Chapter Text
Prologue
In the beginning, there is nothing, for a moment. It is just darkness. There is no noise except a small buzzing, a muffled crackling not unlike television static. Then its eyes open.
Beautiful Dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull'd by the moonlight have all passed away!
There is music. It’s coming from nowhere in particular, playing softly in the back of its mind. It remembers this song but it doesn’t know how. Or from where.
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng
It doesn’t know where it is and it doesn’t like it. It’s mostly black here, an inky void it is swimming in. It cannot move or speak but it can feel the darkness pulsing, pulling it close. It gravitated toward it.
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
The song is getting louder now. It feels the vibrations all around itself. The music hums through it and it has the capability to at least hum with it. It sounds like an echo when it does.
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,
Mermaids are chanting the wild Lorelei;
Over the stream let vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
It doesn’t know what or who it is. There are no memories beyond waking up here even though it feels like there should be. It had a name, this it knows, and a body, and a home.
Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E'en as the morn on the stream let and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
It searches for answers in the depths until one appears. It sees something in the darkness and it is pulled toward it. There are two windows that stare into its soul and suddenly it knows. And there was light.
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
You gritted your teeth, gripping your steering wheel tight until your knuckles were pale. Just perfect. The last thing you needed today was to be stuck in a traffic jam. You shouldn’t have been so surprised, it was the end of the work day and you should have expected that you’d be stuck between countless cars with drivers also trying to get back home.
With a sigh, you leaned back in your seat and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to regain your composure. You just needed to calm down. Maybe some music could help.
As you moved slowly across the road, inch by inch, you turned the dial to your radio. Some music blasted through the speakers, something too peppy for you to handle right now, and you switched channels. The next was playing a song that was much more calm, an idyllic slow tune that you didn’t recognize. It was some old love song but it was pretty catchy, so you let your mood slowly shift as you listened.
“Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me,” the radio hummed. Your fingers tapped against the wheel to the beat subconsciously. “Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me.”
The song faded out with a beautiful melody until the last of your nerves fizzled out and then were gone. You sighed as you finally managed to recollect yourself.
You’d just gotten fired from your last job. Literally, just fired. Your boss decided to wait until the last minute while you were finishing your shift to tell you. It didn’t matter that you’d been loyal to that job for years, that you’d turned down much better offers before in hopes your hard work would get paid off eventually, or that you had absolutely nothing lined up to do now. You knew you should’ve been working another job just in case something like this happened-
You groaned dramatically and then shook your head. As much as you’d love to revel in your boiling anger a while longer, you really needed to come up with a plan. You had rent due for the month, groceries to buy, bills to pay…
The weight of the world seemed to crash onto your shoulders as the panic settled back in so you turned the radio up in hopes to drown out your thoughts. There was currently a break between songs with some infomercials and an L.A. traffic update (go figure) and you were close to just giving up on listening completely when the radio announcer’s voice suddenly came back.
“-And a hot topic for today, beloved children's seventies television program, Welcome Home, will be making its colorful return this Saturday,” he said, tone gruff.
You raised a brow. Welcome Home? That sure sounded familiar, though you weren’t sure as to why.
“That’s right, James!” another voice jumped in, this one much perkier. “Be sure to tune in to this delightful reboot of a classic show, sure to enthrall all viewers, especially your kiddos at home!”
The announcer went on to prattle off some network and cable times to watch the premiere, which you paid no mind to. You were still trying to remember where you knew the show from.
“Lovely, Jessie. Now back to your jams-”
Their voices faded away as a new song started to play but you were too busy thinking to pay attention.
You vaguely recalled watching Welcome Home on some videotapes your mother had saved from her youth. You didn’t watch much so it made sense you didn’t remember the show all too well—heck, you were surprised you recognized the name at all. It was a puppet show akin to Sesame Street and it was supposed to be educational for children, that much you knew. Other than that, your mind went blank.
You laughed to yourself. Now, why would they want to bring that old thing back?
You hadn’t thought about that show in ages and no one around you ever seemed to bring it up. Surely if they were doing it for nostalgia’s sake they’d be sorely disappointed. Besides, wasn’t it just for kids anyway? No kid was going to recognize those puppets, not if you barely could.
