Chapter Text
Mr. Ant Tenna waved at the crowd, his plug tail flicking side-to-side as the curtains drew shut and Mike called out the end of the show. The CRT grinned, exhaling as he continued acting even as the curtains were closed.
“Tenna, luv, would you want to join everyone else in the Green Room? The crew’s gonna have a party! Drinks, music, et cetera, et cetera.” Ramb called out, an easygoing expression with a hint of I’m-better-then-you showing. Or maybe it was just Tenna’s paranoia.
“No thanks. I think I oughta turn in for the night. Get some rest, eh?” He responded quickly.
*+~~~~~~+*
It’s been a long day of performing. Acting, laughing, pretending to be okay. Because he is okay. There’s no reason for him to be anything but okay. Tenna glanced around the hallway, ensuring nobody was around before darting into his dressing room/bedroom. He slumped down against the door with a sigh.
I should get someone. Ramb (eugh), Mike, even Spamton, for help.
He clawed at his antennae, fidgeting with one anxiously. The idea of asking for help, for company, for anything…it left him feeling broken. Dependent.
Just one more time. I just need to…to feel something real. He convinced himself, reaching for the screwdriver.
*+~~~~~~~~~+*
Tenna pried open a panel on his stomach, wincing at the brief feeling of vulnerability. He skimmed his wires, settling on one he was pretty sure wasn’t vital. Levering the screwdriver underneath, he unplugged it.
Pain lanced through him, and he let out a sharp gasp before clamping a hand to his mouth.
I gotta be quieter. Can’t have anyone checking on me. Seeing me this way.
Tenna grabbed a stray shirt, biting on it to muffle any pained whimpers. His fans whirred on overdrive. He grimaced, yanking on another wire hard. Only then did he see a blue wire looped around it, coming free with a rip.
The world went quiet with a static click. His head hurt. His everything hurt. As the pain subsided from a deafening roar to a throb, he reached for his antenna tentatively.
Where did…everything go?
He rapped a speaker. A very quiet noise played. He coughed softly, experimentally. Silence.
Something was very, very wrong. He wasn’t hearing anything. Panic rising, he snapped his fingers near his head. No sound. Swallowing thickly, he attempted to plug the wire back in, before realizing something critical. It was ripped. Torn free. He pinched it between his fingers, placing the torn tip near the origin. A flash of static noise flooded his speakers, and he ripped the wire away.
No no no. I don’t have any repair tools here.
He skimmed his room frantically. looking for a soldering iron, a toolbox, anything. Nothing. He’d have to go looking for one. Mike would definitely know where, but…he didn’t want to be a burden.
“Tenna!” A voice called out, so quiet he almost missed it. He snapped up, checking his speakers. Still nothing.
At least he could hear someone if they were loud enough, he thought miserably.
God. I really don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Not like this.
Tenna curled up, his plug tail coiling around his legs. His vision had a slight static tinge to it. His chest hurt. His wires stung. The torn wires on the floor beside him almost seemed to be mocking him. Choking back a sob, he waited for his system to automatically shut down.
*+~~~~~~~~~~+*
His screen flicked back on. For a moment he had forgotten what had just happened. Tenna dragged himself off the floor, stretching his metal limbs. A sharp pain stabbed through him, and he flinched backwards—banging his head against the door. He glanced down, and the memories came rushing back.
Right. I can’t hear. And my guts are still on the floor. Not looking great.
Tenna did his best to ignore the glitches that ran through him, trying to compose himself. Tenna sat down, wincing as static buzzed across his screen momentarily. He picked up the screwdriver, the metal panel, and the wires. Self-hatred running through his code, the CRT shoved the wires inside, biting back a cry. With slightly more care, the panel was placed on top, and he refastened the screws.
That’ll have to do for now, until I find some actual tools. He thought tiredly.
Tenna looked up at the analog clock before remembering it was broken.
Like everything else inside of me.
Well. He had looked around the entire room at least 3 times, and no proper repair tools had turned up. Tenna would have to leave and check the supply closet. Or ask for help. The idea of asking for some assistance made him nauseous. He didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want anyone to know something was wrong with him.
Supply closet it is, then! He forced a smile that was almost certainly manic, before striding out the door. The hallway was clear except for a stray Pippins. Tenna swallowed thickly.
Okay. Just walk past them like you’ve got somewhere important to be. Even though there aren’t any shows scheduled for today.
Tenna walked past them—they didn’t even look up. He exhaled slowly, feeling the vibration of his fans whirring. He turned towards the supply closet when a particularly rough glitch ran throughout his body. His screen shifted to a color-bar error display, and Tenna doubled over with pain.
“Agh—good grief, that hurts—“ He whimpered, clutching his screaming abdomen. It was weird—feeling the vibration of his voice leaving the speakers, without actually hearing it.
Oh. Someone definitely heard that. Please don’t be Mike—I can’t handle his judgemental glare right now—
The CRT winced, looking for somewhere to hide. Despite his fluctuating emotions, he wasn’t shrinking.
Someone tapped him on his leg. Shaking the error screen away, Tenna looked at them. Spamton. His mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear him, except for his shouts.
“Tenna, w—“ Spamton shouted, seeming angry at first before fading to concern. “—— ————?” The puppet spoke softly, his brow furrowed questioningly. Tenna felt paralyzed with fear.
“I…” He trailed off. “J-Just experiencing a few bugs! Gonna go to the supply closet and…fix them up…?” Tenna swallowed thickly. Spamton glared at him, placing his hands on his hips.
“Let— — —— —. Plea—.” The puppet said sternly. Tenna didn’t have to hear him to know exactly what he was saying. Let me help you? I’m fine. This is just—a glitch.
“I said I’m fine—“ He was cut off by a shock running up his arm. “Haha…fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” Tenna pleaded Spamton. Spamton narrowed his eyes suspiciously, before saying something again—waiting for an answer. An answer Tenna couldn’t give.
The CRT’s silence seemed to be answer enough for the puppet. Glowering, he grabbed Tenna’s hand and promptly dragged him to his dressing room. Spamton proceeded to make several hand gestures, aggressively pointing at the room and back at himself.
Tenna scrunched up his nose. “I get the memo, Spamton. I’m not going anywhere.” Spamton nodded, leaving. Tenna sat cross-legged, his tail flicking anxiously. Great. He was in trouble. Sent to his room like a rowdy kid.
Despite the circumstances, the CRT was tempted to just…download some malware. A couple viruses. Tenna swallowed thickly, pushing away the intrusive thoughts. Not when Spamton’s around, at least.