Work Text:
He was late.
He was late and he couldn’t find his head.
He’d looked just about everywhere that he could think that it could be. Under the bed, in the closet, under Jongler’s pile of laundry, in Pluey’s yarn basket, just about everywhere that he could think of. Pluey and Jongler weren’t in the studio, since they were certain that Battat would be taking over his usual ‘bedtime routine’. He’d tried to convince himself that giving them a call wouldn’t necessarily hurt, but they so rarely got a night out to themselves and frankly, he wasn’t sure that he was going to be left unscarred if he called this late into the night.
“MIKE~!”
He was beyond fucked.
Not to mention, he also couldn’t find his left shoe. But a shoe? Whatever, he could live without a single shoe. His head? He couldn’t exactly get away with that. How the hell had he misplaced the most vital part of his costume?
Smacking himself so hard on the head that it sent it spinning, the room went in a dizzying whorl until a quiet little ding went off and he realized he landed on a five. Good odds - really good odds, for the fact that he really never landed on anything higher than a three on a normal day.
Another call from Tenna had him frantically throwing off the rest of his Mike costume. His fingers felt numb as he fumbled through the buttons, tossing the jacket onto his bed, the single damn shoe underneath it, the pants atop the jacket. He looped his usual green poncho over his head and then adjusted his suspenders under it, forcing a deep breath into his lungs as he looked at himself in the mirror.
Flushed green cheeks met him and wide green eyes stared frantically back. Battat took a moment to force himself to calm down, forcing his eyes to close slightly and let the blush fade away. He scrubbed his hands up and down his plastic, nails scratching against the pips on his face as he inhaled for five seconds, and exhaled for three. He could do this! He was - Well, he was some bastardized version of Mike, but he was a goddamn good one at that. He had been doing this for years. He was certain that he could get away with this for one night and get off scott free without Tenna figuring out the whole operation. He could keep his head on straight.
He turned on his heel and grabbed the thick book that he always kept near the door, tucking it under his arm as he grabbed the doorknob, taking another deep breath before yanking it open.
Time to do his damn best to see if he could get out of this without dying.
-
The walk to Tenna’s room wasn’t necessarily long, but it always felt longer to Battat. He blamed the fact that he was small, even for a Pippins. He really tried to ignore the fact that it felt like an eternity as he nearly ran through the halls to the office that he was certain would lead to his demise, huffing under his breath.
“It’s going to be fine, he’ll either let it happen, or he’ll send me away,” He muttered to himself, eventually, as he rounded the last corner to Tenna’s office, “Or he’ll laugh and then kick me into paste into the wall across from his office door. Which, whatever. Will serve me right for losing the damn head.”
When he finally reached the door, he hefted the book into his other arm and then reached up, knocking sharply three times.
It almost felt like signing his death warrant, but he was also certain that he overthought just about everything in his life, and he could practically hear Jongler telling him to calm down, that it would be alright.
The door swung open nearly immediately after the knock, Tenna’s screen glowing brightly and nearly blinding Battat as he cheerfully chirped out a, “Mi- oh. You’re not Mike.”
“Ah, no, sorry, boss.” Battat rubbed the back of his neck, playing up the sheepishness, even though he felt the pit in his stomach churn like a volcano about to erupt, “Mike is pretty swamped with’a bunch of paperwork right now, and some’a the props and scenes got messed up from some Shadowguys gettin’ kinda rowdy. He - uh,” he lifted up the book then, a thick tome of stories, fantasy ones, the ones Battat himself had read Tenna a million times over before bed, always stuffed into the Mike head, “He saw that I wasn’t doin’ anything and asked if I would, uh. If I would come ask if you’d be alright with me reading you a few stories. Just,” he cleared his throat, willing those nerves away, “Just for tonight. I don’t really mind it, y’know. Looked at the stories on the way here. They seem nice.”
Tenna’s screen had slowly dimmed down to a faded black while Battat had spoken, but at the last sentence that Battat spoke, his screen immediately flared back with color and light and his face split in a massive, toothy grin, “You like them, really! I’ve had the book for so long and it's a bit of a- well- I only really let Mike see them, but if he trusts you to read them, and you like them, then I think it should be okay!”
