Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The "curse" was deceptively simple, yet artful. Perfectly convenient. An angry meta, frustrated by "humans" and their "emotional issues," had taken a hard look at Narrator, taken undue offense to his decision-making, and slapped him with a curse. Or, well, a self-sustaining psychic effect that would be fascinating to explore in more detail if he weren't busy fighting its user. Like his own ability, theirs manipulated fate. Unlike his, theirs did so exclusively in long-winded, often rhyming monologues, for long-term effects that seemed random - almost as if they chose their own interpretation of what their maker wanted. The recovery also seemed significantly longer than it was for Narrator.


Stanley had called it magic. It was definitely not magic. This debate kept him and Stanley occupied for much of the return from the messy mission.

The effects were, from what Narrator could tell, quite solid and easily grasped, with a seemingly unlimited duration. Until he confessed his feelings to the one he loved most, Narrator could not die nor be seriously injured. That confession itself was strictly defined, as if to keep Narrator from abusing any loophole. And if the person Narrator loved was lost to him forever, he would never know peace until he accepted his failure. Perhaps even until he moved on and found someone else. That part was less clear and less relevant.

Well, that was the gist of the monologue and what Curator would later divine, buried beneath a load of undignified nonsense about repression and accepting his feelings and not getting out of it until he gets the fuck over himself, which Narrator found strictly unnecessary and wholly, pettily unprofessional for someone who acted so high-and-mightily above such human flaws.

Stanley, of course, happened to hear the whole thing.

"So...who was the person that meta was talking about?" He asked, inevitably. Later, once they'd reported in and Curator had verified that the "curse'" was indeed real and did exactly what the meta said it would do.

This was probably supposed to trip him up. A chance to tell the truth, rip off the bandage. Difficult to escape. It was likely what the meta intended anyway, making all that fanfare in front of Stanley. Fortunately, they'd also given him the perfect avenue to reveal nothing.

"Why in the world would I tell anyone?" Narrator asked, as if the thought was absurdity itself.

"Consider, Stanley: as long as the supposed object of my affections remains blissfully unaware, I am as immortal as you are. Maybe more, if I truly cannot die or be hurt."


Stanley considered that. Narrator fancied he could see Stanley remembering every time Narrator had done something absurd, even when he risked losing his life. Considering Narrator without the limitations of mortality to hold him back. Stanley turned it over in his mind and promptly made a face that was half relief and half raw yikes. Slightly offensive, but whatever. It settled into relief, though, before long.

"Doesn't it only count if you tell them?" Stanley asked, oblivious, and Narrator scoffed.

"Better safe than sorry," Narrator decided.

"And if they, you know, die?" Stanley pressed, a touch concerned - Curator's intent pronouncement of the danger Narrator was in if the person he loved was gone forever had apparently made an impact. Nevertheless, the eye contact she'd made had told Narrator much of what he needed to know.

"I'm not worried about that," he answered, a little too flippantly.

Too flippantly, because Stanley eyed him, somewhere between confusion and suspicion. Narrator was quick to change the subject, and blessedly, for once, Stanley let it go.

Stanley had died twice since then, but Narrator felt no different. Curator had verified that the curse was still just as present as when it'd first been cast. The meta had gone and specified forever, and in doing so, unintentionally removed any pressure for Narrator to say anything. Ever. Curator had even affirmed that there was some risk to Narrator's immortality if the person he loved was told by someone else, thereby cementing his decision. And knowing his general distaste for immortality, Curator had glared at Narrator over it for quite a while.

But now, Narrator had the perfect excuse to keep his mouth shut and carry on without care for risk to himself. Forever, potentially. He could even keep Stanley company, so he wouldn't be immortal all on his own - and, well, Mariella too. And if Narrator ever got bored with immortality, well, there was an escape hatch, so even Curator couldn't criticize him too harshly for holding back for a while. When he was ready, Narrator would just have to tell Stanley he was in love with him. For real, this time.

...On second thought, he'd just have to live forever.

Chapter Text

Despite his own insistence to the contrary, time inevitably changed Narrator. Maybe, under better circumstances, he’d have said the words. But after years, the curse that weighed on him began to feel like one - and not for the reason the one who cursed him probably intended. No, it was not the sting of immortality that Narrator felt; he power-tripped on his invulnerability and relished in the ability to keep up with Stanley one-to-one. There was no more fear needed nor felt by either of them. Death could never claim them, nor could injury strike them. Together, they were free from such things, alike as they’d never been.

Stanley, despite his initial hesitation, welcomed it just the same. Narrator had almost not noticed Stanley fretting for him - not until the source of it was excised, seemingly for good. Both of them could look ahead into a future that stretched on as long as Narrator wanted it to, without fear. No, it wasn’t the denial of death that bothered Narrator. It might have, had it been inescapable, but it was only his own hangups that kept him from laying himself to rest. And, later, Narrator’s own choice kept him alive, the curse making death into an opt-in experience.

