Chapter Text
Tenna’s alone.
It doesn’t bother him- well, that’s not really true. It does. It really, really does. But he’s used to loneliness by now.
His friend isn’t here. He’s busy, as he usually is. Tenna wishes he’d take more breaks, but he understands why he doesn’t - or more likely, can’t. Such a busy monster… he hopes he won’t put in those sad tapes when he comes home. He doesn't think they're very good for him to watch. They make him so sad.
The smell of ever-brewing tea permeates the house. He can’t think of a time when he didn’t smell it, the faintly sweet scent clinging to every surface. It isn't unpleasant, far from it. But it makes him think of his friend, and Tenna feels more than a little foolish. Waiting for him like this everyday, looking forward to those few and far between moments when he actually has time to watch.
He wonders what he’s doing now. He hopes he’s okay.
When the door finally creaks open, he perks up. Finally, he’s home. Tenna watches eagerly for white fur, an elegant purple cape and a golden crown, and-
And then, Tenna wakes up.
He jolts into consciousness with a gasp, disoriented. Staticky snow distorting his vision leaves him confused, and for a brief moment he doesn't quite understand where he is. As it clears he expects the white walls to give way to pale furniture, dusty photos and golden flowers, but they never come. Just cracking paint and scattered junk.
Oh, right, he admonishes himself. Spamton’s post office.
He can’t help but feel a little silly for forgetting that. However many months he’d spent in the dump since being… left out, and he still thinks about that house. Though after so long of waking up to the exact same sight every single day, he knows it’ll happen again.
Tenna looks over at Spamton, who’s draped over his counter, asleep. He’d told him story after story of the surface, eventually claiming tiredness and shutting himself down. And maybe he’d said it to refrain from telling too much, but it wasn’t all a lie; his limbs were achy and sore, and what better way to deal with that than by sleeping? It isn't like he could feel pain while asleep - though he does feel it now. He’ll feel it until he can fix his rusted metal body. Spamton had made no protest to his claim, thankfully. Tenna doesn't know what the mailman gotten up to while he’d been shut down, but judging by the open book still on his counter he must’ve been working.
…That position can’t be comfortable. Tenna remembers his old friend groaning after having accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, grumbling about back pain. Though fragile, the TV’s body can tolerate a little more than a monster made of flesh would, but he’s positive that position would cause his metal body problems. He glances around the shop, swiftly taking note of the lack of mattress. There isn’t even a pillow here.
He pushes himself onto his feet as quietly as possible. His magic isn’t very strong; outside of a few pretty illusions and lightshows, there isn’t a whole lot he can do. It’s possible he can do more than what little he knows how to do, but he hasn’t practiced as much as he probably should’ve. He can’t summon a proper bed for his new acquaintance, but that doesn’t mean there’s absolutely nothing he can do here.
His screen casts a teal glow on the post office, but luckily the little mail man doesn’t wake up from its light. Carefully, as carefully as possible, Tenna steps around him, grabs his jacket from the floor, and lays it gently over Spamton’s shoulders.
Immediately he sits himself back down into the corner he’d claimed, oddly nervous. Oh, how he’d longed to be able to give his old friend a blanket, or a cup of his favorite tea, or literally anything. Tenna couldn’t care for him then when he was just a TV on a stand, but he can at least take comfort in what little he can do for Spamton now.
(Something in him is both warmed by the thought and chilled by it. All those missed opportunities… if only he could rewind time. He wishes he’d acted sooner.)
Spamton doesn’t stir. Tenna eyes a lone, dirty towel sitting by the counter. If he were brave enough he’d fold it into a pillow of sorts, but he doubts he’d be able to do that without waking the other. He just hopes the jacket keeps him at least a little warm in this unending chill.
With little else to do he turns his attention back to the shop. Spamton had looked at Tenna with pure wonder and eagerness in his eyes when he’d told him about the surface, and he’s quite certain the mailman is going to apply that knowledge to his post office in some way. Tenna wonders if he’d let him use his magic to assist him in his efforts. In the past he’d used it to enhance the effects of the only show he used to play. An extra special effect here, some colorful lights there… Tenna likes to think it’d done wonders to make it just that much more extravagant.