The Boss Darkner moved out of the way and made a grand sweeping motion, allowing Battat entry inside. The Pippins felt his heart race as he walked in. He couldn’t actually believe that it had worked- he knew Tenna could usually be swayed with a few pretty words, but just one little compliment to his storybook?
The TV must just be tired, that had to be it.
He followed Tenna through his office and to another door near the back, which led to the apartment that was attached. Tenna never really left the studio, and so having an apartment attached to his office seemed to be a logical step. Battat knew the entire place like the back of his own hand and didn’t pay any of it any mind as he followed Tenna through a small hallway to his bedroom, toeing off his shoes at the door automatically.
“Take your- oh, oh! Mike must have told you that I don’t like shoes in my room, haha,” Tenna laughed as he scrubbed a hand at his casing, his own house shoes being deposited into a shoe rack that was next to the closet door. Luckily, he was already dressed in his pinstriped pajamas, so Battat wouldn’t have to wait for him to get ready for bed. He had a matching hat on, too, tucked over one of his antennas.
It was fucking adorable.
Battat really needed to get a grip.
“Oh, yeah, uh. He gave me a quick run down of everything, yeah.” The Pippins gave a brief chuckle and then padded over toward the bed, “Can you give me a lift? I know Mike usually has a little pillow you have him sit on when he reads. He told me that it would be a-okay to sit on it. If you’re- uh. If you’re okay with me, uh-”
He let out an absolutely undignified squeak when a large hand came and picked him up, though he should have absolutely been ready for it. But he wasn’t - Tenna’s hand was so much warmer than he was used to, without all the padding and the suit and everything else that he wore when he had his Mike costume on. He was so much closer, and he could almost feel the white static noise that always followed Tenna around on his skin. Tenna lifted him up easily and then dropped him down onto the plush pillow that was on the right side of the bed, with a divot that was pressed in the middle.
His divot. He fit way too comfortably into it, and he just prayed that Tenna did not notice.
“Thank you, um-” Tenna scratched his casing lightly as he rounded the other side of the bed, hiking one leg onto the bed. His lip curled up a bit, head tilted quizzically, “I’m going to sound like such an awful boss, but what is your name?”
Battat let out a laugh that definitely sounded a lot more strangled than he meant for it to. He had hoped that Tenna would forget to ask this specific question - he wanted this green Pippins to just be there to read the story and then to fade away into the background, for Tenna to go back to just focusing on Mike and his TV shows and his work, to not think about Battat, to not worry about Battat, to not - angel forbid, request Battat come back and read stories to him again.
Jongler and Pluey were going to kill him, weren’t they?
“Well, Pippinses don’t really come with names, not really. We pick ‘em up, lots of ‘em pick names that go with gambling. Lucky, Chance,” He shrugged as he finally thumbed through the book, catching on the bookmark to one of the stories that he had left on the night previous, some story about princesses and dragons and romance that Tenna absolutely adored, “I didn’t go with that, ended up just going with Battat. After the minigame I’ve got.”
“How lovely!” Tenna chirped happily as he tugged up the blankets, crawling under and tugging them up to his shoulders. He struggled with them for a moment and Battat sighed, setting the book aside.
It was second nature to crawl off the cushion and hop off it. He didn’t even think before grabbing the blanket from Tenna, pulling it up and tucking it in underneath him, making sure that there was a little bit more on his left side, since he liked to roll around in his sleep a lot. He didn’t focus on Tenna’s screen as he did so, eyebrows furrowed as he finished up tucking him in.
“Mike - uh, he really - told you, what to do, huh?”
“Oh!” Battat sprung backward, foot twisting in the sheet and then sprawling backward onto the cushion he usually sat on. His poncho flared up and over his head and he let out a huff, yanking it down and off his face, which he was certain was flushed a dark green, “Yeah, um. Sorry, if that was too forward.”
“No, no! Don’t you worry!” Tenna flashed him a bright smile, and it was then that Battat noticed the blossomed flower that was on the tip of his nose, “It was - it’s nice. Don’t fret, Battat! So, the - story? I think Mike keeps a bookmark on where he was, but if you want to start a new story, that would be nice too!”