You scoffed, hands tapping on the wheel as you were deep in thought. Remakes always leave a bad taste in your mouth. Really, Hollywood’s little shtick of rebooting old, almost dare you say, lost programs for a quick buck was getting to be too much like beating a dead horse at this point. It was just sad…
Eventually, the traffic became less congested somehow and you were able to drive the rest of the way home peacefully—er, as peacefully as you could. Leftover anger and resentment still fueled you as you resolved to head up to your apartment for the night, likely to cry into a tub of ice cream while watching trashy television until you fell asleep.
After that, though, you had to rush into job searching. There wasn’t much you could do as an art school dropout with no other credentials to your name, leaving you to pick through the leftover jobs usually reserved for high school students working part-time after school. This wasn’t too encouraging as you scrolled through hiring websites, endlessly scanning them on your laptop for the next few days. Your roommates, for the most part, were kind enough to leave you alone to search.
This evening you were taking a break to zone out and half-watch an old western playing on the TV, half-clip your nails after realizing how badly you've been neglecting your hygiene since your unemployment.
It was then when one of your roommates, Ronnie, came into the apartment, a box in hand. She practically crashed through the door, surprising you as you accidentally clipped a nail too short and it snapped off, flying somewhere in the room. You quickly turned your attention back to the movie, pretending like you hadn’t just lost part of your fingernail on the floor of your shared apartment. No, not at all.
“Hey!” she called to you, moving to sit beside you on the couch. “Whatchya watchin’ there?”
You shrugged, setting down the nail clippers and readjusting yourself. “I don’t know. It was just there when I turned it on.”
She nodded, hardly paying attention. “Neat. Anyways-”
Ronnie placed the cardboard box in her hands on the coffee table. You sent her a sideways glance.
“Well?” she smiled brightly. “Don’t you want to know what’s inside?”
“No, not really,” you told her bluntly.
She lightly shoved your shoulder with a laugh. “You’re so funny!”
Your mouth twitched. You weren’t trying to be funny.
Ronnie went ahead and opened the box anyway. A small cloud of dust rose from it when the flaps were opened and you coughed.
“What?” you sputtered. “How old is this thing?”
“Ancient,” Ronnie joked. She brushed away the thin layer of dust covering the contents inside and whistled. “I got it from some antique store downtown.”
You looked down at the box with a frown. Inside, there was a smaller, red plastic box, unopened after all these years. It was decorated with seventies-era cartoon drawings.
“What is it?”
“It’s some old toy,” Ronnie mused. She picked up the box, blew off the dust still coating it, and smiled. You could see now it said ‘Welcome Home’ on the outside and resisted the urge to huff. “Like one of those fake phone things, I think.”
She showed it to you proudly and you looked at the red toy telephone inside through the plastic, clear window on the front of the box, adorned with a rainbow-colored dial and colorful stripes on the edges. You leaned back, unamused.
You groaned. “What? Welcome Home?”
“You’ve heard of it?” She turned to you, surprised.
“I heard it’s getting a stupid reboot on the radio, yeah,” you huffed. “Really, who cared enough to greenlight that?”
“Well, I think it’s pretty cool,” Ronnie hummed, ignoring your sour attitude. “The show is pretty much a lost media at this point, hardly anything about it exists anymore.”
“So why make a reboot of it?” You went back to clipping your nails, knowing Ronnie wouldn’t mind.
Your roommate shrugged. “I don’t know but don’t you think it’s cool at all?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that a toy for kids anyway?”
Ronnie’s shoulders slumped. “No… I mean, it’s gotta be, like, fifty years old now. So it’s more of an antique.”
You arched an eyebrow and focused back on your nails, seemingly having nothing more to say on the matter. Ronnie opened her mouth after a second or two only to be interrupted by the sound of her phone chiming. She pulled it out of her pocket and her eyes widened upon seeing the screen.
“Oh! I almost forgot about TJ’s party. I have to go!” She launched off the couch in a sudden hurry while you didn’t even flinch. “Aren’t you coming?”
You shook your head. “Nope. Busy job-searching, remember?”
“You look pretty busy,” she said, sarcastic. You stuck your tongue out at her. “You need to get out there more, you know. You can’t just stay on this couch forever.”
“Yes, I know.” You rolled your eyes. “Hence the job-searching.”
