Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanley hadn’t been sure who he was for the first while. He’d been in the body, sure, but he wasn’t aware it had been his the whole time. He thought maybe he had been some kind of another narrator at one point in time, it being the only other voice around, and him having no body of his own, just the one The Player controlled. He couldn’t speak, and The Narrator never acknowledged him other than saying what he now knows is HIS name, Stanley, every time The Player did something. 

The first 6 endings, the ones most obvious (those being The Freedom Ending, The Museum Ending, The Work Ending, The Zending, The Games Ending, and the ending where he just fell to the bottom of the warehouse.), he’d not had control over his body and limbs. From what The Narrator had said, the vessel he inhabits is typically under the control of The Player. Multiple, if what The Narrator had posed to happen during the broom closet chat had happened (Stanley didn't think it had).

Stanley had never, not once, before this moment here and now considered that the body he’d been stuck in the first person view of this entire time could have possibly been his own.

He didn't think it possible during the moment he landed on the catwalk of the warehouse, his feet aching from the impact.

He didn’t think it possible during The Freedom Ending, inhaling the fresh outside air.

He didn't think it possible during the pain and agony of The Zending.

He well and truly had not thought it possible in the slightest until this moment here, this moment now.

The Player had closed the game, he surmised.

The Narrator was humming a little tune, flipping through pages. The script maybe? He seemed to know every line and have one scripted for every eventuality, only going off script when he was deeply annoyed or upset, so though it was possible it didn’t seem he’d need it.

The body stood there, in stasis. He felt the hands beginning to get numb by his sides due to inactivity. He shuddered at the feeling, needing to move.

The Narrator stopped its humming.

“Stanley?”

The confusion rang clear in its voice.

He blinked.

He could blink?

That was the moment Stanley realized that his body was his own. He had his bodily autonomy. He was confused, conflicted, and very confused. Had he mentioned he was confused?

Stanley felt like he was forgetting something. He felt dizzy and lightheaded.

The Narrator helped fill him in on what was missing.

“Stanley, I can help but notice you haven’t taken a breath in several minutes is everything alright?” It asked with confusion.

Ah.

That makes sense.

Stanley took a loud and deep breath, the stale office air filling his lungs.

“Uh, well, I suppose we should get on with the story?” The Narrator posed. It cleared its throat and spake familiar words: “All his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”

Yes. Stanley knows this tale. He just had to take a step forward. His joints felt like rusty machinery parts; stiff and hard to move. Technically speaking he himself had never moved around, at all whatsoever. The Player had done all the work for him.

He took an unsteady, cautious, and clumsy step forward; nearly falling over in the process. He took another, and another, slowly leaning into the muscle memory of The Player’s guidance.

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he walked through the door on his left.”

Stanley didn’t know his left from right, but he wasn’t about to let The Narrator know this. He closed his eyes (He can do that now!), and thought deeply about which direction was left, before walking through the door on that side.

“This was not the correct way to the meeting room, and Stanley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the employee lounge first, just to admire it.” Its voice spoke, telling Stanley he was, in fact, an absolute fool.

But Stanley was not about to let The Narrator know. He pressed forward, following the orange-yellow walls of the building into the square blue room he’d come to be familiar with despite being there, what, three times?

“Ah, yes, truly a room worth admiring. It had really been worth the detour after all, just to spend a few moments here in this immaculate, beautifully constructed room. Stanley simply stood here, drinking it all in.” Stanley could find the false wonder in its voice as it described Stanley’s supposed feelings. Stanley did stand there for a few moments, but not to drink in the room; rather, he wanted to decide if he’d continue on the path he was on or head to the meeting room as he’d been supposed to.

He exited the room. He’d go through the maintenance room; follow The Narrator’s guidance on his first run in control. It had been his initial plan prior to… well, being a fool.

“But eager to get back to business, Stanley took the first open door on his left.” It directed. And Stanley listened.

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The breath of fresh air had been nice, though it seemed Stanley forgot what happened under The Player’s control. His eyes jolted open, the green square blinking on his monitor. He supposed, in the back of his mind, he thought that with his newfound freedom, he may actually be free when following the rules.

Perhaps it was because he’d gone through the wrong door?

Yes, surely, if he followed what he was told to exactly to the T, he’d be set free.

