Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanley had a very bad feeling about this.

It could have been the rain and fog, or the reviews that quickly took a turn from petty to insulting, or the Narrator’s reactions steadily becoming less amusing and more concerning. Whatever the cause, a feeling of dread pulled on Stanley, tugging more every time he tried to ignore it.

The Narrator was oblivious. “And here it is! Go ahead and give it a shot.”

Admittedly, the premise of a button that could save him from the Narrator’s incessant ramblings seemed like a dream come true. However, it also seemed like a cheap, free win, something Stanley considered himself above taking. It was also extremely suspicious. Since when was the Narrator so sensitive to criticism? Stanley had thrown far worse, far more personal insults and it hardly reacted. It was all too bizarre.

“Come on, Stanley! No more ruminating, just test it out. Here, I’ll make it easy. Let’s pretend I’ve just begun an interminable monologue, and it goes something like this.”

The Narrator began a tirade of self-deprecation and mockery, something that would have been incredibly hilarious had it been in different circumstances. Stanley groaned inwardly, shaking his apprehension away. It’d only be a few minutes.

Then Stanley grinned. If it was only a few minutes, and then it’s gone, he may as well make good use of it.

Stanley pressed the button.

“Oh! Good, you’re back. See, you-”

Stanley pressed the button.

“Okay, very funny Stanley, now-”

Stanley pressed the button.

“STANLEY!”

Stanley snickered, immediately preparing for another press.

The Narrator practically screeched, “LISTEN TO ME!”

He backed off, shocked. The Narrator hardly ever raised their voice.

He heard a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god. Alright, perhaps I should have seen that coming,
“ it mumbled, “But you need to know that while working as intended, effectively skipping time for you, the amount of time the button skips has been steadily increasing. According to the clock, that last one was about half an hour.”

Stanley raised a brow. Since when were the clocks in this game functional? The Narrator was probably just being dramatic, the bastard could never stand to be ignored.

“No, I’m not! And even if I was, I believe the button has been demonstrated well enough, and we can move along to- Hold on.”

Stanley looked up, confused.

“Where did the door go?”

Stanley turned around. Oh, it had to be kidding.

“I’m not! Why in the world would I kid about something like this?”

He groaned. Okay, just make a new one.

“JuSt mAkE a nEw oNe,” the Narrator mocked. “Doors don’t grow on trees, Stanley! I can’t just make a new one whenever you request it.”

Why not? He’d seen them make things before.

“Yes, I can make things, not fundamental changes to the map’s layout! If I could, I would have deleted that damned closet instead of boarding it up.”

Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no need to panic, he-

“Personally, I believe there is a lot of need to panic!” the Narrator interjected. “Stanley, we may be stuck here for thousands of years!”

Stanley laughed, then held his face in mock terror. Oh no! He’d really done it this time!

He laughed again, sitting down in front of the button. It’d be fine, really. He wasn’t worried, why should he be? Everything reset eventually. As much as he hated the Narrator’s stupid mantra, it stood as fact:

The end is never the end.

“Are you really not the slightest bit worried about this!? What about this isn’t getting through to you? We. Are. Stuck! Here!”

What difference did it make? Stanley was plenty good at keeping himself entertained. And the Narrator wasn’t trapped, they could still access any other part of the map, couldn’t they?

“Well, yes…” it mumbled, “But what am I supposed to do? Just leave you here, unsupervised? I’m not that stupid.”

Stanley disagreed on that last point, but he guessed it was fair. He’d prefer to have them around anyway. As annoying as it was, he’d gotten used to the Narrator’s constant presence. It was the one thing that never changed. He had the Narrator with him. What else mattered?

His face felt very hot all of a sudden, and Stanley decided to check the walls for broken collision. Even if he couldn’t escape, it could be fun to mess around with.

He heard muffled giggling and shot the ceiling a glare. Not a fucking word.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” There was palpable amusement in those words. Stanley’s face grew hotter. With rage. Rage and nothing else.

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with getting lost in thought, dear-” Don’t call me that- “It happens to all of us. Though I do believe that’s the most affectionately you’ve ever thought about me.”

Stanley kicked the fence. It didn’t mean anything. He was bound to get somewhat attached after being stuck with the Narrator for… How long had it been? Not important. It was a classic scenario, a captive growing attached or falling in love with the person keeping them trapp-

“Falling in love?” The Narrator interrupted.

It was an example, damnit!

Another chuckle. “You can’t blame me, Stanley, you’re so very easy to tease.”

Shut up.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Stanley sneered. It was convenient that there was a button in the middle of the room made for that exact purpose, then, wasn’t it?

“Oh, please. You just admitted you, hm, let’s see…” Stanley heard papers shuffling. “Prefer to have me around? Oh, what’s this? That nothing else matters, as long as I-“

Stanley pushed the button.

Two of the lights were out.

He crossed his arms. The Narrator really shouldn’t have tried to call his bluff.

“Twelve hours.” They seethed.

Oh. That was a bit more of a jump than he’d expected.

“TWELVE HOURS, Stanley,” it repeated. “Because of your little tantrum I was stuck here, alone, for half a day! Do you not understand the situation here?” The Narrator practically growled, “No, of course not. Little incompetent, blindly rebellious Stanley has no grasp of anything except for what he shouldn’t be doing. I should really just leave you here until you learn. How about that, hmm? I’ll work on a new game, a new, better protagonist, while you sit here and rot. Does that sound fair? Will that even things out for you?”

Yeah, Stanley was the one throwing a tantrum. They were being melodramatic like always, playing it up to get Stanley to listen. It didn’t work in the office, and it wouldn’t work now.

“I am not,” it snapped, “Damnit, Stanley, would it kill you to take this seriously!?”

Maybe. In his opinion, the Narrator was the one dooming itself here. Stanley wasn’t exactly known for his self control.

The Narrator let out a few more strangled noises of frustration, and then sighed. “I suppose. It’s unfair of me to expect you to act rationally. You’ve always been thoughtless and impulsive.”

Stanley’s eye twitched.

The Narrator’s breath hitched. “What I mean is,” it spoke slowly, “Neither of us are particularly equipped for this situation. You’re unable to control the impulse to press the button, and I’m unable to stop or control that choice whatsoever.”

Stanley took a slow breath and sat against the wall. As much as he loved to hear the Narrator admit powerlessness, the reality of the situation was starting to get to him. Not too much, mind you, he knew things would work out eventually, but until then something needed to be done. The Narrator seemed genuinely shaken despite their angry ranting. Stanley bit a knuckle, annoyed with the guilt rising in his chest. He really should just slam the button a few more times and get this sequence over with. He knew it wouldn’t end until he did.

He knew the Narrator was listening in, too, and not saying anything. He knew how afraid they were. And he hated that. He hated when the Narrator was afraid, because it made him want to stop everything he was doing so he wouldn’t have to hear that shake in their voice, wouldn’t have to hear them struggle to breathe properly as their chest tightened. He hated that he cared.

Still nothing? No snarky comment on that last part?

Stanley swallowed. Okay, they didn’t have to talk about that, but he didn’t want to just sit in silence for-

“Three minutes.”

What?

“That’s how long you lasted without me, Stanley. Three minutes. And 14 seconds, to be exact.”

Stanley’s face grew hot. Are you SERIOUS?

The Narrator laughed, and Stanley buried his face in his hands. Great, he was going to spend the better part of an eternity being made fun of by his stupid Narrator-

“Really, Stanley, I expected you to last much longer than that. Just imagine if I actually left you here!”

Shut UP. He’d taken the silent treatment for a week before cracking, it was the Narrator that couldn’t handle being left alone.

“I doubt that. You’re not very independent, Stanley.”

Stanley huffed, taking his face out of his hands. Did they really wanna do this right now?

“Why not?” He could hear the self-satisfied grin in their voice, “We may as well find ways to keep ourselves entertained in here, and since you won’t go with the easiest option, I believe you’ve earned a bit of being messed with.”

Stanley’s instincts reminded him that letting the Narrator goad him into challenges had never ended well. As usual, Stanley ignored them.

12 hours. The Narrator could spend it however. If Stanley broke, they won.

“And?”

And that’s it. They got to be insufferable and hold it over his head in every argument for a year, just like every other time they won.

“Fine, then. I’ll see you in twelve hours, Stanley.” Their voice faded.

Stanley got up and stretched. It wasn’t technically necessary, but it gave his body something to do while he looked around for ways to keep himself entertained.

There was a paint can in the corner; that could definitely entertain him a day or longer. There weren’t any tools around, so Stanley would have to use his hands…

Stanley involuntarily imagined the sticky feeling of paint on his arms and hands, and shuddered.

Nevermind.

Stanley was no stranger to finding amusement in unbearable monotony. The first hour was spent scouring the whole room for an open seam, messy collision, something.

He found nothing.

Of course the room made in an emotional outburst had to be completely sealed. Of. Course.

Stanley wondered if the Narrator was still observing him. The answer was probably yes; it rarely left him unsupervised, and got nervous whenever he was out of sight for even a few minutes.

Either way, any interference or response would be a loss, so it didn’t matter.