“Right, yeah. I think -” Battat cleared his throat and nodded, shaking his head as he adjusted himself. He fixed his poncho once more, if only just to wipe his clammy hands on the fabric before he grabbed hold of the ancient storybook, “Yeah, I think I’ll start over. Something new, well. New for me, I guess. This book looks like it’s seen it all, huh?”
“Yes,” The CRT giggled then, wriggling until he was turned onto his right side, the blanket still tucked comfortably around him. The hat was still perched over one antennae, though it was crooked slightly. Battat wanted to fix it, but it still looked damned cute, “It’s one of the books that Toriel bought a long, long time ago, when Asriel was little. It’s been read, oh, I don’t know. I’ve had Mike read it to me probably hundreds of times. I could probably read it with my screen off! But it’s just . . . nice. To -”
“Not be alone, huh, big guy?” Battat finished, idly, without thinking as he was thumbing through the table of contents, “I get that.”
There was silence for a moment and he realized what he said. He swallowed thick, throat clicking and he was certain he was fucked, but a quick glance up to Tenna swept his breath away.
That flower was still perched on his nose, though Tenna’s fingers had worked their way up through the covers and were lightly stroking over the petals. His screen was a little dimmed, as though he was in thought, lips pursed into a small pout. The quiet static that lulled the air around him hummed pleasantly through Battat, almost making his eyelids droop.
“Yes,” Tenna finally conceded, “It’s nice to not be alone. I am a TV, after all. I . . . strive, to be watched.”
Battat tilted his head to the side slightly as he finally opened up the book to the page that he decided on and curled a tiny smile, “Well, boss, I’m all eyes. Well,” He flicked the storybook once, “I’ll have to look back and forth between you and the pages, but y’know. I’ll do my best.”
Tenna’s face lit up some more at that, the somber tune to his static picking up to a more cheery buzz. His fingers lightly pinched at the flower on his nose and he reached over, depositing the flower onto Battat’s poncho and making sure that it was tucked safely in a small pocket that was sewn into the front, “There you go! A pop of color!”
“Oh, jeez,” Battat felt his face go green as he flushed, “Thanks, boss.” He swallowed again, shaking his head, “The- story. Right?”
“Yes, yes!” Tenna curled his arms under the blanket again, screen dimming slightly and nose disappearing as he readied himself to listen. Battat knew this was just him readying himself to sleep, and his chest relaxed with the familiarity of it all.
“Gonna read the story of the Happy Prince,” He adjusted on the cushion, making sure that his shoulders were well and settled as he propped the book on his lap, “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful statue of the Happy Prince. His body was golden, and his eyes sparkled with the most beautiful of gems. The entire city loved him and believed him to be the most beautiful thing in the entire world.”
Tenna sighed wistfully, his shoulders relaxing more as he listened to the murmur of Battat’s voice. It sounded familiar, in a way, enough that he felt like he wasn’t on edge.
“The city believed that the happy prince must be the happiest of everyone. But they were wrong.” Battat flicked his eyes to Tenna and then back to the page, “One evening, a small bird flew over the city. He noticed the statue of the Happy Prince and decided that he would rest there for the evening before leaving. But as he settled between the Prince’s golden feet, he noticed something was wrong.”
A movement from the corner of his eyes startled him and he noticed that Tenna’s tail had worked its way out of the covers and was lazily swishing back and forth. He smothered a small snort, shaking his head slightly as he went back to the book.
“Plop! A drop of water had landed on him, followed by another, and another. After a few moments, he realized that the statue’s eyes were filled with tears. The bird flew up to the statue’s face and asked him who he was.”
“The Happy Prince, of course,” Tenna replied in a quiet voice, muffled into a pillow.
“Of course,” Battat puffed a soft laugh and that tail waved even faster, “But the bird asked him why he was crying! He had gold skin, shiny jewels, and the best spot in town. The entire city loved him! But the Happy Prince told him that from this same spot, he could see all the pain and strife in the entire city. He can see the sorrow, and the hurting that everyone goes through. His heart aches, and he needed the bird's help.”
“Since he’s a statue, he’s golden, he’s lonely,” Tenna supplied then, turning his head to look at Battat, screen brightening slightly to signify that his ‘eyes’ were opening.
“Go to sleep,” Battat chided, lips curled up into a little smile, “You’re not supposed to supply commentary. That’s for the TV show.”