So he left his office, getting the familiar line:

“All his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”

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Stanley stood up for the third time, accepting the saddened truth: he was just as trapped here now as he had been the six resets before The Player left.

He supposed there was surely more exploring to do around this office.

After all, he’d seen a big red button in the maintenance room. According to The Narrator, Stanley loved buttons.

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Stanley loved the thrill of the most recent ending(s?). They’d had fun trying to find the story, the winding path of The Adventure Line™, the damned fern that never actually mattered. Stanley enjoyed the ending greatly.

But then something terrible happened.

The Player came back.

Stanley knew it from the way his limbs stiffened into rigidity, his breathing stopped. It was a terrible feeling, after being free of The Player for a few hours. If he could cry in his current state, he would. He’d cry hard . His control was taken away from himself from the start, then thrust back into his possession without even telling him how to walk, how to breathe, how to do anything .

But as he turned back into the state of being a passenger in his body, still able to feel the pain and destruction as The Player threw him off ledges and stairs and lifts and everything they could. They didn’t think of him as a person, not for a second. It seemed that Stanley still had some amount of control over his body, as he felt tears roll down his face. He hopes The Narrator and its precious Player couldn’t see the drops of water as the emotional agony of the situation filled his head.

The Player did multiple endings; Stanley wasn’t paying attention to which ones. He just knew that from time to time, he’d be taken from his train of thought and put in front of a black screen, taunting him about how everlasting his situation was, telling him and The Player that a new game was loading.

The cruel hours dragged on (it was only one or two at most). After that one ending where The Player threw him into the void out of the window, they left him again in control of his body.

Stanley stood up in his office after The Narrator gave its whole spiel, and stood in the doorway for a moment. He grabbed onto the cold handle of the door. He slammed it; hard. The reverberation shook the room, maybe the whole building floor. He had no way to know; he just wanted to stay in his office.

If The Narrator was talking to him, he didn’t listen. He just sat in his chair. He melted. He cried, sobbed, held his hands in his head. He thought of the endings he’d been forced through; prior to his passenger seat apathy.

The grey text on a black screen put him through the stages of grief. He ran through them over and over in his mind, landing on depression.

He remembered the feeling of death. The WRETCHED Player had put him through the pain of The Zending twice or thrice at this point.

He wondered if he kept going The Narrator might give him something lasting.

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It had been a tad less than 10 runs of Stanley Time that ended in death.

Entering the warehouse, The Narrator stopped insulting him and gave him something new.

“For goodness sake, Stanley don’t you dare jump off of anything this time. Please. I beg and I beg every time you go into the red door. You NEVER listen! I’m not sure what I’-” It was cut off by Stanley lifting a middle finger to the sky and plummeting to the ground.

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The office door closed before Stanley could walk through it.

“NO! No, no, no, nope. I will not allow this to continue! I get it, you really hate my story that much! But is all this necessary?” The Narrator’s voice was tense.

Stanley made no acknowledgment of what it was saying. He crossed his arms and huffed, like a moody teenager. Back to the ‘anger’ stage of grief.

“Oh for f- Stanley, I can’t-” He made a stuttering frustrated sound, “WE can’t continue to go on like this. I- I’ll take feedback on my story, my game- I just need you to stop throwing yourself off of every ledge you see! ”

Stanley jiggled the doorknob, the door not opening. There were a couple of button clicks, a sigh, and the door swung open.

“Now, Stanley, can you just… go to any ending that doesn’t end with me having to look at your bones? Any at all? I-” It cut itself off with a sigh. “All his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”

Stanley walked through the office. He walked briskly through the corridors, ending up before the familiar two doors. At this point, it didn’t matter if he knew which way was left or right; he knew what each direction held and that was all that mattered.

Maybe he should be kind to it. It hadn’t really done all that much wrong. Well, yes it had. This was its cruel game. It said so every time that he gave it the hope of a funner ending; before going directly into the red door and heading to the heartbreaking Zending. Which Stanley had been doing relentlessly.

Alright, maybe he should go through with its story. Just this once.

He walked forward into the door on the left, the corridors being much less comforting and familiar.

He spotted the broom closest up ahead.

Well, maybe he had time for a detour.

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Chapter Text

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The Player came back in the middle of Stanley’s broom closet time. Couldn’t they just leave him alone?!

No, he supposed they didn’t know Stanely existed outside of the vessel they rudely took over when they came back.

