Stanley and his coworker stepped outside into the chill air. The temperature was starting to drop as the sun was starting to lower into the sky. It may have had the hallmarks of spring but it was still very much winter otherwise. Stanley knew the bus routes by heart at this point, leading his companion to wait.

Stanley decided to make idle conversation while they were standing there.

"So, you never did tell me your name." Stanley asked, perusing the issue once again.

The man shifted anxiously, fidgeting with his hands, minutes passed without an answer.

"Forget it. It's not imp-"

"It's J-Jim." He answered at last, sitting on the bus stop bench.

Stanley stood there, before answering brightly.

"Jim, it's a nice name. Mine's Stanley." Stanley replied cheerfully.

Jim looked up, fatigued and confused.

"I know. You told me."

"Oh, um. Well, it's nice to meet you Jim." Stanley took a seat next to Jim, keeping in mind to give him some space.

The trees had few leaves on and the place was still pretty gray and dead. There was a nagging feeling in the back of Stanley's mind that he was forgetting something important.

"Do you have any plans?" He asked finally, at a lost for any actual topics of conversation that didn't involve the Office.

"Plans? Um...no. Not...not really."

That was the end of that, the two sat in silence once more.

Thankfully the bus showed up to take them home. Jim seemed to be a little more relaxed, looking around at the few people on the bus. They weren't the faceless mannequins or the fleeting faces of people mysteriously walking by for a split second. Stanley eyed him for a while before going back to his thoughts. Thoughts about all the things he wanted to do with Jim. Actual conversations at meal time, showing him movies-wait...that might actually be a bad idea for now, watching him slowly opening up and taking wonder in all the small things.

He hadn't even noticed when Jim had started to nod off.

...


Jim's eyes closed and he found himself plunged into darkness, for a few brief seconds he was aware that he was outside. The hum of the bus morphed into the hum of the lights, the machine. Jim found himself trapped in the office once more. A feeling of betrayal and shame. Shame that he'd believed that he had made it out. Just as he thought it was alright the story slammed the door shut in his face.

He felt himself falling down towards the ground, he could see the stairwell and the railings that were no longer any use to him. His mind knew what to expect, feeling all of his bones break against the concrete. The pain of having to drag yourself, or being dragged up the stairs by The Narrator to the top only to fall again.

"I thought you were smarter." The Narrator snarled in his head before he hit the ground.

Jim woke up in shock, eyes wet with tears.

Jim didn't know what to believe.

Freedom? Or just another trap?

In the end though, Jim knew it didn't really matter.

Stanley finally noticed that there was something amiss with Jim.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a lowered tone, trying not to draw attention of the few others on the bus. It was like the scene at the cafe all over again. Stanley wondered if this was going to be a common occurrence with Jim. Although could he blame him? Had he not been through a similar phase himself in the past?

'What did it matter.'

"We're almost there, don't worry." Stanley said, trying to reassure him. Jim stared back with empty eyes. It was all going to restart, he should have known from the start. He should have known better than to trust. The only thing he could trust was his gut feelings but he'd betrayed them and look what happened. He should have kept walking, walking until it just started over.

Surely, The Narrator would

'I thought you were smarter.' the voice echoed in his mind, disrupting it once more.

"Jim you don't look well." Stanley whispered, genuinely concerned. Stanley wondered if this was going to be a common occurrence, although Stanley understood what it was like but there was something about Jim that worried him. Stanley suddenly doubted his abilities, had he gotten in over his head? Could he really even help him? No doubt, there were people out there who were better equipped to deal with these sorts of things.

Jim slowly shook his head, the movement was so minute that had Stanley not been literally staring at Jim the whole time, he would have missed it. Jim was wide eyed. Stanley was unsure if he wanted to know what Jim had running through his head.

They got off the bus one stop later.

...