Stanley grinned.

And proceeded to think every curse word he could remember as loudly as possible, on loop, for thirty minutes.

…

Damn. Either he was really alone, or the Narrator was taking this more seriously than he’d assumed. Stanley considered going through a couple more things that usually set them off, but ultimately decided it’d be a waste of mental energy.

…Then he changed his mind.

Stanley spent the better part of the next 10 hours telling stories to himself, triple-checking the walls, and attempting to get the Narrator’s attention. None of it was particularly productive, but it didn’t need to be as long as it passed the time.

Stanley checked the clock and smiled. Just a few more minutes. The Narrator should’ve known he’d win. He’d gone days without a single word from them before. Granted, that was back in the office, and there was significantly less to mess with in this room.

Time’s up.

Stanley shot up from the ground. That’s it! I won! Eat it!

…

Stanley frowned. Were they really going to be such a sore loser? Come on, be a good sport. The game didn’t work if they didn’t let each other gloat.

…

Fine, then. He’d be here when the Narrator was done throwing a tantrum.

…

Stanley bit a knuckle.

…

Stanley checked the clock.

…

Stanley wasn’t worried. He was fine, the Narrator was just being a baby.

…

Stanley ignored his increasingly irregular breathing. He was fine.

…

Stanley was fine.

…

Okay, it’s been 10 minutes. You can stop now.

Hey. I know you can hear me!

…

Hello?
…

They didn’t actually leave, did they?

…

Stanley was not panicking. Stanley was perfectly fine, and he remained on the floor instead of anxiously pacing around the button. He’d endured worse than this! He wasn’t going to crack the second the Narrator was gone for longer than he thought!

Come on! I know you’re there, and I know the point you’re trying to make! Stop being petty and come back here!

Stanley stopped in front of the button.

…

Stanley pressed the skip button.

The room was quiet. Stanley almost started panicking again, when-

“Hello. Planning to stay, this time?” The Narrator’s tone dripped with bitterness. “Or should I line up some activities to keep myself entertained for another week?”

Stanley stumbled back. A week? Just how much time was the button increasing by?

“I’ve tried finding out. There’s no common ratio. It’s just as likely for it to skip through a month as it is a decade next time.”

Stanley tried to ignore the pain behind those words, and the regret they brought.

“It’s alright.”

Stanley looked up.

“I’ve had… Quite a lot of time to think about this, and what our options are,” the Narrator began slowly, “And I believe that we both know what’s going to happen.

“It’s in your nature to deny the inevitable, and had I not spent so long mulling over this decision, I would’ve asked you to continue to do so. But…” Its voice broke, and quickly steadied, “I don’t want either of us to have to live in wait of what’s to come. I can’t do it, Stanley. I can’t sit here with you, knowing it’ll be any moment before you’re gone again.”

What was it trying to say?

“Don’t pretend, Stanley. I know you understand. There’s nothing either of us can do. Give me the mercy of sitting with you in silence for a bit before it happens.”

Stanley swallowed.

Okay.

…

I’m sorry.

Stanley pressed the skip button.

Chapter Text

The moment Stanley’s hand hit the button, the room went silent.

The Narrator could always hear Stanley. Stanley could always hear the Narrator. They were inherently inseparable, indivisible. Neither of them were built for silence, much less isolation. As such, they rarely ever experienced such things.

Until then.

Until now.

There was nothing. Even when Stanley slept, the Narrator could detect background thoughts as he dreamt. Not now. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t breathing.

He was gone.

The moment the silence set, the Narrator’s world caved in.

Why had they done that? Why did they let him go? They should’ve stopped him, should’ve trapped him away from the button until they could find a way out! They could have done anything else! But no, the Narrator had to let- No, encourage Stanley to abandon them!

And of course, this had to be the one time Stanley listened. Not when the Narrator tried to make him happy. Not when the Narrator begged him to stop throwing himself to the ground. Now. Only now.

The Narrator could feel itself falling slowly apart, like rotting wood. It couldn’t do this, it wasn’t meant to function alone! Stanley was never supposed to be able to leave. He was all they needed, all they had. He hated and rebelled against them, but he gave them meaning. He made the Narrator real.

Perhaps they should have been prepared for this. Stanley had been dead-set on finding an escape in the beginning. Perhaps he never stopped wanting to escape. Perhaps he just got better at hiding it.

Was that what they’d done? Given Stanley the freedom he wanted? Were they doomed to sit here, in this room, until they faded away entirely? To leave Stanley to the rest of the world?

The thought stung harsher than expected. What would Stanley do, if he got away? Would he settle himself peacefully? Find a job, friends, and home apart from the Narrator? Would he forget them entirely?

The Narrator was keenly aware of the beginnings of a spiral, and shoved those thoughts away. No, no. Stanley wasn’t out in the world, replacing the Narrator. He was right there. Frozen, but there.

“Of course. You wouldn’t really leave me, would you?”

There was no response.

Suspension.

That was the closest term the Narrator could use for what it felt right now.

It was suspended between everything, entirely impartial, insignificant, unimportant, separated.

Everything was so clear to it now. It was wonderful. It was disturbing.

This was not its fate. There was no fate. Any number of things could have happened, any choices made. This was simply what happened.

There was no good or bad ending. No singular outcome to force into existence. There was nothing except understanding.

For the first time, the Narrator felt truly free.

This truly was the end, wasn’t it?

The Narrator had never felt such pure, unyielding fear in its existence. Cold, creeping roots of terror that spread through its being and took hold. There was nothing to be done. There was nothing it could have done.

It almost yearned for the emptiness that slowly consumed it. Still, it had to continue to resist.

They needed to wait for Stanley.

The man in the center of the room jolted and stepped back. His confused, anxious expression sparked disgust that overlayed the Narrator’s fear.

“Oh, it’s you. You’re here again. Welcome.”

Chapter Text

“...in the darkness.”

Stanley stared up, aghast, as he had for the past 5 minutes while the Narrator unleashed a monologue of hatred and grief. Which, by all means, was uncalled for. Hell, their last words to him were a resignation that this was the only way out!

Nonetheless, Stanley was just condemned to whatever the hell happened to the Narrator. And now they were silent. And Stanley was pissed off.

Who the hell did they think they were!? Stanley actually listened and trusted them for once, ONCE, and this is what came of it? Duly noted, sir, he’ll never listen to anything that comes out of their mouth ever again! So sorry for doing the one thing it ever wanted!

Did he already mention that this was their choice? But sure, yeah, Stanley was the one who couldn’t be trusted on his own. Stanley was the one that couldn’t function without company. Stanley was the one that fell apart after… How long alone? 5 minutes, an hour, 12, a week, a year-

Sharp guilt undercut his rage. A year. No, not exactly- That’s just when the Narrator stopped counting. But how was he supposed to be blamed for that!? The Narrator told him to save himself and press the button! It’s not like he wanted to! He didn’t want to hurt them!

Stanley balled his hands into fists. His nails dug into his palms. He didn’t want to. He just wanted to get them both out of here, damnit!

two people suffer? Stanley had really, really thought the Narrator had a moment of selflessness there. That they actually cared about Stanley enough to spare him from all of this. No. It was probably just a symptom of their damn moping. “Oh, woe is me, I’m doomed to suffer here forever- Save yourself, for it’s too late for me!”

The worst part was that he trusted it. He trusted that things would turn out okay. For once in his life, Stanley made the decision to follow the Narrator’s instruction. They always falsely believed they knew what was the best choice to make.

This time, Stanley believed it too.

He sank to the floor, crossing his arms over his knees. It stung. It shouldn’t hurt that much. He should be outraged. He wanted to be, wanted to keep tirading instead of letting everything they said imprint on him. He wanted to be mad. At the Narrator for tricking him, at himself for believing them, anything except this stupid, awful hurt.

They still weren’t saying anything. Stanley let his head drop on his arms.

He really didn’t want to hurt them. He was scared, okay? He was fucking terrified, and they were acting so sure and calm, and he needed something to cling to, so he listened and he pressed the stupid button. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think about why or what would happen.

He didn’t know what to do.

Every other time, Stanley made the decisions.

Every other time, Stanley made his own choices by refusing to act on the ones he was supposed to make.

What was he supposed to do here?

Stanley looked up.

I really don’t know what to do here. If you’re still listening, at all, please. I… I need your help. I don’t want to do this alone. I don’t want to hurt you, but if we can’t do this together… Stanley swallowed. I have to. I’m willing to listen to you, this once. What should I do?

…Nothing. That’s… That’s okay. I can wait, that’s fair.

…

Narrator?

…

Stanley wiped his face.

Okay. Fine. Let it be on record that he tried. He tried being open, he tried trusting the Narrator, he tried waiting.

His chest burned. He refused to decipher what from. He was fine.

Stanley stood up, walked around to the button, and looked up.

If you won’t do this with me, then both of us are going through this alone. Just like you wanted.

He hesitated, frustration softening for a moment. Was he really going to do this to them? How long would it be this time?

Rage overwhelmed those thoughts. Stanley gave them their chance.

I’m doing this, with or without you.