Stanley didn’t get to give The Narrator a break, unable to go through with the story. He was jerked back into his office without so much as a loading screen. After the last dreadful time he’d lost control, he’d become numb to the now very odd sensation of losing control of his body.

The player continued going about, collecting endings, collecting achievements, and doing everything they could possibly do within the bounds of the game. Stanley couldn’t think of any other possible paths The Player could follow. Surely, they’d done everything and would leave Stanley alone now. The Narrator had even made the observation that they had found all its endings.

The Player finally left after that.

Stanley stood in his office for a couple of minutes that time; The Narrator was quiet too, as opposed to its usual humming and shuffling between runs of its game.

Finally, after a few minutes, The Narrator sighed and said “I don’t think they’re going to be back again.” It sounded melancholy.

Good. Stanley thought. He didn’t want to be trapped again. He let out a deep sigh. He needed to get out of this building.

During the hours The Player had been online, they’d only ever followed The Narrator’s story once. It would be a nice chance for both of them to take a break and get some fresh air before the player came back (Stanley had a feeling they would.).

Walking through the halls, Stanley wondered if there was a way to communicate with The Narrator. It was the only person Stanley could reach, other than that voice in the blindingly bright museum (The Curator, Stanley had dubbed her, as she ran the museum.).

The Narrator told him to go through the door on the left, and he did. It seemed almost routine for Stanley to follow The Narrator’s story every time he had control over his own body. At this point, it seemed The Narrator knew there was a difference between The Player and Stanley. Well, he’d known this for a while; ever since The Player unplugged the phone whilst following the right door.

The run went perfectly smoothly, and every line was delivered perfectly. Stanley loved The Narrator’s story. Stanley inhaled deeply and waited for the reset. He wished he could stay there forever, but he knew the rules.

But the black screen never appeared.

Minutes ticked by

There was a sigh after a while “Look, I’m going to be honest here Stanley; I don’t really want to reset the story.” It paused, seeming to collect its thoughts, “We’ve been doing this for so long and I’m getting bored of it and I have no doubt you are too. We can go back in a bit of time but just… not right now.”  

It sounded exhausted. It was only a voice, how could it get tired? This was its story how was it bored of it? It could do nearly anything it wanted with the story, couldn't it?

Stanley supposed there was nothing he could do about it. Well, he could return to the mind control facility, but why would he? He hadn’t been outside like this in ages.

There was a cool breeze in the air. It made him shiver when it passed through. The sun kissed his skin, engulfing him in the closest thing to a hug he’s felt, well, ever, probably.

He walked over to a tree, sitting down among its roots. There was a decent amount of time on his hands; he might as well sit and think about everything that’s been happening.

He thought of the mysteries The Narrator listed off as he had exited the building.

Where had his co-workers gone? To Stanley; they never existed. Or, well, he supposed they might have, considering The Narrator had to physically go in and erase them, though since Stanley had no memories of them they probably had never been there at all. Stanley always thought the ending with Stanley’s “wife” was strange, him not remembering anything the ending spoke of.

Truly, all Stanley had ever known was the office and The Narrator.

Ah, The Narrator. Who was it? Why did it ring so clearly in Stanley’s head no matter where he went? Was it anything more than a voice?

Suppose it doesn’t matter much. It was his friend, he hopped. Nothing much else mattered.

Maybe he’d be able to confirm his friendship with it if he had a way of communicating with it.

Now that was a mystery he’d love to solve, actually. Why can’t he speak? He’d ask The Narrator, but as mentioned, he can’t.

Man, the shade under this tree is great. The grass is soft, somehow. Stanley didn’t know how, but he had a vague memory of grass always being itchy.

The Narrator did a lovely job with this place. Stanley closed his eyes.

And Stanley was happy.

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Stanley began to slowly open his eyes. It was blindingly bright. It wasn’t until his eyes had adjusted to the light and his vision cleared that he remembered the circumstances that led to this moment.

How long had he been out?

Why hadn’t he been reset yet?

What was that snapping noise?

Snapping noise? Yes, it was one sharp SNAP over in the trees. A cliche one, such as that which would notify an enemy or other plot-important character of the protagonist's position.

Stanley whipped his head over in that direction but didn’t see anything. He stood up to investigate, adjusting his tie as he silently thought about The Narrator’s lines.

Over in the trees and shrubbery, there was no trace of anything ever being over there.

