Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanley would never admit it, but the Freedom Ending was both his favorite and his most disliked. He liked it, because he enjoyed the outside scene, the nature, sky, and warm sunlight. The idea of freedom, that he could really reach it.
He disliked it, because it wasn’t real. He wished he could reach real freedom, that he could get out of the office and out of the parable, escape the stories and endings and finally walk his own path. No longer pre-determined, no one’s path but his own.

The Narrator was well aware of Stanley’s desire to escape this story. To no longer be a character, a protagonist in this parable. But was there a way to free him? Was there a way for Stanley to leave all of this behind and finally have real choice?
They were afraid to say yes. They didn’t want Stanley to leave them, to leave this story behind. Would they function without him? Would the world be able to exist without its protagonist? They didn’t know, and that terrified them.

But Stanley deserved freedom. He deserved to leave this place, to find his own paths, make his own choices, carry the consequences. To try and to fail and then try again. To learn, to grow, to become more than employee #427 was ever meant to be.
It wasn’t impossible. It wouldn’t be easy, in any sense of the word, at least for the Narrator. Not just to create that new path for Stanley, but also to accept cutting free a piece of themself. To know they would be left behind, for an achievable future.
A future that wouldn’t, couldn’t, have the Narrator in it.

For Stanley, it started like any other run through the story. The normal introduction, the same four walls of his office. The same voice that would forever narrate his every move and thought. Just how it always would be, right?
But instead of the office, he stepped into an illusion. A closed door behind him, a still image of the office in front of him. Confused, he listened to the Narrator, to hear them explain - something new, something special, something they knew Stanley had wished for for so long now.
When the image raised, the room behind it was nothing special. It was reminiscent of the maintenance section, or perhaps the rooms during the Insanity Ending. Curious, Stanley began to walk, listening to the Narrator’s new narrations.

Until he arrived at an elevator. It looked unassuming, sort of like that “elevator” in the boss’s office that went nowhere.

“Finally, Stanley had found the way out of this office. A well-kept secret of the company, meant for absolute emergencies - it would override the procedures that kept the employees trapped inside during work-hours. It was a path to freedom.”
The Narrator took a quiet deep breath in.
“Many questions still lay unanswered behind Stanley. But the answers weren’t sure to satisfy, the satisfaction of knowing not what he strived for. Before Stanley laid the way out - away from the life he’s lived here, away from the memories of an office he could never seem to escape.”
They tried to keep their voice even. To be the constant Stanley had always known.
“It was the only choice that would ever matter. And so, Stanley stepped into the elevator, awaiting its ascent.”.

Of course, Stanley did not immediately obey and do as he was told, as the story said he would act. Instead, he looked… conflicted. The information was clearly processing still, turning the Narrator’s words over in his head, his hands slowly balling into fists, feeling his blunt nails press into his palms.
“Narrator, this is-”, he started, and stopped. A breath. “This is for real, isn’t it? This elevator. It will let me escape the office, the story?”.
“Correct, Stanley. It will take you far away from here.”, the Narrator confirmed, voice quiet.
“And you? You’re… will you still be here?”, Stanley questioned, a tightness in his voice that made the Narrator ache.
“I will still be here.”, the Narrator answered. “This is my story to tell. Without the story, what would I be?”.
Stanley didn’t know the answer, and thus, he stayed quiet. Gazing at the elevator in front of him, at the choice he was being given. Perhaps it would be his only chance to take it. To step inside and say goodbye to the office.
To the Narrator.

“Can I come back?”, Stanley questioned, voice soft. Uncertain. He had never imagined himself wanting to return here, to step foot back into the office, to experience the same story he had gone through a thousand times.
“I don’t know, Stanley.”, the Narrator replied. Quiet, honest. Stanley had no doubt about the truth of their words, the sincerity so glaringly clear to him, even though all he had to go off was their voice.

He could leave. He could take the last steps forward and let this be his last choice. Perhaps, it would be the only choice that would ever matter in this place. Whether Stanley stayed - or left.

Stanley was as much part of this story as the Narrator was. Without him, what would become of this place? They were two halves, so deeply intertwined that it became unclear where one ended and the other started.
Perhaps, they could not be without the other one. Perhaps they could develop into their own beings, once parted. Perhaps they would forever be missing something.
This was the only world either of them knew. The office, the parable, the story - what else was there but this? Who else was there but the two of them? It was impossible to tell for as long as they would stay here, together.
Perhaps Stanley would never be able to escape the Narrator. Would he hear their voice again? Would he see them in whatever stories awaited him out there? Would they be the whisper carried on the wind, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of flowers?

