Work Text:
Battat shoots awake.
There's no claw pressing into his back. He's not tripping over piles of telephone wire. He can breathe. He's definitely awake.
It takes a minute for that to sink in... Battat sits there, trying his best to breathe in the still air of his-- well, could you really call this a room?
The pippin stands up, stumbling with shaking legs over his poncho from the night before, discarded trousers and his work shoes before he's able to blearily reach for the doorknob. This was backstage. It can be as messy as he likes. Just as long as Mike is put together when the cameras are rolling.
He lives here now. ‘Here’ being the ‘Mike Room’. So does Pluey and Jongler, but they manage to find time to visit their apartments. Battat isn't sure if he even has one anymore. It's fine. The room he sleeps in now used to be used for storage, and it’s tiny, and the light is unreliable, but now it's his! Real privacy! No illicit gambling exploits to bleed through thin walls anymore or annoying red furniture!
Well, the walls were still thin. He has to be real quiet as he edges past the room that Jongler and Pluey share. Those two seem to be heavy sleepers-- and thank goodness for that. Not because he cares. Those two take morning shifts most days- it’d be a pain if they weren’t up and at ‘em.
He decided on taking his thin blanket with him. Mike doesn't like having the air conditioning keeping all 5 floors of the studio cold all night, after all. The wasteland surrounding them does that job quite fine, thank you! The satisfaction of saving a couple grand on the studio's electricity bill doesn't make his t-shirt and boxers any warmer, though. Shivering, he tugs open the Mike doors as quietly as he can.
Left. Left. He keeps his hand on the wall, sometimes feeling chips missing from the paint, once or twice catching the edge of his socks on the sleeping Tenna stanchions. Man, it's dark in here. Right, then straight on ahead until you see the blue flashing light from the coffee machine.
It's not coffee he's after. He likes the stuff, don’t get him wrong. He really does! ...Definitely. It’s Mike’s signature drink, after all! He actually wants to get back to sleep at some point tonight, though. He dumps the blanket on the back of a break room chair.
Guided by that flashing light, he opens up the elderly fridge and stares up at the countless cartons of frozen TV meals. One of these has got to be appetizing… right? He's already tried his luck countless nights before, but maybe if he digs far enough into the freezer box...
The barely palatable thing is thrown into the microwave before he can remember what it tasted like last time. It's only halfway done before he hears a
"Boss!"
Battat jumps out of his skin, claws catching on the gaudy TV-shaped magnets decorating the fridge's face as he nearly tumbles backward into the thing.
"What the--" His fear turns into a sigh seeing the culprit in the entranceway's darkness. Battat barely makes it out, but their hatless head nearly touches the top of the doorframe. Pushing himself back up, Battat mutters "Jeez, louis! Jongler! Why'd ya sneak up on me like that!?" A more pressing question is "How'd ya even follow me without me hearing those loud ass jumps of yours?!"
Jongler points to their mute button, and continues... er, tries to continue, but...
"Jon, you're muted." Battat blasély grins. “You pressed the button again.”
A button press later, and "Sorry, boss! Was sayings I wasn't fixin' to wake up Plues, heh..."
"...or any of your other coworkers?"
"Thems too."
Battat glances at the time on the microwave, decides it's close enough to done, and pops open the door before it has a chance to let out it's warcry.
"Why'd you even follow me? You realize you have a shift tomorrow, right? …Shit." Battat curses as the steam from the sides of the plastic wrapping bites at his claws… hands?
"Well, uh..."
"...?" The TV meal is unceremoniously dumped onto a plate as Battat cleans up his mess by microwave light. His eyes only look up at Jongler’s awkward silhouette to offer a glare. "Spit it out. It must be important if you followed me down half a year of hallways."
"...Boss, was youse having a nightmare…?"
Pause.
"No." Battat lies. He's glad he's turned away, leaned over a drawer that used to be filled with plastic silverware. "Why?"
Jongler pulls a hand behind their head, treading carefully. "We, uh... well, me and Plue heard youse yellin'."
"...Okay." God, damn it. Are the budget cuts really that bad? No spoons? He gropes around in the darkness of the cupboard, trying to ignore the way Jongler’s question makes his stomach twist.
"And… we hears you yellin' most nights."
"...Oh... kay."
"And we's were just wonderings if you'ds need any help with whatever's botherin' yo--"
"No. I'm fine." Battat shuts the drawer hypocritically loud, with some kind of spork in hand, and smiles in matching plastic at his friend. "In fact, you should just wear earplugs. Can you mute your ears?"
"Boss, I don'ts have ears."
"Not the point!" This rubberbrain never catches sarcasm!
"And… Plue's got twose sets of ears, so..."