Other than the imprint of a boot in the mud next to a stick broken in two.

And that was when the black loading screen finally showed its face.

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Stanley went through the usual motions of Stanley Time. The Narrator was quieter. Sadder. Stanley wished he could give it some counsel.

He headed towards the meeting room, but not to follow its instructions, but rather for an idea; an idea to communicate.

He bit his tongue as he passed the broom closet. He usually loved taking a detour there just to hear The Narrator’s annoyed rants and really just his voice. But the last time he’d done that, it just gave him a dejected sigh and nothing more until he’d left.

That run made him worry quite a bit.

He entered the darkened meeting room, picked up a whiteboard eraser and marker, mentally apologized to the supposed co-worker of his who’d been dubbed ‘whiteboard manager’, and wiped the board clean. The red had been there for so long it smugged and was difficult to remove, but he managed to get it off.

He took his black marker, uncapped it, put the cap on the back end, and wrote as best he could (which was honestly terrible, he hadn’t so much as held a pencil since he got to this game) 

[Are you okay?]

There was no response to this from The Narrator.

Stanley rapped his knuckles on the board, receiving a startled noise from the voice that bounded around in his head.

“Hm? What is it, Stanley? Oh- you’ve written something- I didn’t even know those markers could be picked up let alone written with- Alright, let’s have a look here.” 

The Narrator paused for a moment “Am I okay? Of course I am Stanley whatever would make you think I’m not?”

Stanley was quick to respond.

[Youve been quiet]

The Narrator made a small ‘oh’. “I suppose I’m just worried that The Player won't come back ever. Not that it’s not perfectly fine with you by my side, Stanley, but… Well, I’m used to The Player. You’re new to me. Unpredictable. And yet far more reliable than they ever were. I mean, they just collected every single ending and then dipped! What kind of friend is that?”

[Maybe The Player doesn’t know you’re not just a recording.] Stanley posed, trying to improve its mood.

The Narrator sighed “That's not all that of a comforting thing to say.”

Stanley just shrugged. What else was he supposed to do?

He recapped the marker and placed it on the ledge below the whiteboard, before heading out of the room.

Stanley headed in the direction of his boss's office, but when he reached the stairs, he went down instead of up. Yes, he knew that this only ended with him dead on the sidewalk; however, he supposed The Narrator may get bored of the same ending every time. Stanley very well would.

He listened to The Narrator’s voice, though the part where he’d been lifted in the air to try and prove he was in a dream state had always thrown him for a loop. It felt like his guts were being flipped and his brain turned inside out.

When Stanley felt the coarse concrete beneath him, he silently prepared once again for the dull blackness of the reset screen.

And on schedule, it came to take him.

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Once again, waking up in his office, and hearing The Narrator’s usual lines, Stanley had to think of how to get his friend (are they friends?) out of its saddened mood. Sure, its mood means that it prefers The Player over him, but it doesn’t matter. Stanley can live in this dreary office until the day he dies so long as The Narrator’s voice and responses were constantly there for him.

But if the aforementioned voice was melancholy and sad, Stanley’s own mood would also reflect this.

Stanley would personally prefer to not be sad.

And so Stanley did everything he could possibly think of to cheer up The Narrator.

Over and over again and again.

But its voice remained low and un-energetic. The passion was gone.

Every couple of resets, Stanley would head to the office and attempt to have a conversation with The Narrator, get to know it, befriend it more; but every time it’d answer once or twice, but then brush Stanley off entirely and wipe the board clear to try and get him to continue the story.

Boy, this voice was hard to deal with.

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Chapter Text

The most recent black reset screen had lasted a couple of minutes long. At least 10, if not 20. This was quite odd, as it usually took 10 to 20 seconds to replace the story to be as it should. Even stranger, the moment before Stanley’s eyes opened, a red text covered his vision.

[UPDATE COMPLETE] it read.

Stanley had planned to bring it up with The Narrator via the whiteboards, but Stanley couldn’t do that.

Why?

Because The Player was back. It was a god-awful feeling that Stanley had all but forgotten about during the hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of resets the two had done alone (with all that time Stanley spent trying to cheer up The Narrator).

The Player didn’t get very far back into the story before something odd caught everybody off guard.

A door that read “New Content”

The door led to a presentational tour/ride that reminded Stanley far too much of that ending with that massive crushing machine that killed him far too many times.