Ronnie shrugged, having officially given up on you, and sashayed away to her room, leaving you alone. The sounds of the TV were nothing but white noise at this point as you returned to your peace, mentally going over which jobs you should try applying to next. That’s when you heard the phone ring.
The ringing was muffled, hauntingly so. It was ominous, seemingly coming from nowhere as your blood started pumping faster while it echoed on. At first, your head swiveled to that stupid toy phone Ronnie left behind. Paranoia overcame you as your heart jumped at the thought that your roommate had brought an old, haunted telephone home with her.
That was before you felt the buzzing coming from your pocket. With a sigh of relief, you fished your phone out before staring at the screen showcasing a number you did not recognize. Whatever fear you had was washed away by excitement—this could very well be one of the positions you’d applied for already calling and asking for an interview! Without hesitation, you accepted the call, pressing the phone to your ear anxiously.
“Hello?” you spoke, voice hopeful.
For a second, there was only silence on the other end. Then, suddenly there was the sound of shallow breathing. You stood still, listening to the breathing slowly grow louder, staggered and dry, and you felt as though it was breathing right into your ear.
You frowned. You hated prank calls and prepared to hang up until there was the sound of a voice.
“Hi, Stacy. It’s Wally.”
You rolled your eyes. Figured.
“Sorry, wrong number,” was all you said before moving your finger to hang up.
The voice stopped you again. “Oh! My apologies! I was only trying to reach my agent!” they chuckled.
Your finger hovered over the button that would end the call. There was something strange about the way they spoke. Their voice was nice, very kind, and smooth but slightly monotone. It was an interesting combination but it wasn’t bad in the slightest. In fact, it was oddly soothing. Not soothing enough to keep you on the line, though.
“Do you know her, by any chance?”
“Who?” You blinked.
“Stacy. My agent.”
You resisted the urge to scoff into the receiver. Why would you know some random guy’s agent?
“Nope.” You kept your tone stern, hoping the stranger would get the hint and leave you alone.
“Ah. Well then, sorry again!” My, their voice was chipper for it being nine o’clock at night. “Have a good evening…?”
You didn’t bother giving them your name. “Good night, Walter.”
Finally, you hit the end call button.
It wasn’t until you slumped against your sofa again did you felt guilty for being so rude. It wasn’t a stranger’s fault that you were fired, after all, but you needed to take your recent anger out on someone, you reasoned. Besides, it’s not like you’d ever talk to them ever again.
You resolved to continue your job-searching not too long after, occupying your thoughts with resumes and applications. The next morning, you’d wake up, forgetting all about the weird phone call, tending to breakfast and a hungover Ronnie, convinced life was somehow the same as it always was.
Ronnie left that god-awful telephone toy on the mantle of your shared living room. You reminded her loudly that it was also your space and asked her how you would explain it when you had guests over. She, in turn, reminded you the apartment never had any guests aside from TJ, since no one else living here had any friends.
“It’s true,” Ray, your other roommate said, seemingly unaware he was being made fun of too.
That, in combination with the fact you hadn’t left the couch in ages, was enough motivation to go out today. You were running low on groceries anyway and a nice shopping trip might do you good. This is what you told yourself, at least, as you threw on a light jacket and headed outside to get some fresh air.
The city was nice this time of year when fall weather allowed things to cool a bit. As much as it could in L.A., anyway. You walked the bustling streets, so full of life as always, enjoying your walk and getting lost in your own head, hardly minding the faces of passersby or any of your other surroundings. You found yourself relaxing more and more the longer you walked until you abruptly stopped, realizing you’d forgotten why you were out in the first place.
Groceries. You needed groceries. Luckily, there was a bodega nearby that you came by less than often, only because it was a little out of your way. Your walk had done good to get you out of your head, though, and you began the short trek to where you knew the store was. You’d forgotten the name of the place until now. (Cowboy’s? Yeehaw? Something remotely Southern-sounding…) You found it again and peered at the sign.
Ah. Howdy’s Place.
It was heavily decorated on the outside with signs displaying the latest sales and deals and cute drawings of caterpillars in apples. The whole building was vibrant, in fact, with a bright blue color painted over some rustic bricks and awnings with red-and-white stripes. Much more welcoming than your usual grocery store.