"Then buy two times the earplugs! Or, just… the normal amount!" He snaps. "I go to bed way later than the two of you-- can't you just– gah, WHATEVA!" He throws his hands up in exasperation, dragging them down his face. “I’m too tired for this crap!”
"No, we..."
Both parties were distracted by another set of footprints from the darkness. Quiet. Pluey.
Pluey trots up behind Jongler, tugging her own knit and cat-fur covered blanket around her shoulders. In a pianissimo brass trill she begins with something like ‘I don't think that's necessary, we can just-’
"Okay! Great! You’re here, too! Let's wake up the whole studio by having this discussion in the MIDDLE of the break room! Welcome to the party." He hisses.
Forgetting her quiet, Pluey continues. ‘Yes, we will! We're friends-- we're basically living together, so it's our discussion just as much as it's yours.’
"No! It's actually not your business at all! And it’s not the right time to talk about it! And for the LAST TIME, we aren't friends, we are COWORKERS!" His hands come back to his head in frustration. The words kind of just… tumble out. Like a boulder careening down a hill. "And even if you were my friend, I'm not going to blab on about things that don't matter! Aren't real! Poof! I wake up and it's GONE!"
‘Boss–’
“If it bothers you that much–”
‘We're worried about you! You jerk!’ Pluey's melodic voice is almost forte. Jongler’s hand raises in an attempt to soothe her, but falters uselessly midair as a sudden silence fills the room.
"...It's gone, okay?" Battat's arms fall to his side.
‘...’
"It's gone. It's gone, so just..." He sighs, throwing the spork onto the steaming plate and limps over to the tiny lunch table. "Just, let me eat my junk food and I'll go back to bed later. I'll..."
‘...’
"I'll sleep in my old dorm if it's really botherin' you two so much.” He capitulates. “There's more at stake here than some…” Battat sighs. Shrugs. At a loss. “Bad dreams." He stares at their feet, food rapidly cooling, expecting them to turn tail and…
"...We's gonna wait for you, boss. What if yous got locked out?"
Pluey giggles in sixteenth notes as she turns back to Jongler. ‘You know, I had to let him back in a few months ago. Who knows how many times he’s gotten stuck in the hall.’
"..." No sharp retort this time. Pluey takes that as invitation to sit besides her pointy-tongued friend. Jongler gingerly sits across from the both of them, fetching cups of water while they're up. Their shoulders take up the whole other side of the 10 minute break sized table. The only light is the warm glow from the open microwave.
Pluey snickers in F sharp down at the microwave meal after a minute of Battat nibbling on it. "That's bad for you."
"I know, why do you think I eat it? It's worse than it looks." Battat grumbles, smiling in the second half.
"I've been wanting a kitchen in da Mike rooms..." Jongler pauses to consider. "So I can make some Cowboy Caviar!"
"Not gonna ask how that's made."
They all laugh. Just a little. The food really isn't all that good.
"I'm done.” He ditches the paper plate and the half-eaten freezer meal into the trashcan before long and grabs his blanket. “I'm going back to bed. We can talk arrangements tomorrow-- maybe I can find a night-duty zapper to mute my room, or some..."
A rest, and then C-sharp. ‘You can sleep with us.’ Pluey suggests.
"..." He looks back at her with a look of disbelief, halfway through the doorframe. "What even… what would be the point of-" Especially after I just…
"Ten's told me that sleepin' with a Mikes is good for your health!” Jongler interrupts. “Said it helped him. And we's two Mikes!"
Tenna told you… what?
"I'm..." Battat takes a moment to actually think about it, and also process his pajamas being hung out to dry. He’s good at thinking. "I'd prefer not having strangers know about... the room, situation, so..." He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Fine! If it solves the problem, we'll try it out. One night. If I wake either of you up, I'm… I’ll move out."
"Boss?"
"What."
"Are youse asleep?"
"No." Obviously?
"Oh."
How do Zappers sleep? How would Mike sleep? Would he mute himself? Does he have an off switch like Tenna? No, no, if he did, Tenna would have pointed it out– except Tenna always falls asleep before Mike! So, maybe he’s just been assuming that Mike’s been shutting himself off after him– and if that’s the case, it’ll be impossible to–
"Can I ask..."
"What?”
"What was youse dreaming about earlier?"
"...It's none of your business."
Pluey rolls over. ‘Kinda is.’
"No it's not!” Battat snaps hushedly. “Can you two just sleep already?" He tries to turn away from her, but ends up face-to-face with Jongler.
Man, they’re all packed in here like sardines… so, he just returns to staring straight-up at the beat up ceiling.
‘It is, if it keeps us awake!’ She hums in arpeggios. ‘And if we fall asleep first, you’ll slink off to your mancave.’
