Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stanley was tired. He was so exhausted, sick of it all. He didn't even remember how long he's been here, months, has it even been a week? Stanley didn't know. He's done every single 'ending' and according to the Narrator, he was supposed to be happy, but in reality, Stanley had long forgotten how to be happy, he wasn't even sure if he was originally happy from the start.

At some point Stanley noticed where he was walking towards, it seems he was walking without even having a desitation in mind. How bothersome. He walked towards the platform and waited while eyeing the metal catwalk. It looks like his brain has already decided where he was going, did he even have a brain? Or was it a bunch of code. After all, it's not like he's a real person.

"Sta.. Stanley! Are you even listening to me!?" Stanley looked up quickly and looked back to the path. "Stanley, this is the 3rd time you've done this ending, is everything alright?" The Narrator pleaded for an answer but got nothing in return. Is it really the third time? He can't even remember anymore. Stanley didn't awknowledge The Narrator's concern and kept walking.

When Stanley arrived at the red and blue doors, he waited for the dialogue. "Stanley, is there anything wrong?" Stanley shook his head and signed, [I'm fine] With the most empty face, he couldn't muster up any expressions.

The doors opened without the Narrator following his lines, just a sigh. Stanley quickly walked to the Zen Room, and then walked towards the stairs. "Stanley I'm taking away the catwalk after this." A tone of solemn in the Narrator's voice but Stanley once again didn't care to awknowledge the voice. The Narrator simply just watched as Stanley threw himself off the platform over and over and over again with pure despair and concern.

Splat.

And Stanley reset, as he always does. He just wants a means to an end. As he recalls what the Narrator said about 'locking up the catwalk' or whatever, Stanley decided to scower the rest of the Parable for something he can use to cause pain, anything really, even if it's a pencil, he'll make do with what he has. As Stanley walked out of his office, the Narrator didn't say his lines as he usually does, theres just a sigh, a sad one if he could put an emotion to it. "I'm sorry, Stanley." A sniffle, "One moment please... I'll be right back I swear." and with that, the Narrator was gone. A perfect opportunity to get whatever he needs. Stanley had learned if the Narrator doesn't notice any wounds, they don't disappear when they reset, he also noticed how the broom closet was the one place that the Narrator did not have access too.

Perfect, He thought to himself, he began to continue walking grabbing anything, everything of use to him, He got to the warehouse, he tried the other doors, since the Narrator was gone they should open... Of course they opened. Stanley walked inside of what seemed to be like the platform control room and scowered the drawers for anything. He found a collection of open staples and... A box cutter... it looked like the blade was dull, which was probably going to hurt more. Perfect.

Stanley proceeded to put both of the objects in his pockets, and walk back to the broom closet. Now that he thought of it, The Narrator had been gone for a long, long time.

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The Narrator was sobbing, on mute of course. It hurt, it hurt so much. To watch their beloved protaganist jump over and over again, without a reason why, as far as they knew, it was their fault. It was their fault their protagonist wanted to kill himself, to hurt himself. They didn't know what to do, they sat up in their chair, curled up, knees to their face, sobbing. Tears and snot all over their clothing. They needed to go back soon, but they simply couldn't stop crying, They wanted to repeat apologies over and over again, but was terrified of being caught like this by their protagonist... No. Stanley is more than a protagonist to them, If he was a protagonist, then surely they wouldn't be bawling like this over a simple ending, They, themselves, decided to write. Surely it couldn't hurt that bad. These feelings were more than creation and author to them.

The Narrator looked around for anything to stop them from crying, looking quickly side to side, their eyes settled on something shiny, a pair of scissors, they quickly reached for the scissors, opening it, and dragging it across the old scars, a harsh hiss came from their mouth, tears stained their cheeks, but they kept going. They couldn't stop until the tears did, who knows what Stanley would do if he saw (heard) the Narrator crying, would he kill himself again? Blame himself? They couldn't have that.

Blood dripping from their arms staining the papers scattered across the floors. Great. The stories they were working on, happier endings for both them and Stanley now ruined with their red-yellow blood. Slowly the tears came to a halt, The Narrator feeling numb, decided now would be a supposable time to come back. The pain on their arms made it slightly difficult to focus, but that's fine. They could handle it. They handled being alone for thousands, millions, billions of years, a little pain is nothing.