He stares blankly at the walls, the ceiling, the door. It’d be nice if there was a window or something in here, even if just to break up the emptiness of the walls. Curtains would look nice here. Tenna would always stand by his love of colorful curtains, be it on a window or stage. They really do wonders to give ambience to a place. Maybe he could conjure a fake one?
Or maybe Tenna could change the color of the walls. Blue, probably, and turn the lightbulb to that one star. He wonders if stars smile, or if they have teeth. A friendly smile would be delightful. Tenna would adore that if he were a customer here. Others would probably like that, right? Though considering how cruel that star is, perhaps a friendly smile would be misleading. A fierce scowl would be more accurate… though it could always be disguised with clouds. Yes, the star could snarl and the clouds could smile. Perfectly factual to the surface world while still being welcoming and full of charm.
He’d be more than happy to do something like that for Spamton. It wouldn’t be very hard for him to make a star or two, but… no, that’d probably be overstepping. Though he’d stayed here in the past, this isn’t his post office, and it isn’t his place to offer suggestions. Tenna shouldn't intrude more than he already has.
…He’s still sore. Spamton continues to snore softly.
Unless Tenna were to snatch Spamton’s book from under his long nose, there really isn’t anything for him to do. And if there’s one thing Tenna really doesn't like, it’s waiting for someone to come home. Or wake up, in this case.
With a sigh, he slumps over once more, and prepares to shut himself down for a second time. A little more sleep won’t dust him.
Probably.
______
This time, when Tenna wakes up, he’s actually alone.
He’s calm, for a moment. It just doesn’t register to him. It’s only as he shakes his head lightly to clear the static leftover from sleep that he notices it.
Spamton’s gone.
He does a double take, a triple take, but Spamton doesn’t pop up from nowhere. Tenna scrabbles to his feet, barely the pain that shoots up his legs and spine from the motion to look under the cardboard box on the off chance Spamton is under there. When he isn’t there, Tenna even looks inside the cooler in case he’d somehow gotten himself stuck.
But there’s nothing. There’s no one here.
“Oh no.” he mumbles. He feels hyperaware of every wire in his body, every thread in his tattered clothes. “No, no no no-!”
He’s gone.
Tenna’s alone.
He stumbles around, lost. He doesn't know what he’s even going to do. Go after Spamton? No, he’s already left. He had to be long gone by now. He’s just lost the only other person to truly see Tenna as himself, instead of a broken TV with a screen so shattered it’d be nothing short of a miracle if anything could be played on it anymore.
The static he’d just cleared floods his vision once more. His mind rushes as he tries to think about what it was that had driven the mailman away. It couldn’t have been the stories of the surface, he asked for those… It must’ve been something Tenna had done. Something he’d said offhandedly. He thinks as far back as he can, to when he was first startled into consciousness by Spamton’s hands at his screen, but his memory comes up blank. He just doesn't know what he could’ve done.
…
Another memory forces its way to the forefront of his mind.
His friend approaches him for the first time in months. Tenna’s been out of service for a long time now, and the heart he doesn’t even have soars in hope. Finally, he’s going to be fixed! He can go back to playing the king that one show, the bittersweet tapes, the rare movies.
Suddenly his vision is flooded by a fluffy white face, smiling sadly. If Tenna could smile back, he’d give the widest, happiest grin he possibly could. He thinks he’s about to be opened up and repaired, but instead large paws grab him at the base, and, for the first time in ages, Tenna is lifted from his old stand.
He can’t see where he’s being taken, but the comforting smell of sweet tea fades the further they go. He’s scared. He doesn’t know what’s going on or why, but he trusts his friend. He knows he’s in good hands… literally. He can handle an impromptu trip, right?
But when he’s set down, it’s to the sight of grey walls. From out of Tenna’s line of sight, his friend pats the top of his head a few times. He preens happily at the touch, anxious and confused, but still trusting. So, so trusting.
If only he knew.