Battat glares at her in the darkness. She smiles.
“It’s not a mancave.”
‘Just teasing. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
Against his better judgement, and as if his mouth were moving for him… "...Are you really sure you two want to know?" Battat mumbles.
"Sure, boss. Don't ya say that getting things off your chest helps? With youse theories and stuffs."
“That’s different, but fine.”
He pauses, embarrassed. Neither of his company speak.
It takes a good amount of pushing to get the words past his teeth. During the long pause, he hears the tick-tock of the cat clock on the wall. Why is he even bothering? He notices a panel on the roof is awfully stained from their crappy aircon system.
“I was…” Battat has to actively recall it. “Well, I was just outside the room, actually.”
He was in his work clothes. It felt like any other uneventful afternoon in the studio. His legs had felt a little heavy.
“I remembered opening the doors, and it was so dark inside. And then I started to walk into the room, but I tripped on something.”
“That… don’t sound too bad, boss!”
‘He isn’t done, Jon.’
“Oh, rights you are.”
Battat remembers looking down at his dress shoes. The rough length of wire had somehow gotten in between his shoelaces, like he had tied himself to it. He had to untie them to keep moving.
“Uh… It was telephone wire. Real heavy duty stuff, I…” He looks at the two, eyes useless in the dark. “Have you ever seen telephone wire?” He doesn’t let them answer, turning a little frantic. “I haven't! I don’t even know how I knew it was! I just did.”
If Pluey had a brow, it’d be furrowed. Her tail hangs listlessly in the air, twitching a bit as she waits for him to continue. Jongler is still.
God, I feel like a kid telling a ghost story.
“I kept going… There was something in the room I needed– maybe it was my costume, I think he needed me or something… but there was just more wires. More and more…”
There had been a faint glimmer of light between them. He just kept pushing. At some point, he shoved off his poncho… it was catching on the exposed raw ends of metal.
“And… eventually I had to crawl. They were pressing me from everywhere. It was like squeezing into a cupboard full of junk. I finally found what I was looking for, but right before I turned to crawl back out of...” He takes a deep breath, and it rattles him. Maybe it’s the claustrophobic memory of worming his way through the mess, or sharing this is harder than he thought.
“Boss…”
“I heard something.” He points above his head, as if it’s still there. “And then I knew I had been trapped, or something bad had happened. I wasn’t able to see them from where I was, but I somehow knew the doors had been locked, and…”
In the dark, it’s easy to imagine the pinpricks of yellow and pink were still there. He knows they’re not, but darkness can play tricks on you.
“There was something crawling around in the wires.” His hand flops back onto the quilt. “I heard it ringing.”
Why am I even telling them this? Why?
“And– well, I’ll spare you the details.” Battat rolls back onto his side, resigned. This time, he’s facing Pluey, who is as quiet as she is in her suit. He shuts his eyes. “Eventually I got caught. It didn’t, uh…” His face turns into a grimace. “Eat me or whatever. Just… held me down. I couldn’t really breathe. I left whatever I was looking for behind me at some point. I couldn’t carry it with me.”
None of them say anything, but a gentle pressure on his hand makes Battat’s eyes flutter open.
“You don’t have to hold my hand–” He scowls at her. “I’m not a baby. I know it wasn’t real.”
‘You were crying for help.’ She replies in legato.
He closes his eyes again. “...Was I?”
“Yeah, boss. That’s why we…” Jongler begins, and Battat doesn’t let them finish. He snatches his hands away from his furry friend and stuffs them under the covers.
“Well, let’s see if it does me any good. I’m tired. Goodnight.”
"No, no. No. No. No."
He's shaking his head, and he's dimly aware it's at nothing, but he still feels it. It’s as if his eyes are still shut tight.
It's crushing him. Those sharp claws are ripping through his wrinkled work shirt. He had wandered down the wrong hallway. Those footprints were out of place– but how could he have not followed them? It’s in his nature, damn it. Damn it!
He can't breathe, even though he feels his heart going a mile a minute. He's thrown himself out of bed. The sheets are caught on his socks, and he kicks them away like they’re imagined wires.
He's being tugged by a soft hand back into the scattered covers. Everything suddenly gets quiet. He should be in the hallway by now, feeling for familiar missing paint chips, but he feels Pluey purring against his back. His left hand is securely wrapped around Jongler's. The sensation of both has become familiar to him lately.
"Sorry." He croaks out. He doesn't know exactly what he's apologizing for or who he’s apologizing to. Maybe because this is the tenth time this month.
Pluey hums out a melodic, sympathetic ‘be quiet.’
"Sleep, boss. It's okays."