The two men walked through the dead grass together. It would be another few miles before they would reach home. Stanley would have waited on the bus like he usually did but he'd been worried about what would had happened if they stayed on the bus. Would Jim have another panic attack? It seemed like he was on the verge of it already. The coworker didn't seem to enjoy crowds and hoped that the solitude of the outdoors would supply him with the peace he needed. They had walked for what felt like hours and the sun was going down. The wind was getting colder. While Stanley was fine, having had a jacket, Jim only had what he'd left the office with. His simple dress shirt was no match for the dying winter wind, which still bite hard.

"Do you want to talk, Jim?"

"No." Was the only response the other man gave and that was the end of their conversation.

It was a long and lonely walk. Stanley couldn't have been happier to see his home again.

...


"We're home." Stanley said, opening the door for Jim. The house did not have much but it had what Stanley needed to be happy. The dining room had a light or two and the television was sitting at the other end. The dining room table was small, seating only four and sported a single proper dining room chair. Stanley had lived alone up to now, so it was never an issue. Now that he had a guest, one that he secretly hoped would be long term, this was something Stanley would have to address. Surely, there was another chair around here. If Jim didn't feel like eating and left the next morning then Stanley wouldn't even have to bother finding another chair.

Stanley felt a pang of guilt over this though. He'd promised to be here for him, to himself at least. Stanley wouldn't force Jim to eat but if he didn't want to but he'd try.

"Let me show you around." He continued.

Jim stepped through the door, shivering from his outdoor journey. He took a careful look around. It had a different 'air' to it, a different vibe. It didn't reek of the false abandonment of the offices or the foreboding and empty lure of choice, that had resided in the mind control machine. No, this place felt 'genuine'. This house had been lived in, had a true history to it. Jim calmed down, the doubt of his freedom subsiding but the fear never left him.

He relished the warmth of the house seeping into him.

Stanley's house was small but clearly intended for a family of three or four. Stanley was a family of one and thus it was rather empty. There was little furniture but Stanley was happy. He had just about everything he really needed and wanted. It had two floors, each with it's own bathroom, offering both men a sense of privacy. Aside from everything that one would expect a house to have, there was also a basement which Stanley had been into once. He claimed it was full of spiders and cobwebs and unless hell broke loose he had no intention to open that door.

"...And that's the house for you." Stanley finished, sitting on his bed, feet dangling over the edge. He smiled up at Jim. Maybe he was waiting for questions or had nothing else planned.

"It...it's nicer than the o-office." Jim commented, stumbling over the last word. It was the first time he'd actually said the word out loud, it left a nasty taste in his mouth, as if he could taste the horror of what it was just by saying it.

"But um...where am I going to sleep?" He asked timidly, feeling ashamed about asking about it. He felt as if he were throwing the hospitality that Stanley had showed him earlier by asking.

Stanley's face grew blank as he too realized, he had no place for Jim to stay that wasn't empty.
"I-" There was the couch in the living room but that felt impersonal and cruel. On the other hand, Stanley could offer Jim to sleep in his own bed. Stanley wasn't sure how he felt about Jim sleeping in the same bed as him, or taking it over.

"-well..there's the couch or...or you could...stay here?" Stanley was at that point asking Jim more than answering.

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "I..I think I'll sleep on the couch." He answered. Jim didn't feel thrilled but the thought of sleeping next to someone so soon, and he didn't feel it was fair for him to take over Stanley's bed, even if had offered.

Stanley got up and dug around before pulling out a blanket.
"It gets cold out here during the spring. It feels more like winter right now but the weather lady says it'll warm up in a few weeks." Stanley explained, handing Jim the covers.

Now that the introductions were over, the two were left standing there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Years of having no one else but a voice for company had dulled Stanley's social skills. Never before, from the day he'd first step foot into the sunlight, had Stanley had to entertain someone for so long.

"So..."

Jim looked down at the ground, still holding onto the blankets, feeling the softness of the cloth against his face.

"Jim, do you want to take a shower or um...watch some television?" Stanley started off, grabbing at ideas.

"How about food, are you feeling hungry?"

"Stanley...we just ate..." Jim pointed out timidly, feeling overwhelmed with all these questions and options suddenly being thrown at him.

