Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s something, being himself and also Him. If Stanley had to compare it to something, it’s like being chained to a sentient cannon ball. He doesn’t trust anyone else with the Mask (though many have gotten their hands on it), but does he really trust himself with It? 

He looks at the other side of the bed. His jack russel terrier is snoring there, flopped on his back with all four paws in the air. Milo is a smarter pup than most, even more so it would seem after the influence of their shared Little Secret. Stanley’s eyes go to the closet. He always keeps The Mask there.

For propriety? 

He snorts at this thought. The Mask is here, isn’t he? The being the papers write about, that’s apparently his inner self spewing outwards. But then again, most people's Freudian id can’t have a building dropped on them and survive. 

Stanley goes to tickle Milo’s tummy, and the dog awakens. He flips over and stretches, yawning. 

“Sorry,” Stanley says, picking Milo up and pouting affectedly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep.” 

Milo licks him in the face. He scrunches up his eye, laughing. 

“I guess I just felt,” he says, scrubbing behind the terrier’s ears. “Kind of lonely.”

Chapter Text

Stanley rips the mask off, panting. He hears sirens through the dark of the night, and peers down the alley he ducked into. He’s not too far from home, but should he wait? The threat d’jour has been skillfully neutralized; wackiness aboundeth. 

He is shaking. 

Every time someone snatches the Mask and wears it, it rattles Stanley. Other people, with a few notable exceptions, become a carnal, violent version of themselves. Stanley examines the wooden artifact. Why is he the one that tries to do good? He turns the Mask over to look at the front. It is simple, wood and metal screws. What is, it, truly? 

Stanley tucks it away, starting down the alley towards home. When he gets close, he smiles at the sight of Milo hanging out of the window. The pup barks in greeting, and Stanley holds his hand up. As he enters the apartment, Milo jumps into his arms. 

“Well hello to you, Mr. Wiggles,” Stanley says, laughing as he carries him to the couch. He flops down. “What’ll it be tonight, Milo? Popeye? Freakazoid?”

Milo barks and wags his tail. 

“CatDog, good choice, sir.”

He stretches, and turns on the cartoon. Milo is a ball in his lap, warm and comforting.

“Oh,” he says after a time, reaching into his jacket and retrieving the Mask. He considers it and says, mildly, “I almost lost you, tonight.” 

Something prods at the back of his mind as he considers the object. It’s a light and bright sensation, and he swears the Mask shimmers in the lowlight. Stanley smiles. 

“What do you say, Milo?” he says. “How bout we have some fun ?”

Milo is a solid weight draped over his shoulders, warm and alive. 

So is He. 

He considers his green, widely grinning reflection in the glossy black of his dapper leather shoes. He tosses a dollar coin to the man shining them dutifully.

“I tell you, Seville,” says the Mask , reclining back and crossing one ankle over the other. “You get any better at this? I’ll marry you.” 

Seville grins back. 

“Got big plans tonight, Mr. Mask?” 

“Tell me, Seville,” Mask says, passing him a few notes and getting to his feet. “Do I look like a guy with a plan?”

He jumps in his car- bright yellow and ostentatious, to match his zoot suit. Milo clambers off his shoulders.

“Here,” the Mask says, and places tiny pink sunglasses on his pooch. “Moon beams, bad for the eyes.”

And, says a tiny, strange but familiar voice in his mind. The heart.