How would he know, without going?

He had to say goodbye. Goodbye to the Narrator, goodbye to the office, goodbye to this world. Would it be the end? Or would it be the beginning?

“Thank you.”. He would say goodbye now.

The elevator’s doors slid closed behind Stanley, surrounding him in polished metal, reflecting blurred shapes and colours back at him. There was only one button for him to press.
“As the elevator started its ascent, Stanley’s mind drifted one last time to the office. He would never know why he had been there, the only one of his coworkers that hadn’t disappeared. He would never understand the many pathways he had chosen to walk upon and which to leave behind. Questions he had never found an answer to would forever lay unanswered.”
The Narrator’s voice accompanied Stanley still, in the otherwise silence of the elevator.
“Perhaps, he didn’t need those answers. Sating one’s curiosity wasn’t always the correct choice, when it could lead to your death. And even satisfaction wouldn’t be enough to bring you back. Perhaps, this was the right choice all along - to now know, to not understand.”
They had to pause, briefly, their breath shaking.
“Perhaps this was exactly the way, right now, that things were meant to happen.”
The familiar narration hurt. The Narrator’s voice was starting to fade, growing fainter as the elevator continued rising. Further and further away from all Stanley had ever known.

“I’m sorry.”, Stanley spoke into the quiet of the elevator. He couldn’t help but blame himself, if only partially, for this. To choose to leave their world behind, to say goodbye.
“Don’t blame yourself, Stanley.”, the Narrator replied, their voice quiet - from distance, instead of their tone. “If this is the end - then that’s alright. It will be the birth of a new world. One that can be your own.”.
“I… I wish it’d be ours, instead.”, Stanley admitted softly. To the Narrator, or to himself?
“I’m certain that you will be alright, Stanley. You’ve never faltered in a choice before, this will be no different. The world will be yours to explore and conquer! I believe in you, Stanley.”, the Narrator tried, they tried so hard, to be positive for Stanley.

“Will you be alright, without me?”, Stanley questioned, arms around himself. A weak attempt to comfort himself, as if it would do anything. As if it would help.
“I’ll… I’ll be alright, Stanley. As long as you don’t forget about me, I’ll be alright.”, the Narrator replied. It was getting harder to hear them properly, it was getting harder to believe this choice was the correct one.
“I’ll never forget about you.”, Stanley said, sliding down the wall of the elevator, curling up as if it would bring him closer to the one he was leaving behind. The physical distance almost hurt, pulling himself free of the Narrator, the other half of their story.
“Thank you, Stanley.”, the Narrator said, their voice so faint it was getting hard for Stanley to hear them properly. He could feel the tears burn in his eyes, squeezing them shut as he forced calm breaths.

“I’ll tell you what the world looks like from up here.”, Stanley said, biting his lip, raising his gaze to the ceiling and trying to blink away the tears that threatened to spill.
The Narrator’s voice was barely audible enough to understand, when they said: “I would like that.”.
“Please stay safe and warm.”, Stanley continued, voice tight, not having expected to feel their separation so heavily, “‘til I get back to you.”.

Whatever the Narrator replied, Stanley could no longer understand it. He clung to the last sounds of their voice, faint and muffled from the distance.
Safe in his little elevator, unaware of the world outside of it.

Was the Narrator ever meant to follow Stanley? As the one who told the story, leading the pathways and spinning the tale, could they ever have been more than a presence by Stanley’s side?
Cut in two, perhaps neither of them would be alright without the other. Perhaps it wasn’t the office that was their world, but it was each other.

Stanley could not hold in his sobs anymore, once it was merely him. Already, he felt the missing piece of himself deeply, the part of him he was never meant to lose. Could he truly be without the Narrator?
He cried into the silence of the elevator, uncertain of the future. No longer would anyone tell him where to go, what to do, or how to feel. Whatever life he lives, it will be his.

Only his.

Chapter Text

The Narrator watched the elevator ascend, slowly rising and taking Stanley further and further away. Away from the office, away from the story, and away from the Narrator. The further up he went, the harder it was for the Narrator to hear him, to feel his presence.
They stayed strong for Stanley. They listened to him, tried to ignore the office crumbling around them. They ignored the painful pulling of their being, ignored the deep-set ache inside of them, knowing that this was for the better.

Stanley deserved to be free. He deserved to experience more than this story, more than this little world that they had created together. He deserved a life outside, in the real world, a chance to make his own choices and be his own person.

