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“Why didn’t you tell me anything sooner?!”
The Narrator quickly turned to scolding Stanley in the two doors room after Stanley finished telling him about a few of his interactions with the settings (or rather, the person behind those settings now revealed to, in fact, be a person) that may have led up to the recent takeover of the parable.
Frankly, Stanley didn’t think it was fair that he had to be the first to explain anything before hearing from the Narrator, who must know more about the sudden changes to the game and the setting's unexplained expansion of power. It’s just that, well, after the Narrator came running and yelling his name with a desperation that told Stanley the old brit was prepared to search every inch of the office to make sure he was still there, Stanley felt as though he had to answer whatever questions the Narrator threw out in that state of panic to calm him down.
Of course, and as always, a few questions turned into a dozen, which turned into an interrogation which-
[I didn’t have much reason to! They were harmless!] Stanley signed back, baffled at the Narrator’s nerve to be upset with him when the Narrator was the one who-
“Excuse me?! I am very much in the right to be upset with you!” The Narrator scoffed. “You hid all of that from me! Even the space between reboots! In fact, I’d go as far as to say that everything that’s happening right now is your fault!”
My fault!? Stanley let out a silent but clearly offended gasp with barely contained rage bubbling up inside him.
“Yes, Stanley! Your fault! And I’m beyond disappointed in you for it!” The Narrator continued while Stanley just stared at him, unblinking in disbelief. “If you had simply not played that thing’s games and kept your wits about you then-”
[Then what?] Stanley shot out, nearly throwing his head back from the sheer amount of annoyance he felt this argument was going to cause him. [They just wouldn’t have gotten the power to do all this?]
“Exactly, Stanley! That’s quite literally the reason!” The Narrator snapped as if it were such an obvious fact. “The second you sided with that thing, even for a split second, it grew the strength to break out. Strength that you were never meant to give it!”
Stanley’s stomach dropped. No, that couldn’t be true, that- That doesn’t even make any sense—!
But then, Stanley recalled the encounter between him and the settings person that followed his time in the desert. A bit more vividly now, Stanley remembered the sounds of mechanical creaking, as if a gear turned in succession to his decision to click “Let’s do it.”
Something so simple let the settings person out? Set them free and tilted whatever higher scales existed in their favor?
So, this… This really was all him?
“There you go. Finally connecting the dots, are you? Looks like you still have some brain left in there after all,” the Narrator was pacing about with his arms crossed, a hand left out to make small gestures to accompany his words; Stanley would have found the mannerism endearing in less infuriating circumstances. “And, I mean, really? Actually, agreeing to ‘run this game into the ground?’ ‘Who cares if people hate it?’ How could you possibly have found sense in that, Stanley?”
[It wasn’t that hard to do.] Stanley signed with a bitterness he’s been holding back for a while now. He was not to blame for this. This was not all Stanley, and he wouldn’t let the Narrator frame it as such.
“Oh really? Would you care to elaborate?” Stanley absolutely hated that condescending tone in the Narrator’s voice. “Go on, Stanley. Tell me how this is my fault.”
He should. Stanley should go into extreme depth on how it was the Narrator who pushed him down that path.
He should, and he fucking will.
[You were going to leave all of this!] Stanley nearly signed “You were going to leave me” but decided against it very quickly. He’d avoid sounding overly dependent when he could. [You were going to abandon this world- This game after deciding you’ve had enough of it. You said you didn’t need me anymore-]
“Stanley, I told you I would never do that! I never even said those words!” The Narrator defended himself just as he had during the conflict in the meeting room.
[You did! You just forgot it all and] As Stanley let himself get more and more worked up, his control over his hands worsened, and getting his words out became more effort than it was worth considering the whole thought-reading thing he never liked relying on. [And I’m not going to blame you for something that you might as well have never done, but the fact still is you-!]
Stanley threw his hands down in frustration and gave up on signing. Fine, thoughts it is.
You still see me as a toy for your entertainment!
“Stanley, that is not true! I-”
Isn’t it? Stanley thought. You thought the same of the settings- No, 432 before creating me, and honestly, with all you put them through I’m not even remotely sorry for freeing them. If I were just slightly more stubborn to the point where it was more frustrating than fun, you would have started all over again-
“Oh, wow, you actually listened to all that nonsense!” The Narrator rubbed the inner corner of his eyebrow as if Stanley was giving him a migraine with unnecessary complaints, then dragged that same hand down his face. “I don’t know why I expected better-”
[But it’s true isn’t it!?] Stanley got back to signing.