"I...I guess I'll take a shower." He mentally cringed at how wimpy he sounded.

Even though Stanley had suggested it, he suddenly realized something else, that nagging feeling he'd had in the back of his mind since the moment he'd brought Jim home.

He had nothing for Jim. No bed, no clothes- or at least no underwear. Stanley was woefully under prepared for having a guest at his house. He felt like an idiot.

No, he could still fix this. He could still save this whole thing.

"Jim, you can borrow some of my clothes for tonight." Stanley said, trying to sound like he had actually had a plan.

"Oh um, I've got some spare toothbrushes around here too."

"T-thank you." Came another muffled response.

As Jim disappeared into the bathroom Stanley let out a sigh and headed downstairs to make dinner.

...


Jim closed the door behind him and just stood there, back against the wall, staring at the mirror in front of him. It was the first time in what felt like forever -or maybe it was the first time that he was seeing himself. Jim was tired, it showed in his eyes, his body, everything. Even he felt he was pathetic looking.

Anxiously he undressed, keeping out of sight of the mirror. He didn't like having people stare at him, even if was just himself. Every moment in silence and solitude was weighted with apprehension, his whole being waiting for the voice to make a comment of some sort. To talk about how small and weak, how flimsy and unimpressive he was.

He clutched the towel tightly, breathing ragged breaths.

'I'm safe, I'm not in the office anymore, I'm safe.' He told himself over and over again. After all, the more times you repeated the lie, the more likely you were to believe that it was the truth, wasn't it?

He stayed like that for several minutes, until he felt more calm.

Jim hopped into the shower, thankfully the thoughts didn't return once he turned on the water. The former employee took notice of the sensation of water hitting his skin, wetting his hair. He basked in it all, committing it to memory, wanting to remember everything, every little detail.

Jim was almost reluctant to get out, it'd been so nice and relaxing. He felt at peace and surely the thoughts would come back to him once he left but no matter what he tried to tell himself, he could not justify staying in the shower forever. Stanley would have to come in and he'd get yelled at.

Stanley.

It'd only been a day at most and yet Jim felt a good deal of comfort with the man. Just hearing his name, thinking about him seemed to reassure him that he would be alright. Maybe this was why The N-

Jim's thought screeched to a halt as he entered his mind, threatening to undo everything, to steal the small amount of happiness Jim had finally managed to have. The very thought of The Narrator hung over Jim like a blade just waiting to sever Jim from this peace he had finally found.

But-but he had Stanley, he'd be alright.

The fear seemed to die down, just enough for Jim to push through and finally leave the bathroom and reunite with Stanley downstairs.

...


Stanley was not a fast cook, he'd only been living on his own for a few months. Yet, he was concerned by Jim's absence. It'd taken him half an hour to cook their dinner and the other man was still not there. Stanley wondered if he was alright, or if he'd fallen and couldn't get up.

He debated going up there and checking on him. The water was still running so maybe he was just getting used to showers, or perhaps he was trying to wash away the taint that was the office. A faint memory wafted up from the recesses of Stanley's mind, of how he'd stood in the shower, scrubbing away, trying to cleanse himself of the office's influence. If he was tied to the office, his very existence- he remembered the slow boiling panic inside him that first night. Stanley pushed the memory away, tonight was the night to be dealing with these things.

Just as Stanley was about to walk upstairs, he heard the door open.

He hurried back to the table, acting like everything had been alright.

"Dinner's ready. I hope you don't mind spaghetti." Stanley greeted, smiling at him.

Jim seemed to be much more at home now, a little less timid.

"It's fine." He answered, a steadiness in his voice.

He was starting to settle in already and Stanley couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Pride that he'd played a hand in this.

"Did you have trouble with the shower earlier?" Stanley asked tentatively.

"N-no." Jim answered. "It's just been...a while."

Stanley finished his mouthful of noodles before speaking again.

"Don't worry. It took me a while to adjust too. You're doing fine." Stanley said encouragingly, hiding the reemerging emotions again. He had to keep himself together.