Stanley pushed the skip button.

Chapter Text

The Narrator heard a distinct click.

He’d pressed it.

It wasn’t surprising. That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it? For both of them to go on with their miserable, infinite lives in peace. Alone, unbothered. Alone. Alone, alone, alone.

He’d seemed hurt, there, for a moment. There was a glimmer of guilt and grief. Guilt was an uncommon one. Stanley never felt bad, unless the Narrator made him. Which they did. They’d unloaded a year’s worth of anger, regret, and terror, and left him to deal with it. They expected the outrage. The defensiveness, the insults. Par for the course. Stanley didn’t like feeling guilty.

The Narrator did not, however, expect him to sit down and stir in it. To process and calm down. To apologize. To admit that he cared.

He cared. He hadn’t wanted to do it. He waited for them. But the Narrator was too caught up in itself to listen.

The reality began to sink in. Stanley had sat and opened up, willingly. Had asked for their help, for their guidance. Admitted his fear and guilt. And the Narrator left him alone. It was far, far, too late, now. How long would it be, this time?

Why had they said those things? They knew why, really- A year of isolation would dig into anyone’s sanity, and the Narrator had never been particularly built for being alone. They still remembered it all clearly. Would Stanley understand, if they told him? Would he brush it off, already beginning to stubbornly suppress? Would he argue?

What would happen when they reset? It could imagine Stanley obstinately moving forward, refusing to acknowledge the past run. Perhaps locking himself in the closet, trying to work through lingering emotions where he thought the Narrator couldn’t listen. They’d leave him be, allowing him to feel falsely secure. When he was finished, he’d brush himself off. Perhaps press the ON button; he always liked to clear his head with a fast-paced ending.

He’d run about the facility, listening intently even as the Narrator made no changes to their script. Maybe they’d tease him, add a small deviation to throw him off-balance. His fear would have long since faded, but he’d still enjoy the dramatics and entertain the Narrator by pretending. And they would know he was pretending, and a bit of affection would slip through in their tone, Stanley clocking it immediately. It was so frustrating, how he read them. From the very beginning, the Narrator was able to read Stanley’s thoughts. Over time, though, he’d learned to read their voice just as well. Even remaining on-script, Stanley would be able to tell exactly what they were feeling.

Perhaps that was why he felt so hurt. He could tell that they meant every single word. The thought wrenched the Narrator back into the room. Daydreaming, really? The real Stanley was right there, and he certainly wouldn’t-

Well. He wouldn’t be doing or thinking much of anything, for a while. A very long while. The skips were exponential. For all they know, they could be trapped here for a century.

If they even made it that long, anyway. Maybe they would simply fade. They could feel it even now- A foggy, crackling darkness at the edges of their being. Slowly closing in. The Narrator was less afraid of it this time. Maybe it would mask everything else. What would Stanley do, if he came back and they weren’t there? Completely silent, for hours, days, however long he waited.

Alarm cut through those thoughts. How long would Stanley be left alone if that happened? They couldn’t do that, they couldn’t leave him alone! There was no telling how long it’d be before an automatic reset kicked in, if the game reset at all. No. They needed to stay aware and present. No more daydreaming, and certainly no fading away. Stanley wasn’t human, but he wasn’t a program, either. This sort of thing could have real, permanent effects on him- Ones the Narrator had no idea how to fix.

The thought crossed their mind: would this be easier if they had a player?

It was a touchy subject for Stanley- The idea that he was supposed to be a vessel for a real person. Neither of them were quite sure what went wrong. But if the Narrator was sure that Stanley was being controlled, and they had nothing to worry about, they could guiltlessly slip into the darkness. It was quite clear from the beginning that Stanley had free will. Real free will- Not the type given with the limited choices within a video game. Stanley did not simply go left, right, up, down, and crouch. He thought, and acted, and though he on no occasion spoke, he communicated in a way that was impossible to ignore.

The Narrator wondered what it would be like if Stanley was being controlled. Would they care? Was it possible to yearn for something you didn’t know of?

They winced. This whole line of thought would surely trigger some outburst-

Right, right. Still frozen.

Did it like being like this? Separate from its purpose? It loved Stanley, truly, but was it happy to be so disconnected from its audience? There was no one to witness anything that happened, unless…

Unless what? The Stanley Parable was a video game. The Narrator had evidently ended up in some corrupted copy, but it was still a game. But what if it wasn’t?

The Narrator began to feel more hopeful. Was it possible that they were wrong? The thought alone grated on their nerves, but it meant a possibility that someone was there. Perhaps many people- A whole audience, like intended. Could anyone hear them? Did anyone know?
It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

The Narrator cleared its throat. “Can anyone hear me? Anyone at all? If you can- Whoever you are,- I really hope I’m not just talking to myself here - I need help. Badly. Not just me- Stanley needs it, too. I can’t leave without him. Both of us need to get out of here.”

Silence stretched on.

Their remaining hope dissolved. Right, that made sense. They couldn’t lose their head, here, they needed to stay focused on the facts. It and Stanley were the only entities in the entire game, they always were, and they always would be. Stanley was frozen, not jabbing at them or talking to them. They needed to stay present, not get lost in their own head reminiscing or daydreaming about him. As badly as they needed him, the Narrator was sure Stanley needed them more. They would never forgive themselves if they left him behind.

But if they went away, just for a little while, to get their mind off of that damn ache-

No. Stanley was trapped in the room, so the Narrator was too. They would not leave him, not for a second. Even if he wasn’t even there, even if for all intents and purposes he was gone forever, even if the Narrator was finding it harder and harder to believe he’d be back at all. They would not leave him.

They didn’t like the silence. Before, they’d attempted to fill it with their own words. Went on, and on, and on about Stanley, the reviews, their story. Long-numbed emotions making a resurgence in outraged speeches and miserable babbling. Right now, they were far too tired. What they wouldn’t give for a little rest.

They didn’t need sleep. But sometimes, when Stanley would nag and bother until they gave in and let him stay in his apartment, he asked them to join him. They’d do it, reluctantly, and every damn time he’d find a way to persuade them to sleep with him. As much as the Narrator pretended it was just barely more pleasant than keeping an eye on Stanley for a few hours while he napped, it was absolutely lovely. Stanley wouldn’t just leave them on the floor. Or the couch. Or even the other side of the bed. He’d hold them, play with their hair and sneak kisses on their forehead when he thought they’d already fallen asleep. He’d make them feel so safe, so cared for, that no matter how hard they tried, they’d be out within five minutes.

It was the worst.

Stanley was just as gentle after, too. It was only when they reset that he’d be back to himself: stubborn, spiteful, and absolutely bursting at the seams with infuriating teasing. It was so, so cruel. Stanley would waste absolutely no time getting back on track, and would cock his head with a smile when the Narrator tripped over their first line.

They hated him.
They loved him so, so much.

As had happened quite often in the past… Ahem. Since he’d pressed the button, the Narrator nearly began to talk to Stanley before the memory of their current situation hit. Damnit. It tried to follow the daydreaming rule, really, but it barely lasted a day. What was it supposed to do? If nothing else, it kept them sane. Kept them from slipping back into the ever-present darkness slowly seeping in.

It’d regrettably been unable to follow that rule as well. Every once in a while, it fell backwards, numb and speechless even in thought. When it climbed back out, it wasn’t sure how long it had been. But that was still good, wasn’t it? No matter how many times it happened, it always made it back out. It didn’t leave him, not really.

What was it thinking about? Its mind drifted so often now, without Stanley to anchor it. Whenever they got trapped in their own head, Stanley was the one to notice and drag them back out. Now, it was left to ever-so-slowly claw out. And without Stanley, it had no idea how long that took.

They resisted the urge to express this to him. It needed to keep sane, and talking to Stanley when he was frozen was a surefire way to lose its grip on reality. It needed to keep itself together, no matter how much it wanted to give and and beg him to-

“Come back, please, I can’t do this. I need you here, Stanley, I always did, I can’t do this without you,” it sobbed, “Just for a moment, please, I need you, come back, come back-”

It reeled itself in, a few choked cries making their way through involuntarily. None of that. It needed to save its energy. Calm down. Did they want Stanley to come back and see them like this?

Right, they reminded themselves. He’d be back. They’d be okay.

They just needed to wait a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

The Narrator wished they were bored.

Odd, wasn’t it? In the past, they’d loathed the ability to even be bored, for all the time they spent feeling it. Weeks in the broom closet, days in the employee lounge, spiteful years spent outside the map. It would be logical to assume they’d never want to be anywhere near that emotion again.

Logical, but wrong. Boredom would be a blessing, now. Reliving those awful, long runs would be so much better. The ones where Stanley hurt himself, hurt them- They’d take that option a million times over. Anything other than this. This feeling, this all-encompassing, inescapable emptiness. It felt like a piece of the Narrator was missing, never to be seen again.

That was exactly what happened, though, wasn’t it?

There are integral constants in the world. A wave cannot exist without an ocean. A beginning cannot exist without an end. If you pull the tide away from the sea, you destroy more than the currents. The end is never the end, but there is always an end. What is expected to become of these things, ripped away from their source, their purpose, their being?

