Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Stanley, I think I feel... happy. I actually feel happy.”

Sitting at his desk chair, staring numbly at the blinking monitor, Stanley felt sick. His head was fuzzy. He couldn’t think straight.

He had tried to move, quite a few times now, but he couldn’t. He physically could not get out of his chair.

Everything felt numb.

Except for the pulsing pain in his chest.

That was the last straw.

He had pushed through every horrid ending.

He had gone insane.

He had been betrayed.

He had suffered, alone and in silence.

And he had seen the Narrator suffer, alone and in silence.

The Narrator.

“I wanted us to be happy here, Stanley, I really did. I wish I still thought that was possible.”

The pain, the true, raw pain in his voice. 

The Narrator was never one to show much emotion, if any at all. Only caring about his precious little stories, there were only a few moments when he had shown genuine emotion to Stanley.

After that ending, he wished he didn't at all. 

Stanley sat staring at the blinking cursor on his monitor. The silence had never sounded as loud as it did in that moment. 

He really had no idea what had been going through his mind. 

He really had tried. 

After the first jump, he went back to the dome, horrified by The Narrator’s genuinely pained tone. And he had sat there, in the dome, for a long time. Long enough to the point where he had assumed The Narrator had left. Just like at the skip button ending, when he had no other choice than to press the button, or to be left in silence, alone, forever. 

He had gotten anxious. Paranoid to the point that he started to suspect The Narrator was doing it on purpose, leaving him alone as he slowly lost his mind.

So he stood back up, and went back to the staircase. 

The Narrator had spoken up, at least reassuring to Stanley that he was still there, but Stanley, for some reason he could not for the life of him figure out, had marched up the stairs, and without a thought, flung himself off. Ignoring The Narrator’s panicked shouts and pleas, Stanley had gotten right back up, and ignoring the searing pain throughout his now bloodied body, started walking up the stairs again. 

“My god, is this really how much you dislike my game? That you'll throw yourself from this platform over and over to be rid of it? You are literally willing to kill yourself to keep me from being happy? Am I reading the situation correctly?”

Stanley had halted to a stop, right at the edge of the platform at The Narrator’s venom filled words. Though the pain underlying them were obvious, they were said to hurt, cut deep, make Stanley feel guilt. And it did. 

At this point, tears had begun to speckle his blood smeared face. 

He wanted to run back to the dome, beg The Narrator to forgive him, to forget about all that had happened. 

He wanted to cure The Narrator of all his pain. Take it all for himself if it meant the Voice would be happy again. 

But somewhere deep inside him, he knew that wasn’t possible. 

The parable was not something to be won. Was not meant for joy and happiness.

Stanley knew the only semblance of happiness he could give The Narrator now was by resetting. 

Getting them out of this hell they were trapped in. 

So taking a deep shuddering breath, he threw himself off. 

The Narrator's voice had turned dull. Emotionless. Stanley choked back a sob as he slowly dragged himself up the stairs once more, desperately trying to just get this all over with. 

“I wanted us to be happy here, Stanley, I really did. I wish I still thought that was possible.”

The Narrator’s words ringing in his words, Stanley knew he would never be able to erase them from his mind as he stared down at the blood stained floor below. 

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Stanley jumped.

“Is it over? It's going to restart, isn't it. I'm going back.”

The Narrator’s slowly fading voice ringing in his ears, Stanley couldn’t stop the ending replaying itself over and over in his mind.

He was done. 

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He was going to sit in his chair, staring at his monitor for the rest of time. 

— — — — —

“Stanley? Are-are you alright?”

Blinking suddenly, his mind suddenly being snapped out of the horrid images spinning in his head over and over. 

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there.

Maybe it had been a minute, maybe billions.

But hearing The Narrator’s voice say something other than the words replaying in his head had managed to pull him back to reality. 

Stanley glanced around. He was still in his small office, exactly the same place as before. Assuming he had just imagined The Narrator’s voice, Stanley slumped slightly in his seat as his eyes fell back onto the blinking cursor, the painful images slowly starting to flood his vision once more.

“Stanley, can you hear me? Is there something wrong?” 

Yanking Stanley once more from the inky darkness he was about to sink into once again, The Narrator’s voice, which Stanley knew was actually real this time, tinted with nervousness, questioned him. 