That choice was what weighed on him more than his situation. There came a time when he wanted to say the words. To confess the guilt of loving Stanley, or the lightness and the joy of feeling that love, to the person he’d lived with for years now. To place his heart in the other’s hands. To let his guard down completely to someone who wasn’t Curator, nor the absent friend who’d once been the only other to know him so completely. To throw open the curtains, reckless as it was, and let light or rain fall in as it may. It was a vulnerability Narrator had abhorred for much of his life, one he at last wanted to try and reclaim. And he couldn’t, because so doing would be the undoing of the uninhibition that’d defined them both now.

And…Narrator wasn’t ready to set an end date to what he shared with Stanley, even one plausibly far in the future. Neither he nor Curator knew what would become of him when the curse’s hold was broken. He’d already lived far past his natural lifespan, as unaging as Stanley. And through Curator’s own methods and Mariella’s artificiality, the core of their little team remained untouched by time. If Narrator undid the curse, he might just drop dead on the spot.

Narrator didn’t want to sacrifice what he’d made for the sake of the feelings in his heart. He couldn’t give forever for a moment of weight off his chest, especially not one with an uncertain outcome. Sure, it was more than possible to guess how it would go, if Narrator dared to articulate that even to himself. But he didn’t. If he did, perhaps the walls he kept left up would buckle under the pressure. And that was a loss of control he couldn’t afford.

Still, the payoff of such a confession, however gratifying, wouldn’t be worth it either way. He’d be removing himself from the world. From Stanley’s side, from the existence of robbery and peace and banter they’d carved together where none should fit. Putting a limit on their time together. Someday, that would become appealing, someday he’d tire of the chaos and the revelry and the domesticity alike - but not yet. Not yet. He wanted more out of this life, out of their time, out of the gift that curse had unwillingly given him. And thus, his lips stayed sealed, even as his partnership with Stanley spiraled into an easy domesticity. Narrator didn’t dare insinuate, but the insinuation was all too obvious.

They both jolted back from every insinuation that they - two people who shared an apartment and pets and every bit of their lives and sometimes slept in the same room - could be partners. Every glare from Curator rose the hairs on the back of Narrator’s neck, but Curator never took it past that. She knew why Narrator chose this, and that it was all too intentional now, a product of sacrifice that took the place of repression. She understood. Were she in his place - it was hard to say what decision she’d have made, but she’d at least have given thought to his solution.

Still, at times, it kept Narrator awake at night, even when Stanley kept him company, when his mere presence was often enough to stave off the worst of anything that dwelt in Narrator’s mind. He felt the weight of it pressing down on his chest, choking him until it felt as if it might press the supposed immortality right out of him, kill him there and then without a word spoken. It was hard to say if Stanley knew or not, on the nights when he lay next to Narrator, fingers laced together with his - often no other contact, as neither of them dared, even that intimacy confined to the quiet of the night, so different from the casual affection that was shared over their endless days. Narrator hoped he did. Narrator hoped Stanley understood. He’d hate himself all the more if he were hurting his -

...Never mind. Best not to. Narrator would give in to the ache in his heart too easily, that way. The rest of the time made every longing night worthwhile, and Narrator clung stubbornly to the silence and the anchor in his heart.

Narrator figured Stanley must know, on some level, merely by the length of life he’d enjoyed. If his love had been outside their little group of immortals, even if they were younger than Narrator had been when the curse was laid, they’d be long dead now. He wondered if Stanley resented him for his silence, or if he understood Narrator’s choice to cleave to this life they’d made rather than clearing the air. From the way Stanley looked at him, it was hard to be sure. But Stanley never pushed, so Narrator figured he must understand.

And so, for a time, that tenuous peace held. Narrator’s lips stayed sealed. At least, until one day, Stanley’s crashed against them and shattered it.

It was a stupid, stupid impulse, of that Narrator was sure. Some mission, some day where if Narrator had been mortal he’d have been dead and it wasn’t even his own recklessness in the face of immortality that got him there - and in the relief and the joy of it all, of the safety between them, contrasted with the terror Narrator had seen in Stanley’s eyes for the split second before he remembered -

Holding back wasn’t an option. Stanley kissed Narrator like it was worth the risk, and Narrator could do nothing but do - and feel - just the same. Stanley pulled back, and Narrator almost said something vulnerable, something rash, but Stanley’s hand slapped over his mouth.

“Shut up,” he advised, and for once, Narrator didn’t protest.

Stanley kissing him again definitely helped keep him quiet. Still, the anxiety of it held between them. They didn’t touch once they broke apart, barely even speaking as they headed back in. Reported back as if nothing had happened. As if both of them weren’t holding their breaths, hoping that the very moment they’d both wanted for so long wouldn’t end everything. Narrator wanted to live. Not a passive, peaceful wanting - he wanted it with a fire, clung to it as he never had in his youth.

He thought it to himself like a mantra as he drove back, knuckles white on the steering wheel. I don’t want this to be over yet. I want to live. I want a chance to kiss him again. I don’t want this to be the end. I want to live. I want to live. I want to live.

“Nothing’s changed,” Curator said the moment they arrived, reading between the lines as always, and Narrator let out a sigh of relief.

