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lemonboi390 · 9 months

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The End is Never the End

Chapter 3: The Voice

Stanley Suddenly Falls ill, and the following events shake both the narrator and Stanley’s fabric of reality. Nothing is what it seems now.

A/N: This is one of my first ever fanfictions, and it was inspired by a role play so I apologize if the quality is lacking in any way. I’ll be posting sporadically as inspiration comes at random. Chapters will be uploaded to AO3 first. (Link on my blog) Sorry if there are any grammatical issues. Thank you for reading!

(It's the fluff you all need after the last chapter kind of)

TW: Surreality

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“Hello, Stanley.”

Stanley swallowed back the jumblement of words threatening to spill out of him. He knew that matter-of-fact, comforting voice all too well, of the special someone he had been devastated he destroyed to nothing a moment ago. Every fiber in his being craved to reach out and embrace him, to feel human contact again... He wanted to know that this was his narrator, his one and only, standing right in front of him. To feel him as a person for the first time, and not just a disembodied voice that followed him. To know that this was a real, tangible person, that he wasn’t just imagining the parable and living a convoluted illusion, that he could feel safe now, that he wasn’t going to die alone. Perhaps, that it was all going to be okay, but most importantly, his narrator was alive in front of him.

Stanley blinked slowly as his narrator hurriedly approached his bedside in attempted collectedness. He rubbed his eyes, mimicking the motions of someone who just woke up. He struggled to keep his gaze lowered, to not give in to the urge to look at Narry, to show him his raw, unfiltered tears, and give him the biggest bear hug imaginable. He sniffled quietly, cursing himself for letting that sound out as he buried his face in his hands.

“I’m so glad to see you awake! Oh I had been so worried about you, how are you feeling?” The narrator's words hurtled out of him as if he had just run a marathon. He placed a gentle hand on Stanley’s forehead, tutting in concern. "Oh my, that is quite serious…Stanley I-...” he broke his train of thought when he saw Stanley hiding his face, “Stanley are you alright?”

After a few moments of no answer, a smile slowly spread across Stanley's face, one of unadulterated bliss. He dropped his hands, his breath hitching a moment before he nodded.

This was his narrator.

The narrator examined him closely, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, “Have…you been crying? Are you sure you’re-”

Stanley pulled his hand into his own, squinting as he traced the patterns along Narry’s hand with his thumb. He studied it intently as he ignored his narrator's stammering, amazed by every intricate detail. His gaze traveled up to meet the narrator's eyes, and he found a comforting familiarity in them. They looked so…bright, with an emotion Stanley couldn’t quite define.

The narrators' muddled words fell into silence, pausing for a brief moment before returning a warm, tender smile. “I am human Stanley, or you could say I'm capable of taking on an exact image. Outstanding is it not? I've been working on this form for quite some time now," he held out his hand out for him demonstratively, much like an inventor reveling in their creation. "I took care to ensure every minute detail! Take all the time you need, please I insist."

Stanley rolled his eyes with an air of playfulness. He opened his mouth to say something witty but was cut off by his own wheezy coughing. He held his fist over his chest and covered his mouth with his arm, his eyes widening slightly. He was left shaking from the impact this time, but he was determined. He wasn't going to let a silly cough deter him, he decided. He wasn't going to be coddled. His mind was spinning familiar to a game show wheel with all the questions he wanted to ask, what was Narry? How did he show up? What was the parable? Why did he… it finally slowed to a stop on one.

"Why did you not come down here bef-" to his bereavement, he was yet again interrupted by his own hacking. "Dammit," he groaned between his coughing fit.

The narrator grimaced apprehensively at the sight, "Never mind that, let's have a look at you," he held out his arm to his side, and a stethoscope fell from thin air into the palm of his hand.

Stanley watched in observant silence as the narrator checked his vitals, stiffening at each touch before losing tension after a few moments. He was not used to the sensation of touch, as much as he craved it. As a matter of fact, when was the last time he had even had it…if ever? A doubtful feeling washed the background of his mind, but Narry’s presence distilled the intensity it may have held if he were in isolation. Strangely, he felt a paradoxical calmness in the midst of the narrator's anxious clamoring over him, and a small smile resided on Stanley’s face. He would worry about that later, he was simply happy he didn’t lose Narry forever. Even his pounding headache wasn’t as irritating as it would have been.

As Stanley was loosening up, the narrator’s eyes only shone in concern. “Stanley…this is very bad,” the narrator began, his voice a slight octave higher than usual, “You’re really sick, you need a hospital right away!”

Despite everything, Stanley was unconcerned with his condition, his mind airy with fluffy clouds from the attention he was receiving. His eyes drew open slowly, and he was met with the worried gaze of the narrator staring through him.