What is expected of a story ripped away from its author?

Stanley was standing in the center of the room, as he had been for the past forty-nine thousand, four hundred and fifteen years. His expression was grim, accepting. The Narrator understood why. Their last words to him had been some of the cruelest they’d ever spoken, hateful and venomous. They’d long since forgiven him for what he’d done. But then again, they had lots of time to think about it.

They’d be able to take the waiting if it was with Stanley. Really with Stanley, not his frozen corpse and the daydreams that trapped the Narrator in their own head. They’d never been able to function by themselves. With only Stanley to keep company, that transformed into an inability to function without him. They wondered how much worse it’d be if they didn’t have his body as a reminder. The fleeting hope that he’d be back, any day now… It was all that kept the Narrator together.

The Narrator loaded in their model. It was made for Stanley. He’d asked, more than once, about the possibility, and the Narrator never could ignore Stanley’s ideas for long.

It had deteriorated significantly over the years, but that didn’t matter. There wasn’t anyone else to see it.

They slumped against the wall, facing Stanley from behind. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but neither was anything else. There was a chair, they supposed, maybe they could-

Stanley shifted.

The Narrator gasped, scrambling to their feet, suddenly insecure about the state of their model. They knew he’d be back, they knew it. They wanted to yell, but their voice was strained from disuse. They settled on a simple call.

“Stanley?”

He turned around. Emotions flooded the Narrator from him, none of them good. Pity, worry, grief, guilt, regret- It hit like a wave as the Narrator got used to once again being inside his mind.

Before they could properly adjust, Stanley rushed forwards and- What in the-

Oh. They’d forgotten what a hug felt like.

(I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.)

The Narrator used what strength they had to hug him back. “N-None of that. It wasn’t your fault, I stopped being angry a long time ago.”

(Don’t lie to me. I know it was hell for you.)

No. No, no no no no. If they started breaking down now, they’d only drive him away again. Keep it together, keep it together.

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” it managed, forcing a bit of arrogance into its tone. “I’m used to waiting for you. T-Though I do apologize for… Last time. I know neither of us like being ignored.”

(You’re lying. Stop it.)

“I don’t know what you-”

(You really want me to believe you didn’t miss me? At all?)

The Narrator cracked.

“I did. I did,” it mumbled, fighting back tears.

(Talk to me about it. I miss hearing you talk.)

The Narrator vaguely noticed they were in their spot against the wall again, this time curled in Stanley’s arms. “I tried so hard.” Its voice shook embarrassingly, but it pressed on, ”I tried so hard to keep myself together. But it was so painful without you, I couldn’t handle it, it hurt, so much… I didn’t care if you were listening, or knew I was there at all, I just needed you back.” Stanley remained quiet, gently squeezing them in affirmation that he understood.

“Stanley…” It curled into itself. “It hurt so much. I- I can’t even begin to describe it, it’s the worst I’ve ever felt, by any metric possible, and it was like that for so long. F-For a while, I wasn’t sure if you’d ever be back. If this was all an exercise in stupid, misaimed devotion. If this was how it would really end.” Tears began to fall. They hiccuped. “But- But I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t, I didn’t want you to feel like that, never, I could never do that to you.”

Stanley pulled them closer; by this point, they were leaning into him with their full weight. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? That- That this was the breaking point?” It laughed without humor. “But even then… Neither of us really liked it, hm?”

Stanley nodded. (You used to get anxious if I was in my office for more than five minutes,) he teased.

“And you’d begin to spiral if I went silent for just a moment,” it laughed again, this time with genuine mirth.

There was a pause.

(I’m not leaving you this time.)

“Stanley…” it croaked, tears already returning, “I wish I could believe you.”

(Me too.) Stanley inhaled shakily, forcing down a considerable amount of grief. (Me too.)

“Just this once, prove me wrong. Please?”

(I will. I will. I promise.)

The Narrator sniffed, but no more tears fell. Its eyes fell shut. The cutting, brutal pain was subsiding, leaving an exhausted joy. Stanley was here. Here, with them. It was all worth it. He’d even promised- Stanley made lots of promises, but those were always transparently empty. This one was real. It was finally going to be okay.

Just when the Narrator was about to drift to sleep, a dripping sound snapped it back to awareness. Hm. The leaking must’ve gotten worse. Annoying, but a sign of progress in the deterioration of the room. They shifted position, feeling somewhat awkward despite the earlier comfort. That was alright, though. Another spark of joy reminded them it was Stanley they were getting comfortable beside. The Narrator decided it would be fine if they never went back to the office, as long as Stanley remained beside them.

Stanley’s thoughts had gone quiet. Asleep, the Narrator assumed. He’d never had much trouble getting rest in atypical spots. The bastard could sleep like a baby through a jet engine blaring in his ears. Lord, he was really…

The Narrator sighed. He was wonderful. He was stubborn, and aggravating, and he delighted in their frustration, and when given an inch he would pull and tug and yank until it became a mile. He would sooner throw himself off of a cliff than do anything that didn’t benefit him, sooner break his own spine than let anyone believe he was following orders. The Narrator hated him, and they loved him more than anything in the world. Unhealthily so, they knew, but what did that matter when the only person to judge them for it was Stanley? They were content like this. This was-

The Narrator stopped short. Stanley wasn’t holding them anymore.

“Stanley?”

They suddenly felt very, very cold.

“Stanley?”

The Narrator snapped back to reality, still facing Stanley from behind.

No. No. No, no no no no no no no-

“Stanley? Stanley, this isn’t funny. You- Whatever you’re trying to accomplish, you aren’t going to ac- achieve it. So quit it and come back here.”

Stanley did not move. Stanley did not think.

“Stanley.” Their frustration was covered by panic, and it surely showed in their tone. “This is too far, you know that. Stop it.”

Was that even possible? It’d lost track of time daydreaming before, sure, but not like that, never like that, it had to have been real, he was just playing an awful trick like always, and the Narrator would forgive him immediately because they were too relieved to scold him and-

“You win. Is that what you want to hear? You win! Stop this. Please.”

The Narrator stood on shaking legs, nearly tripped on their way over. “Please, whatever you want, you can have it, I don’t care, please stop this,” it pleaded. How was it possible that his expression was exactly the same? “I need you here. I can’t do this without you.”

Was he really…?

No. No, no, he wasn’t. This must’ve been a trick, or a nightmare, that was normal, wasn’t it? They were just asleep, soon they’d wake up and everything would be fine.

‘Stanley.” The Narrator forced their tone to sharpen, switching tactics. “You aren’t fooling me. We already reached the end.”

The end is never the end is never the end is-

“SHUT UP!”

The Narrator jolted. “No, no, not you Stanley, not you,” they stammered. “But I am serious. If you won’t move, I’ll make you.”

No response.

True to their word, the Narrator shoved Stanley as hard as they could, using every bit of strength-

He didn’t budge.

“Stanley?”

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

“Of… Of course. Of course. Is this what I’ve come to? Deluding myself into thinking you’re back, then hurting you when you aren’t? …Last chance to prove me wrong! I know how much you… Y- You…”

The Narrator collapsed. Centuries of pain and grief returned in a rush, flooding their every nerve. Were they crying again? No, not again. It never was, it never ended, it was never going to end.

“Stanley… I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It hurts so much, I can’t…” It broke off with a loud sob. “I love you. I love you so much, Stanley.” They looked up. “Did I ever tell you that? I can’t remember anymore.”

What did any of it matter? Stanley was never coming back. He would never hear anything the Narrator said, never again. It could fool itself as much as it wanted, but reality would creep back in eventually.

“No, no, you’ll be back, you’ll be back,” it cried, hugging its own arms. “This can’t be the end. It can’t be.

“I won’t give up. I won’t, I promise. I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Don’t give up. This isn’t the end.

Don’t give up. This isn’t the end.

Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. This isn’t-

“...the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never…”

-the end.

Chapter Text

“...the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never the end is never…”

Stanley sat against the wall, knees up to his chest. His body felt numb.

He thought they were gone.

He stared listlessly at the floor. His brain was trying very, very hard to protect him from the reality of the situation. But it couldn’t shut them out.

“…never the end is never the end is never the end is…”

The Narrator’s voice sounded how Stanley felt. Hollow. Usually, Stanley could read the Narrator’s tone perfectly; he could detect exactly what they were feeling, even if they didn’t change a single word of the script. After an eternity of listening to the same windbag, you got a handle on how they spoke.

There was nothing behind those words. It was empty, the leftover instinct of an entity that just couldn’t shut up. An entity that was left to rot, leaving a corpse to continue to try to be heard.

Stanley looked up at the skip button. A stubborn part of him told him to press it. It was the only way to end this, they’re gone anyway, just get it over with-

He looked back down. The Narrator’s voice continued chanting, reminding him they weren’t dead. But, then again, this was probably the closest they could get to it.

Part of Stanley was happy about that. Not out of a selfless desire for them to be safe, but because he wasn’t sure what he would have done if he never heard their voice again. He’d waited in the room for hours, listening to the Narrator’s fixated ramblings loop back in on themselves. Even if they weren’t present, it was nice to know they were there.

