Chapter Text
Mr. (Ant) Tenna’s TV time was THE hit show of the dark world. If you hadn’t heard of it you were probably living in a goddamn garbage can. Featuring Mr. Tenna himself. Tenna was well aware of his popularity not only in the world of darkners, but in the world of light as well. Whenever Mrs. Dreemurr wanted to watch her favorite dramas after work, or when Mr. Dreemurr wanted to cradle a six pack between his thighs and loudly guffaw at his favorite sitcoms, or when the children wanted to play video games, or when the entire family wanted to gather around and play along with the nightly game shows, he was the center of attention. He couldn’t lie, the attention definitely got to his head.
But it made being left behind all the more bitter.
See, TV Time wasn’t always a one-man production (assuming you don’t count Mike’s input), there used to be another person involved. A certain little mailman with a voice made for the big screen used to be by Tenna’s side for every project. Hell they did everything together, writing the theme song, hosting quiz night, even fostering a bunch of little egg-like creatures the pop-up referred to as “pipis.” Tenna was certain it would be him and the little rat of a man against the world.
But that was all in the past. His partner had dreams of better places. Places that Tenna wouldn’t be. Even after begging him to stay and see where their show would take them, the salesman insisted he had better places to be, bigger opportunities ahead. He was practically a broken record, repeating his dreams of becoming some big shot in the world. The sight alone of the man’s speech turning into regurgitated advertisements for the same useless products they repurposed to build their studio was almost enough to break Tenna. So Tenna did the only thing he could, he told the shell of the man that if he really couldn’t stand the idea of him being there when the mailman makes it big then maybe it’s time to beat it and never show his face in the studio again.
He never saw the mailman again. It was the worst moment of Tenna’s life, waking up with that empty space in his bed, a note that there’s only room for one of them at the top on the forsaken bedside table. He had to cancel the show for the night. In response, fans sent letters begging him to take care of himself and get well soon. Mrs. Dreemurr almost sent him to the shop to figure out what happened with his wiring after all he could show in the light world was static.
But after wiping his tears he brushed off his suit and put on his best smile. So long as the camera is still rolling nothing is wrong. Who needs that stupid salesman to run a compelling show? Less ad segments meant that the fun-o-meter was always up and burning bright! Everyone loved the new TV Time! Everything was working out perfectly for Tenna.
And yet–even in his absence–that godforsaken salesman never seemed to leave him alone. A part of him needed to reach out for him, to prove that he wasn’t alone in the world. Sure he had Mike, sure he had the fans, and all his wonderful staff, but did they really care for him? Was there anyone left in this world who saw him as more than a silly TV host that danced around like a sad puppet for their amusement? At least he had his daughter.
See, when he left, the mailman took all the pipis with him. Leaving “I found them, they’re my babies” in the note he left, all the creatures the two of them were raising as if they were their own went with him. Except for one, the runt of the litter. Tenna’s darling little girl. She was supposed to just end up exploding as most of them did when they got too weak, but Tenna just couldn’t bear to see her in pain. He nursed her back to health, just enough that she was self-sustainable. He found himself embarrassed that he still kept her around. Especially the more he came to accept she really couldn’t feel anything back for her father that gave her all the love he wished someone would give him.
No one else could know that he had this daughter of his tucked away inside a closet.
Which led him to today’s fabulous problem. Someone had taken the pipis out of its hiding spot, and he had a sneaking suspicion who might’ve done it. A certain failed businessman who still had his copy of the key to Tenna’s private dressing room had his dirty little fingerprints all over the place, he just couldn’t prove it.
And now he had found himself carefully walking down the alley away from the studio. The area was quiet. No one with any respect for themselves would be caught dead in this place, that’s exactly how Tenna knew he was in the right place. His eyes scanned every dumpster until falling upon one that was open and overflowing with trash. The closer he got to it, the worse it reeked. Every bone in his body was telling him to get as far away as he could, to take three showers for every inch he got closer to the dumpster, but he just took a breath (through his mouth of course) and pressed forward. He could hear someone snoring inside the dumpster, the garbage on top shifting carefully every few minutes.
Tenna watched for a moment before gritting his teeth, dealing a swift and harsh kick to the metal, causing a loud clang that echoed between the dumpster walls, “Get up salesman!”
“Hey! Hey! I’m [[Rise and shine]] already!” A groggy voice spat at the television, the trash on top of him spilling over the edge of the dumpster as he sat up and groaned, “Alright, how can I [[Lend a Helping Hand]] you today?” When the man’s eyes met the TV screen through those yellow and pink glasses he froze. Once he regained his bearings, his face fell, his usual businessman’s smile falling into a frown deep enough to reach the Mariana trenches and his annoyance evident in the way his brows furrowed, “Well look what the [[Meow! Meow! Meow!]] dragged in today.”
“Spamtom,” Tenna regarded, returning the hate-riddled expression to the salesman, “I see you’re still alive.”
“[[CRT]],” Spamton said, equally as cold, “Here to [[Laughter is the best medicine]] at my [[misery]]?”
“Oh please, you’re lucky I’m breathing the same air as you right now,” Tenna scoffed, “I’d gladly leave you to rot in that dumpster until I forgot your name, but you have something of mine.”
“I have no [[planet earth™ (2006)]] idea what you’re talking about,” Spamton cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning on a stained box to continue looking up at the irritable television host.