“Stanley? Stanley, are you listening to me?” Narry asked exasperatedly.

The statement that his narrator made before suddenly rushed to the forefront of his mind, and only a dazed chuckle escaped him. “There are hospitals in the parable?”

“Oh, I don’t care if there’s a hospital or not! You need medical attention immediately, this is no time for games!” The narrator shot back swiftly, his voice desperate.

Stanley smiled light-heartedly, “I’m not gonna die, Narry.”

The narrator stopped his restless rambling and returned the smile, albeit a dry one. “You still need to go, Stanley.”

Stanley shrugged airily, his eyebrows raised in thought. “I’ve always wanted to explore- ow.” He was yet again cut off by the searing pain in his throat, glowering more from annoyance than the burning sensation. “-other places.” He finished. All he knew was the parable, at least for most of his lifetime, however long that was. He had fuzzy memories of events blurred by the passage of time, but they were only vague in impression, like conversations at the water cooler. With whom or what about, it was difficult to say. He didn’t know how long ago his co-workers had disappeared, what kind of family he had, what kind of life he led. It was an empty patch in his identity, one that was difficult to fuse with the rest of his daily reality of the office building. He wasn’t sure whether or not he believed Narry when he told him in the Countdown Ending that he erased his co-workers, there was always an inkling of disbelief in his claim for some reason. It just didn’t feel right.

The narrator's smile had more of a hint of sadness than it did empty humor as it did a moment ago, “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity for that, but right now, we need to get you to a hospital as soon as possible.” Without further ado, the narrator scooped up Stanley in his arms effortlessly and began walking briskly out of the apartment. “You will be alright Stanley, I promise.”

Stanley's thoughts melted into a confuddled mess of unintelligible nonsense when the narrator picked him up, human contact was already foreign to him, but being carried? It was…he didn’t know how to feel.

In his floaty mess of thoughts, Stanley tensed up in remembrance of what he left behind. He glanced back at his bed and pointed towards it, the crisp shiny metal of the bucket reflecting off the lamplight.

"You can't be serious." The narrator grumbled.

Stanley gave him a look.

Needless to say, the clanking of the bucket would accompany their entire trip.

As the narrator left the apartment and winded down the halls, Stanley felt at peace watching his determined expression face onward down the maze of the office building. A warmth in his chest rose as he watched his narrator so resolute in his trajectory. It was a bit embarrassing, but he felt safe in his arms.

“So Narry…” he began cautiously, “Why did you…” He paused before the pain overtook him again, predicting the pattern of when to break his speech, “not come down here before?”

The narrator clicked his tongue as if the answer were obvious. “Well, human bodies are just so…flimsy! Inflexible! You’re so limited by the laws of physics, creation is reliant on your environment rather than your imagination. I find it to be quite boring, but I think a corporeal form would be more fitting for a visit wouldn’t you say, Stanley?”

“So you’re not human?” Stanley forced the words out, struggling with himself. He was speaking a lot more than he was usually comfortable with, and being sick was not helping.

“Well, I suppose that depends on your definition!” The narrator answered enthusiastically, like a professor answering a query from a curious student. “Don’t concern yourself with that right now, just worry about …” He trailed off, his eyes darting around the hall nervously. His speed decreased momentarily before he resumed his pace and his sunny tone, “Getting better.”

Stanley hesitated upon seeing his brief change in demeanor, it was strange. He would usually be much more detailed and intricate in his explanations, not leave him hanging on a loose thread like that. “Something wrong?”

The narrator gradually slowed to a stride again, nearly halting his walk altogether. His gaze dropped to the ground, seeming bothered by something unspoken before after a few beats, he spoke. “Stanley, do you hear that?”

Stanley looked around quizzically, “No…?”

“Nevermind then.” The narrator returned grimly, resuming his mission with an even slower pace.

“What was it?” Stanley demanded.

The narrator stopped again, this time with more permanency. He took a deep breath, collecting himself before continuing. “I think there’s something wrong with my mind.”

Stanley felt the uneasiness return to him, but he kept on a brave face. He put his hand on the narrator's shoulder in an awkward, but sincere attempt to let him know he was there. He nodded, ushering him to go on.

“Stanley…I hear voices.”

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Chapter 1: Don't Do It https://www.tumblr.com/lemonboi390/723244186206420992/the-end-is-never-the-end?source=share

Chapter 2: A Cruel Joke https://www.tumblr.com/lemonboi390/723245659991539712/the-end-is-never-the-end?source=share

#the stanley parable #sickfic #fluff #angst with a happy ending #the narrator x stanley #plot #mystery #car violence #anxiety attack #existental crisis #the bucket is a therapist ig #autophobia #humanized narrator #multiple part series #seperation anxiety #fanfic #tsp stanley #tsp narrator #bucket

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