Tears streamed down their face as they hugged themself tightly, sobs breaking free when they could no longer hear Stanley’s voice.
Would they be alright, without him?
The world was falling apart around them, hallways collapsing and trapping them further and further where they were. One little room, an endless shaft upwards, where Stanley would leave this world behind.
The Narrator wished they had said more. They wished they could’ve told Stanley how much he meant to them, how much they had enjoyed their life with him. How they had grown as a person, had learned from him so much more than they ever would’ve imagined.

Monitors fizzled out, lights popped and plunged them in further darkness. How long would they be able to last, once Stanley had reached the end? What would be left of this place, this story, of the Narrator?
They sobbed as the pain continued pulling at them, ripping them apart. They could feel it, could feel how their entire being was slowly torn asunder. Pieces taken away, ripping slowly and painfully, leaving behind a gaping hole that wouldn’t be able to heal.
They knew they had never been meant for more than they were. They hadn’t been meant to be by Stanley’s side, they hadn’t been meant to do more than think and lead. To tell a story.
How they wished Stanley could be here, holding them, keeping them together. But the game was through, it was over, they would never again have this chance.

They were torn apart now, cut in two. 

The Narrator hoped Stanley would fare better. That he wouldn’t feel it as badly, that he wouldn’t be missing his other half.
They knew it was wishful thinking. The two of them, they had been inseparable. Half of the Narrator was Stanley, half of Stanley was the Narrator. They were integral parts of their world, their story, and of each other.
“I’m so sorry.”, the Narrator sobbed as the world fell to pieces around them. They hoped, they hoped so badly, that Stanley could be alright. He was meant to be alright, to reach his one true ending and finally be happy.
Happier than he could’ve been in this story, no matter what.

But it hurt, oh how it hurt. To have their other half ripped away from them, as if they were nothing. As if there was nothing more to them than a couple words, than some lines of narration, than this office.

There were so many words left unsaid, that the Narrator deeply regretted never telling Stanley. So many words they could only hope someone else could tell him, a different voice and under different circumstances.
This was for the better. No matter how much the Narrator cried and screamed, no matter how much it hurt and their mind grew fuzzy, this was for the better.
Stanley never had had another choice, in this story. He had only been given pre-written paths, words and emotions that were determined for him, not by him. With no other choice, it was hard to make any choice, wasn’t it?
And perhaps it was the same for the Narrator.
Perhaps they never had had any different choice either - and so making any choice at all was meaningless. Their feelings for Stanley, they were basically inevitable. There was no one else, after all. The choice of one or none was barely a choice at all, no matter how real it felt.

The Narrator’s sight swam, blurry from their tears and the pain. Thinking was getting harder, feeling the connection to Stanley as thin as a hair. They could barely breathe through the pain, sitting where they were.
They would not fare well without Stanley.
If they survived the separation at all, that is.

Choking on air, the worst pain they had ever felt went through them as the connection fully broke, a too tightly wound string finally snapping from the pull. Like a puppet with its string cut, the Narrator fully collapsed, another piece of rubble on the floor just like the broken walls and ceilings around them.
With the separation came an incredibly hollow feeling. They could feel the absence of Stanley more than they had ever felt something before. A deep cavernous hole inside their very being.
None of their cries and sobs would ever be able to fill that space. As the dust settled in the darkness around them, they could feel their strength fully leaving them, leaving their form like the tears digging grooves through their flesh.

They curled up, their breath thin and uneven, gasping for air between the last sobs wrecking through their body.
The office laid in shambles, the story torn apart and useless.
The Narrator laid broken among it.

They couldn’t have left with Stanley. No matter how much they may have wished for a life together, they knew it simply wasn’t possible. As long as they were together, they would never be able to escape.
The office would always be their world. The story would always drag them back, continuing on and on and on. It would never stop, spinning endlessly. An Ouroboros.
Only by separating them, could they ever know freedom.
Perhaps, the Narrator could’ve followed, once they were no longer one. Perhaps, after their ties were cut, they would be able to reunite. A broken hold couldn’t be re-established by a mere meeting.

But as the Narrator laid there, the hollowness eating away at them, they weren’t sure if they’d be able to - even if they wanted to, more than anything.
That elevator only led up. And in the broken remains of this office, the Narrator couldn’t be sure anything would ever be able to move again - maybe they alone, if they could heal from the broken bonds of their other half.

Waiting was something the Narrator was good at, at the very least.

Waiting to ease into the empty space of their being, adjust to the absence of Stanley.

Waiting for their limbs to respond to their movements, to rise from the debris.