You stepped inside after admiring the store window for a bit, relishing the cool air that hit your face like a mist. The place was somewhat busy with the sounds of chatter and beeping from the check-out filling your ears. Something sweet played over the store speakers that sounded vaguely like a sixties crooner and you listened to it with a small smile. You realized this was the most relaxed you felt in a long while.
Grabbing a cart and throwing your bag inside, you started to scour the aisles, interested to see what they had. The first time you came here you’d just happened to be around and in the mood for a hotdog. Apparently, they were popular here. The second time, you’d wanted to try it out for grocery shopping but decided it wasn’t worth the hassle of crossing town.
You went over your mental checklist of things to get, ignoring the fact you’d neglected to write down a list at home because you forgot to as you wracked your brain. You scanned the products as you walked idly through, picking things out, putting them in the cart, and taking note of them on your imaginary list as you went along. There was milk—check—and bread—check—but you still needed to get some fruits and veggies. After a whole week of eating nothing but ramen, your body needed the nutrition. So, you made your way to the produce section and you found a rather promising batch of apples.
They were Red Delicious apples all stacked in a crate, true to their name with their ruby red color and juicy-looking enough that you got hungry just looking at them. You pushed your cart towards the bin and reached a hand to grab some-
When your hand touched something else instead. Another hand.
There was a small laugh. You instinctively pulled back and turned your head toward the person beside you, who withdrew their hand from the apples too. You were met with the sight of a stranger, a small man shorter than you with a pleasant smile and kind eyes. He had bright, blue hair styled into a sort of pompadour, which you immediately noticed, and was wearing a matching cardigan and red ascot that threw you off-guard.
Did you actually step into a portal that was a gateway to the seventies? You looked around you from side to side but nothing else seemed out of place. Just him.
“Hello,” he greeted with a chuckle, seemingly amused by your confusion. “Are you alright?”
His eyes bore into yours. They were the kind that were so dark brown that they almost looked black, blending in with the pupils into two black pits. He held your gaze stronger than you might’ve liked but not in any way that seemed ill-intentioned, more like he was trying very hard to be polite. It wasn’t a horrible sight to look at, though, so you brushed off the uncomfortable nature of his staring in your mind.
You faced him and mustered a polite smile. “I’m fine.” You looked back at the apples and picked one from the bunch. “Sorry for getting in your way.”
As soon as you moved, the stranger took an apple too. He didn’t have a cart or anything, so he just held it close to his chest. You flicked your eyes toward him again and this time when he spoke, you recognized him.
“It’s no trouble,” he said with that same smile on his face. You took a second to realize there was the tiniest gap between his two front teeth.
“You sound familiar.” Your abrupt comment surprised even you, as you hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but now that you had you might as well elaborate. “Are you Walter? From the phone?”
“Oh! It’s you!” Wally’s eyes seemed to shine as he took you in again. “It’s just Wally, actually.”
“Right.” You recalled the nickname with a raised eyebrow. He must be very partial to it.
“I never got your name.”
“I never gave it, I guess.”
You hadn’t wanted to and you never thought you would’ve met Wally again, especially in a random grocery store in downtown Los Angeles. But here you were and, without thinking, you stuck out your hand for him to shake. You introduced yourself and Wally didn’t seem to care that a handshake was a bit too formal, which you hadn’t thought about until you pulled away. Maybe Wally’s retro appearance was confusing you.
“How did your talk with your agent go?” you asked after an awkward beat of silence.
It was the whole reason he called you in the first place, after all, albeit by accident. And you didn’t have any ideas for another conversation starter.
“Just swell.” Wally’s free hand moved to rest in his pocket. His pants were brown khakis and his shoes were sharp and black, probably Oxfords, a stark contrast to the rest of his colorful attire. “I apologize for disturbing you again.”
Your cheeks flushed when it occurred to you how short and rude you’d been with him and you shook your head. This pained you because seeing him in person, he really was quite charming.
“No, it’s okay. You caught me at a bad time, that’s all.”
You inwardly cringed at the thought of your unemployment and your cart full of groceries. Technically, you were still having a bad time.
“Ah. I’m sorry about that, neighbor.” Wally tilted his head.
“Neighbor?” you repeated, a bit baffled.
“Oh.” Wally’s eyes widened and he laughed a little at his own mistake. “Sorry. That’s just what I call people. The show has worked the phrase into my vocabulary.”
“What show?”