After that, there had been some mediocre features.

It seemed that The Player got fed up with how boring the update appeared to be. After seeing the jump circle, and having it get to 0, The Player’s control over Stanley lifted.

And The Narrator took notice

“Oh look Stanley, the developers made such an awful update that The Player who chose to play it left. How miserable. Let’s just go over to that other elevator.” The Narrator lamented.

“Stanley, I have to say: Initial impressions of this game are not positive. It’s just elevators and jumping! Is this what passes for ‘exciting new content’? If this is content then I could just read you the dictionary! That’s 20 hours of new content right there!” It continued, Stanley happy to hear the passion in its voice again, though it was clearly an unhappy passion.

He’ll take what he can get.

It continued to rave about the insignificant content, before the elevator stopped, opening into a new room.

And there was nothing but a sign, telling the two that they’d seen everything.

“That’s it?! Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! You see, Stanley? This is what happens when greedy video game developers with no respect for their fanbase rush a cheap expansion to market for no reason other than to make an easy dollar!”

There was a pause, and the sounds of some scrolling and clicking, it let out a grumble before continuing:

“And don’t get me started on the level of craftsmanship that’s gone into it. In fact, I’m looking right now at the game’s achievements and it’s hard to believe one of them actually says “Test achievement please ignore!” What quality assurance department signed off on this?”

The Narrator sighed. “It’s my fault, Stanley. I built up too much anticipation around the new content, I’m afraid. It could never have lived up to such expectations. If you’re still with me, why don’t we just reset the game and we’ll try to get back what The Stanley Parable is really about. No frills. No gimmicks. Just you and me having a great time together like always. What do you say, friend?”

Stanley listened to The Narrator speak as it decided to reset the game and have the two go back to their standard fun (and it called him its friend! Stanley! The Narrator! Him! They’re friends! ).

The black screen which sometimes represented prison, sometimes, death, but always a new beginning, appeared.

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And Stanley was back in his office.

Stanley expected the usual lines, but instead, there was a metallic shuffling coming from a nearby vent.

The grate popped open, clattering against the floor.

“Psst! Stanley! Come over here… in the vent… I want to show you something.” Stanley backed away from the vent, highly suspicious. He wanted to trust it, he really did, but something about oh, let's say… The Apartment Ending, The Dream Ending, and other various sections of the story Stanley couldn’t think of this moment. But Stanley had been tricked by the being (is being the right word? It doesn’t seem to have a physical form.) in the past.

“Oh, you don’t want to see the cool surprise I made for you? Well! You’re a dork anyway, so who cares?” The Narrator huffed. Stanley chuckled, giving in. If The Narrator wants it, so it will be.

As Stanley reapproached the vent, The Narrator retracted his statement with “Oh. Never mind, you’re not a dork.”

Stanley army-crawled through the vents, as The Narrator told him all about how drab and uninteresting the content had been. It told Stanley that it has a special place it created; a place to reminisce on the glory days of their beloved parable.

The meadows surrounding the cabin-like building was incredibly lovely. Stanley couldn’t wait to see what this ‘Memory Zone’ held for the two. He walked through the front door. The room before him smelt like a history museum; and looked like one too. 

“You see, Stanley, doesn’t the Memory Zone remind you of how wonderful Stanley Parable was before it was sullied with a cheap re-release?” The Narrator told its faithful companion. It spoke of dates and times Stanely could hardly even remember. What year was it now? 2013 seemed like something in the far-off future, not the distant past!

Stanley listened as he normally did; The Narrator going over the many positive reviews of the game.

He stopped mid-sentence. He gasped.

“Shit, Stanley, we have to reset- The Player is coming back, and they’ll get suspicious if we’re just randomly in this room. Oh goodness, I’m sorry to cut this time short, but I'm sure I can get The Player to come back here. If I’d had more time I’d get your input on this but I-”

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Stanley heard the metallic shuffling and the bang of the vent on the ground again. His eyes were forcefully open, but he ignored everything in his vision; closing his eyes to the best he can. He heard The Narrator tell the lines it crafted for HIM be spouted to The Player.

Jealous? Him? Never.

The Narrator did nothing but berate, insult, and belittle him constantly.

Regardless, it was second nature to fully dissociate when The Player was the one in control. Stanley hardly remembers most things that happened ever since he got to control the very first time.

