Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Stanley.”

Stanley froze, hand hovering above the button. Slowly, hesitantly, he pressed it again.

“Stanley.”

The voice echoed throughout the cavern, bouncing off of all its walls before making its way back to Stanley. The silence that followed was deafening.

His chest ached. It had been so long now that he couldn't quite remember the significance of these buttons, but he felt that a part of him had gone silent, missing in a way where he knew he would never get it back.

Hearing the button say his name, oddly, reminded him just enough of his past that he felt as though it were within his grasp again. If he thought hard enough, if he remembered hard enough, he could almost hear the Narrator's voice echoing within his mind just like before— "Stanley, can you do that for me?" "Oh, Stanley, I applaud your effort, I really do." "Ahahahaha! Stanley…" "Come, Stanley! Let's find the story."

But something had happened in between then and now. It may have been the simple passage of time, or perhaps there was a catastrophic extinction event that Stanley had somehow avoided. Whatever it was, he couldn't quite remember. All he knew was that he was alone with his thoughts now, and while anyone else in his situation might have thought it nice, he found it incredibly unsettling.

He knelt there in front of the name button for quite some time, the sand digging into his knees. His bucket sat next to him, in an arm, and leaned against him reassuringly. Taking a deep breath, Stanley reached forward and picked up the button, and shook the sand off of it as he stood up, bucket still in hand.

