Tags: Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, He/Him Pronouns for The Narrator, The Countdown Ending, Games Ending, The Narrator Remembers Resets, Stanley Remembers Resets, Mute Stanley, The Narrator Knows Stanley's Thought, No Beta We Die Like Stanley
Content Warnings for manipulation, unhealthy relationships, apologising for abuser
Disclaimer: I do not own The Stanley Parable, or any of the related characters. The Stanley Parable is owned by Davey Wreden. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of The Stanley Parable belong to Davey Wreden.
If asked, Stanley would say his favourite ending had to be the Freedom ending. Of course it was. He got to be outside, feel the (admittedly light) breeze, and the Narrator was happy when he did it! Honestly what wasn't to love. It was clear that his Narrator put so much into Stanely's story, so obviously he loved the "true" conclusion of it. If one looked closer, they might see Stanely's smile was a hair too fixed, his eyes too pinched, or rigidness give way to fidgeting.
Oh, but it was Freedom for sure!
If asked, the Narrator would say his favourite ending was the Freedom ending. It had to be, why else would he constantly attempt to corral his protagonist towards it? To give Stanley the taste of freedom he so craved. And honestly, the man often ran it several times in a row before deviating, so the Narrator should be pleased, shouldn't he? If one listened closely, they might hear the false cheer in his voice, the lilt of unease, or a hint of tension that had nothing to do with the story's rising climax.
Oh, but it simply had to be Freedom.
Stanley sighed. How many resets had it been since their last fight. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and just breathed. Humans (if he even were one) were not meant for this— this endless nightmare.
"Nightmare?!" The Narrator sputtered.
Oh, that thought must have been too clear. That was the other problem. Stanley barely had any privacy. Only by letting his thoughts run as chaotically as he did, did he have a smidgen of it. He sighed again and sluggishly made his way out his office door. One more normal run, then he could rest. Probably… hopefully.
He tuned out the Narrator, just going through the motions. He loved the guy, really he did, but there was only so much that he could put up with. He could take the many many deaths (after all, there really wasn't a whole lot to do in the Parable). And sure the name-calling hurt sometimes, but it wasn't all bad. Sometimes he got the Narrator to laugh! And the poor guy just sounds so lonely sometimes. That had to be the reason he was created right? (He stoutly ignored the feeling of wrong that permeated the thought.)
Stanley jumped when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Oh, he got lost in thought again, didn't he?
"Yes, you did. I have been waiting for you to turn off the facility for 5 minutes. You weren't listening," the Narrator hissed, "so I had to load myself in. You know how much I dislike that."
Stanley smiled apologetically, though it was clearly strained.
"Yes, well, hurry and make your choice," the Narrator said before unloading his model.
Stanley nodded to himself. It was clear to him that the Parable was getting to them both again. And of the two, clearly his Narrator needed the stress relief more than Stanley himself did… right?
He hesitated. He hated this ending, but maybe— maybe it would help?
Stanley pressed the ON button.
"Oh Stanley," the Narrator purred, and Stanley immediately went through the motions of clicking buttons in the other room. He knew full well by now that there was no stopping the countdown, but it made his Narrator happy when he tried. And besides, it gave his mind something else to focus on instead of another impending death. He didn't like to think about the glee in the other's voice as the timer started, of the mocking in his "I set you free."
Out of the many endings where he died, this one was perhaps the worst. Second worst, he corrected himself. No other endings made him feel so small, so insignificant as this one.
"Do you have any idea what your purpose in this place is?" The Narrator laughed.
Stanley stopped moving, staring blankly at one of the many computer screens. It was almost over now, and with how gleeful that laugh was Stanley knew that this was the correct choice. He knew his Narrator loved the power. It was okay to give it to him this time, it had to be. How else would his Narrator know how much he cared for him?
His world turned to black, and if Stanley could, he would breathe a sigh of relief.
It took another four runs of the Freedom ending before Stanley finally put his foot down. He had enough of being treated less than an actual person. He let his thoughts bleed of his desired ending, knowing just how close it is to another painful one. He stalked through the right door, blazing a blue one in his mind's eye.
Stanley didn't want to hurt the man, after all. He only wanted a small break, and the broom closet was definitely not enough distance at this point. He hated when the Narrator ignored his wants. Surely it was okay to be selfish once in a while.
Stanley starred as both the red and the blue door were shut, waiting for the Narrator to open them. The man remained silent. Irritation swept across Stanley's mind. He just wanted the blue door! His mind carefully curling to avoid thinking of his fate at the red door's ending. He didn't want to hurt the guy, after all.
"How am I supposed to trust that? Time and time again you've shown one thing but done another!"
Stanley took a calming breath, pursed his lips, and stood by the blue door. He shoved his thoughts outward as strongly as he could.
I am going to the Games ending. I do not like when I am angry. I do not want to do something I would regret later. However, I am tired. You treat me like a thing, a toy to play around with. I have gone through Freedom so many times, I could probably do it with my eyes shut! Open. The door… please.
Stanley could feel the anger bubbling underneath his skin, begging to be released. He kept a tight lid on it, he had to. How else would the Narrator see other outlets for anger?
The doors remained shut.
The two were in a stand-off, and Stanley could feel each second tick by. And with each second he could feel his anger growing, and growing, until finally there was nowhere left for it to go but out.
He snarled silently, his mind a raging fire of harm-leave-hurt-want.
"You don't like my game, do you?" The Narrator growled. "After everything I built for you, you'd rather go and play around in someone else's, is that it? Well, I think you'll find I won't give you that choice anymore. It was a mistake to have those, so I will wash my hands of them."
The red door opened, and only the red door.
Stanley screamed, wishing he could actually voice it for once. I WANTED TO GET AWAY FROM YOU NOT PLAY THOSE STUPID GAMES! Stanley closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment. He knew he couldn't take back his words (and a part of him didn't want to), but he could at least try and mitigate them. I just wanted a break like you promised three runs ago; that I could choose the ending. I only wanted to explore the other office map. I don't— Stanley could feel the tears threatening to fall; he would not cry. I don't care about the games.
"Why should you get to choose? I'm the important one here. I'm the one who—" The blue door opened with a ferocity Stanley wasn't aware it could have. "I should have known you hate me. Well, go on then! The faster you get through with it, the sooner you can get to your break. I'll be here, waiting. It's not like I have anything else to do."
Guilt surged through Stanley, but he knew that tone of voice. There was no getting through to his Narrator at this point. The most he could do was wait it out.
As he fell into the other map, to the old and dilapidated offices, Stanley thought. He allowed his mind to wander free and stretch, knowing that the Narrator could not hear him there (or at the very least, the Narrator had never shown that he could ). It was Stanley's fault of course. He knew that much. He should have kept a tighter lid on his anger. It wasn't the Narrator's fault Stanley couldn't do the same endings over and over. He needed variety. Surely, as his creation, his Narrator would understand?
Stanley sighed, sat against a wall near office 427, and waited. He would apologise when he reset. It was only right…
Any minute now.
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