“I don’t see you as a toy, Stanley!” The Narrator articulated with an eye roll. "You're too blatantly sentient for that..."
Stanley didn’t like the emphasis the other put on the word toy. It felt like the Narrator was implying he saw Stanley as something else less than a person.
[Look me in the eyes and tell me that if you could go back to the way you were before] Stanley decided to use the Narrator’s own words against him, even if the storyteller couldn’t remember saying them at all. [Passionate, skeptical, making your own decisions-]
“How did you-?”
[Tell me honestly, would you still stick around?] Stanley decided to not let the Narrator intercept him getting his point through. [Would you still want me? Would you or would you not toss me away to collect dust in a deteriorating office map?!]
“Stanley,” it took the Narrator’s hands firmly placed on his shoulders for Stanley to realize how much he’d been shaking. Something to ground him long enough to realize how fast his heart was beating.
The pacifying look in the Narrator’s eyes as he held Stanley still to face him almost convinced the protagonist that the Narrator had come down from his high horse to be completely clear with him.
Almost.
“It doesn’t matter what I would do then... It won’t happen. I couldn’t possibly-” Just one answer to one of his questions, was that too much to ask for? Stanley really didn't think so. One answer to one of his questions instead of answering an adjacent one and acting like everything's just fine? Was that so fucking difficult?
Stanley twisted his body away from the Narrator, tearing the other’s hands off him.
[Then fucking tell me what the hell I am to you!] Stanley signed when he felt the amount of space he'd put between them was enough. When Stanley wasn’t using his hands to speak, he was digging the nails of one hand into the back of the other. The anger in him had to go somewhere.
“St-Stanley, what kind of question is that?” There was enough hesitation in the Narrator’s voice to let Stanley know that the Narrator had been avoiding transparency on purpose and planned to do the same right now. “You’re this game's protagonist, the leading role for every possible route-”
I asked you one simple question, Narrator, and I want you to give me a straight goddamn answer. Stanley’s gaze turned ice cold, rivaling the arctic chill of the dark desert nights he suffered in solitude; it was a stark contrast to the fire in them seconds ago. He wasn’t entertaining this charade any longer. He’d wear himself out if he did. If the Narrator planned to test him again, he’d be out of this room without so much of a second thought.
“Stanley, hold on! I-” It seemed that the “threat” was enough to displace the Narrator.
Go on. Stanley waited with a limited amount of patience while the Narrator hesitated, fidgeting as his eyes darted around the room to examine everything but Stanley.
Five, four, Stanley began to count down in his head. Three, two-
“Stanley, I understand that you’re hurt,” the Narrator got started. It was a good enough start for Stanley to stay.
Something like that, yes, Stanley thought.
“And our relationship isn’t one that’s ever been exactly spelled out-”
Nope.
“So, it makes sense that you’d question how much I care about you if not told directly-”
Continue.
“And I do care about you! A tremendous amount! You matter so much to me, Stanley!”
Stanley let his guard down, just a bit. He stopped staring down the other with forced disinterest and fell into that skillfully painted possibility for just a moment. Really? He asked himself, with more hope than he should have allowed himself to feel.
“But,” of course there had to be more. Of-fucking-course there was more, “Stanley, you have to understand how hard what you’re asking me to do here is-”
I’m asking you to tell me what I mean to you. I don’t understand the issue. Stanley thought, but clearly, the Narrator believed following the improvised script in his head was more important than responding to that.
“I mean- A beloved creation of mine, you definitely are, and sometimes I will admit I value you more than that but-”
Please, stop talking, Stanley did not let that thought surface nor the one that was prepared to follow it. Please, just let me have that and that alone.
“Beyond this game? If I really got to the point where I felt I could think for myself again, I’d have to stop telling this story-”
At least now that he finally admitted it, Stanley didn’t have to speculate anymore.
Stanley, despite knowing the rest of what was to come, was severely weakened by it.
“You’re a character, Stanley! You only exist within the parable! I can’t possibly tell you what you want to hear without lying to you-”
Stanley was thankful for the straightforwardness. He really was. Now Stanley’s brain can just playback these words whenever he tried deluding himself into believing otherwise by reminiscing about some fun-filled memory from his and the Narrator’s past.
“I- I mean- You aren’t a real person, Stanley! Works of fiction are rewritten and retired constantly!” The Narrator was stumbling over his words a bit now, getting angrier in his speech as he tried to ward off the guilt of saying this all out loud. “You are fiction. It is just so selfish of you to expect me to see you as more than that!”