An ache pierced through the numbness in Stanley’s chest. Is that why they’d stayed? Did it prefer to rot in this room as long as it meant they could see Stanley?

He swallowed. No, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t that it was Stanley in particular, it was that it was someone. The Narrator didn’t have access to any other entity in the game. But did they really stay here the entire time?

The thought made Stanley hug his knees closer to his chest. God, no. Please let them have done something else to pass the time, anything else. Spent some time creating, just for itself, or for when Stanley came back, something.

Stanley let his head drop onto his knees. He knew they hadn’t. The stubborn bastard sat itself down and refused to take their attention away for even a second. Maybe if it’d taken breaks, found some way to pass the time, it wouldn’t have degraded so quickly. Stanley’s mind sharply corrected that it didn’t happen quickly, it happened over- How long had it been, now?

Stanley lifted his head and surveyed the room. It was hard to see details in the dark, but the skip button provided enough light that he could study the room for any differences. He forced himself onto his feet, giving the button a wide berth as he passed. The ceiling was still dripping. It may have been louder than before, now that he paid it attention. Stanley managed a smile. The room was breaking down! Here it was- real, tangible proof that they’d both get out someday.

He sat down underneath the water, letting it drip down his face. When was the last time he’d experienced that? It wasn’t like the office had showers. The sensation was new, and he sighed contentedly. It’d leave him uncomfortable and cold when he got up, but it didn’t matter. Stanley was just glad things were changing.

The thought crossed his mind, far from the first time- What if he did get out, but the game didn’t reset? What if the Narrator never recovered? What if he had to live without them forever?

Stanley stood up. Nope! Not even entertaining that line of thought! It would take a while, clearly, but he’d get out of here, and everything would reset. The Narrator was going to be fine, eventually. It’d been what, ten presses? Eleven? It couldn’t go on for much longer than that. Maybe he’d already passed the halfway point.

He looked up with a smile. Hey, if I end up waiting here longer than you, is that a win?

“...end is never the end is never the end is…”

He dropped the grin. Yeah. This was already enough of a loss for both of them.

It didn’t matter much. It’d been way too long to tell who was in the lead at this point. Stanley had come up with the game during his first ever run of the ending with the stairs. He’d tried to keep track, but after both of their scores hit triple digits, he gave up. The total score was never really important anyway. The point was to give Stanley something to beat, something to win, something to break up the monotony before he lost his mind. And it worked. So far, neither of them had succumbed to the repetition and endless spiraling of the office.

“...never the end is never the end…”

Well. Until now.

But they had to be in there on some level, right? The mantra was proof of that. Even though the Narrator was broken down, on the verge of… Whatever their equivalent of death was, they were still there. Maybe if Stanley waited long enough, they could recover before the game reset. He just had to waste time till then. He was great at that!

Stanley spent a while brainstorming ideas. He needed to find ways to keep himself sane, but he didn’t want to totally exclude the Narrator. Maybe he could spend a while just talking? No, that sounded like it’d just make things worse for him. Could he tell a story? Write one? Stanley wasn’t very artistic or creative, but it might be worth a shot. That reminded him- there was a paint can in the corner. He could use that! Not drawing, he’d just get frustrated. Could he use it to write? The last few times Stanley came back, the Narrator was too out of it to notice. If he left a message on the wall, they’d know he came back.

Stanley paused. No. That would only be useful if he pressed the button again. And he wasn’t.

Storytime, then. It was the least bad idea he’d come up with so far, and maybe running through some stuff would help him brainstorm.

Stanley spent a while recounting and explaining every story he knew. He went through several musicals, TV shows, movies, video games, and when he ran out of ones he knew, he started talking about ones he didn’t. It got a little out of control- Stanley was pretty sure 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea didn’t include Cthulhu- but it worked, well enough that whenever Stanley exited his explanations, he had absolutely no idea how long he’d spent thinking at the Narrator.

Stanley was suddenly very grateful for video game logic. This would’ve been impossible if he had normal human needs like sleep and food. Being unable to permanently change in any way was a pretty good trade off for never aging.

Then again… Wouldn’t that just trigger a reset? Would that be the easier way out, here?

Stanley winced, and looked up. If the Narrator was aware at all, seeing something like that happen, even unsuccessfully, would probably snap whatever thread they were hanging on by. He pushed the idea out of his mind. What next?

Stanley contemplated the fact that he was going to really be stuck here for the foreseeable future. There was very little to do, and he’d probably run out of ideas really quickly. Even more unhelpful, the Narrator was completely out of commission, so he was also alone.

“...end is never the end is never the end is never…”

Mostly.

He laid down on his back. He could just barely see the water dripping from the ceiling. He knew the Narrator wasn’t really above him, but where else was he supposed to look? His mind drifted to the model they’d made. It was a weird mesh between alien and human. It was humanoid, and mostly functioned that way, but its skin was an unnatural black that blended in with its hair, and the whole thing functioned like a mood ring. It was actually pretty amazing- Stanley had spent a lot of time testing it.

He smiled despite himself, remembering the way their hair seemed to mess itself up when it was emotional, and its eyes literally changed color- seriously, how cliche can you be- and even more quirks that the Narrator didn’t even know about before they presented themselves.

He wished they were here.

“...end is never the end is never the end…”

Stanley turned on his side. Another pang of grief hit him when the spot next to him was empty. He’d gotten used to the Narrator joining him whenever he slept.

He curled around the air.

He imagined the Narrator’s reaction- Really, Stanley? I know you’re distressed, but this is a bit pathetic, even for my tastes. Oh, I know what it is. You’ve finally gone soft, hm? Or is it that Stockholm syndrome is taking hold?

Stanley shook his head. Pretending the Narrator was here was a great way to speedrun losing his mind, but it did help, just a bit, to imagine it. Go somewhere else for a bit, mentally.

“…end is never the end is never the…”

Scratch that. Stanley needed to stay present. He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on with the Narrator, but ignoring them for a daydream was definitely counterproductive. Whatever happened, it happened because Stanley wasn’t there. So he needed to be here, for as long as it took.

A bit too late for that. If only you’d agreed to stay with me sooner. We could have been happy, Stanley.

Stanley lightly thumped his head against the floor. Stop doing that.

I’m not going to leave just because you told me to. Or maybe I will! Go ahead, Stanley, enjoy the eternity of loneliness you subjected me to. Even the score a bit.

He said STOP I-

Jesus Christ. Was he really arguing with himself?

Stanley sighed. Okay, clearly letting his thoughts do whatever wasn’t going to work. He sat back up against the wall. How about a game?

Sure, he’d already explained a ton of them, and the Narrator couldn’t exactly compete right now, but maybe imagining the gameplay would fill some time. There were a few he knew well enough to play in his head, and he could talk the Narrator through the whole time.

That reminded him- When he gets out of here, he should see if he can get one of the computers to run Doom.

Back on track. Stanley closed his eyes, and pictured an opening screen, sepia tones, pixels…

And when he was done with that one, he switched to a more open-world game- Yes, he knew the Narrator hated them, but it was easier to imagine, alright?

And when he ran out of games, Stanley went through the Narrator’s.

It was a low point. But it was what he knew best, and it wasn’t like the Narrator ever got bored of its story. He considered taking his brain-self down other paths, but ended up sticking to the “correct” ending every time he gave up and went back to The Stanley Parable.

The thought hit him: Why was he doing this? Was he really this eager to give up even his imagined agency to please the Narrator?

A part of him corrected that no, that’s not what it was at all. He just didn’t want to do even more damage-

But another, more prominent part was already set off. Since when did that matter? The Narrator was a selfish, sadistic control freak. They’d do anything to curb Stanley’s will. How did he even know this wasn’t all scripted? How did he know they didn’t plan for exactly this?

Stanley froze.

He reminded himself to breathe. No, no. He couldn’t be thinking like that.

But it was true, wasn’t it? For millennia, he’d been resisting giving himself up for the Narrator’s sake. And now he was doing exactly that.

What would happen if he stayed here? Would he reach the same breaking point as the Narrator? What if the noise of their chanting got tuned out, and he lost himself just like them?

“…the end is never the end is never…”

What if that happened to him, and they were never able to reset, because they couldn’t reach an ending?

Wasn’t that why the Narrator had encouraged him to press it? So one of them could get out of this unharmed?

Stanley was stuck. He didn’t know what to do.

If he stayed, he risked losing everything he’d been fighting to keep since he first arrived in the Narrator’s game.

If he left, he could guarantee a reset, but who knew what would happen to the Narrator?

“…is never the end is never the end is never the…”

Stanley swallowed. He had to be honest with himself. They were already gone. They probably had been for a long, long time. The only way to fix this mess was a reset, and the only way to do that…

He stood.

Stanley fought against every fiber of his being as he approached the button. Everything in him screamed at him not to do it, get away from it, what are you DOING-

The afterimage of the yellow glow burned in his vision when he looked up.

I’m sorry. I can’t risk everything for you.

I’ll find a way to reset, and I’ll bring you back. I promise. But I can’t sit here and decay with you.