Waiting for another word to fall from their lips, to be heard again.

Waiting to be perceived again.

Waiting to be real again.

Waiting.

Chapter Text

Stanley would never have been able to imagine what living outside of the story would have been like. He wasn’t quite like these people, but he also was. He knew things they knew, but he also didn’t know a lot of things that they did.
And there was no re-doing anything. Every choice he made had consequences, everything held weight to it, things suddenly had meaning. It was so unlike anything Stanley had ever experienced.

But no matter what he did, he felt the deep hollow emptiness inside of him. The space only one voice could fill, with its snarky banter and adorable laugh and-
He missed them.

Thinking of the Narrator always brought pain with it. He hadn’t taken long to try and go back, to try and get the Narrator as well. But he had quickly found that the way he had come from didn’t work both ways.
It had been an escape, not meant to be traversed in two directions.
Stanley was here, in such a completely different world, while the Narrator was still there. In the office, in the story, in the little looping world that had been all either of them had ever known.

It only took so long until Stanley broke down, unable to take it.

He returned back to that elevator, back to where he had emerged from once. How long has it been? Stanley still struggled with time, how it passed and only ever continued going forward. Nothing ever repeated, nothing ever looped.
He knew he shouldn’t be here. He knew it would only hurt. But he had to, he had to. There was someone here that he needed to talk to.

“Narrator?”, Stanley started, sitting himself down, the room around him dark. No one ever came here, the room not seeming to exist outside of his own perception. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps it was part of the story.
He didn’t know.
“How have you been?”, the question was useless, he knew. He hadn’t heard the Narrator’s voice ever since he had left. He knew that they were no longer connected. He had felt it, he still felt it. He felt the emptiness inside of him, a crucial part of himself missing.
“I miss you, my dear.”, he smiled, bittersweet. He had never been able to tell the Narrator how he felt about them. In the office, there had only been the two of them. How could he ever have claimed that what he felt was true? That he hadn’t made that choice merely because he didn’t have a choice?
But now, around so many people, he knew.
“I know that you can’t hear me, but there’s something I have to tell you.”, Stanley swallowed heavily, rubbing his hands across his legs. His back was against the elevator doors, closed and hiding an endless shaft down into a story that no longer had its protagonist.

“I need you. All I need is you. I want to come home to you, to be close to you.”, he admitted, perhaps only to himself. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to talk to the Narrator again, to hear their voice, feel their presence. He wished he would know, be it good or bad.
“I want- all I want is to be with you.”, Stanley choked, eyes hot as he felt close to tears already. God, he felt weaker than ever before. Just like in the elevator, just like when they had been pulled apart.

Stanley took shaking breaths, trying to keep himself from sobbing. He could do this. He could… he could move on. Couldn’t he? The Narrator would be alright, they had said they would be alright.
They wouldn’t lie to him, would they? Of course they used to lie in the past. But they had long since moved past that, so Stanley… he didn’t want them to have lied to him. They may have, to spare his feelings.
He pressed his hands against his eyes, willing himself to calm down, to not grieve the person he had no idea was alive or not. They had said they would be alright. They had to be alright. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they weren’t.

“I… I wish I could hear your voice. Just one last time.”, Stanley mumbled, forcing deep breaths to keep calm, so he wouldn’t start sobbing. If only he could hear the Narrator one last time, could know that they were okay. That they were alive.
“I told you I’d tell you what the world looks like. Up here.”, Stanley continued quietly. Pulling his knees close to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them, letting his head fall back against the elevator.
“There’s so many people. So many different lifes. There’s weather. Sunshine and rain. There’s hurricanes, and blizzards too.”, there was so much, yet, it all escaped Stanley. All he could think of was the Narrator though, the sound of their voice. How they had sacrificed it all for him.

If this was a world without the Narrator, Stanley didn’t want to be here anymore. He had experienced it, he had seen what it had to offer - and none of it was the Narrator.
He couldn’t be without his other half any more. Every day, the void inside of him threatened to consume him, to devour all that he was and leave nothing behind. How could he live, when part of him was gone? Could he even consider himself alive?
“I wanted to come and get you.”, Stanley dug his fingers tightly into his arms, wanting to believe he wasn’t just talking to himself. That he wasn’t feeding his own fantasies, of the Narrator being right there, able to hear him, to come back to him.
“I told you to stay safe and warm until then. You better are. I don’t… I don’t want to imagine anything else.”, Stanley muttered, head dropping into his arms, curling up as tightly as he possibly could.
“You’re there. Waiting for me. And I- I’m going to get you. I promise. I promise.”, Stanley’s voice was muffled, weak as he tried his hardest to keep it together. He wished the Narrator were just behind that elevator, waiting for him to open the doors and get him out. To show him the world out here, with all its people and weather and so many more stories than they could’ve ever imagined.

