Chapter Text
There’s an extra Pippin in Castle Town.
Yes. There are a lot of Pippins in Castle Town. But Battat is 99% sure that Pippin is one that he has never seen before. Not when he was a denizen of Card Kingdom, and definitely not when he was Mike in TV World.
Now, there are many habits Battat had picked up during his tenure as Mike. He had to make sure he knew where everything was almost all the time, had to keep a constant eye on the clock to ensure things were running smoothly, and, most importantly, he made sure to keep track of every single person who worked on or had frequented the set. Knowing everyone in TV World had two main benefits. For one thing, it made it easy for Mike to get into contact with anyone at a moment's notice in case something went wrong. It had also allowed Battat to keep an eye out for anyone who may have known something about the real Mike, or at least for anything to potentially add to his board.
And yeah, sure. He’s not in TV World anymore. He technically doesn’t need to do any of this stuff since Tenna… Left. But damnit, it’s hard to stop doing something he had apparently unconsciously trained himself to do alright?! It’s not weird for him to keep an organized list of every person in Castle Town and where they can usually be found or where they work! It’s not!!
… In any case, Battat knows everyone in Castle Town. He even knows the name of every common Darkener despite almost all of them going by their species name.
So. That Pippin.
That Pippin.
Battat knows there’s something up with them.
The way they’re acting? Totally suspicious. They keep glancing over their shoulders as if making sure they’re not being watched when alone, and when in a crowd they keep their head lowered, as if scared to even be perceived.
They clearly weren’t doing a very good job of that given Battat almost instantly clocked them, but hey. It at least made the next part much easier for him.
…
“Hey! Hey you!”
Battat watches as the Pippin jolts in surprise, whipping around backwards with a force that would have normally sent another Pippin’s head spinning. Their already wide-eyed expression grows just a little bit larger, and Battat immediately clocks on to the fact that this Pippin probably doesn’t have much of a poker face given the very obvious fake smile they had hastily pasted on. That wasn’t even the most suspicious thing about the Pippin that stood out to Battat (other than their general existence) either. It was their appearance.
The state of their poncho for one thing? Terrible. It looked like they had tried to fix the thing themselves given the amateurish patchwork (they hadn’t even used fabric that was the same shade of red), and there were multiple small tears along the hem. Any self-respecting Pippin would’ve tried to weasel their way into getting someone else to fix it— or if they were really lucky, would somehow manage to get an entirely new one for dirt cheap. Besides the poncho, the Pippin didn’t tuck their tie in, was wearing the poncho’s hood which nobody ever did, had on a pair of shiny black leather pants that reminded Battat a lot of Tenna stood out like a sore thumb in a crowd, and was wearing black boots despite the fact that Pippins technically don’t even need to wear shoes in the first place.
“What if they were jus’ wantin’ to wear somethin’ else for a change?” A voice in Battat’s head— sounding a lot like Jongler, for some reason— asked.
Battat promptly ignored it.
“Are you talking to me?” The Pippin asks shakily, pointing at themselves with a gloved hand. Internally preparing himself for the interaction, Battat gives the Pippin a Mike-esque smile and walks over to them as casually as possible. The Pippin tugs at their hood and begins nervously wringing their hands together.
That was something Tenna would do sometimes. He used to do it whenever he was particularly embarrassed, nervous about something, or on rare occasions, had a confession to make.
“Sure am pal,” Battat states. He tosses an arm over the Pippin’s shoulders in an attempt to try and get them to relax slightly. It only makes them tense up instead. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you new?”
Battat knows they aren’t. The Lightners haven’t been around recently to drop off any new Darkeners, so they must’ve shown up alongside the others when they had first arrived. However, Battat doesn’t know if they know that. So he asks the question anyway, laying down a trap for them to walk into.
Beneath Battat’s arm, a faint sliver of tension leaves the Pippin’s body. They stop twisting the fabric on their pointer finger, and after a brief pause, hesitantly gives Battat a nod. Bingo.
Battat removes his arm from the Pippin’s shoulder and takes a few steps back. They roll their shoulders slightly and wince at the small motion. He wants to ask about that so bad. He refrains and instead makes a mental note to add that detail to his board once he gets back to his hideout.