Stanley faced the skip button.

I’m sorry.

Click.

Chapter Text

The Narrator was… They couldn’t quite tell.

There was something there. Some feeling, some… They weren’t sure. It was all so far away, lost in the dark. How much time had passed, like this?

How much time…?

It felt itself sink further into the void. Processing anything felt like trying to understand a conversation 3 floors below them. When was the last time it’d had a conversation? Did it ever? Was there ever something other than this?

It didn’t matter. If there was, it wasn’t there anymore. Just… This, whatever it was. Darkness. Slipping in and out of semi-consciousness. This was probably for the best. It was less painful this way.

The Narrator succumbed.

And then, with a simple click, it didn’t.

The Narrator jolted, rapidly tugged out of- of- what was that?

They viewed the room. Stanley was exactly the same as they’d left him. Goddamnit. It could have sworn it heard something!

It sighed. Another hallucination, maybe. An attempt to pull itself out of that state that, unfortunately, worked.

Speaking of that…

The Narrator changed focus, tried to recover the events before it slipped back. Piece by piece, it came together.

Stanley.

It almost went right back. What reason did it have not to? However long they’d spent unaware, it wasn’t enough for the skip to end. It was never going to end, it was never the end, never the end is-

No, no, no. They couldn’t. They needed to stay here, stay with him. Oh, it would never forgive itself if Stanley finally came back, all alone! He couldn’t function on his own, he needed guidance, company, someone to-

Someone to listen.

The thought occurred to them: What reason did they have to believe Stanley would stay, once he came back? What would make that worthwhile to him? The Narrator hadn’t exactly done anything of use, and…

Oh, no no no, that wouldn’t do. Imagine that; “Welcome back, Stanley, I’ve been alone for eons and I’ve done absolutely nothing but cry about it and long for your company!” Mortifying. They had to have something worthwhile. Something to show Stanley, convince him to stay.

Hmm. Stanley had always bugged them about new endings. Perhaps, just this once, they could relent. It’d show those “Ultra Deluxe” scammers too- Oh, they could make something so much better!

Thoroughly inspired, the Narrator set to work on their update. No, that didn’t sound quite right. It was grander than that. A successor, an upgrade, a sequel…

A sequel. Perfect!

Somewhere along the line, it’d started telling Stanley about its ideas. Sometimes the real one, frozen, and sometimes fake ones. The Narrator supposed it made sense that the hallucinations were becoming more common. Oh, well. It didn’t really matter. Any time with Stanley, made-up or otherwise, was welcome. So it talked.

“And I know you never liked that room, so I think I’ll close it off completely when you’re with the bucket. I’ll write one that’s brand-new, not just a rewrite, isn’t that special, Stanley?”

And kept talking.

“No, I know there’s no reward, that’s the point! You’re always reaching for external validation, Stanley, it’s a lesson.”

Again, and again.

“Then- Then we could go back. To everything before. Back through the Memory Zone, back to your office… Do you think there was anything before that?”

Every day, of every month…

“I was thinking… If, in some way, I’m not here when you’re back, I could leave a few things for you! Some Easter eggs, if you will. You always liked finding secrets, didn’t you?”

…of every year.

“...and it’ll be hidden in plain sight! No, I can’t tell you where, that’d ruin it! I’m sure you’ll find it, Stanley, you’re clever enough.”

…

“Stanley?”

With the sequel practically finished, the Narrator was at a loss. What was it supposed to do now? They couldn’t just stuff new ideas in, it was already so perfectly done!

The Narrator was struck with a brilliant idea. They could run through the script! See how it flowed together, triple-check any errors. Though, perhaps it should revisit the original first… Oh, when was the last time they went through the office with Stanley?

With gaps in its consciousness becoming common, it was practically impossible for the Narrator to keep track of time. It was already a vain endeavor under normal circumstances, where they could roughly track the time each run lasted, and if not, just ask Stanley what he thought. He had a remarkable internal clock.

The Narrator blanked. What was it doing before? Right, the story!

The Narrator skipped through the beginning. Nothing new, and besides, it didn’t need restating that Stanley was unaware and frozen. Jumping past, the Narrator imagined the interior of Stanley’s office.

“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a message.”

Left, into the meeting room…

The Narrator was filled with a bitter glee. It felt so comforting to return here, and yet Stanley’s absence made it hurt just as much.

“Ahem. When Stanley came to a staircase, he went upstairs to his manager’s office.”

Nothing to worry about right now, though. If they tried hard enough, maybe it could convince itself this was really happening, and Stanley was in the office, following attentively, not frozen and staring ahead with a face they’ve looked at for so long the image must be branded into their code.

When the passageway opened, the Narrator… blanked. They knew what was there- the lift, the dark room, but the image wouldn’t follow. Why was it so difficult to remember now? Stanley opens the passage to a dark room, concrete walls, a glowing yellow- no, red, it was red. Wasn’t it?

The Narrator attempted to brush it off. It had been so long, and especially long since Stanley had followed the story correctly up to this point. Of course some details would slip their mind! They continued, and finished it all off with no further mistakes.

“Alright. From the top!”

It didn’t take long for the Narrator to draw another blank.

Lots of them, actually. Every so often their memory would falter, and it took them a few moments to recover it. That was nothing new. Its memory had never been perfectly reliable, anyway, it was nothing to worry about.

Until they moved on to the endings accomplished through the right door. It seemed to be getting harder to stay on track the longer this endeavor went on, and it came to a head when they reached the… the… Damnit, what was it called? The warehouse.

That was exactly the problem. The Narrator could not, no matter how hard they tried, remember anything about that room. It made no sense! It was a cornerstone, filled with choices, yet the details slipped the Narrator’s mind before they could even attempt to narrate.

The Narrator’s frustration was quickly morphing into fear. Something was deeply wrong, and it had no idea what it was. How was it supposed to continue like this? Were they going to be unable to recall until Stanley was able to remind them? This was all they could do to keep it together, to refrain from falling back into unreality. Inevitably, its mind would find some way to attempt to shield itself. Stanley was a prime example; even the slightest upsetting memory and he’d stash it away like- Ah.

It hit all at once.

The human mind, inherently, does anything to avoid pain. When memories are particularly, excruciatingly painful, it will hide them- repress them- where the conscious mind cannot access. And while the Narrator was not a human, it was, vaguely, an imitation of one, so its mind ran by similar rules.

They had refused one method of protection, so it was finding another.

The Narrator began screaming.

“No. No, no, no, I won’t! I won’t just sit and let this happen! I don’t want to forget, I can’t!” It took a shuddering breath, attempting to stabilize. “I won’t. I won’t forget, I won’t, I…”

The Narrator refocused on Stanley. “Can you hear me? I’m not going to. I won’t forget you. I won’t leave you here, Stanley, I promise,” it rambled, panic creeping back in, “I won’t. I’ll wait for you, as long as it takes, and when you’re back you can fill me in, alright? You just need to stay here. I’ll stay, and wait for you, and when you come back you can help me and then you’ll never leave me again. Okay? Does that sound fair? Stanley?”

…

“Alright, then. Deal.”

Chapter Text

The Narrator was pacing.

The Skip Button Room didn’t leave much space, so they resorted to pacing around Stanley to avoid the debris in the corner. It seemed as though plants were beginning to grow, and they’d hate to trample them. It wasn’t sure what species any of them were, but-

Wait, what was it thinking about before that?

That was. The Narrator was losing its mind, quite literally. It couldn’t focus for very long at all anymore, and its memory was worse than ever. They stopped their pacing for a moment. They were trying to remember something before, weren’t they?

The Narrator looked up past the ceiling. No skybox, just bright white light, like… It lost the thought. Something before this, before the room-

Oh, right.

The Narrator continued pacing. That was it. It had been trying to remember what came before the room. It was important, surely, if it had been waiting this long to get back. They supposed they could leave the room for just a minute to refre-

“NO! I am not leaving Stanley!”

The Narrator recoiled. That was another thing. They always had difficulty managing emotions, but outbursts like that were becoming more common. It often found itself talking without meaning to, sometimes repeating a phrase that fled their mind as soon as it was recognized. It reminded them of the darkness.

Wait, wait, back on track. Before, yes, that’s what the Narrator was focusing on.

They turned to Stanley. “Any motivation to provide some aid, here, Stanley? Or are you content watching me waste away?”

There was no response.

Something within the Narrator flared. “Of course not. You’re much happier doing nothing, aren’t you? Spending your days in useless defiance, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? It’s your fault, you wouldn’t stop pressing the button! It must be so nice for you to shut me up.” It grabbed him by the shoulders. “Why am I even doing this? Why am I wasting my time and sanity on you?

“You don’t deserve this. You can rot here, just as I did. And when we’re both gone, maybe then we can both have some peace and quiet.”

The Narrator stepped away, seething. “You never listened, and you still won’t! So here you are, Stanley, enjoy the silence you wanted so much! Enjoy your alone time!” The Narrator was screaming, now. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and hard reset when you get back?!”

There was no response.