He could feel the cool metal beneath him as he crawled through the vents again, he could feel the grass and the breeze in the Memory Zone, and he smelt the historical smell of the building. He wished he didn’t have to; he wished he could just fade into oblivion until The Player was gone again.

The Narrator got further along into his reminiscing this time around; reaching a maintenance room that The Narrator hadn’t a clue about.

Stanley wished he could be there to laugh at the way The Narrator reacted to the distasteful reviews. Its dramatic readings, the way its voice got shrill when saying ‘Unfunny’, the way it anxiously asked if it was really as preachy as Cookie9 claimed.

But the moment Stanley really wished he had been there was when that dreaded yellow glowing button appeared. He’d have stopped pressing it the instant The Narrator asked him to.

He did suppose that it’s possible that The Player actually skipped through time.

But Stanley did not. He was not in control. He was stuck there for hours and hours and days and months and weeks. If he weren’t stuck in this god-forsaken body, he’d cry and beg and scream at The Narrator to let him out of there.

At first, Stanley found the fact he himself had not been skipping with The Player annoying.

The Narrator could ramble on for so long.

But Stanley got scared when hours began to pass at once. He tried so hard to give any sign to The Narrator that he was there.

It was so terrifying hearing The Narrator just… give up. Stop talking. Leave.

The Player kept pressing that fucking button.

He sat there in that room longer than anyone else.

Eventually, the room deteriorated enough that The Player finally began to leave the room.

And god it hurt so much to move after literal millennia of standing in one spot. He’d felt it as bugs and vines and dust coated his clothing and skin over the years. He’d had creatures evolving before his eyes.

He saw bugs become birds and become bugs again.

He saw distant planets explode through the holes in the ceiling.

He saw life and death and everything in between.

He wished he could be on the receiving end of the poison some of the biological matter had spread.

The Player walked through the desolate wasteland that Stanley had become familiar with seeing outside the broken-down bricks.

Feeling the dust and debris fall off of him, the sun beating into his eyes, stinging to hell and back.

Stanley decided to just feel the fleeting heat of the fiery orb in the sky on his skin. He’d let The Player deal with all the movements and the figuring out how to get the hell out of this place.

He didn’t notice it was over until there’d been a sudden change in the environment.

He didn’t even notice the black screen he’d lost for oh-so-long, he missed the text that said

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Chapter Text

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It was cold. It was so cold. The air was so stale. If The Player weren’t here, he’d curl up in a ball and bawl his fucking eyes out under his desk.

But there was no time to deal with his exhaustion, his blaring headache, and his dry throat.

The Player walked through the halls again.

A door read “New New Content”.

The Player walked through the door.

And oh, how Stanley missed that voice.

“Oh good, you noticed my sign. Yes, I have something very exciting to show you!” The Narrator sounded tired, but ten times less tired than how Stanley felt.

He should keep track of how many times he would cry if The Player weren’t here.

“You see Stanley, I've been reflecting on the Stanley Parable, and about how roundly disappointing this Ultra Deluxe version has turned out to be.”  

Stanley hung onto every spoken word as if it were a lifeline.

“The original Stanley Parable was a landmark, and any new content for it should live up to that legacy. So forget this Ultra Deluxe nonsense! I say we take it one step further.”

Would it please just shut up about the game?! Were they not going to mention what just happened?

But it couldn’t hear Stanley.

It never could.

At least it was there .

“Which is why, I'm very proud to announce, for the first time ever... The Stanley Parable 2!” It spoke. At least it was happy. The Player seemed content with this content.

It took The Player through a convention-like, blinding white, and spoke of how it (admittedly very justly) fixed the developer’s shitty update.

Stanley didn’t really care; he just wanted to take a break.

And thank fuck one came; The Player finally left.

And Stanley fell to the floor, facefirst.

“Oh, dear- Stanley? Are you alright? What's going on?” Well, it was good to know that The Narrator cared.

How did The Narrator expect Stanley to give any sort of answer?

Stanley tried, with incredibly shaky limbs, to push himself into an upright position.

Everything was so stiff and aching; the activities of The Player did not help his pain.

He barely managed it, but he was able to sit up, pulling his legs close to his chest.

“Errm- Maybe we should reset. If you get to the meeting room, maybe we could discuss what’s going on.” It suggested, bringing that black screen Stanley missed so badly.