His feet dangled over the floor. Stanley was short for a man, even Jim was a bit taller than he was. He didn't particularly mind at times, in fact he liked swinging his feet above the floor.

"Do you want to watch some tv?" He offered.

"Tv...?" Jim hesitated, eyeing the screen.

Stanley chastised himself for suggesting that. Even he knew he didn't take kindly to the screens so fast.

"You know what? It's fine. We can just tal-"
"N-no it-it's fine."

There was a silence between them. Jim quietly ate his dinner, not making eye contact with Stanley. Stanley flipped it on.

The weather lady he liked came on, her flowing locks, her bright smile. Stanley could get lost staring at her. He wondered if there was a poster he could get, so he wouldn't have to wait for hours to see her again.

Jim must have noticed because he looked at Stanley weird.

"So um..do you...do you know her...?"

Stanley snapped out of his day dream, giving one last longing look at his beloved beauty.

"Hm? She's just the weather woman." Stanley explained sheepishly.

"...Do you...do you like her..?" He asked again.

Stanley was flustered. While he admitted to himself that he thought she was the most lovely thing he'd ever seen, Stanley wasn't just about ready to really admit that he had feelings for an image on the screen that didn't even know he existed.

"She's pretty." He countered, hoping the response was enough to keep Jim from asking more questions. "Why?"

"You just kept staring at her, that's all." Jim answered quietly before staring back down at his dinner.

There was not much conversation after that, with only the sounds of the television filling the distance between them.

...


After dinner Stanley stayed downstairs after they both had cleaned up. There was nothing on tv, but since Jim seemed to be comfortable enough with it, Stanley decided they could watch something.

Some sitcom was playing, Stanley had already seen this episode before. The main character was some guy who acted like he was on top of the world, that nothing could get him. He was convinced he was invincible.

Jim sat quietly, observing. He hadn't said or reacted to anything the whole time. Stanley kept shifting between watching the screen and watching Jim, waiting for a response. Any response at all.

A commercial finally came on.

"He's a lot like us, isn't he?" Jim spoke up suddenly as soon as the show took a break. Stanley muted the screen.

"Well, I doubt that either of us is that arrogant." Stanley chuckled.

Jim shook his head.

"He's trapped in there, living his life obliviously. Everything he can do and will do, it's scripted isn't it?"

"Well, yes. It's scripted. But it's not the same as us."

"How so?"

Stanley had expected this to happen, granted with more screaming and maybe some crying thrown in there.

"You see, he gets to leave in the end. There is an end. It ends eventually, they don't keep running repeats of the same show for so long."
Jim wasn't convinced.

"But he still has to live through the same moments, over and over again. Out of his control."

Stanley sighed.

"No, it's not like us at all. Even the actors leave. It's not bringing character-people. It's not bringing people to life. It's using other people to bring them to life, to convey their expressions and emotions."

Jim looked at Stanley and asked earnestly.

"The Narrator, he did that to us too, didn't he? He made us, to play with. We aren't different."

"We weren't made, we had lives, we're living them right now." Stanley pressed. He'd found the missing people's page on the police website. He wasn't about to believe that this was another extension of the Narrator and his story. Not now, not after so long of being 'free'.

"...I guess so." Jim wanted to bring up that it wasn't that different in that regard then. That they were then merely the actors for The Narrator's story then.

But that would make Stanley mad, wouldn't it?
"I'm sorry." Jim mumbled, not looking Stanley in the eyes.

Stanley sighed.

"Don't worry about it."

...

"I'm going to bed, night then Jim." Stanley suddenly felt very tired, this whole debate, something he'd had with himself before, was tiring and sucked out Stanley's will to do anything.

...

Stanley wondered if he'd hurt Jim's feelings, feeling a fleeting sense of guilt.

"Night.."

Stanley looked at him once more before climbing upstairs.


Jim was left in the dark, not willing to close his eyes. He'd turned off the tv once he'd heard Stanley get into bed. He didn't know what to do with it anyway. He lay there under his blankets, watching the darkness and the little light that remained dance and change into various shapes. Jim was tired, yes. Both physically and mentally. Yet he couldn't go to sleep.