There were not many occasions that The Narrator would veer off course from his script. Every once in a while, usually when Stanley was annoying the crap out of him, or when he did something that would mess with his story, The Narrator would halt everything to simply talk to Stanley, no scripts or planning involved. 

But each time that would happen, The Narrator would usually be angry at him, and all the words spat at him would be negative. 

This time though, quite surprisingly, The Narrator’s voice was gentle, and though he was obviously trying to mask it, concerned. 

In any other scenario, Stanley would have been excited. A chance to actually talk with The Narrator. Well, not necessarily talk, given that that wasn’t possible for Stanley, but rather, having a moment when they were completely being themselves, without any story involved. 

But with the headspace that Stanley was in right then, the obvious concern in The Narrator’s voice simply broke his heart. 

Tears started to stream down Stanley’s face as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Is the mic not working? Perhaps it’s not. Though I didn’t turn it off, so that is a bit odd-” 

The Narrator was mumbling to himself, muffled sounds of papers being shuffled around in the background, when he had trailed off. 

“ Oh dear..”

He heard The Narrator whisper quietly. For a few seconds, the two were left in silence. Stanley silently staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his cheeks, The Narrator seemingly at a loss for words. 

Stanley heard The Narrator inhale sharply, seemingly about to say something. But then after a few moments, the Voice simply sighed. 

Stanley waited, wondering if The Narrator would say anything, but he was met with only silence. 

Slowly, he felt his breathing become irregular. It was so quiet. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t before, but now something about it filled Stanley with dread. 

He shouldn’t have started crying. Maybe he did something wrong. Did he break the parable?

Part of him argued simply crying wouldn’t break the entire parable, but in the silence, with no one to confirm whether the thoughts were true or not, they started to run rampant. 

He shouldn’t have done that. He was overreacting. There had been truly horrid endings before this one, that both him and The Narrator had simply ignored, acting as if it had never happened. He should have sucked it up. Now he had messed something up.

Maybe he had upset The Narrator. 

His hands started to shake slightly, as he slid out of his office chair, down to the ground. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Stanley’s breathing started to stutter and shake. 

What if The Narrator abandoned him?

The silence was getting increasingly, painfully loud as he scooted underneath his desk, breath quickening. 

Maybe The Narrator saw that this was too much for Stanley, and he left? Would he abandon the parable like that? Would he abandon Stanley like that? Maybe he’d just make another one. He had created Stanley to be the protagonist of his story. If he had created Stanley, he could just as easily create someone else couldn’t he? 

Everything was too much. 

Stanley had no idea what was happening to him. His thoughts were no longer under his control, running rampant, dragging Stanley down deeper and deeper into the inky black ocean that filled his lungs and drowned him from the inside. Stanley was going to drown. He could feel himself slowly being dragged away from reality. 

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning..

“Stanley?”

Stanley’s eyes snapped open, wildly flying across his office at the familiar voice. Unlike most times, when The Narrator’s voice would sound as if it were coming from everywhere, the voice was very clearly coming from one single direction. The door to his office.

That was when he locked eyes with the man staring down at him in horror. 

“Oh gods Stanley..”

The man whispered quietly. 

He wore a honey colored turtleneck beneath a slightly frayed suit jacket, his brunette hair beginning to gray, and rectangle spectacles sitting on his nose. Oddly enough, even if the man hadn’t said a word, Stanley could have somehow known for sure that the man before him was The Narrator. 

Stanley was still crying. His still made that horrid choking sound each time he tried to breath, and he was still curled up into a ball, shaking violently, but now his eyes were trained onto the man before him, and all of the thoughts that barely a few moments ago were overwhelming beyond the point of sanity, had ever so slightly blurred. 

Stanley couldn’t stop his slight jump as The Narrator took a step forward. His eyes trained onto Stanley’s, flickering from one to the other, The Narrator reached his hand out before pulling it back, seemingly calculating his every move, trying to find the best way to go about the situation. 

After a few minutes, The Narrator finally inhaled deeply, before slowly walking towards Stanley. Simply staring at the approaching man, shuddering every second or two, Stanley watched The Narrator walk across the short distance of his office, and crouch down next to him. Scooting next to him underneath the desk, The Narrator stared at his hands that he had clasped together, resting on top of his knees. 

“I’m sorry Stanley.”

Stanley blinked in surprise at The Narrator, who tilted his head to face Stanley, who was staring at him in mild confusion. Stanley felt that if anyone were to be apologizing, it’d be him. 

