Archive of Our Own ^beta

He sits back, hand pulling away from the dial. Forget it. He isn't going to find a working channel anytime soon.

No, he thinks. No, I have to. They won't come back if I don't. They need to come back.

So he leans forward again, twisting the dials on the old, beat-up TV for all it's worth. They have to come back. He can't stay here alone forever.

There's a vague beeping in the distance.

There's always a vague beeping in the distance.

The static of the blank television screen is deafening, even though it's quiet.

The dials keep turning.

The static stops.

He jumps back in surprise. But there's no show. There's just black.

Did he break it? Did he break his only connection to them? No, he couldn't have. That's impossible.

He frantically twists the dials. It's still black.

No. No, no, no.

He broke it. The old, ratty television that he honestly hates is broken. No. It can't be.

He falls back into his chair, stunned. This can't be happening. He needs them. He's all alone without them.

How can he have broken it?

He takes in a sharp breath, then breaks into sobs.

He's lost them.

He's lost them, and he'll never get them back.

Through his sons, he hears a familiar buzz return.

The static is back.

He never thought he'd be happy to see it.

He grins at nothing in particular. He won't be alone. He won't.

The TV starts to pick up a show. He can't tell what it is yet, but he's overjoyed.

His face is still tear-streaked, but with tears of joy.

"Hey, guys." He says, grinning wildly. He knows they're here. He wouldn't have a show if they weren't. "Long time no see. I think. Has it been? Anyway, I'm so happy you're back."

Still grinning, and he sits back in his seat. "Welcome back to Televoid."