“I thought so!” Battat chuckles, crossing his arms. Unbeknownst to himself a smidge of Mike begins to seep into his words, and he misses the faint flicker of both confusion and recognition that crosses the other Pippin’s expression. Instead, Battat continues his interrogation conversation and raises an eyebrow.
“So? Don’t leave me in suspense here; Where are you from? I’m from TV World”— he pauses to show off the golden TV badge pinned to his clothes— “If you can’t tell.”
“Oh, nowhere nearly as famous as TV World, that’s for sure!” The Pippin (much to Battat’s annoyance) responds dismissively. He has to force his eye not to twitch in irritation at the obvious lack of answer.
Okay! Yeah!! Sure!!! Don’t give me an actual answer!!!! Who needs actual answers anyways?!
Instead of following through with his growing urge to aggressively grab the Pippin by the lapels and rapidly shake them as he shouts his questions and demands answers to said questions, Battat just casually brushes the statement off like any normal, mentally stable person would do. He even does a little hand wave in the air to add some extra emphasis.
“Okay, keep your little secret,” Battat huffs, rolling his eyes. “Can you at least give me your name, then?” I know you have one.
The Pippin flinches. A hand shoots up to grasp their hood and tug it further over their head, all the while their red eyes remain steadily affixed to the ground below. 30 seconds pass; no words are exchanged. Finally, the Pippin speaks up, voice soft and hesitant.
“Seven. That’s my name.”
Battat’s face immediately scrunches up incredulously. The Pippin— “Seven” as they claim their name is— notices immediately and chuckles uncomfortably. They tuck both of their hands behind their back as a bead of sweat begins to roll down their cheek another very Tenna-esque pose, and before Battat can say anything else, they turn around and quickly bound away, leaving Battat behind in an incredulous silence.
He puts his hands together.
Inhale.
…
Exhale.
…
“OH THEY’RE DEFINITELY HIDING SOMETHING-”
Tenna doesn’t remember much about what happened after the Knight’s betrayal.
He remembers feeling overjoyed, purely ecstatic at Susie’s promise to him.
He remembers the sliver of hope blooming in his chest at the potential that maybe, just maybe, out of everyone he’s ever interacted with, that Susie would understand. She would understand why Tenna had to hide, and that he never meant to deceive anyone. He just wanted to make it big, to actually be seen as himself.
But then… Before he could fully comprehend what was happening… All he could feel was pain.
So, so much pain.
It shot through his entire body as his screen turned black and a high pitched whine emitted from his speakers. He couldn’t feel his arms anymore.
And then, as his body hit the floor, he couldn’t feel anything anymore.
When he had finally awoken after who knows how much time had passed, Tenna knew that something was incredibly wrong. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Snow had begun to seep through the smallest of openings in his chassis, sending a shiver up his spine. All of his internals were offline, probably damaged due to the snow and the impact as he hit the ground.
He had no choice.
Taking a deep breath, Tenna forced himself to move. His limbs were stiff with disuse as he felt around in the darkness for a latch he had stopped using a long time ago. He brushed his hand against the front of his chassis, feeling the now powered-down internal components and wires before his hand had finally caught onto the handle he had been looking for. He gripped it tightly, and despite the disgust and dread that had built up in his chest, turned the latch and pushed.
The light was overwhelming. Snow continued to fall as Tenna quietly pulled himself out of his ruined body with unsteady limbs, detaching himself from all that remained of the embodiment of his hopes and dreams.
It had been so long since Tenna had been outside.
It had been so long since Tenna hadn’t been… Tenna.
Long before he was Mr. Ant Tenna, well-known host of the famous show TV Time… Tenna was no one. He was just your regular old dice that came in a set. After Toriel and Asgore had gotten married, Asgore had decided to surprise Toriel with a new TV: A brand new, fresh out of the box, cutting-edge CRT TV that could pick up almost twice as many channels as their old one could. It was during the assembly of this new TV when he somehow managed to accidentally end up inside the thing with nobody noticing.
Before any of that, Tenna never felt like he truly fit in with the others. The other Pippins’, though they never said anything about him, made it obvious that he wasn’t like them. So when Tenna had woken up and found himself inhabiting the robotic body he’d soon call his own, it was as if for the first time in his life, he had felt like “himself.”
