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“Yes! This is great! You're putting it all on the line, Stanley, I like that! Alright, let's keep it up! Go give me a few clicks on door 416!
WE'VE ALMOST GOT IT! NOW THE COPY MACHINE, DO THAT ONE AGAIN!
FINISH IT OFF, STANLEY! 5 CLICKS ON DOOR--!”
The whole Office goes dark. Stanley shudders and instinctively puts his hands out to stop himself from running into the wall. Good forethought too, because his feet don’t get the memento as quickly.
Narrator? He signs but with how dark everything is, he doubts the Narrator can see him.
Nothing but silence greets him.
The voice that has been shouting only seconds prior is now as still as the grave.
That frightens Stanley and he starts knocking gently against the wall, hoping to catch the Brit’s attention this way. What happens if he did go offline? Stanley doesn’t know how to bring him back. He doesn’t know how anything here works – would a restart still function?
“Argh….what happened?”
Relief floods Stanley instantly. He leans against the wall, his knocking turning into soft petting of the Office walls. The Narrator’s okay. Thank god.
“Stanley? I can’t see you down there, it’s too dark. Hold on, let me...hmm. Ah. That should do it.”
The room stays dark.
“Hmm...perhaps not that. But this will get us right back to business!”
A few more clicks. Still nothing. The Narrator lets out an annoyed huff, already losing his temper for not being obeyed instantly.
Stanley stands awkwardly in the dark, waiting for something to happen. Truth be told he doesn’t really mind skipping the Story today, but even if he could convey that to the Narrator he probably wouldn’t. The Narrator tends to get irritable when things don’t go according to plan and as much as he tries to be gentler with Stanley given the progression of their relationship, he still snaps from time to time.
A sound of utter frustration pulls him back out of his thoughts and he can hear the Narrator slam his hand down in frustration.
“Oh bloody hell. It’s pointless, Stanley. Something is broken, I can’t figure out how to get things working again. Must be a frayed wire or something equally stupid. Are you okay down there? Knock once for yes and twice for no.”
Knock.
“Okay, good! Good…ah...how do I put this.”
Stanley wonders how he’s going to communicate. He pats the wall again, hoping the Narrator can feel it even when they’re not in the middle of...yeah, that.
“Hm? Oh don’t worry about me, Stanley. I’m perfectly alright. I’m just frustrated because I was going to make this run perfect, you know? Perfect! And now-”
Stanley slowly traced the word R E S T A R T with his finger, praying the Narrator could read what he was writing and would be able to pick up on his request.
“Re- rest? Resta? Oh- Oh! Yes, yes, splendid idea, Stanley! Can’t believe I didn’t think of it. Yes, we could try that, let me just...hmmm….ah!”
Another click. The soft whir of machinery from somewhere in the walls started up and for a second it seemed to almost work. But then there’s a loud hiss and everything fell silent again.
Stanley can hear the Narrator try again several times, pushing the button over and over but nothing else reacted to his attempts. He let out a growl and a few choice words while Stanley stands awkwardly in the dark, wondering if this is just how they’re gonna have to play the Story from now on. The thought makes him shudder. While it would be cool to do the Story in the dark – Stanley welcomes any attempts to change things up a little – it would also suck eventually.
His senses would be dulled, he’d bang his toes and his elbows everywhere and it would overall be a very miserable experience.
“Damn it.” The Narrator finally curses, and Stanley can hear him slam his hand against a hard surface. “It’s no use. I can’t get anything to work. And I don’t know what to do or who to contact or how we’re going to continue on with our Story without being able to see! I mean, I can see you but you can’t see anything, can you?”
Stanley shakes his head.
“Tsk. I thought so. Well, how about...hmm….perhaps we can ask the Line™ to help.”
Stanley shrugs and then taps on the wall. Worth a try, right?
A few more minutes spent waiting in the dark and then Stanley feels something curling around his legs playfully. Good old Line™. He smiles and leans down to pat his hand against It™, earning himself a few vibrating purrs of affection.
However things soon became more difficult when the Line started trying to guide Stanley down the hallway. Since he still can’t see, It™ starts tugging on him, weaving in and out of his legs, practically pushing him forward. This results in Stanley tripping constantly, banging his elbow painfully against a desk and almost running smack into a wall if It™ hadn’t stopped him in last second.
He huffs in frustration and bangs his fist against the wall to complain. This isn't going to work!