“Don’t play dumb, you do it just fine without trying,” Tenna huffed, growling at the mailman, “Where’s the pipis?”
“Ah, you mean MY [[Bouncing Baby Boys]]? Sorry but they’re with their [[#1 Dad of the year]]. You’ll have to [[discover]] your own,” Spamton waved him off, “Now if you excuse me-”
“Listen here you oversized rat!” Tenna hissed, grabbing the ends of the dumpster and leaning closer to the salesman. He was significantly taller than his former partner, and far better groomed for that matter. Though he still kept his hair well maintained, he’d give him that, “You have my daughter! And I’m not leaving until you give her back!”
“Now I know you’re [[Crazy hot deals!!!]]” Spamton raised a brow, “You know I would never [[100% better sleep guaranteed!]] of taking that little [[Now in miniature!!]] with me! Being a [BIG SHOT] means there’s no room for [[warranty expiration]] where I’m going!”
“Cut the crap mailman! I know you have her!” Tenna gripped the salesman by the coat, yanking his feet off the floor of the dumpster, “Give her back to me or I swear the only bed you’ll ever sleep in again is in a hospital!”
“Alright! Alright! Let’s keep our [[silly strings]] attached!” Spamton kicked his feet pathetically as he tried to wriggle out of the television’s much larger hands, “You wouldn’t want to cause an [[Accident referral absolutely free!]] would you?!” He raised his hands in surrender, a shaky smile trying to reassure the fuming host to no avail, “Think of the [[1-877-KarsforKids]]! What would they do without their [[Father knows best]]!?”
“They’ll manage,” Tenna let out a chuckle, glowering at the salesman, “You on the other hand may need a few more prayers!”
“Woah! Hey now [[Boob tube]]! Let’s talk about this!” Spamton yelped, melting into his trash scented suit to try and escape the wrath of his old friend, “I didn’t take your [[Daddy daughter dance: Friday @8]]! So unless you came here for something else I suggest you [[Run like the wind!]] while you still have your [[High quality goods]] intact!”
“I’m not here for a lecture from you!” Tenna growled. Behind him, a power cable attached at the spine flicked back and forth, moving faster the more annoyed he grew, “The only two people who could have taken her are you or Mike!”
“Well maybe you should be interrogating that [[Half-priced]] tool instead!” Spamton clicked his tongue, “I don’t have your [[Daddy’s little girl]]! And that [[Fraudulent activity detected]] is always sticking his speakers where he doesn’t belong! You remember how he always looked through our [[Hyperlink Blocked]]!”
“You-!” Tenna stepped back, taking a deep breath to avoid strangling the little scam artist to death in the middle of the alley. This proved to be ineffective as he gripped the shorter man by the coat again and began shaking the lights out of him, “I know you have her dammit! Where is she?!”
“Let me down [[Trash heap]]! I’m telling the [[Honest business practices]]!” Spamton’s voice was nearly lost as he was throttled back and forth in an attempt to rattle some kind of information out of him.
“Bullshit!” Tenna hissed, shaking him harder, “Where is my daughter Spamton!? Where is she?!”
“Excuse me,” Both men jolted as a small voice hit their ears. When they looked to the side they were met with a child. They had shoulder length blue hair, the bangs falling over their eyes, blue tinted skin, a pair of devil horns likely from some Halloween store on their head, and wore a faded purple sweater with a pink stripe through the center. The child was stumbling over their oversized pajama pants with pictures of Santa Claus’s face all over them as they drew closer to the two men.
Tenna dropped Spamton immediately, his eyes stapled wide open as he looked at the child, “No…it’s not possible…there’s no way.”
“What the [[Fifty percent off]] are you whining about this time [[Cathode]]?” Spamton pushed himself back up on the box, rubbing his head. He looked back over at the child before his jaw fell open, quite literally unhinging and landing on the box, “No…[[I can’t believe it’s not butter!]]...”
“Uhm…sorry to bother you mister, I think I got lost,” the child shoved their hands in their pockets, kicking their foot back and forth as they kept their gaze trained on the ground, “I was just in my backyard playing with my brother, and I think I took a wrong turn, can you help me get home?”
The child couldn’t have been any older than eight, their face still round and squishy. They shuffled side to side the longer Tenna and Spamton stared at them in shock. It was impossible, there was no way it could have happened.
“Well…looks like we’re both in the [[25% of all gutters]] this time,” Spamton spoke, picking his jaw back up and reattaching it at the hinges.
“Won’t you shut up! This is serious!” Tenna said, already fiddling with his hands, wringing them between each other, as he looked at the child.
“Uh- is something wrong Mister?” The child tilted their head, a small pout on their face as they looked up at Tenna.
Was something wrong? Of course something was wrong! Standing before the two men, with absolutely no chaperone in sight, was the youngest of the Dreemurr children. Adoptive daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Asgore Dreemurr, and the only human to ever set their eyes on Tenna’s screen. Christine Dreemurr picked her nose and rubbed the booger on her pants as she waited for Tenna to make up his mind on if what he was seeing was real.
Tenna gripped the sides of his head and clawed at the metal, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s no way! It shouldn’t be possible! This child shouldn’t be here! What would- what was he- oh gosh, “Oh Toriel is not going to be happy about this!”