with Tenna's recollections one after the other as clear as 480i resolution. He laughed at the moments when Asriel was shooed out of the kitchen and sulked on the couch beside Kris with singed fur and a bruised ego. He winced at the time Kris tried to shove a cookie into his VCR player. Emotions surged through his being more than the ghost had experienced before. It was overwhelming, it was electrifying, it was euphoric.
The dough began to take shape in his hands. Eyes, pointy ears, whiskers. Tacking on the final piece of dough to form the tail, the phantom grinned at the little kitten sitting in the middle of his palm, pointedly ignoring the loud “AWW” sound effects blasting through his head. The cacophony of adorable gushing was interrupted by a resounding ding from the oven. With a jolt, Tenna quickly took control of his arms. After cooing at the dough kitty in his hands for a little longer, he gingerly set it down before grabbing a pair of oven mitts and making a beeline to the oven. He pulled the freshly baked pie on a cooling rack and stood back to admire his handiwork. The filling was a decadent golden brown, with the edges of the crust crisped to near perfection. The ghost watched Tenna carefully cut out a slice, doling it out on a plate and reaching for a fork. At last, he brought a forkful to the hijacker’s face. He paused. “I can eat it myself.”
“Just taste the $*!?ing pie already.”
Barely hiding his smirk, the other Tenna took a bite.
It wasn’t quite exactly the same as the pies Toriel would bake, the phantom knew he and Tenna would never be able to reach that level of perfection, but it was a close enough replica. Warm, sweet, buttery. The soft filling blended notes of cinnamon and butterscotch, pairing just right with the crumbly crust that melted together. “...Kris would like this.”
“Of course, it’s their FAVORITE!!”
They took turns finishing the rest of the pie slice, putting the rest in the fridge for the other TV Time employees to enjoy later. Finally, Tenna sat down in the middle of the mindscape, his digital doppelganger stretched out across his legs with a content purr. He heard Tenna’s lilting hum above him, quietly singing a tune Toriel used to play in the kitchen. As the phantom lay there, he felt…safe. Comfortable. Like the lazy weekend mornings at the Dreemurr household when the sun cast a hazy glow through the living room and the kids were fast asleep on the couch after a long night of movie marathoning.
The wayfaring hijacker felt at home.