Chapter Text
"Are you literally willing to kill yourself to keep me from being happy?"
Stanley wandered up the stairs once more. He left a trail of blood behind him, as he carried himself with limp limbs. His gaze was empty, his mind was racing and his heart screamed for death.
He had enough of this madness! If there was anything he wanted then it was freedom. Or change. Anything at this point!
"Am I reading the situation correctly?" The narrator asked, feeling hopeless.
He wasn't, but Stanley wasn't turning back from here either. What good would it do anyway? The world would just reset. The narrator would forget. And Stanley would be left alone again with choices that didn't matter at all.
His feet passed the final step and he stood once more at the rift between himself and the floor. Another step. Stanley felt himself crash on the ground. It hurt, made his bones crack and made his blood leak.
It was so good to just feel again.
"Or maybe you're just getting a kick out of it. I don't know any more."
He was and he knew it was wrong. It was probably even the sickest thing you could imagine! But consider being trapped in a time loop for years… Wouldn't you want this as well?
"I just wanted us to get along, but I guess that was too much to ask."
They could try to get along. Maybe they could even be friends. But it'll stay a distant dream for as long as this world keeps resetting.
And so he headed up the stairs again.
"I can't keep watching this anymore, Stanley…" A sob escaped the brit. "You'll just keep going until you're dead, won't you…?"
The man didn't answer and just kept crawling upwards. His legs were broken at this point, so he had to rob over the ground. It was worth it, he thought. Just a few more meters! A little bit more and he could feel free for another short seconds.
"I don't want this!" The narrator yelled at him, begging. "Stop! Just stop!"
Stanley didn't stop. He was on the platform again, ready to throw himself off. And as he was slipping, something grabbed his broken legs. The employee almost choked at the feeling.
The narrator was behind him, holding onto him for his dear life. His head was detached from his body and a giant, yellow arrow. Hilarious, since he always disrespected the adventure line.
But Stanley couldn't laugh, because the feeling was just too much. The pain kept going for too long now! He could feel something tear in his legs as well. This wasn't what he had in mind at all! And god, did it hurt! It hurt so bad! It hurt so goddamn much! It hurt! It hurt! It-
"I won't let you die like this!" The narrator screamed, still holding Stanley's legs. "Even if… If it will rip me apart for this!"
It? What was it?
They lost their balance at the same moment he thought about his words. With a yell from the narrator, both Stanley and him fell down.
It was like a crack going through his heart. Everything happened too fast, yet he felt slowed down. And before he knew it his vision went dark.
427 felt himself hit the ground once more, but to his surprise the ground was softer than before. He opened his eyes again and looked next to himself. Sand? He looked up. There was s cloud going by, as the sun shone brightly into his face. Another glance, this time towards the narrator. He was out cold on the floor. He looked down at himself. His wounds were gone and the pain had stopped. What was going on? Did someone hear his wish for change…? Was this good…?
Stanley was deeply scared for the first time in years. And he felt utterly overwhelmed by it. Where was his bucket, when he needed it?! He had to find his beloved bucket! Quick-! Give it to him-!
427's worry about his bucket quickly disappeared into the the background, as a bitter realization hit him. He had once been here before.
With his whole body shaking, he carefully stood up. Sandcorns fell out of his clothes and hair, joining the countless others on the floor. And as far as Stanley could see there was sand. Well this was just fantastic... He and the narrator stood in the middle of a truly giant desert!
Stanley had only been here once. It had been an accident, a joke gone terribly wrong. At least it started off as a joke when he hit the skip button for the first few times. After realizing that time froze longer and longer when he pressed it, he had continued out of curiosity. Could he reach the end of time? No, he didn't succeed, but he managed to break the narrator and end up in this giant desert.
He shuddered at those memories. He remembered the weird noises he could hear, every time the narrator was seemingly missing completely. He also remembered the narrator saying the same phrase over and over again, in the same tone as if he was stuck in a loop of his own.
And then nothing. The skip button broke and Stanley had been completely alone, deserted. Until everything reset.
And now he was back again. But thankfully this time he wasn't alone.
The employees gaze wandered once again to the narrator. He… He was just out cold, right? He wasn't dead, right!? Only one way to find out...
Carefully, Stanley kneeled down next to the narrator and poked him with a finger against his yellow arrow head. The surface felt smooth and thin, the end of the arrow splitting into several tinier once that now laid around the narrator like hair. This was certainly more than Stanley had ever imagined the narrator to be. Somehow, even despite their difficulties, Stanley had always thought of him as human. Well, at least he had been half right.
As there was no reaction to his poking, Stanley took more, greater measures. He took a deep breath… And slapped the narrator across his head. He would lie if he said that he didn't feel the slightest drop of satisfaction at that. Finally, revenge for all these monologues and the disrespect!
However, slight worry now joined his panic when he realized, that the narrator wasn't reacting at that either. He couldn't be dead… Not again!
The fact that Stanley had no idea how the narrator's anatomy worked, didn't exactly help him figure this out either. He should at least have a pulse, right? He now took the lifeless hand of the narrator, searching with the finger for the pulse. It took him a few seconds to find it. After all, he had never done this before. But when he finally found it, relief went through him.
There it was, pulsing steady and strong beneath his finger. So the narrator was alive. Stanley let out a deep sigh. This was a mess.
A part of him wanted to just sit down here and wait for something to happen or the narrator to wake up, but the other part knew that he should reset this as soon as possible. Perhaps it would be better to do it before the narrator even woke up. Stanley didn't really want to talk about, well, all this.
The last time it reset, when he walked deeper into the desert. So maybe it would work this time too? With that new goal in mind, Stanley now grabbed the other mans ankle and began walking forward, dragging the body behind him.
It was exhausting and he was sweating heavily. The unconscious narrator wasn't exactly a small fly. His limp body left a deep trace in the sand, all the way back to where Stanley had started his mission. After a few minutes of dragging him further, Stanley took a break. He let himself fall on one of the dunes he had just reached and took a deep breath.
Something was wrong. There should have been a reset a long time ago. Why wasn't it resetting?!
It was ironic. All this time, Stanley had hoped for this to happen. For the resets to stop, for him to finally make meaningful choices. It was like the parable was laughing at him. Cursing him for his wish.
He wanted to scream, throw sand into the sky, hoping to hit someone, something responsible for this! But... Perhaps he could just throw the sand at himself? After all he caused all of this.
427 brushed over his face with one hand. Yeah, he broke the parable with his little tantrum. But it just was so unfair...
A small point at the horizon let him stop in his pity parade. Wait, was this… The office building? Protecting his face with one hand from the sunlight, Stanley stood up and took a closer look. Yes, it just had to be it!
But why was it so far away? Was it perhaps only a Fata Morgana? No, it seemed too real for that.
With new hope, Stanley grabbed the narrator again, prepared to drag him all the way over there if he had to! Turns out he didn't have to, because the narrator woke up in that same moment. With a groan, the other man rolled to the side, before raising his head.
"Stanley...? What happened?"