The Narrator’s anger dissipated as quickly as it appeared. “I- I didn’t mean that. I’m not going to leave. I’m sorry, Stanley, please believe me, I’m sorry-“

It choked on a sob. “I don’t know what’s happening. I can’t stop it. I don’t remember anything before this, I can barely remember anything at all, I…” It trailed off, leaning into Stanley’s shoulder. It reminded them of something from before.

“I’m so sorry, Stanley. If you could just… Just for a moment, and then you can go back, just one moment so I can remember,” the Narrator’s voice broke. “Please. Come back. I can’t do this anymore, Stanley. I’m forgetting, I’m having these awful mood swings, I… I won’t make it like this.”

They sniffed. “No, no, I- I won’t leave you. I won’t. Even if I forget everything, Stanley, I won’t forget that. I’ll be here. I’ll make sure. You don’t need to worry, you just- Just come back. Please. Soon.”

The Narrator paced.

The Skip Button Room was always a little cramped, but when the ceiling collapsed, even less space was left. It had been there long enough for plants to grow, and the Narrator didn’t want to trample them. Any evidence that time was passing was invaluable, especially now.

Wait, why especially now? What were they thinking about?

Right. Exactly that. The Narrator was, without exaggeration, losing its mind. It was difficult for it to hold onto its thoughts, and most distressingly, its memories. It wasn’t a new problem, but it wasn’t nearly as bad before the-

Ah. Right.

That’s what they were doing. Trying to remember what came before the skips. It was incredibly important, it must have been, if they were trying so hard to get back. Perhaps they could go back, just for a minute-

“NO! I’m staying here!”

The Narrator startled itself. That was an issue too. Outbursts. Sometimes, the Narrator would talk without realizing, vocalizing a train of thought. Other times, they’d catch themselves repeating, chanting words that never stuck in their mind once they noticed. It happened less often, now, that things weren’t as dark.

Wait, no, focus. Yes.

The Narrator turned to face Stanley. “Anything to contribute, Stanley? Having fun with your new content all by yourself?”

There was no res-

Wait.

The Narrator’s thoughts seemed to stutter with an intense sense of deja vu.

“Stanley? Have we- Have I done this before?”

Why did that seem like such a familiar question? Before, they knew there were- He’d remember things they didn’t, things that he’d have to stop them from repeating over and over. How-

“How long have I been doing this?”

The Narrator tried, and failed, not to panic. “How long? Stanley, you- Answer me, damnit, I know you- Why am I asking you?! You’re frozen, you’ve been gone for-”

A new question, one the Narrator hadn’t dared to ask since this began.

“How long have I been waiting?”

The Narrator’s head spun, and they sat down. “I- I remember. The last time he was here. I was angry with him. It had been… A week? Two? No, that was… It was a year, that time, wasn’t it? Or three? He tried to wait me out, but I… I ignored him.”

The Narrator struggled to breathe. It was no wonder their memory was failing. The game wasn’t- the Narrator wasn’t built for this kind of longevity. A computer functions similarly to the human mind- At a certain point, the storage runs out, and things must be replaced. The memories weren’t just unreachable, they were deleted. As much as they loathed to admit it, the Narrator was only part of the game, and the code making it up was doing what it was built to: Keep the game running. However possible.

What in the world were they supposed to do?

Some part of the Narrator bemoaned that this was Stanley’s fault, that if he hadn’t gotten them off script in the first place, they wouldn’t still be waiting. The Narrator swiftly shut that part up. It didn’t matter, now, who’s fault it was, anything in the past, really. It was all going to go, eventually. Even him.

That thought brought the panic back with a vengeance. The Narrator forced itself up despite the growing vertigo. “No, no, no no no no no no! I’m not forgetting Stanley, I’m not- I won’t-”

The Narrator sobbed, “I can’t, I can’t forget him! Stanley- Anyone- Please, help me, I can’t forget him, I can’t leave, do something!” Who were they even talking to, now? Were they that far gone? “Why are you just sitting there? We’re stuck! We’re doomed! How long have you just been watching!?”

The Narrator forced its tears down. This was all there was left. Stanley, and the room, and the button. There was no one else. Deluding themselves never helped, that was clear now.

This was it. Forever. Waiting, forgetting, waiting, forgetting, until they leave, or Stanley comes back. They didn’t have a choice; when did they ever? As always, it was written out for them, with no room for interpretation. Stanley was the only reason they’d ever had a choice. Stanley was the only reason.

The Narrator curled up against the button. Despite itself, it mumbled, “I won’t forget, Stanley. I won’t leave. I promise.”

…

…

Had they said that before?

Chapter Text

It was dark again.

They were pretty sure there used to be light outside, a long time ago. Or recently? It was hard to keep track, even before…

No, no. They corrected themselves. There wasn’t anything before. It was just a trick of their head, trying to keep them motivated, some idea of something to go back to. Not that it needed that! It was perfectly content here. There was nothing else. Just them, this room, and him.

It sighed. They wish they knew his name. Had they, at some point? Did they even have a name?

Eugh. It didn’t like thinking about that. It was all very confusing. There was a lot it didn’t understand. Half the time it could hardly tell if something was a real or false memory. Sometimes, despite feeling perfectly fine beforehand, this ache would overtake them, and it’d find itself sobbing uncontrollably, calling out a name it could never quite hold onto. Other times, it’d find itself repeating something without realizing. It was confusing. It was happy here! Of course, it’d be better if he-

Wait a moment.

Yes, yes, he’s still there. Good. Alright.

Of course, it’d be better if he was really there, but they were perfectly content waiting. It was all they’d ever done. Waited.

It briefly wondered why, exactly, it was waiting for him. There was something there, etched into their mind, something that screamed to stay there for him, that he was all that mattered. If there was something before, they were sure it was about him.

But there wasn’t, wasn’t there? They’d surely remember. No matter how hard they tried, they could only remember waiting for him. That they couldn’t leave, they had to wait, to be there for him when he came back. This was their life. But-

They glanced back. Still there.

But all the same, all signs pointed to there being something. Why was he frozen? Why had he been gone so long? Why was the room so dark? Why was it so quiet? Why did he leave? Why did he leave? Why did he leave? Why-

They jolted to awareness. They felt hoarse. Wait, wait-

Still there. He was still there.

It heaved a sigh of relief. Wait, what was it just doing? What set it off that time?

They couldn’t think of anything. Oh, well. It was always an impossible battle with their memory. Better to live in the present, anyhow. Losing itself in its thoughts was risky. What if he came back and didn’t know they were there?

Not for the first time, they wondered what would happen when he came back. There was probably something outside the room, but it couldn’t leave until he did. Perhaps they’d just sit and talk.

Oh, how they wished they had someone to talk to. They hoped he’d listen to them, when he came back.

It wished it could see what he looked like alive. Something swelled within it when it looked at his face, some awful mixture of emotions it couldn’t possibly parse through. He always looked so sad. It wondered what his smile looked like. Bright? Smug? Both?

The ache resurfaced. God, above all else, it just wished he was here. Really here, with them. He was going to come back, wasn’t he? It’d been so long, they couldn’t even remember him leaving.

They began to spiral. Did he leave? Was he ever there at all? Was he ever actually going to come back? Were they just stuck here, stupidly waiting for the return of someone they never knew? They didn’t even know his name!

But- He was, he had to. He had to come back. They couldn’t be wrong about that. It just had to wait for him. He was all that mattered, it knew it. If there was anything before this, then they had made sure they never forgot to wait for him, because it was all that mattered, everything else could go, but not that, don’t forget him, remember, you love him, he’ll be back, wait for him, wait for him, wait for him, wait for him, wait-

It was quiet. They didn’t bother reflecting on what had happened the last time they were awake.

They didn’t feel like talking. He couldn’t even hear them.

It did anyway.

“You’re all I can seem to remember,” it mumbled. “Not even you, though. Just that I need to wait for you. That you’re the only thing that matters. That I love you.”

It paused. “Isn’t that odd? I don’t know anything about you, and yet… It’s true. You’re everything, S…” They trailed off. What were they trying to say?

“It hurts, you know. Just being here, aware of where we are. I wish you weren’t always so close to that thing,” it practically hissed the word.

It faltered. “I’m sorry, I… I’m tired. I just want you to come back. Why won’t you come back?”

It forced back the tide of grief, instinctively reassuring itself. It’s okay, he’ll be back. Just wait. Just wait.

He’ll be back soon.

Be patient.

It was silent.

There was the sound of a button.

His arm pulled back.

Chapter Text

Stanley pulled his hand away from the button.

He was going to close his eyes for a moment- take a bit to ground himself before facing whatever new horrific development took place- but was thrown off-balance and barely avoided falling right on his face. Okay. That was new.

Stanley’s eyes adjusted. The first thing he noticed was that the button was not in front of him. Looking down, the entire room seemed off-balance, the floor covered in debris from the now fully-collapsed ceiling. The Skip Button was on the ground next to it.

Stanley stared and waited for it to light up.

It didn’t.

Stanley smiled wider than he had since this nightmare began. It was over. It was really over. It was worth it; the reset would kick in any minute now. The intense dread and anxiety he’d been feeling for however-long finally started to fade away.