Why?
Was he afraid that it'd restart?
The answer was obvious. Yes.

He could almost see the damned words 'the end is never the end...' along his vision. A chill ran up his spine , waving the words away, they lingered.

Jim had made up his mind, he wasn't going to sleep, at least not tonight. Sleep was a foreign concept to the employee anyhow. He'd felt mental exhaustion but he had never physically felt the need for sleep. Rest and idle time, yes he'd had those moments and on the rare moments when Jim caught the Narrator in a good mood, he'd received them.

He stared at the television in contemplation. There was no doubt nothing good on, somewhere in his memories told him there never was. Besides, what if he woke up Stanley?

He flopped over, now facing the couch instead of the openness of the living room.

Despite his initial determination his eyes fluttered, unable to keep them open he fell asleep.

...

Jim didn't need a rest, not here in the office, no. It took care of all his physical needs. His mental needs however, were left unprovided for. After his nth playthrough, the employee decided to deviate from the pattern that he'd been following thus far since the 'game' started. Walking into the employee lounge he headed straight to the nearest couch and lay down in, face in the cushions. He couldn't breathe very well and he wasn't all that sure that it was sanity. They smelled funny.

The Narrator stopped his dialogue.

'Really, Jim? Are you just going to throw away the story for some cushions? If I'd had known you were so easily placated, I would have picked someone else.'

Jim ignored him. He needed to clear his mind. Even after having gotten several endings, Jim had lost track at this point, his mind still needed a break to really cope with what had happened.

First he'd been blown up, then he'd been led into that apartment with...her...and then...then-all the paths seemed to fuse into one incoherent blob of a storyline if it could even be called that. Jim was more of the opinion that The Narrator wasn't all that good at his stories and were simply making things up as he went. Having run out of any fresh and viable ideas and too stubborn to let go, The Narrator simply ran through all the alternatives, convincing himself that this was indeed the way to go.

It had become evident to The Narrator that Jim was not going to be leaving the couch anytime soon.

'Well, it seems that you've made up your mind. I suppose there's no convincing you to leave that siren's call of a cushion. Perhaps I can try to get down on your level."

Suddenly Jim felt something on his back, it must not have been very hard or heavy because it didn't put a whole lot of pressure on Jim. He tried to lift his head only to find that it too was covered with a pillow. A copy of the same cushion he'd been laying on.

The cushions starting pilling, Jim sat up, watching. Was The Narrator playing with him or was he trying to kill him this time?

It quickly became clear to Jim that The Narrator wasn't going to stop. Cushions filled the room, almost blocking the doors. Jim crawled over the towers of pillows and couches and cushions. Only to find that he'd been too late. Jim was swallowed by the cushions, pulling on the door in vain in hopes that The Narrator would give it up and let him out.
It was to no avail, Jim found himself suffocated and crushed by them.

Jim awoke from the dream, a terrifying feeling of suffocation not unlike the dream. It was all in the past but it still bothered him deeply. He sat up suddenly. wrapping himself in the blanket before it occurred to him that The Narrator could just strangle him with that too, watching as he withered and clawed at the cloth in a desperate attempt to breath.

He shivered, throwing off the blankets and sat like that in the dark for several hours, feeling his heart slow down, back to it's normal heart rate.

This too, came to an end as his back began to ache and the chills of the cold floor numbed and bit him.

Giving up he wrapped himself in blankets again.

Jim finally laid still, watching the world regain it's color slowly, from gray to the full of life colors they'd been the night before. He'd wish that Stanley would wake up soon. His mind was...all over the place and his body was tired. Still, he refused the calls of sleep.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity and a half, Jim heard footsteps.

Stanley took one good look at him, his sleepy morning bed head was quickly replaced with confusion and intrigue.

"Jim...did you sleep at all last night?"


...

A/N: I can see myself heavily editing this chapter in the future but right now I can't think of anything.