The fear of Stanley figuring out and then blaming himself was almost too much to bear, but the Narrator was a great actor. They could handle it.

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Stanley sat in the broom closet, on the floor against a wall just staring up. His thighs burnt, but they were the only place he could cut without the Narrator noticing, or causing a fuss. He didn't want His Narrator to be sad over it, and possibly blame themself. Stanley got up and left the broom closet, hissing at the sharp pain, trying to breathe deeply to make it hurt less, although, it didn't work. Infact, it probably hurt more. He leaned on walls trying his absolute best to walk to the employee's lounge room and lay on a couch.

Suddenly...

TZZT

The Narrator was back. "Stanley." They said. Uh oh, Did he get caught? Leaning on the wall, Stanley began trying to stand up straight. "Stanley." The Narrator repeated. "We need to talk. Desperately. I'm coming down there. Go meet me in the lounge, I'll be waiting."  The Narrator quickly bandaged his wounds and pulled his sleeves over them in effort to not get caught, while Stanley made sure the hemline of his pants were above his waist. A quick reset had happened for The Narrator to easily appear in the Parable.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END

Stanley awakes in his office, the pain on his legs still violently there, he winces before getting up and attempting to walk to the employee's lounge. He was scared, he didn't want to go, he wanted to run away and hide. But he knew the Narrator would probably hunt him down if he did that, that made him slightly and silent chuckle a bit.

When Stanley arrived at the employee's lounge, he found The Narrator sitting there, very condescendingly, the air smelt of metal, he couldn't tell if it was from himself or something else, but nonetheless it scared him. "Stanley.. I..." The Narrator hesitated, "I want for both of us... to be happy. And It's difficult because of our-" They were cut off by Stanley's hand over their mouth.

[I wanted to live a normal life. No resets. No endings. Just... a normal human life...] Stanley turned his head away while he signed. "I wanted it. But now, I just want freedom.] The Narrator stared at Stanley, slightly wincing at the burning sensation in their arms. "I... I wanted that too.. You think I didn't want to be free? I... What is a story, happiness without an ending? How can anyone be happy without an ending?" The Narrator felt their eyes water, Dammit why now... Stanley begun to lift his hands to sign, [Why does you're happiness revolve around an ending, if theres always an ending in sight...] Stanley paused trying to collect his thoughts [how would anyone stay happen if they always knew the end?]

The Narrator tried to silently wipe their tears, but to no avail, the tears just kept falling, The Narrator attempted to cover their face. Stanley in response, grabbed their arms with little concern for his own strength, The Narrator hissed and tried to recoil their arms, their face full of tears and fear. Stanley felt, something sticky, wet, slightly warm. Stanley removed his grip as the Narrator jerked back their arms in an attempt to hold them back away from the another’s grasp.

Stanley looked down at his hands, blood. He then felt something worse than any other emotion he's ever felt. It felt like a mix of terror, concern, and sadness, all in one emotion. He slowly looked up at the sobbing Narrator and before he knew it, his arms were wrapped around His Narrator tightly, trying to whisper words of console, but to no voice coming out. The Narrator just sat there, they felt their tears growing, as they broke into a full sob, crying out apologies, they returned the hug, burying their face into Stanley's shoulder.

After what felt like hours of them just sitting in eachothers hold, Stanley broke the hug to sign something. [It..] He hesistated, [It seems like we both messed up, huh?] Stanley tried to lighten the mood but It really didn't work as the Narrator immedietly replied, "Where." between sniffles and rubbing their eyes, trying to muster up a threatening, yet concerned tone, they held eye contact with Stanley. Stanley broke their gaze and slowly raised his hands to say a single word, [Legs.], he followed, [It's not your fault, we can work on a new story together. Let's do that, so we'll both be happy.]. The Narrator looked sad but nodded, "If we have any issues. Can we please... talk about it? I don't want you hurting yourself anymore..." The Narrator turned to lean on Stanley's shoulder and Stanley leaned on Narrators head. [I could say the same to you, you know.] Stanley grinned.

The Narrator didn't know it was quite possible, but they felt themselves getting extremely tired. [Sleep. I'll stay here.], and with that, The Narrator's eyes began to close. Stanley looked at The Narrator and mouthed quiet words of affection. Goodnight Narry. He thought, before closing his eyes and falling asleep as well.