He turned to the ceiling, smile falling slightly. Hey. Sorry this took so long.

“...Hello?”

Stanley nearly fell over. WHAT?

“Oh- Oh my god, you’re back! You’re actually back! It’s been so long, I-” The Narrator broke into disbelieving laughter. “You came back!”

Stanley stood dumbstruck. He thought they were dead! That’s the only reason he did it, he thought they were-

It hit him all at once. The Narrator was still there. The entire time. Waiting for him. While he-

“No, no, don’t feel bad,” they interrupted, “I understand. You’re here, now. That’s all that matters.”

He grimaced. There was something in the Narrator’s tone that grated on his nerves. It was so unsure, anxious and appeasing in a way that reminded Stanley of the room with the stairs. Something was wrong. Something was absolutely, horribly wrong.

“Er… I’m not really sure what you mean.”

Stanley ran a hand through his hair. Of course they didn’t. They weren’t the one stuck listening to their voice for their entire life.

The Narrator began a retort, but cut itself off. “Wait. What do you mean by that?”

What? That he was stuck listening to them forever? It wasn’t even meant as a jab, really, he just-

“No, no, it’s…” The confusion in the Narrator’s voice was palpable. “I don’t… I don’t understand. How can that be me you’re thinking of? I never… I-I don’t even remember us speaking before all of this.”

Stanley’s heart dropped.

“Is that…? I don’t understand.”

They didn’t remember?”

“What, exactly?” They sounded as afraid as Stanley felt.

Stanley slowly sat, staring at the button. Anything. Anything at all, before this.

“Yes, of course!” Stanley almost felt relieved, but it still sounded distinctly off. “The room didn't always look like this, obviously. It used to be straight, with just one corner caved in. Um… What else?... There were plants at one point, I think…” It trailed off.

Stanley began to cry.

He hugged his knees, sobs shaking his shoulders. There wasn’t any reason to try and stop himself. It wasn’t like the Narrator would- like they even remembered they could use it against him. Stanley let his head fall forwards. Was this how they felt? When he was there, but unreachable? Why in the world did they do that? They should’ve left, rested, done anything but sit and wait forever! Stanley wasn’t worth that! He left them to rot!

He should’ve known. He should’ve known they wouldn’t have disappeared, they would’ve held on, losing their mind before they even glanced away. Stanley knocked a fist against his head. Reset, reset, reset, reset-

“Oh! Stanley?”

Stanley jerked his head up. A traitorous part of him clung right back to the hope that maybe he was wrong, there must have been something-

“Is that your name?”

…

Yeah. His eyes stung. I’m Stanley.

“Right. And, um… What was it that you referred to me as?”

The Narrator.

“Oh, that makes sense, doesn’t it? Well, I… Oh dear, Stanley, are you alright?” It spoke like it had just noticed the state he was in.

Stanley’s head fell again. He was fine. Don’t worry about it.

A couple false starts, then a sigh. “Stanley, I’ll admit my reference for this is- well, nonexistent, really. But you don’t seem very fine. I- Oh, oh no, it’s because of me, isn’t it?”

Stanley cringed. He recognized that tone. “After all this time, right when you come back- You- You’re not going to leave again, are you? You’re staying? I- I haven’t ruined this already, have I?”

So, the Narrator’s constant spiraling was just an innate trait. Awesome. Stanley shook his head, then loosened his position. No, he wasn’t leaving. And it wasn’t their fault. He was- He was going to fix it. He promised. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not without them.

There was a long pause.

When the Narrator replied, it sounded near to tears. “Thank you, Stanley.”

Don’t mention it.

Stanley forced himself up to his feet. Okay. They needed to get out of this room. It didn’t seem like there was much out there, but there had to be something, even if he had to trek all the way to the edge of the map for it. He squinted against the sunlight. Wow. It was really just all sand, huh?

The Narrator piped up. “Was there more out here, before?”

Yeah. Stanley hoisted himself onto the roof to get a better look. The room was in a lake, last time he was out here. It was kind of gloomy, but the rest of the Memory Zone was vibrant and filled with plants. There was a building, somewhere. Decorated with all sorts of paintings and exhibits. Probably buried under all this sand, now. It was… It was really nice. He remembered thinking it’d be a good spot to take a break with the Narrator sometime.

He looked up. Stanley never really got to see the sky before that. It was probably the longest he’d ever been outside. Maybe, if the Narrator bothered to code it in, he’d be able to see stars.

“That sounds lovely.”

Stanley bit the inside of his cheek. Still nothing?

“Oh- Was that supposed to-? I’m sorry, Stanley, I didn’t know-”

Stanley snapped. Why were they apologizing!? This was all Stanley’s fault, he’s the one who broke everything!

The Narrator stammered, “I- I didn’t mean to- I only-”

God damnit, just shut UP!

Stanley dug his nails into his palms. He couldn’t stand to hear them like that anymore. He couldn’t keep getting reminded of just how badly he screwed up, how much he hurt them, how if they didn’t find a way to reset it would just be that forever.

He was crying again.

What the hell did the game want from him!? How was this not enough? I get it, okay, I fucked up the only thing I had going for me and now I have to deal with it! Just reset and get it over with! Get us the hell out of here! Bring them BACK, damnit! BRI-

Chapter Text

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS [LOADING…]

Stanley woke up at his desk.

He spun his chair to face his door. There it all was. Exactly as they’d left it. All of his coworkers were gone. What could it-

Stanley slammed the door.

He found himself in a weird state of grinning wildly and crying into his hands at the same time. God, he really didn’t like how much he’d been crying recently. But it was okay. It reset. It was all okay.

Stanley wiped his eyes and leaned back in his chair. His mind kept running through it all, pushing things away, trying to protect itself. Whatever. If he ended up forgetting all the grisly details from some weird trauma response, that was fine. He didn’t really need all the specific information of everything he did in that room. Looking back, even now, it was so easy to disregard it all. Just another fucked-up string of events that got wiped away with a reset.

Stanley smacked himself. No, idiot, that’s what got you both stuck in there. It was probably the worst thing he’d ever been through, really. Tons of the runs were awful, but they never lasted. Stanley had lost track of time after the first time he tried to wait for the Narrator. Wait.

Stanley suddenly realized he hadn’t heard them yet. At all. Okay. That was fine. His body seemed to disagree, if the way he started shaking and struggling to breathe was anything to go by. But it was fine. They were probably taking a moment, just like he was. It was hell for Stanley, too, but the Narrator spent far more time with it. It made sense. It didn’t mean they were really gone this time, or the reset didn’t work on them, or he was just hallucinating and he was still in the room. Nothing like that.

Stanley stood up to open the door. He was sure the moment he went through, the Narrator would pipe up, and everything would be back to normal.

Just open the door.

Grab the knob. Turn it. Push the door open. Walk out.

Easy.

Then do it, Stanley.

Fuck. Stanley struggled under his own anxiety. He really, honestly had no idea what was going to happen. He was trying to move on- that’s what he wanted, right? For everything to go back to normal?- but he couldn’t seem to force this. He let out a bitter laugh. Made sense. This would be the one thing he couldn’t push himself past.

Stanley leaned forward against the door. Would be a great time for the Narrator to interrupt him. But okay, take your time, not like we haven’t both had our fair share of waiting. I’ll be here.

Evidently, Stanley patiently waited for an entire 15 seconds before giving the door five knocks. Loudly.

There was the sound of someone clearing their voice. “Hello, Stanley.”

He jerked. They were- He held his own excitement back. He wasn’t sure yet what-

“No, no, everything’s patched up. Zipped up, I should say. Remarkable how much memory- hehehe- can be saved with a little reorganization.”

Stanley stared up. If he could, he would’ve been looking right into their eyes. Was the Narrator- um, you know…

“Okay?” It deadpanned.

Stanley grimaced.

“Well, there’s certainly… I mean…” The Narrator struggled, then sighed. “Oh, forget it. No, Stanley, I’m not. And I doubt you are, either.”

Did they… Want to talk about it?

“Do you?”

Absolutely not. Stanley couldn’t stop the immediate response. But it wasn’t about him, he was the one who-

“Stop that. Stanley, I forgave you before the number reached one hundred. As long as you don’t-“ It broke off. Leave, Stanley guessed. The Narrator didn’t reply. “There’s no way to repeat that ending. I made sure of it. So there’s no reason to worry about it.”

Stanley squinted. Hey, he didn’t wanna sit down and maturely process this any more than them, but-

Stanley sighed. Eh, fuck it. If the Narrator was giving him an out, he was taking it. He stretched his arms and got into what he thought was a good pose to start sprinting from.

“What in the world are you doing?”

Well, since they’d just been through- whatever the opposite of a speedrun is, he didn’t know if there was a term- Wouldn’t it be fun to kick it off with a speed through? Waiting was getting old, in his opinion.

The Narrator snorted a laugh. God, he missed that. “Alright, Stanley. To me, it sounds like you’re kicking it off with a concussion, but your mind’s clearly been made up.”

The door swung open.

“Let’s continue where we left off, shall we?”