Work Text:
The dust had long settled against Stanley’s body, invading his eyes and nose and making every breath feel like he was inhaling sand. The concrete under him had cut jagged lines into his hip and shoulder from the constant pressure of lying on his side. He vaguely remembered it being uncomfortable a few days ago, but that had long since passed. The stiffness that he may have felt from how long he’d had his fingers curled was distant in his mind. Most everything was a memory at this point. He had began to wonder how long he would have to lie until vines came and grew and stuck him to that spot for good, honestly hoping for sooner rather than later. The tears that had streaked his cheeks for days on end were making his eyes stick and his cheeks feel stiff. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been crying. Although, he hadn’t noticed much at all the last few days. Someone could have walked by and screamed and he would have stayed as he was, stuck in a cycle of guilt that nothing short of a miracle could break him from.
Perhaps that’s why it took him a moment to realize that the Narrator’s finger had moved. It was only a slight twitch, blink and you miss it, but the full hand twitch a moment later was what made Stanley’s eyes shoot open and look at the limber fingers he had been clutching not a moment before. Bitter tears filled his eyes when the hand was still.
*How could he be so stupid, of course he didn’t move, he’s dead ,Stanley, and it’s all your fault-*
A sharp intake of breath beside him. Stanley was still. Steeling himself for inevitable disappointment, he looked toward the sight he knew was awaiting him, the Narrator’s eyes shut and the horrible gore lining his face and the memories of him and- *oh god he’s gone what am I doing he is **dead**-
Red eyes met brown. And Stanley was going to die.
Because right beside him, where he had lain for days on end, motionless, was the Narrator. And he was awake.
“Uh- Y- Wh-“ Stanley’s voice came out horribly rough from not being used, and the Narrator’s brow furrowed slightly. Stanley suddenly moves much closer to the Narrator and scans his injuries… which seem to have healed. Interesting, considering the cut across Stanley’s face and the bruises across his chest are definitely still present and painful. His hand drifts to the Narrator’s midriff to examine the wound he had inflicted when the Narrator takes another sharp breath. Stanley looks up to apologize and-
Oh. He’s shaking. The Narrator had shrunk back slightly from Stanley’s touch, covering his abdomen with his hands. His shaking hands. He was scared.
*Good job Stanley, he comes back and he’s scared of you, great start.*
Stanley lifts a shaking hand of his own and points at the Narrator’s wound, gesturing for him to lift his shirt. The Narrator pauses for a moment, eventually complying and showing Stanley the wound, which was now a slightly irritated-looking scar. Stanley unconsciously reaches for the Narrator once again and brushing his fingertips against the scar-
The Narrator hisses and shrinks into himself slightly, pulling away from Stanley’s touch, although this time not out of fear. It seemed the wound was as inflamed as it looked. And Stanley had just *touched* it.
Stanley’s pupils shrink as he moves away from the Narrator, holding his hands close to his body and berating himself in his mind.
*So stupid, stupid, stupid, you knew he didn’t want you touching him and you just touched his actual wound, he’s never going to forgive you, why should he anyways, you did this to him-*
As Stanley begins to spiral, the Narrator is panicking. He truly hadn’t meant to push Stanley away, his wound was just a bit sore, but nothing that can’t be ignored. And now Stanley was nearly having a full panic attack. Felling quite lost at what to do, the Narrator slowly lays gently shaky hands against Stanley’s quivering one’s and gently rubs his thumbs against Stanley’s knuckles, in a pattern they had come to recognize as “The Breaths of Panic” (Stanley had called it that once after a particularly bad spell and the name stuck).
Stanley’s breath slowly comes to be somewhat less on the level of hyperventilating, and he looks at the Narrator with immense confusion.
“I… I don’t understand. Why- Why are you- I, I *hurt* you, I **killed you** and you just- I just-“ Stanley shakes his head and stares at the Narrator, tears once again brimming his lash line.
The Narrator sits in silence, quietly considering what to say. After a moment, he clears his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable as he seems to be at a loss for words himself.
“S-Stanley. I.. You..” He lets out a heavy sigh, before looking slightly confused. “You.. You asked… Why? Why what?”
Stanley’s eyes were wide as he stared at the Narrator incredulously.