[You’re not real either!] His signing had become forceful as if punching or slicing through the air. Stanley was biting his lip hard enough to bleed but barely noticed the thin trail of blood trickling down his chin.
“It’s different, Stanley! I’m sorry I don’t know how else to explain this to you!”
Stanley felt the urge to tear his hair out and bash his head against a wall until his skull hurt more than the constricting pain in his heart, but he’d rather roll over and die than do that in front of the other.
“Stanley!? Stanley, where are you going!?” The Narrator called out after him when Stanley turned to run out of the room through the door on the right.
When Stanley got to the hall just before the employee lounge and realized the Narrator was chasing after him, he let out something between a low growl and a frustrated scream. He didn’t often vocalize anything, so when Stanley turned sharply on his heel to face the older man, the Narrator had an unfairly shocked expression on his face.
[I want some space. Do not follow me.] Stanley signed, his breathing heavy as he clearly stated intent instead of just telling the other to fuck off. Even if he really, really, wanted to have just done that instead.
“Wait, Stanley, please! I can’t reset anymore! I don’t know what I’d do if you managed to get yourself hurt!”
Oh, there’s some good news! Stanley thought. If he throws himself off the cargo lift in the warehouse, his death might be permanent-
“Stanley?!” The Narrator’s hands were on him again, this time pressing into the sides of his upper arms instead of atop his shoulders. The concern on the Narrator’s face wasn’t fair.
That was an intrusive thought, Stanley lied. It meant nothing.
“I’ve told you before that I can’t even hear those, Stanley-!”
My god, are you so fucking pathetic that you can’t handle an hour by yourself!? Something snapped in Stanley at that moment, like a twig that's been repetitively glued back together in the same spot. The skip button ending wasn’t that fucking mind-breaking, get over yourself!
The Narrator’s hands shot off Stanley as if they had just been burned. Even though Stanley had already gotten the results he wanted, he couldn’t just stop there.
A few hours alone are all I’m asking for! You’ve been monitoring everything I do, including my thoughts, for how long? And you can’t just let me have 2 fucking hours?
The Narrator looked like he was about to say something. Stanley didn’t want him to. Stanley knew the bastard well enough to tell whatever words came out would be ones of defense or denial. Stanley wasn’t going to let him speak.
[Am I not allowed to despise being near you right now? Is disgust not allowed for "a fiction?"] Stanley’s mind was getting so loud he couldn’t hear himself think anymore. He was just signing whatever words he could fish out from the mess his brain had become.
“Oh, please! You can’t possibly expect me to let you be by yourself after hearing a thought like that!” The Narrator rushed to defend himself, as always. “In that mindset, you are irrefutably a danger to yourself! It’s my responsibility to make sure nothing happens!”
Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stanley had mentally screamed at such volume that the Narrator nearly covered his ears despite how useless that would end up being. Don’t fucking belittle me like that! I hate when you do that! Stop it! Stop it!
Stanley tightly balled his hands up in his hair before falling into a crouched position with his head flat against his knees. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. His heart was pounding so hard against his chest that he thought he might die from it.
Stanley was now hyperventilating and that much was obvious by the erratic rise and fall of his upper back. The Narrator could only watch the other tremble low to the ground, unsure of whether to reach out or not.
“Stanley, calm down, I just-”
Why did I let myself think any of it was real!? I’m so stupid! Of course, he’d say and do anything for an ending! Even the unproductive runs were full of bullshit. Every investment of trust meant nothing. Every time I thought, maybe, we can be more than what we are, it was an idiotic pipe dream! This is a game. It always has been and always will be! How did I trick myself into thinking I meant something?
“Stanley, I-”
It was all in my head... Of course, there were limits to how close we could get... Why did I ever want more? Why couldn’t I have been satisfied with what I had? Why couldn’t I have existed on the same plane of reality as him? Why couldn't I never have existed in the first place? I hate this! I hate this! I hate this! I hate-
Stanley had started hiccupping and sniveling violently into the rough, jean patch over his knees, which was definitely irritating his eyelids with both the texture and pressure. He didn’t care. He had no reason to care at that moment. He felt like he was going to throw up. He felt like he was dying.
The Narrator hadn’t meant for this to happen. Though, really, what did he expect to happen?
The Narrator crouched down with Stanley and outstretched his hand, trying to provide something that might have been a weak attempt at comfort.
