Chapter Text
Stanley sat in his office, playing with the unactivated buttons, waiting to hear the Narrator speak like they normally do. A small smile on his face as he waited. SIlence followed as he pressed buttons for a bit, giving up and standing up from his squeaky chair.
“This is a story about a man named stanley.”
Ah,
I guess that triggered it. Music started playing as the Narrator spoke, the momolong they normally droned one about basically falling on deaf ears. After Stanley walked out his office, the more normal lines came out.
“All his coworkers were gone, what could this mean?”
He droned the British man's words out as he walked through all the lines, passing the multiple computers and touching his hand on the doors he walked past. Soon enough, he met the two door room. Stanley glided his hand against the plants in the corner, waiting for The Narrator to speak their lines.
“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he walked through the door on his left.”
Both doors were
closed
, not open. This caused a small panic to happen in Stanley, his body moving forward to the left door and rubbing his hand against it. He tried pushing it, shoving to no purpose. The Narrator didn't seem to notice or tell, as they continued to read off lines, faintly being spoken like
they
were behind the door. Later, more lines that would have been said (if Stanley had continued to walk as if he was going to do the freedom ending) were said.
It continued, even though Stanley was still in front of the left door. The Narrator's voice had soon seemed to get even fainter, following what they thought was Stanley going to an ending. Another small twinge went through Stanley's body, a shiver going down his spine. He felt a small bit of guilt run through him. Had he been too harsh for the last few runs? He had just gone in the broom closet and had chosen the countdown ending about 7 times in a row. Was this payback for Stanley's behavior? No! The narrator would never do this, would they? The serious room had a purpose, and was built for this reason. Stanley's mind began to wonder, a small bead of sweat running down his face. Was it hot in here? He pulled at his shirt, his mind sticking on the fact that he caused this. He pissed off the narrator. He was being an asshole. He was so fucking annoying. How did The Narrator even handle him? The Narrator probably fucking hated him. He was so fucking pathedic.
He had no endings. He was stuck being a sad little annoying asshole.
This thought struck Stanley as he stepped away from the door. It was silent. Purely silent with no Narrator in his ear telling him anything. Only his breathing and the AC were heard, numbing out Stanley's mind from any other thing. The breathing had made Stanley so fucking worried. It was his, most definitely. But the fact that he could hear his breathing, the heavy noises of him blowing air out his mouth. No music playing over it, no Narrator to talk over it? Not even the AC in the office could drown out the noise
It
terrified
stanley.
He always had the Narrator, it was his Narrator, someone who would always be around him. Yes, sometimes The Narrator would leave at times if Stanley refused to leave the broom closet, but they would come back at times worth! It was almost never just Stanley, he and the Narrator always had one another. and so Stanley had developed a fear of being left alone, it was really terrifying at parts. He felt his breathing start to spike, his chest starting to burn. He felt his eyes start to water. He hated silence, he hated being left alone, he hated everything happening right now. Stanley put a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat spike as well. Fuck, He felt his legs shake, his hand trembling on his chest.
Oh fuck. The last time Stanley felt like this was the skip button ending . It was supposed to be a joke, Stanley did not know that the Narrator would soon give up on waiting. It was supposed to be a joke! At first, hearing the mumble “The end is never the end ” scared stanley. But once the Narrator had just gone quiet? No sound except the buzzing of the broken lights, Stanley felt like he wanted to cry. But, he felt compelled. Ordered. Made to hit the button again.
Stanley started to breathe through his mouth again, uneven breaths coming out. He gripped his chest, shirt and tie crinkling up in his hand. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, his heartbeat going fucking crazy . He wanted- no, he needed the Narrator right now. He ran to the left door, holding on to the doorknob as his legs shook. He twisted and turned it, but again, it didn't open. Stanley let out a shaky sigh, trying again to open the door. Again, trying again, Stanley almost ripped off the doorknob in the process. Stanley felt a few tears fall from his eyes, his vision became blurry. He sat down, sitting next to the left door, tears falling from his eyes. He felt his breathing spike even more, a sick feeling going through him. He felt so tired, had it only been a few minutes? God, how long had he been stuck in the parable. Was he only thinking this because the Narrator was gone? The Narrator was really the only thing keeping Stanley sane, the only thing keeping Stanley from cracking. Stanley gripped his knees, pulling his legs to his chest.
He was so fucking tired, his chest hurt, his head felt dizzy and his breathing was so uneven. His head started to spin, his vision blacking out for a moment. Soon enough, the tiredness of the parable and the stress of missing the narrator got to him, his unconscious mind passing out.