“‘Why what?’ Why are you still helping me?! After I.. After, after after I hurt you, and you forgave me?! You actually..” Stanley shook his head. Then, he began to humorlessly chuckle… Which grew to a hysterical laugh that left the Narrator feeling rather worried as Stanley was struggling for breath through his laughter.
The Narrator startled when he saw the tears streaming down Stanley’s face. He unconsciously reached out and put his hands on Stanley’s cheeks. Stanley freezes, but, just before the Narrator can apologize, Stanley’s hands came up to grasp onto the Narrator’s wrists.
“You should hate me. I don’t understand why, god, why you don’t.” He quietly murmured something sounding like *I would*.
“…Oh Stanley. Is this.. What all of this is about? I- I mean you know I could never- I could just simply never hate you. I can’t even.. Blame you. For what happened.”
Stanley begins chuckling again. The Narrator hurriedly explains.
“I- I mean, I still stand by what I said! I understand, what you did, why you did it. Any person would do the same thing in your shoes, Stanley! It’s not fair to blame yourself for the situation you were put in-“
“The situation **we** were put in, Narry! All this time, I thought I was working against you, but we were in the same situation! We are both fucking stuck here, and I don’t know if there’s any way out, and one of my first ideas for escape was to literally plan your murder! You should hate me! You should want me dead! You should…” He closed his eyes tight and looked away, moving away from the Narrator, turning his back to him.
..Who looked completely lost. After pausing for a moment and looking at his hands, he reached out to Stanley and put a hand on his shoulder.
Stanley whirled around to look at the Narrator, only looking more distraught when the Narrator flinched at his sudden movement. The Narrator tapped Stanley’s shoulder and moved back to open his arms. Stanley hesitated. After what he had done… Did he deserve this?
The want for human contact and the ever increasing desperation on the Narrator’s face won over and Stanley fell into the Narrator’s arms, shivering lightly at the sensation. After so many days lying lifeless, he was truly back and had never felt so alive, warm and, although shivering slightly, strong. He tucked his head into the Narrator’s shoulder and tried not to soak it with his seemingly-endless tears.
..The Narrator’s shoulder was growing steadily more wet, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. Stanley’s quivering form had latched onto him and he certainly had no intention of letting go, so he allowed himself to soak in the moment. He did, however, notice Stanley’s gaunt figure. How long had he been..? He shook his head, ridding himself of that thought. *Later.*
Stanley pulled away at his movement, tilting his head slightly. The Narrator gently smiled at him, shaking his head meaningfully and casting his eyes downward.
Stanley put one of his hands on the Narrator’s leg. When the Narrator looked at him, he had his arms open and was smiling, albeit tearfully, rather happily.
The Narrator smiles as well, and accepts. And they were happy.
***
Stanley knew he should try to sleep. The Narrator had fallen asleep a small bit ago, the room full of his soft, even breaths. Stanley’s mind was simply too full. After their conversation, they had decided that sleeping was the best course of action, and so they went to the apartment ending. As nice as the couch in the lounge may be for relaxing, a bed is generally ideal for sleeping.
How was Stanley going to talk to the Narrator about this? About what he had done? Or what had to be done? Their conversation earlier had mainly consisted of reassurance and, well, hugging. They simply hadn’t talked about anything much since the Narrator made it clear that he forgave Stanley. But why should he forgive Stanley? If it were him in that situation, he would have held a grudge until the end of time, but the Narrator seemed unwilling. He almost seemed.. Relieved? But what could he be relieved about? That he’s alive, of course, but what else?
As Stanley’s mind raced, he almost missed the movement next to him. The Narrator had turned to face him. Stanley had the split second fear of his mind being read, before noticing that he was still asleep. He was, however, frowning. Well, that wouldn’t do. What was…
His pinky was outstretched towards Stanley. Stanley’s mind stopped. He slowly reached out with his own pinky and intertwined their fingers gently.
Immediately, the Narrator’s face softened and he shuffled closer to Stanley. Stanley quickly laid down so they could lay together, fingers locked and the Narrator’s head resting on his chest. Looking down at the Narrator, Stanley decided that the thinking could wait until later. Right now, a long sleep sounded quite nice. He gently put his open arm around the Narrator’s waist and pulled him closer, closing his eyes.
They would sleep (for quite a few hours), and after that, they could talk. But there was no rush. For now, they would lay gently tangled against each other, and they would sleep. And things would be.. Okay. Not perfect, but okay. And that was all that mattered to them.