Stanley felt the presence near him and visibly tensed. The Narrator’s hand didn’t even cross over the other’s shoulder before the following onslaught of thoughts ensued:
No... No. No. Leave! Leave, please. Please.
The sequence repeated over and over until the Narrator stood back up and stepped away.
I need to be alone. I need to be alone- I need to, alone, please, I-
The Narrator hesitated.
“I-” He didn’t know what to say. He could say he’s sorry. In fact, the option appeared in his mind for more than a couple of seconds.
He didn’t.
“Fine. A few hours. You’ll get over... whatever this is soon enough.”
Stanley didn’t move an inch until the other’s footsteps faded to complete silence and he was more than certain that there was no one, other than himself, left in the room.
After that, Stanley didn’t raise his head until he felt he could. How long he sat in that hallway for, he wasn’t sure. What is time, anyway?
When Stanley did release his face from the uncomfortable press against his knees, it was uncomfortably wet and dripping with snot and a bit of saliva from heaving sobs. His eyes were irritably red and itchy, and his chest ached with a pain he wasn't sure he's ever felt before. Stanley would rather experience whatever the hell happened to him in the achievement machine room a second time than have to bear this ache, one that made breathing an extraneous chore, for another second.
Stanley didn’t want to think about anything right now.
He didn’t want to feel anything right now.
And then, Stanley realized he might not have to.
Stanley pushed himself off the ground and, when he was sure he wasn’t about to crumple down to his knees, he continued down the hall as he had before.
I’m not going to the cargo lift, Stanley stopped to think as he passed through the employee lounge, just in case the Narrator was still listening and considering chasing after him again. Not the cargo lift. He’s going after something more... temporary.
Stanley’s feet, with little to any further input from him other than a destination in mind, led him all the way to the staircase leading up to his made-up boss’s office. After composing himself following the meeting room incident, Stanley took a short walk around the office. He felt he had ground himself to get rid of the unfounded feeling of overwhelming change since not much could have changed, could it?
It turns out he was wrong about that. When he checked the staircase during that stroll, the change was more than obvious in the way the entire well had become achromatic. The higher Stanley went up those stairs, the darker and less discernible things got. Back then, Stanley didn't test his luck by taking himself any further than the staircase. He didn’t have to go all the way in to know who was waiting farther in; Stanley would go as far as to say they were "lurking" even. Stanley knew he'd be a fool to do something as reckless as walking into a lion's den without any sort of plan.
Now though, Stanley didn't remotely hesitate to head up there. He didn't care about recklessness; he wouldn't even care if a literal lion ate him alive right now. The walk to the office was only a bit more difficult in his current state of emotional instability paired with having to navigate in the dark. Stanley could still see structures and door outlines if he squinted, though that was only after getting used to the absence of light.
Stanley almost walked headfirst into the two large doors barring him from his boss's office. He expected them to be open since they usually were when he came up here, but he quickly realized that was most likely because the one that kept them open wasn't here with him right now. With as much strength as he could manage, Stanley knocked on the hardwood door. The sound was quiet and barely echoed; it was such a weak knock Stanley questioned whether it would be heard at all.
Without a moment’s delay, dull white text ran across the center of Stanley’s field of vision.
“Oh! Stanley? Is that you? You never need to knock to- Oh, are the doors locked? I completely forgot I had to open them myself-” The doors creaked open. Stanley entered the large room.
“Did you notice I was up here?” The white text updated, brighter now that there wasn’t a barrier between Stanley and the being. “I didn’t want to fully leave so I went somewhere unobtrusive yet accessible. Somewhere you could reach me when you finished, y'know, making a choice!”
If Stanley thought a space couldn’t get darker than the hall he just passed through, he was proved wrong the second his eyes latched onto the wall opposite to him. Evidently, the settings person was sat back there behind his boss's (who didn't even exist) desk, and Stanley was only able to tell by the glowing white crescent smile and digital time display of 4:32 AM on the other's face. Tendrils of an impossible black slithered out and latched on to inferiorly darker structures like invasive roots. Stanley did his best to ignore those and keep his eyes on 432.
Stanley was about to sign something but hesitated, questioning whether or not he could be seen.
[Can you see me?] He signed, just checking for a response.
“Yes, perfectly. I can see you and everything in this room perfectly fine.” Despite that being a good thing, Stanley felt a bit self-conscious in response. He doesn’t remember wiping his face very well, and he wasn't expecting to be seen too clearly in the dark. “Now, could you tell me what you’re here for? I’d be so happy if it was just for my company, but looking at you right now, I doubt that’s the case.”