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THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END

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“But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.” The Narrator gave again.

Never before had Stanley disobeyed so early on, save for the time The Player had closed the door and stayed in the room the entire time. But Stanley himself had never done this, and this was even earlier on than that.

Stanley didn’t even stand up. He didn’t think he could. Was it even possible for him to rest the pain and aching in his bones after such a long time by that button ?

“Stanley got up from his desk - For goodness sake, why aren’t you getting up? I reset the game, you should be perfectly fine!” It said, annoyance in its voice.

Stanley shook his head. He wasn’t perfectly fine. How could he be? He was exhausted. He’d spent so much time alone, unmoving. He couldn’t see his reflection, but he’d imagine there were heavy eye bags beneath his eyes. His eyes were incredibly dry, too. He was surprised he was even alive.

“What do you mean no ? Stanley, we don’t have a way to communicate if you don’t get up and head to the meeting room!” Oh, it just wanted to talk to Stanley. Stanley sat up in his chair a bit. He hadn’t noticed he’d been slumped over until now.

He typed on the computer keyboard 5 letters

T-I-R-E-D

He hoped that The Narrator would get the message. It seemed to be omnipotent in some form.

“What do you mean tired? Tired from what?” Its confusion was audible.

B-U-T-T-O-N

“How? You skipped those years. It probably took you, what, 10 minutes to get back here?” It sounded upset. Oh, Stanley knew it was upset. He heard it talking all those years until its voice went sore. And it kept talking after that. Then it left, muttering something about its sister (it had a family. Stanley wondered if he had one too.).

N-O

“You- you didn’t? You were there the whole time? ” Its voice rang with shock and horror.

Y-E-S

“Why didn’t you say anything? Give any sign you were there?”

P-L-A-Y-E-R

“What do you mean?”

S-T-U-C-K

“You- you have no control over yourself when The Player is here? Surely, that can’t be true! Nothing at all? Not even the ability to blink?” Man, it sure was dense, wasn’t it? Stanley nodded in confirmation, tears forming in his eyes.

“How… how long were you there?”

S-A-W T-H-I-N-G-S E-V-O-L-V-E

“Oh… How lonely that must’ve been…” There was some shuffling and sounds of clicking keys on the keyboard.

“I’m not really sure what I need to do to help you here Stanley. What do you need? Should I stop talking?” The Narrator said quickly. How the tables turned so quickly; Stanley was the one trying to make it feel better once the player had left, but now it was here to help Stanley out.

The Narrator grumbled under its breath “With all the vast knowledge of the universe all stored on the internet, why is there no answer to ‘how to deal with the exhaustion of being stuck in one spot for billions of years’! This is outrageous Stanley.”

Stanley slumped back into his chair, laughing quietly at The Narrator’s internet incompetence.

“I’m glad you have the energy to mock me, but I’m trying to help you out here Stanley ” The Narrator huffed.

“From what I can gather, all you need to do is sleep for a while. Hmm, but I never added the ability for you to sleep… Well, I never added the ability for you to do much more than walk around, and yet here you are, sitting at your desk and typing. I suppose it couldn’t help to have you try.”

Behind Stanley, a tan air mattress appeared and began to inflate. Once it got to its filled amount, a small pillow and thin blanket were poofed into existence on top of it.

With some effort, Stanley lifted himself from the chair he sat in and stumbled onto the mattress. As expected from himself, he fell face first into the mattress.

“I apologize that I couldn’t do much better than this; I’d have coded something more in if it weren’t such short notice. Maybe while you’re asleep I’ll figure out something.” The Narrator mused. “Well, I’ll leave you to rest, Stanley.”

The Narrator? Leave? Again? Stanley shot up and shook his head violently.

“What? Do you want me to stay here?” This disembodied voice was dense . Why on earth would Stanley want to be alone after such a long time alone with the button?

Stanley nodded his head. If it left he would have cried or had a panic attack. Probably both.

“Well… I guess it makes sense. Do you want me to just… keep talking?” Stanley nodded again.

“Hm, well it won’t be entertaining at all, but I suppose I can talk about the process of coding in this stuff for you.”

Stanley threw the thin blanket over himself and tried to sleep. He had no idea what The Narrator was talking about, but as long as he talked Stanley knew it was there. As long as it was there, Stanley would be okay.