“Stanley, we have to keep playing the Story,” The Narrator insists, a note of desperation in his voice. He can’t imagine the alternative. He refuses to.
Stanley sighs resignedly, knowing full well what the Narrator was thinking. And as much as he’d like a break sometime, he doesn’t want it to be in the form of sitting around in the dark, waiting for something exciting to happen. He will miss the Story and the shenanigans they get up to.
An idea forms, but he’s not sure how to communicate it to the Narrator. He can’t see Stanley’s hands in the dark and he doesn’t know if tracing it on the wall would work this time.
He catches his bearing, places a hand on the wall and very carefully starts making his way down the hall. He knows this place like the back of his hand now, one of the perhaps few benefits of being forced to play the story repeatedly for years (or however long it’s been).
“Stanley?” The Narrator quips, curiosity in his voice. “Stanley, where are you going?”
Stanley taps lightly on the wall and keeps walking, not bothering to find a way to answer his question. He makes his way to the Warehouse and his pace slows down even more. The last thing he wants is to fall and die and stay dead. The idea frightens him, so he tries not to think about it.
“Stanley, be very, very careful.” The Narrator warns, evidently having the same fear.
Some rummaging around occurs as Stanley opens drawers and boxes and feels each tool carefully. He’s searching for something specific, and it takes a while for him to find it. Two screwdrivers and a flashlight, the latter being a lucky surprise. He was prepared to do this in the dark.
“Oh, good thinking! Now we can see at least a little bit.”
It did help a lot and made his anxiety about being in a room with a long, deadly drop feel better.
Armed with flashlights and screwdrivers, Stanley makes his way back. It’s jarring to be in an Office so...dead. At this point he’s gotten so used to doors swinging open by themselves he nearly runs into them several times before remembering to use the door handle.
“This isn’t the correct way to the Story, Stanley. Just what are you planning?”
It takes a moment longer to find what he is looking for but he eventually spots it, a ventilation shaft. He kneels down and pulls out the screwdrivers, quickly loosening it from the wall. The cover is a bit rusted but with some pulling it frees itself, allowing Stanley to wriggle inside.
“What’s the point of this-” The Narrator starts but Stanley was already getting on his stomach to slide in. “Stanley-...I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Stanley knocks on the metal paneling in response. It echoes loudly through the dark tunnel. A small knot starts to form in his stomach as he looks into the yawning darkness, ready to swallow him whole. The flashlight is a little comfort but crawling through a dark, cramped space is still unnerving.
As if It™ heard his thoughts, the Line shoots into the vent before him, vibrating slightly with excitement. Stanley smiles at the gesture and, steeling his nerves, starts scooting forward.
He’s glad for the Line™, as distracting as it is to hear Its™ buzzing echo through the cramped space, because he’s only going off a memory to find the place he is looking for.
A while back, long before he and the Narrator became an item (or whatever they are), he tried hiding in the vents to escape the Story. And one day he came across the Office’s server room. It was large and impressive, full of humming machines and long, twisted cables that looked as if they could swallow someone whole.
He had been tempted to yank everything out and shut the Narrator up like that, but something had stopped him. Maybe the fear of being stuck in this Office alone, in the dark, with no way out. Maybe a lasting fear of getting into trouble if he touched something he shouldn’t have.
If there’s any room to fix what went wrong, this will be it.
The drop down into the server room is higher than the entrance and unfortunately, the screws are on the other side this time. Stanley panics a little, banging against the panel, worried that this will have been for naught, but the Line once again comes to his rescue, wrapping itself around the cover and yanking it clean off in one go.
Stanley lets out a gasp, falling forward and out of the hole. He would’ve fallen on his face, but a large hand breaks his fall.
“Careful now, Stanley.”The Narrator gently lowers him to the ground.
Stanley lets out a relieved exhale and pats the hand, gratefully. He gets to his feet and looks around, his flashlight shining over those same racks he had seen months ago. The cable chaos is worse than he remembered and he isn’t sure he can walk freely without tripping on something. How long has it been since someone has been down here?
It’s very warm and the air flow is nonexistent, almost suffocating.
“Alright.” The Narrator’s voice sounds small, nervous. “Here we are. Stanley, I want you to be very careful in this room. If the Zending is the heart of the Office, then this is the brain. One wrong move, one loosened wire and it could be all over.”
Stanley nods, feeling a pang of dread rise up again. He doesn’t move right away, instead sweeping his flashlight over the tangled mess of wires on the server racks. He tries to find any loosened wires, anything to indicate what might’ve caused the blackout. It’s hard to see from over here, so he takes a few steps closer.