The curse held. It really, truly did rely on precisely those spoken words - and that alone. Stanley’s fingers laced with Narrator’s again under the desk they sat across from Curator at, and Stanley smiled the same smile that Narrator never grew tired of. Narrator found himself smiling too, and even Curator seemed exasperated, but mollified. They didn’t need words for this. Not after this many years.

Narrator kept the words to himself, still. He was still cautious with what he said. Stanley did the same, as if to avoid tempting him - or in habit or camaraderie. But the tension between the two of them snapped like a rubber band. They forewent the pretense that’d held for so long, thrown away, unneeded. They could laugh at the jokes about them being partners, now. Act the part in all the ways that mattered to them. Stanley slept curled around Narrator more nights than not. They did everything together just as before, but a hair closer, more relaxed. Narrator smiled more, he found. Every other set of words that could possibly describe what existed between them was spoken, as often as they wanted, without fear. They could live as the unit they intended to, and the curse no longer felt like one - like it held Narrator back at all. They could just live in that unspoken truth, both knowing.

Even, one day, Stanley flopped on the couch and looked over at Narrator with a smile.

“We could get married. Y’know, for tax benefits.”

Narrator stifled a chuckle, or a roll of his eyes, and didn’t acknowledge how fast his heart was racing, even though they’d both known this was coming for a long time - it was just a matter of finding an excuse.

“For tax benefits, yes - and for legal reasons. Power of attorney, legal rights. It would just be a matter of choosing legal names,” Narrator agreed, as if this were nothing more than a business proposal - a facade no longer needed, but still entertaining enough to roll with at times.

“Mhm. And a ring,” Stanley decided aloud, as if that were every bit as much of a legal requirement.

“And a ring, yes. Something tells me you won’t just be buying one,” Narrator responded, somewhat dryly, playing along.

“Nope! And I can bet you, I’ll get a better one,” Stanley answered cheerfully, already getting back up like he hadn’t just sat down.

“No, you won’t. I’ll be handling that,” Narrator said just as calmly as ever, eyes meeting Stanley’s in an unspoken challenge - with mortality no longer a problem, he could rise to whatever bait he felt like…even a silly competition over who could steal a better ring.

Stanley laughed.

“Oh, you’re on,” he said, and Narrator finally smiled - as if this was just banter, and not the next, better phase of their lives, together in unspoken joy for as long as they wanted.

Chapter Text

Everything good drew to an end, eventually. Nothing was truly eternal. Less in the manner of a foundation crumbling or anything wearing down - but even the best of meals came to an end, even the best of days ended in sleep, even the best lives eventually drew to a close. Stanley and Narrator’s extended far, far into the future. Rings on fingers, paperwork signed, sharing apartments, and fake last names. Sharing every moment, every piece of themselves, for as long as they chose.

The curse that kept Narrator alive these days felt more like a blessing. But eventually, even blessings grew worn and faded. They’d lived so very long. Life hadn’t quite yet grown bitter, but it’d faded from the radiance into a quiet warmth, and then beyond that. Best not to cling to the scraps, to cleave to a dimming light until nothing was left. Best not to try to outlast everything good about their lives, about the world, to hold on to the flavor long after it’d gone dull. Narrator didn’t want his finale to be bitter.

In itself, finding an end should’ve been an issue. Narrator had an easy way out, and Stanley shouldn’t have. But Stanley had a friend in many high places, and that friend offered them both a way to drop the curtains. Simple, painless, and final. Narrator would finally get the chance to take his. The words the curse had demanded of him and then forbidden from him would be his to say at last. And as last words went, a confession in peace was far from the worst. In many ways, it was a relief. Ahead of them, rest, like going to bed after a long day, like curling up in their shared bedroom. Whatever came next, they’d do it together. And Narrator would finally get to say the words he’d held close to his chest for the countless years of their - everything.

Sunset found them on their balcony, once all else was said and done. It was a little song and dance they’d repeated too many times to count. Hot drinks and quiet narrations of the people below, shifting them just a little for the better. Freshly watered plants. A clean apartment. Tired, in the satisfied way that follows a long day. The day set to rest, their affairs in order. Hand in hand, peaceful. Their spoils lined up to go where they needed to. All was well and good, and nothing was amiss. A quiet end to a beautiful day, sunshine glittering off windows.

Narrator stood, as ever.

“I think it’s time we turned in,” he said softly.

All was planned. All was spoken of. There was little to be said now. Stanley stood with him, still with a hand in his and a smile on his lips. Their ostentatious, point-proving rings had long been exchanged for simpler silver bands, but they glittered just the same.

“Yeah. It’s been good,” Stanley said softly - of that day, and of so much more.

“That it has,” Narrator agreed.

He turned - steps a practiced motion. But instead of leading them into the house, he just stepped forward - wrapping both arms firmly around Stanley. A quiet hug, shared between husbands on the balcony. A kiss, the heat of it left behind, but no less in affection than their first.

“I love you,” Narrator whispered into Stanley’s hair, the words coming easier than he’d hoped.

Stanley smiled, soft and genuine, laughing just a little.

“Love you too,” he answered, hand tightening on Narrator’s.

There they stayed in each other’s arms, in love and at peace, until blacker-than-nightfall swallowed them both up.