Stanford bolted back into the house after leaving the postcard in the mailbox. His head throbbed painfully from the metal plate that he had yet to get used to. Unfortunately it had not blocked Bill out completely like he hoped, but at least his body was now his again. Too many times he had awoke in the portal room or some other place he had not gone to sleep. Once he had woken up while falling down the stairs.
He locked and boarded up the door and then grabbed his crossbow and curled up opposite it. From his chair he could still see the door to the basement as well as the entryway. He really should get some sleep. He felt his eyes getting heavy and jerked upright in a fit of panic. Bill would come if he slept, he would taunt him, show him things he didn't want to see or know.
With shaking hands Stanford set the crossbow down on his lab and then whiped his eyes. To his surprise they were wet. Was he crying? When had he started crying? He drew in a shaky breath. He tried to choke it down. He wasn't supposed to show weakness; at least that was what he had been taught.
What does it matter? I'm alone anyway. No one cares.
With that he started sobbing wretchedly. Shuttering gasps and whimpers leaking out through his gritted teeth as the misery finally overcame him.
This wasn't what he had wanted. He had wanted to make a difference in the world, to prove he was worth something. "Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world." He laughed bitterly through his tears at the memory.
Finally the tears subsided, leaving him drained and empty. He reached into his coat and pulled out the photo. He traced his fingertips over the image of him and Stanley standing proud with the Stan o' War.
Maybe Stanley would still care about him. Maybe he would come. Maybe he could help Stanford. It was the only hope he had left.