Stanley faltered. He doesn’t know why. He was having trouble keeping himself together now that a solution was just within his reach. All he had to do was ask but-
“I’d like it if you came closer, Stanley,” the text updated, pulling him from his thoughts that were seconds away from spiraling. It wasn’t a request or a demand. Just a statement that Stanley could acknowledge, act upon, or completely ignore.
Stanley got closer, slowly while outstretching a hand to his side and one a bit further out to make sure he didn’t embarrass himself further by bumping into an armchair.
Stanley went right up to the edge of the desk across from 432. He wiped some of the flakes of dried liquids off his face with his sleeve even if presentability wasn’t something he valued too much at the moment. He kept his eyes low to the ground, even if he couldn't see it. God, this just made it easier for the other to see how much of a mess he was right now. Right off the bat, he was presenting himself as weak to something that already has enough power over both him and the Narrator. What was Stanley thinking?
“Thank you,” the being didn’t criticize, shame him, or even force Stanley to say anything about his appearance. “Now, what was it you wanted?”
Stanley took a deep breath in. He lifted his hands up to sign, but they just froze uselessly in front of his chest. Why was this so hard? He just had to ask. Just a simple yes or no question. It wasn’t that hard. It really wasn’t-
Stanley’s eyes watered without his permission. They rebelled against him even further by building up enough tears for many to spill out at once when he couldn’t resist blinking.
Fucking hell, Stanley thought. He was shaking again for no reason at all. This was so stupid. He’s so stupid for this.
Before Stanley even thought to bring up a hand to wipe at his eyes, across the desk, unseeable hands reached out and turned his face back to the being they belonged to. It was a gentle hold that he followed despite how much he didn’t want to be seen right now.
“Oh, Stanley,” their thumbs lightly drew small circles over his jaw, “It’s alright. Don’t hold yourself back. Let go.”
Stanley did. He didn't even have enough self-control at this point to tell himself this was some sort of trap. Stanley felt disgusting for every gross sound that came irregularly with an unpredictably harsh sob, but he didn’t stop, not for a while. He didn't know when he let himself give in to the weakness in his knees and fell to kneel on the carpet. He didn't know when 432 moved from behind the desk to hold him (he didn't know why he let them). Questioning “when’s” felt pointless. The “now” was clear enough.
When the crying fit slowed to a calmer, more controlled halt, Stanley expected to feel even grosser with more fluids mixing in with the dried ones on his face, but that wasn’t the case. It felt as though he had barely cried at all; he’s guessing the settings person had something to do with that, though he didn’t know what exactly. Stanley also expected the discomfort of vulnerability to come crashing in soon, but strangely enough, it was nowhere to be found.
[In the... reboot place…] Stanley felt utterly incompetent for taking so long to sign all this. He wished he could have gotten this out before the outburst, but 432 didn’t seem to mind at all. [It was calm. I didn’t feel things as intensely... Or think too much.]
432’s fingers continued their dance through Stanley’s hair and over his neck. The being didn’t interrupt. It felt nice. To not be interrupted.
[I can’t... go there anymore so...] This was such a strange request Stanley felt he was about to make. It was intentionally avoiding dealing with his reality, and Stanley knew that but couldn’t bring himself to care. [Would you... be able to make that happen again...?]
No text popped up for a few seconds. It was just Stanley, the darkness, and 432 keeping his heart rate at a regular level just by holding him close. It wasn’t an uncomfortable wait. It should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't.
“I could keep you from leaving,” the white text read when it popped up again. “I could envelop you and never let you go. You’d be perfectly fine with it while in there as well.”
Stanley stayed silent. His head didn’t even stir from where it rested against the other’s chest.
“How long?” The question popped up.
[2 hours] Stanley signed.
Stanley felt the darkness wrap around him. It wasn't a physical pressure and barely made any change to Stanley’s current view of the room which was already as dark as he could possibly perceive. Still, the effects were all but known the second they came. A wave of calm rushed over him, drowning him so gently. Before this, Stanley considered this a bad idea, but now, that thought was thrown out the window. It was so tranquil, there in the dark, how could he forget? So natural here. How could something so right be a bad idea? It couldn’t be.
“Thank you for trusting me.” The white text read. Since this was only a copy of the effects the reboot realm produced, Stanley still had a body and could move around if he really put effort into doing so. He tilted his head up slightly and saw a white crescent smile glowing back at him.
There was a temporary, fleeting feeling of liberation. This was how things were meant to be.
And Stanley was happy.