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Meanwhile, with the narrator. They had been in the bosses office, annoyed that Stanley wasn’t putting code in, even after they had repeated it five different times. it was silent, and had been but the narrator hadn’t noticed the lack of footsteps from 427. A while later, the narrator sighed, and just opened the door for him, mumbling out a small curse as they flipped a page in their script. They continued their lines, the blank slot of what the narrator thought was Stanley followed the voice. Soon they had made it up to the control room, where Stanley had to press a few buttons to reach the on and off. But, after a few uncomfortable silent minutes, the narrator perked up from their chair.
“Stanley?” They mumbled, leaning over their desk to get a closer look.
They hadn't really been paying attention to this point, they were just happy that Stanley was following. The narrator took their yellow wire rimmed glasses off, wiping it with the edge of their collar, looking back to see that Stanley was indeed gone. They were flabbergasted at the sight of an empty room, looking around again. How long had the man been gone? Had they just been talking to themselves for the last few minutes?
The Narrator sat back in their seat, wiping their face as they stood. Maybe Stanley just wasn't in frame! They walked over to their elevator, pressing a unique code they made to access lower levels. ‘ Up, up, down, up, down, down, both.’ They reminded themselves, pressing both buttons and the elevator started to move down. The Narrator was at least two stories up from the office, the other story (Between stanley and the Narrator) was an exact copy of the office, just having unused code or items spawned in instead of normal items. The computers were later models and more advanced. The chairs were more comfortable but Stanley never sat in his anyways, so it went unused.
As the narrator passed that office, they started to hum to the elevator music, occasionally letting out a ‘ Stan-ley ’. By the time that they had made it down to the main level, the Narrator was getting quite worried. It had honestly been way too quiet in the office, but yet again the Narrator didn't notice because they were happy Stanley was following the story. They stepped out the elevator, looking around the bosses office to find their protagonist, walking around different corners of the room to see if he had hidden. They mumbled a ‘no’ to themselves as they peered under the desk, closing the drawer that had been leaning on. The Narrator walked to the middle of the office, crossing their arms for a second before putting them behind their back.
“Okay, stanley. This isn't funny anymore.” They said,
A long pregnant pause followed after, the narrator's words echoing off the walls. They moved to office doors, opening them with their hands. Ugh, it felt weird actually moving in the office again. When was the last time they did it? A decade? All they knew was that they needed to find stanley. They ignored their thoughts, moving through the small passage before the stairs.
‘ Ugh, the stairs. Horrible thoughts of the stairs.’ they mumbled, taking small steps to make sure they didn't fall off. After the zending they gained a fear of stairs. I know right! Stupid for a narrator to be scared of some messily object. Still, the narrator gripped the railing of the stairs, their hands shaking against the metal. They cursed under their breath as they finally made it down the flight of stairs. They walked around the area, looking for Stanley once again. Once they found out Stanley may have just hid in the broom closet, they made their way there. The narrator made their way down the hallway, putting their arms back behind their back. They made it to the broom closet, taking a moment to breathe. Hey! They sit at a desk all day, they don't get much cardio! The being knocked on the broom closet, waiting for Stanley to open the door or make an odd noise. Silence followed after, interrupted by the small thumping of the narrator's foot tapping against the carpet floor.
The narrator knocked on the door again, a slight harder tone to it. “Stanley, will you please open the door before I come in myself?” They said in a sing-song tone, leaning against the broom closet. Eventually they got bored of waiting for the office man, opening the door themselves to find only an empty closet. “Stanley?” They said, peeking their head into the small area to see if Stanley was maybe hiding like he always does? No, not here. The Narrator almost slammed the door shut, their face turning red. Where could Stanley have been? He wouldn't have stopped near the doors, right? Maybe the narrator was just off focus today. They were pretty upset by the fact that Stanley had sat in front of the buttons just to turn the building on. Yes, the countdown let the narrator let out their feelings with a physical blow but, truly, they just wanted peace. Maybe the zending would help? No, no, that's ridiculous. No zending. Then what could possibly help? The narrator cut off their train of thoughts as they made it to the left door, jiggling the handle and realizing that they had to open the door themselves.
The god thought for a moment, the door opening without a second thought. It had been harder, yes, Stanley may have just moved a plant. Narrator walked through the door, not noticing the fact Stanley had been unconscious next to it until they had turned around to close the door. The narrator had let out a gasp, putting a hand over their mouth as their eyes widened. How had they not noticed that Stanley had passed out? I mean, they should have noticed! Was Stanley just there the whole time? What-- or who truly-- had they been narrating this whole time? Oh my god, they were truly just talking to themselves. What caused Stanley to pass out? Why hasn't he progressed in the story? These kinds of questions filled the narrator's head as they crouched down to stanley's level, putting their hand against the passed out man's cheek. They stood again, their hands rubbing together to try to make a plan.
