Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Stanley... let's go back to the other room... Can you do that for me?"

Stanley lay on the ground, facing the ceiling. Unlike the many other times that Stanley had jumped off the stairs, this time Stanley remained on the ground. Normally, no matter how battered and broken his body was, he would always get back up immediately.

Pain meant nothing to Stanley.

Scratch that. Physical pain meant nothing to Stanley. If anything, it was interesting to him. It was why he kept jumping off the lift and taking the Escape Route. It was why he had stopped trying to prevent the nukes during the Countdown Ending and instead took an office chair to watch the timer tick down on the big red screen. Even now, with the Suicide Stairs, there was something amazing about that weightless moment between stepping off the platform and the rush of gravity crashing him to the ground that kept him coming back again and again.

Although, Stanley rarely ever came to the Zending.

He stared at the blank white ceiling, which felt surreally far away from him. It was cold and beautiful. Stanley felt as though anything was possible in that moment. Perhaps he would learn to fly. Perhaps the Narrator would blow up the office again. Or perhaps all of his coworkers would come marching down the hallway with balloons and cake for a surprise birthday party.

But no, those were ridiculous dreams. Stanley thought he would have grown out of those by now.

Stanley imagined getting back on the staircase and hurling himself off until he died. Then he imagined himself respawning in the office, only to come back to the red door and these stairs and dying again. Then respawning, then returning, then jumping off, forever and ever.

In a cold way, Stanley felt rather bored by the prospect. Oh sure, the falling was entertaining, but Stanley wanted to try something different. Something new. It didn't matter what it was, so long as it was different.

Of course, this was all ignoring the real reason that Stanley was hesitating.

Stanley was not a kind man. Neither of them were, but not even Stanley could hold out forever against the Narrator’s pitiful begging.

Stanley wasn't even sure how much of the Narrator’s pleading was genuine or if it was all part of the story's drama. When Stanley was a young player-character, he had never questioned the veracity of the Narrator’s emotions, but that changed after a visit to the Narrator’s cherished Memory Zone.

Stanley had enjoyed perusing the screenshots, awards, and glowing reviews, but there was one picture in particular that made him stop dead in his tracks. It was a picture, hanging above one of the doors to go outside, that showed Stanley lying dead on the sidewalk during the Mariella Ending.

Stanley had been shocked, but he knew better than to say anything, so he had simply walked on. But the question had lingered in his mind: why would the Narrator have a photograph of a dead Stanley among his most fond memories? Was it simple cruelty, or did the Narrator get a similar kind of enjoyment out of Stanley's death that Stanley felt himself?

If it was cruelty or sadism, well, that didn't bother Stanley at all.

Regardless, Stanley had found that new piece of information to be...interesting.

And now, listening to the Narrator pleading for Stanley to go back to the other room, an alarming thought entered his head: what if the Narrator meant it?

What if he really did want Stanley to stay in the Starry Dome with him?

It wasn't the first time that Stanley had thought this, but it was the first time that Stanley had seriously considered indulging the Narrator. Once, before, Stanley had actually obeyed the Narrator and returned to the Starry Dome, just to see if anything different would happen, and the Narrator had been so relieved.

And then the Narrator had fallen silent.

Leave it to the Narrator to spoil Stanley’s fun, no matter if he chose to obey or to disobey him.

So of course Stanley had returned to the Suicide Stairs and finished what he had started. It was bittersweet after all, to hear the Narrator speak directly to him even as the Narrator gave up on him.

Stanley got up from the ground and began walking back to the Starry Dome.

"Yes... Perhaps you can. Perhaps you can finally see what I'm talking about," the Narrator said in his pitiful voice.

"I know you'll see. You'll see that we can't be happy if we leave this place. You can see that, can't you?"

Stanley wondered if he would see. Only time would tell.

Beautiful lights and soothing music filled the darkness.

And the Narrator once again fell silent.

That wouldn't do.

After a moment, Stanley decided to say something. [Narrator?]

No response.

He clapped his hands loudly together to get his attention. [Narrator!]

"Hhhn! Stanley, you startled me! What is it?"

[Are you really happy here?]

"I--what?"

[I just want to know. Will staying here really make you happy?]

A beat. And then--

"Yes. Yes, it would. It does."

Interesting. It didn't sound like a lie. Not that Stanley could always tell the difference, with how many contradictory stories the Narrator always told.

"Are you really going to stay here?"

[I think I will. This time, anyway.]

"What do you mean, this time?"

Did he not remember the previous Zendings?

[I mean, instead of jumping off the stairs until I die again.]

"Oh. Good. You know I hate it when you die."

[Liar] Stanley signed with a mischievous grin.

(Stanley still couldn't tell if the Narrator remembered the previous Zendings or not.)

"You insufferable man,” the Narrator sneered. "Why must you always go out of your way to antagonize me? I really do want us both to be happy."

Interesting.

[I'll stay here. Until the next reset.]

Another beat. And then--

"Stanley, that won't be for a very long time."

[How long?]

"As...as long as the Skip Button Ending was for me."

Stanley considered that for a moment. He knew that would mean a very long time, but he had no idea how many years, or centuries, or even millennia that would be. Not that his mind could even comprehend such a vast scale. Stanley couldn’t be sure if that was due to the vestiges of his human nature, or because he was so used to the changeless nature of the Parable.

Not that the reason why ever mattered.

Time meant nothing to Stanley.

The Narrator spoke up. "Are you...are you happy to stay here that long?"

[I'm...indifferent. A little curious about what might happen next, but not happy, exactly.]

"Then go back to the stairs," the Narrator said resentfully. "Jump off them until the end of time. I don't care anymore."

Stanley considered that.

[No, I think I'll stay here.]

"Why?" The Narrator asked, incredulous.

[Like I said, I'm curious about what might happen next. It's something new for me. Maybe I'll actually come to enjoy this place. But mostly, I'm staying because it makes you happy.]

[And I want you to be happy, Narrator.]

"Don't play with me, Stanley," the Narrator said in a dark tone.

Stanley smiled at that. [I'm not afraid. I'll prove it to you.]

Stanley laid his aching body down on the ground and watched the lights as if stargazing. The thought briefly crossed Stanley’s mind that his body would suffer from its broken bones for a very long time.

A stretch of silence, except for the quiet music.

Then--

"I really do hope you'll be happy here with me," Narrator whispered.

Stanley nodded again.

[We'll have a long time to find out.]