“I’m always on TV!” Tenna complained dramatically, flopping slightly onto his back, “You make very good voices for the different characters! How am I supposed to sleep when the story is this good!”
“You try,” came the dry reply, “Now shush. The Happy Prince told the bird to take the ruby from his sword and fly to a seamstress on the edge of the village and give it to her. She was poor, and her only child was sick. They needed food, and needed money for food and medicine. The swallow sighed, as he wanted to fly away to Egypt, but he agreed to stay for one more night to help the Happy Prince. When the bird brought the jewel to the family, he realized he had never felt such warmth that he did seeing the joy in the boy’s face when feeling the coolness from his wings beating wind upon his body.”
Tenna’s lips curled into a smile and Battat did his damnest to ignore him.
“The next day, the bird was insistent that he was going to leave. But he ended up back at the statue that night. However, the Happy Prince asked him of another favor. A student needed food and heat, but was busy trying to finish a play. He asked the bird to bring him one of his eyes, as they were beautiful sapphires.”
“But then he’d only have one eye,” came the helpful commentary, yet again, from the Darkner who was supposed to be going to sleep.
“Yes, yes, he’d only have one eye. But the Prince insisted that he wanted this. The bird agreed, and brought the sapphire to the student. The next night, the same thing happened. A poor girl needed money as she was without any. The bird did not want to give away the Prince’s other eye, as that would leave him blind. But he insisted, and the bird took his other eye to give to the girl. The bird returned to the prince, and you know what he said?”
Tenna turned to Battat fully then, hanging onto every word. He knew the story already, but he wanted to hear the words anyway.
Battat leaned forward, looking away from the book and to Tenna instead. He forgot, again, that he wasn’t wearing the damn costume. Forgot that he was just Battat, not Mike. Forgot that he was just in his poncho, that he wasn’t in the padding, that he wasn’t in the head. He was a Pippins, a stand-in.
“He whispered to the statue, ‘You are blind now. I will stay with you always.” And so he did.”
Tenna’s screen lit up with a few color bars before he threw an arm over his screen and Battat looked back down to the book before he could say anything else, “Everyday, that bird perched on the Prince’s shoulder and told him stories of faraway lands. But the Prince was more interested in the people, so the bird told him all about the hungry children, the beggars, and the misery of the people in the city. So the Prince told the bird to take the gold from his body and give it to the poor. So he did.”
Battat cleared his throat and crossed his ankles, trying to get comfortable as he thought about the ending, trying to figure out why the hell he picked this story out of all stories to read, “The statue eventually looked dull, and grey. But the city was warm, full and smiling. Winter came, and the bird was so cold, unable to fly, but he stayed with his Prince. It came to a day, however, that he felt it was time he would pass.”
Tenna let out a tiny noise, a sad one, though it was marred by sleep.
“The bird told the prince goodbye, and asked if he could kiss him on the hand. But the prince told him no, to kiss him on the cheek, for he loved the bird. The bird then kissed him on the cheek and died at his feet. At that same moment, the prince’s heart of lead that was once hidden behind all the gold that had been stripped to the city, snapped in two.”
He felt a hand then, fingers, touch at his ankle. He looked over the book and saw Tenna’s fingers brushing against his leg. He raised one eyebrow and Tenna was purposely looking away. He knew Tenna could get handsy during the sad parts of stories, usually just wanting to hold hands, or something of the like, so he shifted. He turned on the cushion, pulling his leg away from Tenna’s hand and for a moment, it looked like Tenna would retract entirely. But Battat moved his smaller hand into Tenna’s and held on, adjusting the book back on his lap as he finished the story.
“The next morning, the mayor walked by the statue. He decided since it was no longer beautiful, it needed to come down. They took it down and tried to melt it, but the lead heart would not melt. A worker threw it beside the little dead bird and there they lay, side by side, until an Angel passed by. The Angel had been tasked to find the most precious things in that city and decided to pick up the lifeless bird and the lead heart.”
Tenna’s hand grew lax in his and the static started to lull into a faded buzz as he started to doze.
“So, in heaven, the two were reunited. The little bird would sing forever in Heaven’s gardens, and the Happy Prince would forever live in the city of gold.” Battat murmured low then, not wanting to startle Tenna as he finished up the story, “The prince who had given everything, and the bird who had flown for love.”