Making his decision, he slipped the button into the bucket, its yellow glow illuminating the metal, and then continued forward throughout the dilapidated remains of the Memory Zone.

~~~~~

"All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean?" the Narrator questioned, just as genuinely as all of the times he had done before. Stanley moved forward out of his office and down the hallway as usual, before stopping at the pedestal the Reassurance Bucket rested on when not joining Stanley in his adventures. A very short memory, either from a very long time ago or very far into the future, flashed across his mind, and he felt a calling to take the bucket with him this time around.

"Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo— Stanley picked up the bucket," the Narrator declared, quickly switching gears once Stanley lifted up the bucket and carried it by the handle, idly swinging it as he walked through the hallways of the office. Meanwhile, a soft clattering noise sounded from the inside of the bucket. This did not bother Stanley, but the Narrator soon noticed it and paused his spiel just before he described the two open doors.

"What is…what's that noise? Is that coming from the bucket?"

At this, Stanley glanced inside, and there it was: the thing that had been calling to him to pick up the bucket. The name button. It still glowed a bright yellow, lighting up the inside of the bucket. Slowly, Stanley reached inside the bucket and removed the button, and the narrator let out a small but condescending laugh once he noticed it in Stanley's hand.

"The name button? You were more attached to that thing than I thought you were, especially for someone who isn't even named Jim," he chuckled. Stanley said nothing, and only stared down into the button.

"When did you even get the chance to steal it from the showroom? I'm sure I would've noticed it missing…" the Narrator wondered, rustling through his papers and finally sighing. "…Well, I suppose that if anything, it is truly a testament to the allure of the button that only says—"

"Stanley," Stanley pushed the button, now remembering entirely why he had bothered to bring the bucket. The Narrator stopped speaking for once at this, stunned.

"Where did you find that?" he asked, his tone grave. Stanley refused to answer, not directing anything in his thoughts towards the Narrator and not signing anything either. Quietly, now that he had heard the button and remembered why he had taken it, he thought of the Memory Zone and how it appeared after years of abandonment. Just holding the button now gave him an ache in his chest he wasn't sure he had ever felt before.

"Truly, Stanley, I have no idea where you could've gotten that from." Meanwhile, the Narrator's voice started to become strained, as if this button was the source of some anxiety, as if Stanley was never truly meant to find it.

Again, Stanley refused to answer, and the Narrator became desperate to fill the silence. "It's— It must be a fluke. I only made it to be able to say Jim, didn't I?"

I don't know, did you? Stanley thought, glancing upwards towards the ceiling.

"Yes, I'm quite certain— Stanley, did you…do something to it?" the Narrator asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

Not a thing. I just found it at some point, Stanley responded, hoping his tone seemed honest enough that the Narrator would believe him. Really, truly, he hadn't done anything but find it.

"When? When did you find it, Stanley, where I wouldn’t have noticed? I am all-seeing, you know–"

Why do you care? Stanley asked, catching the Narrator off-guard and causing him to sputter briefly before answering.

"Haven’t you ever heard of curiosity? In all honesty, I think I ought to have the button, Stanley. To…examine it. It couldn’t possibly have come from me, after all…no, there has to be someone else at play here," he defended, as Stanley stepped back, clutching the button to his chest.

With an almost cartoonish pop, a figure appeared before Stanley and took the form of an older man wearing a blazer with matching brown pants, a sweater vest, and thick glasses, as well as an earpiece microphone. This was the body of the Narrator himself, who rarely ever showed his face to Stanley, believing that leaving his appearance up to player interpretation would yield more interesting results than what he really looked like. Stanley disagreed. Still, he was not fazed by the Narrator's sudden appearance, and kept his grip on the button as he approached him.

The Narrator reached forward towards Stanley's chest in an attempt to take the button from him, but this only steeled his resolve: now, he stepped even further away from the Narrator, and held the button behind him.

Nope. he thought, watching a tinge of frustration flash across the Narrator's face.

"Stanley, come on—" he asked as he tried to walk around Stanley to reach the button, and was once again thwarted when Stanley changed position and held the button high above his head.

Finders keepers.

"You're being childish," the Narrator grumbled as Stanley kept the button just out of reach.

You're not the one who's defined by liking buttons, Narrator, Stanley pointed out, now keeping the button away by holding it tight to his chest and shielding it with his arms.

"This is a different case, Stanley! Please, just give it back—" the Narrator begged as he reached towards Stanley again, but then immediately cut off his speech after he realized what he had said. Stanley's shoulders dropped in surprise, unintentionally leaving an opening.

…Back? He tilted his head.

The Narrator merely huffed to himself, and Stanley thought he heard him mumbling about how irritating he was, but still refused to relinquish the button when he reached for it.

No no no. Hold on a minute. You said give it back, like it was yours. Did you…make the button? he questioned. This yielded no clear answer from the Narrator, who was still much too focused on getting the button out of Stanley's hands.

Now, Stanley grinned at him, and began a little game in his head titled "How to Get the Narrator to Admit He Cares". Come on, Mr. All-Seeing voice in my head. he prodded, still making sure to keep the button just out of his reach.

"…Slip of the tongue," the Narrator murmured hesitantly, as if looking for an excuse.

I don't think so.

"Stanley. Stanley. Stanley. Stanley. Stan—" the button droned as Stanley pressed it as many times as he could, simply to annoy the Narrator that much more.

"Alright, alright," the Narrator snapped, stepping back and holding his hands up in defeat. “I did make the button. But I didn’t expect you to ever find it! It was…it was private. A side project, if you will."

Why'd you even make it? For yourself? Stanley asked, remembering the all encompassing loneliness that came with waking up thousands of years into the future. There had been no Narrator to be heard or seen, and he suffered alone in the oppressively hot days and cold nights in that desolate wasteland, before he finally discovered the ruins of the Memory Zone. He wondered what the Narrator had done in the time he was gone, and why he had ended up disappearing. Stanley thought he must be immortal, but had nature run its course, even for him? Or had he simply talked himself into an insanity so severe he could no longer speak by the time Stanley returned?

Even just thinking about these things proved to be difficult for Stanley to fully comprehend, like trying to unlock memories from very early in one's childhood, but from the other direction. After all, he wasn't there anymore. The game had been reset. He was back in his office, back with his bucket, and back with his Narrator, thankfully, but he still had questions, evident by the fact he had taken the button with him.

The Narrator looked down from Stanley in defeat, as if he had heard his thoughts on the Epilogue, although they had not been directed to him (as was Stanley's usual method of communication when he couldn't sign). "…It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more," he admitted quietly.

Stanley's eyes widened in surprise (he had finally gotten something out of the Narrator? it was unheard of!), before he felt something click in his mind. Bullshit, he thought, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

The Narrator's head then snapped back up to meet Stanley's eyes, and he sputtered for a bit, offended. "Bullsh—?? Well, I never! And what the hell are you smiling about?!"

Stanley's grin didn't fade. You really do care!

"I— you spend thousands of years alone like that and you'd start to miss…er, make different buttons too! The fact that you went back and kept it says more about you than it does me, Stanley, whether you like it or not!" he deflected, curtly crossing his arms. Stanley decided to simply let him go on trying to defend himself and desperately attempt to show that he can't possibly care at all, but with every sentence, he only sank himself deeper into the hole.

"I think you just have a problem with buttons, Stanley. First you listen to the bucket more than you listen to me, and now you're toting around that button with it like a toddler who has just discovered shapes and colors. Sure, yes, the button says your name, but that's really all there is to it! You're so easily entertained, I— will you stop that?!"

While Stanley had decided not to interrupt his spiel, that didn't mean he wouldn't mock the Narrator as he spoke. He opened and closed a hand, mimicking the incessant flapping of the Narrator's lips and waited for him to notice, and when he did, the same smug grin as before made its way onto Stanley's face.

You made a Stanley button because you missed me, he signed for extra effect, now holding the button to his body with an arm.

"What a ridiculous notion. I don't miss things, Stanley. You can't seem to grasp that I don't feel the same range of emotions you humans do. I'm the Narrator, I am here to tell a story for you to experience. If there's any reason I made the Stanley button, it was because I decided it was time for a new button. That is all," the Narrator still defended weakly. Stanley wasn't convinced.

Do you keep the Figleys with you wherever it is you live too?

The Narrator could only sigh and pinch the area between his eyebrows. "I've had quite enough of your antics. Let's continue with the story, shall we?" he suggested, beginning to fade away and return to his omniscient state. Before he could fully disappear, however, Stanley lurched forward and grabbed his arm, stopping and surprising him at the same time.

No. Admit it, he thought, desperation flashing across his eyes. The Narrator couldn't run from this forever, and he couldn't go his entire existence not hearing it at least once.

"Admit what?" the Narrator asked, staring back into his eyes. This wasn't a side of Stanley that he saw often, and though Stanley was considerably lower on the totem pole as a human than the Narrator was as himself, he had to admit it frightened him.

You care about me. Just a little bit.

The Narrator sighed again, pulling his arm free from Stanley's grasp and smoothing out his sleeve. As he spoke, his tone softened. "I suppose I do. Just a little bit."

At this, Stanley smiled earnestly and happily, and this prompted the Narrator to explain himself further. "B-But this doesn't mean you've won any peculiar mind game you might be playing! I…would simply be lying if I said I didn't hold a bit of affection for the main character of my game, is all," he said as he disappeared again, his voice slipping its way back into its usual corner in Stanley's mind.

"Don't get any ideas."

Sure.