Wires are all he can see, weaving in and out, tangling with each other, disappearing and reappearing haphazardly. Fortunately they’re not all the same colors, although it’s harder to tell in the flashlight’s bright light.
The Narrator stays quiet as Stanley examines the racks, perhaps apprehensive of this plan. Stanley can’t blame him. He wonders what it would be like if their roles were reversed and he was completely at the Narrator’s mercy- then the realization that he’s been in this exact situation before hits him.
He’s also been vulnerable, afraid, a small human so easily torn asunder by a force much larger and scarier than him. He’s learned to trust the Narrator, at first through trail and error and then through love.
He wants the Narrator to feel the same trust with him, the reassuring sense of being safe even when exposed to someone who has the power to end it all with a single touch.
Stanley reaches out. His finger brushes against one of the cables, still slightly warm from when it was in use, smooth under his touch. It jostles slightly and Stanley grabs it by the connector and firmly pushes it back into the outlet.
It doesn’t fix the blackout but the Narrator makes a strangled noise, halfway between a whimper. Feeling apologetic for having scared him, Stanley pats the wall nearby, trying to be comforting.
“Stanley, be careful-” The Narrator warns again.
Stanley keeps looking, stepping over wires some more. He tries not to touch any more connectors but everything is so new and fascinating to him. He wants to explore it, previous fears be damned he has the overwhelming urge to jostle the wires, push in any loose ones, feel the satisfying click as they settle in place.
His self control only lasts a few more seconds before he reaches for another that seems loose and shoves it inside.
Click.
The Narrator gasps.
Stanley freezes, afraid he might’ve hurt him.
A few seconds pass.
Then the Narrator lets out a small exhale.
“This feels...weird.” He mutters, his tone heavy.
Stanley removes his hands and waits for an elaboration on his part. He doesn’t think he’s hurt him and that gives him relief. He hopes the Narrator won’t leave him hanging, although he can hear him hesitate, wondering whether or not to explain.
Then he sighs again.
“Stanley, I- I am still a bit nervous about you fumbling around in there but now I have even more reasons to. I can feel you moving things around, it is just as connected to me as the rest of the Office. I believe it must be the wiring, going so deeply throughout the place. They’re a part of me.”
Stanley tilts his head. Was he saying what he thinks he is saying?
An awkward silence follows.
“...don’t misuse what I just told you.”
Him? Stanley? Misusing information to fuck with the Narrator? Oh, why he’d never. Who does the Narrator think he is?
He can’t help the small smile as he reaches out and rests a finger on one of the connectors. It’s firmly in place, so no wriggling it around or pushing it in further but it’s clear what he’s implying.
“Now come on, Stanley.” His voice is twinged with nervousness again but it has a different flavor to it now. He is protesting, but he doesn’t sound serious - ...almost like he is curious what might happen himself.
Stanley pretends he hasn’t heard him, his fingers tracing down to the next outlet. Like he is checking each one. One of the outlets doesn’t have a wire inserted and so he pushes his finger against it, feeling the ridges of the hard plastic dig into his skin.
A sharp spark of electricity nips at his finger.
Stanley moves on, slowly and deliberately checking each wire, jiggling it slightly to make sure it’s firmly in place and when he finds one that’s a little too loose he pushes it in, hearing it latch and click. The Narrator make a small noise in return.
“Stanley, you might pull out something that’s not supposed to come out.” He whines, but the Protagonist ignores him. He is careful, below his casual fondling of the wires he watches each one like a hawk, laser focused on making sure everything is where its supposed to be.
Click. Another one slides into place. Something sparks and the Narrator’s breath is slightly frantic.
“Stanley-”
He hooks his fingers along the paneling, feel it up, tracing over outlets and cables. The cases start to feel warm, humming louder as they warm up. He feels heated too, the vibrations of the device flowing into his fingers and through out his entire body, like he’s touched the inside of a battery. The Narrator’s noises aren’t helping, needy and desperate in Stanley’s ears.
He feels his hands shake slightly as he brushes his hands over some more wires and hears the Narrator’s breath hitch.
The whole room gets hotter, the machines’ fans whirring in reaction to the man’s examinations. Stanley’s skin prickles with lust, or maybe that’s just the electrical charge in the air. He is certain the Narrator senses it too.