A thought came to their head, a small smile coming onto their face. The narrator opened the right door, mentally preparing for the weight they had to pick up. They walked back over to 427, a deep sigh coming out of their mouth as they tried to pick the man up. They swore under their breath as they heaved him onto their back. Their knees almost buckled under them as they tried to make their way to the right door.
They heaved a heavy sigh as they entered the doorway, making the long path (not exactly long, but try carrying a 34 year old man down a hallway.
Soon enough the narrator did make it to the employee lounge, placing Stanley down on one of the couches. The being sighed as they cracked their backs, groaning and sitting next to stanley. The sight of Stanley being -- what the narrator would like to call asleep, unconscious -- seems too aggressive-- so calm, seeing his chest heave up and down in a way that didn’t make him look like he had just ran up flights of stairs. It gave the narrator some sort of comfort that Stanley was being calm, even if he was passed out. The narrator felt more at peace looking at Stanley's sleep. They mumbled a curse as they thought more about the man, their face turning red in some way.
God, how long had they spent with him? It had only been a few minutes with the new human body of course but in total? The years the two had spent together, Stanley running across all areas of the office as the narrator spoke for him. It had to be years by this point, hadn't it? The narrator remembered a phrase that they had told themselves when the parable first started. ‘ A reset equals a day.’ When they had first made that mechanic, they kept a notebook, tallying the times Stanley either died or caused a reset. Eventually the idea had gotten boring, the narrator getting annoyed of having to tally everytime Stanley had done the zending. Soon enough they had just ditched the whole idea itself. The notebooks that they had tallied up around 2486, or around 7 years worth of resets. When the narrator hit the 8 year mark, they tried again but to no avail when Stanley started staying in the broom closet. Anyways, the narrator rubbed their face when they felt it getting hot, mumbling a curse.
The narrator walked over to the vending machine, waving their hand and summoning two code filled soda cans. Stanley would always beg them to give him soda but the narrator never agreed. It was possible, of course, they just didn't want stanley to waste the resets to just spam spawn soda. They walked back to the couch stanley was still passed on, putting the sodas on the side wooden table and sitting down next to the man. They just stared at him for a moment, they had never really gotten to see Stanley that close up. From the space between them, the narrator could see the little freckles that they had drawn onto the man when they first designed him. They wondered if Stanley still had the freckles on his back, or maybe even his arms? Not a while after the zending had become a thing, Stanley almost always covered his arms. Was there a reason? No, Stanley would never. But still. If he did, hadn't he trusted the narrator enough to basically tell them anything? Yes, maybe the narrator does put him in a room for years on end, and blow him up, and tell him to kill himself, but still! The narrator found a frown on his face as they looked back at 427. Were they rude to him? The narrator didn't really understand human emotions, but they still tried to help stanley. That's the main reason why they stopped caring when stanley went to the broom closet, it was most likely a safe space for the man. Did stanley think that the narrator didn't care about stanley?
The narrator made a small noise when they heard Stanley move slightly in his slumber, putting a hand over their hand over their mouth. Stanley mumbled something in his sleep, turning over to his side. The narrator let out a small huff as they put their hand to their chest, looking at the wall. Maybe they should wake Stanley up. It felt weird for it to be quiet. Well, not really. But, knowing that they could end it by waking the office worker was a bit uncomfortable. The silence made them feel uncomfortable. Screw it. They stood up, moving to stand in front of where Stanley was sleeping. The narrator let out a sigh as they went to shake Stanley's shoulder. After a few moments of the small shakes, Stanley stirred up, quickly blinking before shooting up to a sitting position.
The narrator froze for a second as Stanley looked at them like a deer in headlights. The staring contest stayed between them for a few seconds before Stanley stood. He raised a hand, moving it back to his side as he really didn't have anything to say-- or think in his case. The narrator didn't speak either, keeping their hand in front of their waist. Stanley took a deep breath and sighed, looking around the room then back to the narrator. A small shock was seen in his eyes as he had seen the narrator as a human, soon realizing that he had also not been in the two doors room. The narrator saw the shock in 427s eyes, taking a small step back before adjusting their glasses.
“Erm, stanley. I had noticed that you were not in the boss's office and had found you passed out. I want to at least know what happened.”
Stanley looked at the narrator for a few moments, raking the distant memories of what had happened before he had woken up. He sighed, crossing his arms behind his back.
‘ I, uhm. Don’t really want to talk about it.’
This response got the British man to sigh, letting their shoulders fall down.
“Stanley, please. I am genuinely trying to know. I care about you, stanley.”
Stanley just stared at the narrator, seemingly getting tense. He huffed, looking down.
‘I just dont want to talk about it right now.’
The narrator sucked in a breath, curling their fingers against their thigh. They just sigh, letting their head hang.
“We can talk about this when you are ready, Stanley. Okay?”
‘
Okay.’