Chapter Text
“Stanley? What is…that?”
Not like Stanley could figure out an answer regarding the crack on the employee lounge’s wall.
A crack that wouldn’t garner much attention if it weren’t glowing , faint hues of purple and pink emitting from its center, fading into a blue at the tips.
“As tempting as it may be, I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” the Narrator, or Nate, said, Stanley pulling back his hand before he could trace it with his fingertips.
And probably the first time in forever Stanley had ever listened to him.
“Okay, normally there would be an alert for this sort of thing, but…”
Stanley could hear the rustling of papers, the rapid typing on a keyboard, Nate’s own humming as he tried to figure this peculiar situation out.
“I see…I know you won’t like this, Stanley, but I’ll have to put you in the serious room while I- What the?!”
The room began to rumble, Stanley trying to keep himself grounded as the floor violently shook beneath his feet.
“Narrator?!” Stanley quickly signed. “What’s happening?”
The crack grew bigger, trailing across the ceiling and the other walls of the lounge, even the only window staring into the white nothingness of the rest of the Parable.
“R-run, Stanley! Run!”
Stanley tried, but the blast had caught up with him, his ears ringing as he felt himself become one with the void of color consuming him.
***
…Stanley…Stanley…STANLEY!
Stanley’s eyes flickered open, his chest heaving as he forced out a gasp and quickly sat up, finding the employee lounge intact, the crack that once obliterated the room…gone.
“Oh thank god you’re alive,” Nate said in relief.
“Wh-what happened?” Stanley signed to the ceiling.
“I’m just as stumped as you are! But right now, I’m afraid there are other matters that need to be attended to…”
Stanley was about to ask what that meant when he saw the figure across from him.
A man in a pastel blue suit, pink hair done up in a swirl that appeared frizzy, singed, if not outright burnt, in a few places like his torn and bloodied suit.
When Stanley moved closer, he wished he hadn’t.
What was supposed to be a face was instead a mess of dried blood and lacerations, the occasional splotch of dark purple and sickly greens noticeable under the layer crimson.
But that paled in comparison to the bloodied hole that was once his right eye, or the roughly cut stump of flesh that was supposed to be his left hand.
Stanley forced back the urge to vomit, eyeing the nearest waste bin just in case with a hand over his mouth.
“Yes, I know it’s a grisly sight,” he heard Nate say.
“Where did he come from?”
“That’s something…”
He heard Nate typing away, giving a few hums and a “Oh!”
“Well isn’t this peculiar,” he whispered, not like it prevented Stanley from hearing it. “And dear god…this is what gamers consider entertainment these days?!”
“Hmpf?”
Stanley was alerted to the sound, startled by the sight of the man groaning as he attempted to move himself up, the pain of his wounds and lack of a second hand forcing him back down.
“Wh-where, am I?” he said with a pained cry. “P-please don’t! Don’t…”
“Oh! He’s alive!” came Nate’s shock. “If you’ll both can give a minute-“
The man flinched at the click of the Narrator’s mic, leaving the room dead silent.
“…don’t,” the man continued to mumble. “…please…”
But rather than wait for Nate’s arrival, Stanley made the first move and slowly approached him, stopping once he was a few feet closer to sit down across from him.
“Uh, hi,” Stanley signed. “I’m Stanley.”
The man stared at him, as if Stanley were signing complete gibberish.
Or like he didn’t know ASL at all.
And because he was lacking in a pen and pencil, Stanley opted for another approach.
He gave a smile. A warm, welcoming kind of smile.
The man stared at him with tears in his only eye, his body heaving with every strained breath he took.
Stanley remained like this, sometimes looking at either door in case the Narrator would finally show himself, for quite a while, neither man making a move nor a sound.
“Sorry about that!” Nate called out, entering from the hall leading from the two doors room. “But operating a physical character model is trickier than it looks.”
The man’s eye darted over to Nate, wheezing out a gasp as he forced himself up and scooted himself back, or as much as he could before giving up and plopping back down on the carpeted floor.
“Oh my,” Nate said with concern. “This might be more serious than I can handle. Unless…”
Wanting to test this theory out, as much as he knew it would risk the Parable’s protections even further, Nate snapped his fingers, plunging them all into darkness.
***
Of course that reset would force him back to his noncorporeal form, and poor Stanley was likely bolting from his office at this moment, but at least it did help with the stranger’s wounds.
Well, the missing body parts now withstanding.
“Huh, that’s a surprise,” Nate simply said. “But, what to do, what to do now…”
Understanding the needs of humans, or digital constructs of such, weren’t something he had an encyclopedia's worth of knowledge over, but recalling the first time Stanley ended up in his part of the Parable-hurt, scared, unsure of who to trust like a panicked animal-he wondered if perhaps a change of scenery would help.
He snapped his fingers, or imagined the act, again, plunging the Parable into another reset.
And perhaps a bit of tweaking, even at the cost of putting Stanley in the serious room for a bit for his code’s own protection.
***
Thankfully there was a copy of the Bucket version to the Apartment Ending, minus the romantic scenery and Reassurance Bucket on the bed awaiting its player.
And sure enough, the man manifested as well, tucked under the silky red covers in a pair of the fuzziest yellow pajamas Stanley was willing to part with.
Speaking of, Stanley, as relieved as he was to be finally out of that room, stood at the bedroom’s entrance, watching the man with uncertainty on his features.
He’d been acting like that for the past thirty minutes the Nate spent observing the stranger, finding nothing else off about him other than the fitfulness of his sleep, the occasional cry coming from him that made Stanley want to comfort him, yet was always reminded,
“Not now, Stanley. I think…we’ll need to see where this will go first.”