He peeked over his shoulder to the taller Darkner whose screen had completely turned off. His tail was draped over his hip then, the plug end nearer to Battat’s own leg on the cushion. Their fingers were still twined, though Battat knew that with a gentle tug, he’d be able to free himself.
So, he tried.
With a gentle tug, he tried to pull his fingers free. But Tenna’s fingers immediately wrapped around him and a little noise came from the taller Darkner as his screen came back online.
“Can you . . stay a little longer, Battat?” Tenna’s voice was quiet, more static than it was speech, but Battat had been listening to Tenna’s sleepy voice for longer than he could even begin to count, “Just until I fall asleep?”
“Sure, boss.” Battat mumbled in response, closing the book and setting it to the side, “S’alright if I just sit here without the story, though? Don’t want to start something that I can’t finish.”
“Yes, that’s - yes.” Tenna’s screen flipped back off, but Battat could almost . . feel a lingering sense of disappointment, though he wasn’t sure what it was for. Probably because he wasn’t reading anything else, and he knew Tenna liked his stories.
It didn’t take Tenna very long to fall asleep after that. Battat wasn’t able to stop himself from watching him, and he was sure the taller Darkner knew that he was staring. It was probably some small relief, Battat told himself, to be watched even as he fell asleep. Tenna loved to be watched!
Battat really needed to get a grip. He was such a creep. He also really needed to find his Mike head so none of this ever happened again.
When Tenna’s fingers finally fell lax in his fingers and the static switched to a specific kind of tune that Battat knew was his sleeping buzz, Battat carefully pulled his fingers from Tenna’s. He was slow and methodical with it, like he was every night. He made sure that the blankets were tucked up and around the TV show host, standing next to him on the bed and fixing them.
While he was there, he took the moment to fix the little hat. Just a little adjustment, so it wouldn’t completely fall off in the dead of night. With that, he turned and sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully shimmying off and falling off to the ground. He turned and grasped the book off the edge, pulling it down and to his chest. The room still carried that quiet buzzing sound, so he knew that his careful exit had gone successful.
Shoes were put on, the door opened and closed and Tenna didn’t call out for him again. A relief, since he really wasn’t sure if he’d have the stomach to go back and then be able to leave all over again. He made quick work of getting out of the apartment and the office, making sure that the doors were all locked with the keys that he kept on the ring on his waist. The Mike keys - hopefully! Tenna had not noticed when his poncho had flown up and over his own face.
When he got back to the Mike's room, he tucked the book back in its usual spot and sighed, turning back to his bed and then freezing in place.
The head was right on his fucking bed. On the pillow. Either he was incredibly dense, or someone had put it there.
-
“Mike?”
“Yeah, boss?” Battat yawned under the head as he looked up at Tenna the next day, right around lunchtime. Jongler had taken the morning shift, as they usually did, but Battat was on lunch duty. Jon was insistent on it, giving Battat some reason to sleep in, even though he never did. Someone had to make Tenna’s coffee exactly how he liked it, and he was the only guy who knew how to!
“That - uh. That Pippins that you sent to my room last night, Battat?” Tenna scratched the back of his neck as he smiled down at him, some color bars appearing over his cheeks for a brief moment, “Do you think that he’d be available for some storytime readings other times? Not all the time! You’re still my Mikey, my storytime guy! But just - in case you ever wanted a break!”
Battat blinked a few times and then waved a hand, never letting the big grin waver off his face, “Oh, ya sure boss? Ya liked ‘im that much?”
“He had such a way with words!” Tenna clasped his hands together immediately and swooned, his nose blossoming with a flower as he spun around once, “He had such good voices for the different characters! And he picked a story that we haven’t read in such a long time! He knew all the different things to do - oh, Mike, I definitely would like him to come read to me again!”
Battat forced his numb arms to raise and he flashed Tenna two thumbs up, nodding at him, “Sure, boss. I’ll talk to ‘im, see if I can swindle ‘im to comin’ in for s’more shifts. Might have’ta give him s’more cash!”
“Oh, that’s no problem! We can go over his contract together!” Tenna waved a hand and then started to walk off, tail swishing happily, “You must trust him, if you let him come to my room! So that means I trust him!”
Oh, yeah. Battat was so fucked.