“Thank you. You were a good TV… I wish I could brew you a nice cup of tea.”
…
Whatever Tenna did to drive Spamton away, he’ll do everything he can to make up for it. No matter what it takes.
Angel knows Tenna doesn’t care if Spamton’s asleep or awake. Spamton could ignore him, insult him, sleep the whole time, could do damn near anything he wanted so long as he was just here.
He goes for the door, wanting to rush out into the dump to rectify this, but he can’t see it through the haze. In a burst of frustration he slams the heel of his palm into his head, hard enough that he wonders through distant numbness if he’d added new dents to his already fragile metal. The stench of burning plastic begins to fill the air as he panics, the hurricane of emotions he feels sending his unstable wiring sparking. With his only hand he grabs at his screen desperately, scrabbling at its shattered glass and frame. He can feel the sting of electricity coming from the frayed wires. His screens useless display shutters, the light emitting from it flickering with instability.
He has to get himself in order. Every second he spends stuck in place, sparking uncontrollably, is another second that Spamton becomes even further out of his reach. He has to try to fix this. He staggers towards to door when the static dissipates enough for him to see it, nearly crashing into it as his fumble for the doorknob-
When it swings open.
Tenna catches himself against the concrete wall swiftly, barely keeping himself from falling forward. Spamton, unaware of his internal turmoil, looks up at him with an absolutely beaming grin, his white glow brighter than Tenna had ever seen it. One hand is clutched tightly to his chest, the other fidgeting with his bag. He looks… proud?
The terror coursing through him dissipates in a rush at the sight of the mailman. He’s left reeling from the whiplash, because… Spamton didn’t leave him? Unless he’s lost it and is hallucinating in stunning accuracy, he’s right in front of him.
…Of course he is. Spamton wouldn’t just leave his own post office- at least, not without retrieving his belongings first. There wasn’t anything for him to worry about. Tenna feels like an idiot.
If he’d had lungs he probably would've long fainted. That's what happens in the few movies he’d had the chance to play before, and he doesn’t see why those would be inaccurate. Unfortunately, his body has yet to catch up to his mind. His limbs still twitch with coursing electricity, and his wires continue to spark sporadically. Tenna tries to speak, to greet Spamton and say thank you thank you for not leaving me thank you so so much.
But when he manages to get words out, they’re horribly glitchy, distorted.
“S-S-Spamzzchhh- ssssPPCHHH- sssS- Spamton?!”
Spamton’s bright expression falters, and he frowns. “[Boob Tube]?” His long nose wrinkles. “What’s that [ass scented candle]- that smell?”
Without warning Spamton is darting around him, nearly flying into his post office with a look of intense worry. Tenna watches as he inspects every item in the small building, lifting them gently and checking carefully for… something. He doesn't know. He doesn't have the mental energy needed to give it much thought.
Spamton sighs in visible relief. “Nothing’s [SMOKIN’ GOOD!!!]??”
Oh. The burnt plastic smell. Coming from Tenna. ”No, nothing’s bbbb- burning.” Spamton’s shop is totally fine. But Tenna? Tenna feels like he’d dust on the spot if even a single droplet of water landed on him.
(And it’s entirely possible he would. It was a good thing Spamton came when he did, because if Tenna had gone out in this state… best not to think about that.)
“...[Trash Heap]? Are you [special goods]??”
Tenna startles to attention. With great difficulty he forces his voice to be somewhat coherent. “I- IIIIzzzz - I’mMM okay.” he smiles shakily, in a way he hopes is reassuring but knows deep down that it’s anything but. “Just- had a nighTT- mare. A nightmare. I g-got a little… glooby. A bit. Haha! Ha…”
The little mailman eyes him skeptically. He looks a little worried. He hopes he isn't smoking.
Tenna really isn't sure how he’s going to explain that he’d freaked out just from waking up alone. He sees Spamton’s still closed fist, held protectively against his chest, and takes a chance. “Www- w- ugh, WHAT are you h-holding?”