He sat there, alone in the darkness of a room that didn’t exist. How could he exist, when he was only one half of a being? When he was one half of a story? Would he ever be whole again? Could he ever be whole again?
He didn’t know. Maybe, he would never know either.
Stanley had no idea how long he sat there, quietly letting the empty space inside of him expand. He thought of the Narrator, all alone in the office, wandering its halls by their own. He thought of them sitting by the elevator, the same as Stanley was, talking to him in the knowledge he would never hear it.

When Stanley began moving again, slowly stretching out his limbs, he felt stiff and aching. He rubbed his joints, slowly standing up, laying his hands against the elevator’s doors. He imagined the Narrator on the other side, doing the same, so close yet so far.
There were so many things he wanted to tell them. I miss you. I hope you’re okay. I love you. You’re all I need. I don’t need this.
“Stay safe.”, he ended up saying, repeating himself in a way. Recalling the last words he knew the Narrator had been able to hear from him, in the ascent that felt so unbelievably long ago.

He hesitated, swallowing heavily. Debating, briefly, if he shouldn’t say more.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled away.

Life would go on. Stanley would continue in the cycle that was a story-less life. He would go home, eat, and go to sleep. He would wake up and go to work. He would spend his break talking with his coworkers.
After work, he would go home. He’d write a letter for the Narrator, so they would know what they had missed, once he could find them again.
On and on it would go, a loop all in its own. Stanley lived, like any person lived, surfing on the wave of time. He’d return to the elevator, just to speak to the Narrator, to pretend that he was right there and could hear him when he spoke to them.

One day, he heard about some news in passing, his coworkers talking about something or other. An office building had imploded somewhat recently - that was nothing new. A lot of people had died, though thankfully the building had seemed to have been near empty.
Apparently, they had found a person no one could identify. He had been trapped in an elevator, which had been a big reason as to how they had survived.
Stanley hadn’t thought too much of it. Tragedies happened, people died, some people survived. He tried to not think too much about strangers like that, so he wouldn’t sink into some pit of despair.
It was hard enough to wrestle with the deep empty pit inside himself as it was already, after all. He didn’t need to enlarge it with the woes of this world.

When he next went to the room he was certain didn’t exist, to pretend he could talk to the Narrator again, he couldn’t find it. Panicked, he tried to search for it, to find the door - but nothing. It was as if he had only ever imagined it.
What did that mean? If he could no longer find that room, that elevator, the connection to the office and the story and the Narrator-
What had happened?
Were they okay?

Stanley had to believe the Narrator was okay. That they were alive.
That, maybe, this meant they had made it out.
Not that they died.

The hollow pit in his chest had never felt so endless, as he made his way back towards his home. He had lost the last connection to his old life, not knowing what had happened to it and the one person inside of it.
Perhaps that was the sign for him to move on. To accept that the Narrator was gone and he would never get closure on what had happened to them. Perhaps he should, but to admit such and do it felt impossible.
The Narrator was his other half. How could he live without them? How could he move on? It felt virtually impossible. Maybe it was. He couldn’t know.

How long has it been? Since Stanley had left the story. Since he had last been at the elevator. Since anything remarkable had happened.
He didn’t know. Keeping track of time felt useless, merely trusting on his alarms to wake him for work and not to when he had free days. Nothing else mattered. He could’ve escaped a week ago or ten years ago. What did it matter, in the end?

He sighed, feeling the emptiness gnaw at his mind. He had thought it would be better, that it was the right choice, to escape the story. He had thought he could meet the Narrator again, could come and get them perhaps.
He had hoped that the new world wouldn’t be his, but theirs. Both of theirs. Because he couldn’t be without them, he realized that. He functioned, but he didn’t truly live. He didn’t think he could, not without the Narrator.
With his gaze on the ground, hands buried deep in his pockets, he didn’t really look where he was going. Late evenings like this one were usually free of people on the sidewalk, so he didn’t expect to really walk into anyone here.
But walk into someone he did. Bumping into someone else, enough to make his body turn, but not enough to force either of them to stop. He sighed.
“Sorry.”, he mumbled, too dejected and lost in thought to give the apology any more heart. He merely kept going, wanting to sink into his bed and perhaps never get up again-

“...Stanley?”