Deleted scene - America sees more than the superficial trappings of the mindscape, which makes searching for Bill much easier.
A really short deleted scene. This is 99% exposition and it just-
I didn't like how nothing really happens. It really seemed to interrupt the flow of the story, which I wanted to just be a small, tight little thing. I was never able to really get it to work so I just took a few concepts from it and put them in elsewhere.
I am a little sad that I couldn't get my little expansion of Stan's mindscape into the main piece.
I do like how I was able to describe what America's experiencing. He can see all the structures and things Stan can but there's so much more going on.
Once their feet were back on solid ground, Stan groaned, flapping a hand at America as he eased himself down to sit on the wooden steps leading up to the Mystery Shack. "I gotta take five," the older looking man grunted once he was finally seated. "Heights ain't so bad anymore but poking around up there in the sky? Not my idea of a good time."
"Mm, no problem," America agreed. Dropping down next to his citizen, America let his legs dangle off the side of the Shack's porch as his eyes wandered across the foggy gray woods that surrounded them.
The work of restoring Stan's memories was going- surprising well. The world around the Shack seemed deceptively small but the plank and pole standing next to the building with guide arrows hinted at destinations beyond the trees. Spaces that held the memories of Stan's varied past personas.
The memories of Andrew "8-Ball" Alcatraz floated in the sky above them, casting an eternal light over the mindscape in much the same way the months living as 8-Ball had taught Stan most of the criminal skills he'd used to survive.
Meanwhile, the small apartment unit that contained Steve Pineington sullenly crouched in a neglected clearing a ways from the shack. Stan had moved on from the failure of the Rip Off bandage and the mob of angry customers but there was no avoiding how this event had led him to more try his hand at more dangerous ways to make a living.
They'd prowled through all the clearings and hidey-holes, slowly rebuilding the many alternatives lives Stan had dipped his toes into. As painful as the work was, however, for the first time since Weirdmaggeddon, Stan had at least an inkling of how he'd survived being homeless for over ten years.
At each location, Stan instinctively directed America to the holes in the structures that represented his different guises. And at each and every battered and worn structure, sometimes damaged by fire or ridden with bullets, America reached out and filled in the gaps, drawing on the echo of the life of Stanley Delilah Pines living deep within him. He was the United States of America, after all, and the life of each and every one of his citizens was as much a part of him as his own.
And now, the foundation and structure of Stan's life had been restored. They would delve deep into the Shack next to continue the repair work, focusing on more day-to-day moments, the minutia of everyday life. With each memory they restored, others came with it, tugged along by the complex spiderweb that linked one moment to another through scent or sound or similarity.
While he waited for Stan to indicate he was ready to head inside, America let his gaze sweep the surrounding area - and deep beyond the surface of the mindscape.
Past the black and gray woods, below the ground, and deep into the core of what made up Stan. America wasn't human and the metaphorical surroundings that allowed Stan, Ford, and other mortal beings to interact with and understand their own mind were merely one part of what he could see. Instead, he saw-
Toddlers/children/teenagers being carried/racing/strutting down a sunny boardwalk-
Stan and Ford swinging back and forth on the swings, over and over, day after day, year and after, all at the same time-
"Night, Ford." "Night Stan." the words whispered countless times in countless places over and over and over again, hearts and minds swelling with love and bitterness and longing and anger and habit and yearning-
Stray thoughts, impulses never acted upon-
Stan's entire life opened up before America and as his eyes moved he could focus on different moments or feelings. Follow a thread of action-reaction then see a connection to something entirely different, linked by the smell of cotton candy or motor oil.
In the mind, there was nothing of Stan hidden from America. If he relaxed, for even a moment-
-the feeling of sweaty linen and leather gloves surrounded his hands as he beat on a punching bag in a New Jersey boxing gym.
-he was frantically sprinting through narrow city streets while an enraged gang gave chase for daring to work a job in their territory.
-family surrounded him, laughing and loving, as they fished in the small rickety wooden boat he'd gotten his hands on before the summer started.
If he relaxed, America became Stan. But unlike Stan, he could see and feel every nook and cranny in his mind. Nothing was hidden, nothing went unnoticed.
America's gaze- not eyes, not the ones Stan would look into- bore through Stan's mind, passing unnoticed as it prowled delicately, carefully through memories, hopes and fears, dreams. Watching, searching for any hint of something that didn't belong. Of someone, someTHING, that didn't belong.
The swell of protectiveness that filled America hadn't diminished in the slightest, probably never would. His Stanley had been hurt, badly, deeply, by the alien invader. He wasn't going to let it hurt him again. NEVER again.
"Hey."
A hand touched America's shoulder and his head snapped around, eyes blinking as his mind swam back up, leaving behind the inner workings of the mind and returning to his metaphorical surroundings.
Stan was standing, or rather, had stood and was stooped over, hand outstretched to get America's attention. "Err, I'm ready if you are," Stan continued once America's gaze had sharpened once more. Hesitating slightly, uncertain what was going on with the Nation still sitting on the porch, he continued: "If you want to rest a little longer, we can."
"Oh!" America laughed, then reached up to give the gnarled hand a friendly pat. "Nah, no worries man. I was a thousand miles away but I am totally ready to go!"