He adapted to his body extremely quickly. It was like this was who he was truly meant to be, not the Pippin that he had been created as. But the more famous he became, the more doubt that began to creep in. Everyone saw him as a larger than life figure; a powerful boss Darkener who was in control of everything in his domain. What would happen if people learned that he was actually just a Pippin piloting a robot? Would the people be disappointed to learn that their idol had been lying about what he actually was the entire time? Would they be disgusted? Enraged?
… He couldn’t let that happen.
So he told no one. Ever. He discarded his past as a Pippin as much as he could. He almost never let his “real” self out, eventually stopping entirely. He acted as if he heavily disliked the Pippins and didn’t fundamentally understand how they worked. He did all that he could.
And yet… Here he was. Back to square one.
Just a weird Pippin with nothing to his name.
No friends.
No coworkers.
Nobody.
Tenna didn’t know where he was going. Not really. His legs all but moved on their own as he instinctively ducked into a nearby alleyway, and his hands were trembling as they gripped the fabric of his hood tightly. He knew that he stood out from the other Pippins, especially now thanks to all of his changes, but to immediately be singled out by someone who used to work for him?
It terrifies him.
Not to mention that stupid name he gave himself on the fly. Seven? Really?! Out of all of the names he could’ve given himself, a reference to 1997 was probably the most conspicuous name he could’ve given himself! He might as well have declared “It’s me, Tenna!” Right then and there!
Taking in a shaky breath, Tenna slumps against the dirty alleyway wall, his legs all but giving out as he slid to the floor. He normally loves being looked at. But right now, all he wants to do is disappear into the floor where nobody can find him. If he was able to shrink, he would probably be the size of his namesake by now. He brings his knees up to his chest and curls up into a sad, pathetic ball.
“HEY! H 3Y HAY hAy!!”
Tenna blinks. Then, slowly… Oh so slowly, he lifts his head, eyes scanning the dark alleyway with suspicion. A sharp, resounding thud echoes out from the nearby dumpster as a familiar face emerges from within it. His antennae (yes, he now had them as a Pippin too, go figure) instinctively turned towards the sound despite still being tucked underneath his hood, so Tenna has to really squint to properly make out the features of the figure.
Greasy black hair. Pink and yellow tinted glasses. An intense, almost eye-watering stench of garbage with a hint of aloe-vera hand sanitizer, and… Almost nearly undetectable due to the cacophony of clashing smells, is the faintest hint of a scent that Tenna is all-too-familiar with: cigar smoke, and lightly spiced whiskey.
What Spamton smelled like.
Tenna stiffens, his eyes wide and entire body tense. Of course he had to run into someone who probably knew him better than he knew himself. At least he isn’t particularly recognizable right now, but with how close he was to Spamton back in the day, if he sticks around for any longer he might even start to suspect something…!
“OI! I’M [[talk to the hand]]ING TO YOU!!”
Tenna flinches. Steeling himself with as much willpower as he can muster at the moment, he forces himself to make direct eye contact with his former business partner, pasting on a shaky smile as he does so.
“Sorry, I was… Busy. You didn’t happen to see any of that, did you…?” He asks, an awkward chuckle forces its way from his chest. Spamton just… Stares at Tenna for a few moments with an intense gaze before suddenly bursting out from the dumpster, landing only a few feet away from Tenna. Peels of heavily bit-crushed laughter bubble from his throat before Spamton takes a single step closer.
“OH, I [[Saw 2 In Theaters Now!]] IT. YOUR [[Panic At the Disco]].”
This time, Tenna actually manages to hold back his flinch, instead clenching his fist at his side tightly. While it doesn’t seem like Spamton has recognized him yet, Tenna still wants to play it safe anyways. He needs to find a way to get out of the situation as soon as possible without drawing too much attention to himself.
“Sorry you had to see that,” Tenna chuckles weakly, shaking his head. He stands and casually brushes off any dirt from the front of his poncho out of habit; it’s already in a piss-poor state as is, so it’s not like it matters if it gets any dirtier. He gives Spamton a quite frankly pathetic smile, then swiftly turns and ducks out of the alleyway.
He tries not to feel too affected by the way Spamton’s gaze practically burns a hole into his back as he leaves.