He takes another step and then – then he feels something curling up his leg. It’s not the Line™, he’s come to know the smooth, broadness of It™ well. It’s small and warm, wrapping itself around his thigh tight enough to cut off circulation.
“Stanley.” The Narrator is speaking again and he can hear him squirm. “Stanley, I need you to take a moment to think about this. About what you are going to do next. We both know how our- our relationship has changed these past few months but at the same time, aren’t you going a little too fast?”
Stanley waits.
“I- I mean- not that I am not enjoying myself – or. Or not that I am- I only mean…” The Narrator makes a helpless noise, pitiful in the back of his throat. He doesn’t sound like the being who reacted to Stanley’s previous teasing with flustered vengeance. Instead he sounds small, embarrassed.
Stanley understands. How many times has he been laid bare before the Narrator, both in a literal and figurative way, his weaknesses on display to be taken advantage of.
He trusts the Narrator because once upon a time, he had no say in the matter, but has come to understand the Being quivering all around him.
The Narrator has never been this vulnerable, not even in the Zending, where the only way Stanley could hurt him was by taking away the Ending he so desperately sought.
But here? Stanley can do so much more. He can get rid of him for good. He can get revenge for all the time he’s been killed, blown up, mocked, tortured, abandoned, trapped by the Narrator. He can shut everything off and finally be free from the Story.
The wires are inching closer up his body, almost like they are trying to keep him in place, yet Stanley understands with the way they are desperately clinging to him that the Narrator isn’t stopping him, he is holding on, hoping for mercy.
Trusting him.
Stanley wraps his hands around the wires and carefully feels along them like fixed ropes, moving through the darkness. They hum and vibrate, similar to the Line™, which is invisible in the dark.
A small tug elicits another groan. The Narrator is tense and he starts talking again.
“I am sure if we keep looking we can find the source of this annoying power outrage and then we can go right back to the Story. What do you say, Stanley? I do miss being able to read what you are say- AHHH.”
Oh, he found where the wires are plugged in. They disappear through the casing of a metal frame whose function Stanley can’t properly identify in the dark, but he knows that when he pulls on wires, they snag taut and the Narrator makes a delicious whimpering noise.
What wire isn’t currently in his hand is wrapping itself around him again; Stanley can feel it shyly brush against his hardening cock, as if they’re not sure if they want to distract him. He ignores them, determined not to be the one losing his cool this time. He really, really likes the way the Narrator cuts himself off with flustered blabber.
“You really shouldn’t pull so hard, Stanley. What if you- hahh – wh-what if something becomes loose or, oh God Stanley, or it’s something you can’t fix and- please.”
There’s the smell of polyethylene, all around him, the vibrating hum of electricity coursing through wires that twitch against Stanley. He feels them brush his cheeks, his neck, his arms and legs, engulfing him like vines in a jungle but never once attempting to stop him.
(He wonders how aware the Narrator is of these wires, as he has two working hands to steer his protagonist with.)
Stanley pushes himself up against the metal casing which he thinks is another rack, rubbing his fingers against ports as everything squirms underneath him. His hand find a crevice and he shoves his fingers inside, tips rubbing against finely crafted metal.
“Stanley, Stanley- Stanley.” The Narrator chants like a prayer. His voice is several octaves higher and makes his skin vibrate, the feeling of being out during a lightning storm and waiting for that magnificent strike.
He leans closer, face pressed against one of the vents and he smells dust and plastic as hot air blows out right back at him, a mouth greeting his, an intimate exchange of breath.
Thick wires writhe along his limbs, squeezing him tightly until he whines alongside the Narrator, a soft, wanting sound that buzzes with longing. Nothing else matters anymore, not the dark not the Story, not the solution to the problems they came down here to fix. He’s senseless with longing, he needs the Narrator, he needs to hear him, needs to feel him lose control.
Stanley reaches forward with purpose, his hands grabbing onto everything he can. His curious, snarky, troublesome hands, that have pressed the right and the wrong buttons, bantered with the Narrator, opened doors to the new and old. Now they are doing what they do best, exploring, looking for new ways to push the Narrator’s buttons.
His fingers brush against tiny, ribbed plastic connected to a particular thick wire. Curious, he grabs a hold of it – screws that turn, keeping a port secure in place. They seem rather loose too, the cable almost falling out of its port.
Stanley grabs a tight hold and slowly, he turns the first one clockwise, feeling the connector drive deeper into its hold. He can feel the screw fasten itself into the hole, its ridges sliding in place until the cable is secured on one side.