It was by now that you realized you should be minding your business instead of being so loose-lipped. You had shopping to finish, but Wally acted so strangely, between his outfit and funny manner of speaking, you were curious. Besides, you reasoned inside your head, you needed to socialize anyway. That was the whole point of you getting outside more.
“Welcome Home,” Wally happily answered. His expression brightened as he went on to explain. “I’m an actor in it, you see. That’s why I was trying to get in touch with Stacy.”
“Oh my god.”
You felt a headache coming on just from remembering the buzz over the new reboot. You heard the annoying, chirpy voice of Ronnie’s in your head, the stupid radio announcer’s-
You were hardly able to process Wally worked for it when you said, “You’re kidding. That show?”
“Yes.” Wally didn’t seem to pick up on your annoyance as he continued. “I’m the new host.”
“Host?” you repeated, dumbfounded. Just great. Your interaction had been going so well too.
“I’m the only human actor on set, actually. Except for when we have guest stars.”
You suddenly felt you had enough being outside time and pushed your cart in the opposite direction of Wally with a huff. He followed you anyway, his one apple in hand.
At this point, you were doing your best to tune him out. Thoughts about toy telephones and stupid, new reboots consumed your mind, making you feel panicky. He rambled on as you frustratedly threw a box of sugary cereal into the cart. It hit the bottom loudly, for good measure.
He kept talking. “The rest are puppeteers for the other characters. They’re very kind-”
You turned to him after tossing in canned vegetables for the fifth time and frowned.
“So, you’re the face of that lame reboot? Is that why you’re dressed like that?” There was spite in your voice that Wally didn't seem to notice.
“Oh no.” Wally took a second to look down at himself, unfazed. “Today’s my day off.”
That left you with more questions than answers but you decided not to ask any of them. You rubbed your forehead and sighed in an attempt to quell your growing nerves.
“Goodbye, Wally,” you told him and pushed the cart forward. You hoped that would help him get the hint.
You didn’t bother to face him when he replied.
“Goodbye,” he repeated. His smile hadn’t wavered. “When can I see you again?”
You stopped in your tracks before eyeing him warily. Wally seemed like a nice enough fellow. It wasn’t anything personal, you just didn’t want to be associated with that show, especially now that you were living with Ronnie’s artifact toy from it. You had a feeling you would have enough reminders of Welcome Home to last a lifetime.
“What?” you grumbled. “What do you mean?”
“We should talk again,” Wally stated, as though it were obvious. “We were becoming such good friends.”
You wouldn’t put the ‘friends’ label on your relationship quite yet. Hell, you spoke for five minutes, tops. You were barely even acquaintances. Besides, why would an actor in L.A. want to be friends with you?
“I don’t know. I’m pretty busy,” you lied. Well, unless you counted your job applications.
“With what?” Wally stood still. He looked genuinely curious but that didn’t ease your frustration.
“Finding a job,” you finally said.
Wally mouthed an, “Oh,” and looked away. When he didn’t say anything, you thought that was that and moved to your cart. You were just trying to think of what else you needed before you should go check out when Wally piped up.
“You’re looking for work?”
“Yes.” You fought yourself to not speak between gritted teeth. You didn’t want to regret being too mean to this guy a second time. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Wally seemed to think for another second before nodding. “I don’t know what kind of job you want, but I might be able to help, neighbor.”
You cast a curious glance toward him. Taking help from this random stranger may not be the most ideal way to go about your search but you were desperate.
“Go on.”
Wally smiled and then gestured around him. “Howdy’s Place,” he said confidently and it took you a moment to realize what he meant. He was suggesting you work here. “I’m a dear friend of the owner. I could put in a good word for you and-”
“Wait,” you interrupted, skeptical. “You know Howdy?”
“Yup!” Wally nodded with a chuckle. “I knew him even before he had this place. I visit him all the time. Like now.”
“Oh.” You arch your eyebrows as realization hit you. “Oh.”
Working as an employee at a local grocery store was definitely not what you were expecting after your last job. It was out of your line of work and you weren’t sure you would like to deal with the customers here but you shouldn’t be picky right now, the walk here had been nice and Wally was basically offering you a job on a silver platter-
And he was still standing there, waiting for you to say something.
“Yes,” you answered and then broke out into a smile. “Yes, I’d like that.”