After a moment of hesitation and another once over of his space and the taller monster, the little mailman brightens once more. The wide grin he’d walked in with returns, and he looks up at Tenna with so much happiness that the TV can’t help but feel a little excited. With a little flourish, Spamton holds up his hand and reveals a few pieces of gold, the small coins glinting lightly from Tenna’s light. “I made a [Final Sale Collection]!!”
Spamton opens his cooler, placing the coins inside. He looks incredibly proud of himself. “This is a [large or larger] step forward! If I can get consistent sales, I [dust mite] have enough to actually buy some paint instead of hoping for [[sum]] to [turnip]!”
Tenna gasps in genuine joy. “Sp- amton, this is AMAZING! HowWW much did you m-make?”
“7 [gold]!” Spamton says, placing his hands on his hips. “That lady didn’t even [Eviction Notice]-” Spamton cuts off. His glow dims significantly, and his bright expression shifts to a bitter scowl. Tenna doesn’t understand the sudden shift. “...Notice. The differences.”
…Angel, he’s tired. Tired of this emotional roller coaster, for both himself and for Spamton. Tenna should be trying to get his damn body in order (what did Spamton call him, trash heap? It’s terribly accurate) and Spamton should be celebrating his sale. Neither of them have time for this.
Luckily, he considers himself something of a professional when it comes to changing subjects. It’s not that much different from switching to a new channel. Shift focus, ask questions. Put on a different show. “What color will yo-ou buy?” he asks, as casually as possible. He moves to sit on the floor in front of the counter in the same way he had hours earlier, not wanting to tower over Spamton and giving his legs a break from supporting his weight.
The mailman perks up, though still seems somewhat downtrodden. “Blue. [ewe] said the sky is usually [You BLEW it!!]- blue. We can make the light that star you talked [aboat].”
What? We?
Maybe it was just a slip up.
…
But after his not so little freakout, he’s desperate for reassurance. “...We?”
Spamton shrugs. He looks nervous. “[well well well], yeah? It’s your place??”
“Nnn- nnn- no, it’s YOUR place. You put in all the work to make it look good! I n-never bothered with that… I just stayed here every now and then.”
“...So [user] aren’t [Ohhh he mad as hell!] about it??”
“No. I think it’s GREAT what you’ve done!”
And really, he does. Tenna has only ever associated this concrete cube with freezing, lonely nights of him desperately replaying broken memories on his screen of a time long lost. He’s glad Spamton took over in his absence. Though admittedly it's more for the fact that he isn’t completely by himself anymore. After months of barely surviving on his own, Spamton’s post office is a speckle of hope in a dull, sad life.
“Who do yYY- who did you sell to?” he continues to ask innocently. Distract, distract, distract. Distract Spamton, distract himself. From the fear and the loneliness, the uncertainty. “Who do you deliver letters to?”
Spamton’s glow brightens a bit. “My one and only [consumer]! She’s a lab [assistance].”
He rises from his place near his cooler, and deposits his bag and hat in the corner. The messenger bag hits the floor with an audible splat, which Spamton winces at. Over his shoulder, he continues, “As for [alphabets], I don’t deliver any… Yet. I need to get the [Visit Our Shop!] in order!”
That makes sense. Tenna’s impressed by what Spamton’s done with his old hideout with the materials available to him, but he can understand the mailman's want to make it neater. Any monster who hasn’t lived a portion of their lives in perpetual filth probably wouldn’t feel the same. “I think it looks nice! It’ll look even better with the blue paint.”
Spamton brightens at the praise. He smiles ear to ear, his eyes crinkling in excitement. He rushes back to the counter and sits down, beginning to ramble eagerly about everything he wants to do, fast enough that Tenna can barely comprehend all that he’s being told. The role is reversed, with Tenna now listening in attentive silence as Spamton rambles about mail orders and packages and other things he can’t quite understand. Tenna smiles genuinely at the sheer happiness and pride radiating from the little mailman. He should be proud of his recent sale and his shop.
And Tenna… Tenna can’t help but revel in actually being able to hear a voice other than his own. As happy as he was to tell him stories, he’s just as happy, if not more so, to listen to Spamton’s ranting.