The Narrator keens, his breaths ragged and abrupt as if he isn’t sure what to do with himself. Whatever he is feeling, it has completely robbed him of his snarky wit, his usual poised self now disheveled and coming apart under every bit of Stanley’s touch.
“Stanley- Stanley, please. I c- I can’t-”
Stanley’s fingers move to the other screw, still loose and awaiting his grip. His hand is sweaty but he manages to grab a hold of it and turn, once again listening to the soft click as every ridge connects and the screw pushes itself deeper into the hole welcoming it in, until the cable is fixed into the port, unable to be taken out without help.
When it’s tightened with a few more turns, he stops and listens to the Voice above him pant, desperately. It feels closer in the dark, the wires tugging at him, writhing without aim. He thinks he can feel the floor vibrate. It’s as if the entire Office is humming with tension, leaning towards him, towards Stanley, the small curious employee that can give It the release It so desperately craves.
Often Stanley imagined the Narrator as a human, perhaps with dorky glasses and crows feet that appear when he smiles (which he’d do more often than he realized), a person who adjusts his tie nervously and runs a hand through disheveled hair until it sticks out in all directions. He wonders if it would be easier, better that way. If he can look at him and see himself. A breathing human with a beating heart who crinkles his eyes when he laughs and cries with unexpected emotion and has hot breath Stanley can feel when they get close.
How foolish of him to not realize.
He has never, in his entire short, lonely, confusing life, felt as close to another being as he has now. He feels everything pulsate around him, not with blood and flesh but with a deep, thrumming energy.
Everything he touches, everything that is touching him, is electric, begging, asking, hoping for more of him, wanting to consume him as this tiny, insignificant human stands in the middle of powers beyond his imagination and controls it with a mere touch.
He feels the trust that the Narrator puts him in, how his vulnerability is not a mistake, not an accident – a conscious decisions to give back.
I’ve seen you vulnerable, now it’s your turn to see me. Please, see me.
Stanley places a hand on the chassis of the rack, feeling its warmth and the fans beneath it blow hot air against his skin. He tightens his grip on the cable he is still holding. And he pulls.
The Narrator dissolves in a wordless cry and there’s a flash of light, a loud POP as something sparks, for a moment lighting up the entire Office.
Stanley pulls again, as hard as he can without pulling the damn thing off.
“Stanley.” The Narrator sobs. “Stanley Stanley StanleyStanleyStanleyy.”
The wires around him are taut, so tight they cut off circulation, tight enough that Stanley gasps. Another flash of light, another spark and this time, the lights flicker a few times. He smells something like smoke and wonders if there’s a short fuse somewhere. The racks rattle violently and under the noise there’s the mindless cries of the Narrator, more breath than words.
And then...
And then the wires loosen and the noises wane, slowly, a song fading out, a machine powering down. The rattle, flashing, sparking, squeezing stops.
Cautiously the lights return and stay on now, revealing the scene around them.
There’s a whole mess of these wires, tangled up after years of maintenance laziness.
Stanley is standing in the middle of the biggest bundle in the room, wires twitching weakly from time to time as the Narrator recovers. Wherever the Line™ is, It™ seems to have crawled away for now and left them to their own devices.
Stanley chuckles silently to himself, then reaches out and pats the nearest rack comfortingly. He knows exactly how it feels like to be properly fucked through.
“I-” The Narrator’s voice is hoarse, bashful. “I...think we fixed the lights.”
Maybe it was sexual frustration? Stanley offers cheekily.
“Don’t be daft, why would I be sexually frustrated?”
When was the last time you did this? Had an orgasm?
“I…” The Narrator hesitates, searching through his memories. His tone is a little surprised when he answers. “I suppose I never had one.”
Exactly my point. Stanley grins, then pauses. He cocks his head to thee side and looks up with earnest. You okay?
“Yes- yes, I think so. I...I don’t think I have ever felt something like this- oh. Oh, Stanley. I can’t believe it. How embarrassing, I completely lost my cool there.”
Quid pro quo, Narrator.
“Right, right.” The wires reluctantly lift themselves up and the Narrator’s hands curl around Stanley, picking him up and off the ground so he doesn’t trip trying to get out. Stanley wonders if this is partially an attempt to feel like the bigger man again. He graciously decides not to bring it up.
“This all started with that blasted 430 achievement. Perhaps we should avoid it in the future right? ...right, Stanley?”
Stanley says nothing, just smiles.