Now thinking about it, he couldn’t remember if The Narrator had ever apologized to him before. The more Stanley thought about it, the more he realized that this was in fact the first time The Narrator had ever apologized to him. 

And apparently, it wasn’t the last time either. 

“I- I am so sorry Stanley, I had no idea this ending would hurt you so much. I- I assumed that since all the other times we went through really bad endings, you always seemed so fine afterwards, no matter how much it had hurted me, that you just, didn’t really care,” The Narrator words started to jumble slightly, as he stared down at his hands, seemingly unable to face Stanley. Yet even as he tried to avert his gaze away from Stanley, he could see The Narrator’s eyes become slightly watery as he continued to ramble on.

“The worst part is, I made that ending out of spite Stanley, I was- I was angry . You never seemed to care, and you were just blatantly disregarding everything I said, so I wanted to test you. To see if you cared at all.”

The Narrator finally lifted his gaze again, and met Stanley’s intent, wide eyes stare. 

“I made that ending purposefully terrible. I- I never knew that it would hurt you this much .”

The Narrator opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say more, but nothing came out. Then finally, after a few moments, he broke the silence.

“I’m so sorry Stanley.”

The Narrator whispered. 

Stanley stared at The Narrator as he let the man’s words wash over him. He felt as if the world had frozen. After all this time they’ve been together, this was the very first time that they’ve ever had any form of a heart to heart. 

The Narrator cared. 

He cared about Stanley.

After all this time of thinking that he didn’t give a damn about anything but his story, after the thoughts that had nearly drowned him with the chokehold they had on his mind and heart, telling him that The Narrator would simply abandon him, here the man was, physically sitting right next to him, telling him that he was sorry. 

After minutes had passed, and Stanley was still staring at The Narrator, frozen with shock, the man seemed to grow worried. 

“Stanley? Are- are you okay-”

The Narrator was cut off as Stanley suddenly reached out, and wrapped his arms around the man. 

The Narrator tensed for a moment, before slowly wrapping his arms around Stanley as well. 

Trembling slightly, Stanley tightened his hold on The Narrator, and pressed his face into the man’s shoulder, inhaling deeply, his breath still wavering slightly. Gently, as if he were scared that he would break Stanley with one wrong move, The Narrator took one of his hands that was gently hugging Stanley’s back, and brought it up to rest against the back of Stanley’s head, gently brushing through strands of his hair. Stanley clutched onto the fabric of The Narrator’s suit jacket at the gesture. 

Stanley realized that this was the first time someone had hugged him since he first awoke in the parable. Hell, this was the first time there was a physical form that wasn’t his own in the parable. Stanley hadn’t even realized how deathly touch starved he was until that very moment. Suddenly, the thought of letting go of the man in his arms filled him with such an overwhelming sense of pain and emptiness, he felt another sob rise in his throat. His trembling worsening once more, Stanley’s fingers dug into the fabric on The Narrator’s back. 

“Stanley? Stanley, what's wrong? Did I do something?”

Concern laced in his voice, The Narrator asked worriedly, pulling away from Stanley.

Stanley panicked. He didn’t want The Narrator to leave. After all the time they’ve spent in this horrid place, only having each other yet never truly together, Stanley couldn’t let The Narrator leave him. 

Not now, not ever. 

Without thinking, Stanley used one of his hands to cup The Narrator’s cheek, leaned forward and connected their lips.

It was short, only lasting a few seconds before Stanley pulled away, surprised at his own actions. Seeing the red that was plastered across The Narrator’s shocked face, Stanley realized the heat on his own cheeks. 

Unable to say anything, they both stared at each other, mouths slightly agape, faces flushed. Surprisingly, it was Stanley who first broke the silence. Eyes still a bit blurry and wet from the tears streaming down them barely a few minutes before, Stanley began to laugh, tilting his head back slightly. After a few moments, The Narrator sighed in mock annoyance, smile tugging at his mouth too.

“Quite the roller coaster of emotions we’re riding on today.”

The Narrator chuckled slightly. Grinning once more, Stanley pulled The Narrator into yet another hug. Snuggling his head into the crook of the man’s neck, Stanley sighed contently, finally able to do so without his breath shaking. 

It was in fact quite the roller coaster. One that he hoped they would never have to ride on again. And sitting there underneath his desk, tightly clinging onto The Narrator who had begun playing with his hair again, Stanley was able to believe that he never would.