I've had this fully written for like, almost a year? Take that lmao I am evil (<- self conscious).
Chapter 2
Mirrors and Raccoons
Stanley had no idea what the McGuffin guy looked like, but by the way he spoke, he could instinctively infer that he was a southerner. Do not ask why, Stanley wouldn’t be able to tell the reason. Had it been to the South? HE!! He. Ugh this was weird.
Since that phone call it had started trying to reaquaint itself with the idea of seeing other people. It'd spent a long time having only the Doctor and the other science people as daily contact, with very limited visits from new people. The Doctor was weary of letting other near it- near STAN.
Stanley would have to get used to that. It's not like the Doctor treated it- him as an object, or anything like that. Or did he? Stanley wouldn’t be able to tell, probably. But in any case, that... personhood, it just didn’t come naturally.
The Doctor did everything like it was natural and easy. Stanley, on the other hand, often felt like it had to operate breathing and blinking and moving manually. Just like everything else. The same way you'd look at something and move it, it- he had to breathe and blink. And move. And sometimes pay attention to his stomach so it wouldn’t stop functioning again.
It was easier to just see himself as something to be fixed. Plus, it's not like the other scientists talked about him using any words other than 'Volunteer' or 'Subject'. And they used 'it' for the raccoons, which were factually the most enchanting creatures in the entire lab. Stanley aspired to be like the raccoons. They were so tiny and clever!
Unlike him, who most often was, at best, kinda dumb. If anything, it was more like a pigeon.
Stanley was wondering through the halls using the directions the Doctor left him as he thought, trying to find the locker which apparently contained all of his belongings. From supposedly before arriving into the institute's care. He didn’t demember much about that time. Vague shape, sounds, and feelings, but nothing concrete. He figured maybe seeing those belongings could bring something to surface.
The locker room was almost deserted, with only a few pieces of clothing, paper and shoes left around, either by people who didn’t care enough to retrieve them or who simply forgot.
The only locked door was the one with the number the Doctor had said, 5-74. But it was locked.
Welp. The Doctor was a genius, so the password should be lying around somewhere. For a genius, he did have a horrible sense of direction and a sort of selective memory. Stanley read the message again and again trying to crack the code, but got to NOTHING.
He tried. He really did try to do it the right way. But, oh well. He needed those things and, luckily, was very good at breaking into places. (The vets from the raccoon area would gladly tell you about his petting escapades).
The door aside, the locker had surprisingly little. Clothes too small for him to wear now, a pair of shoes, a jacket and a duffel bag. Stanley put the jacket on and carefully set aside the clothes to examine the duffel bag.
A flashlight, a notebook, a few pens, some underwear and socks, a few crumpled shirts and a wallet with an id. Stanley Pines.
He remembered that. Yeah, Pines. Pines men don't cry. But they do scam, hit and close curtains.
He was Stanley Pines.
What a bummer. Couldn't he been named something cooler, like, Capricorn or something? Stanley just sounded like an incomplete part of a matching set. And Pines weren't even the cooler type of tree. He himself was more of a Rd Maple kinda guy. They were prettier, the color was beautiful and they didn’t smell too strong.
And what about that picture? Stanley picked at his face to feel around and compare to the id picture. Didn’t feel too close. That was a kid. Stan was what, ...? Well okay, he didn’t really remember his age either. The id said 1951, so he was... fuck, it didn’t remember how long it'd been here. He looked like, 16 in the picture? And the letter said something something four years ago, so. It was safe to assume he was around his 20s?
Oh well. Not that important. He could figure out the face thing some other time with a body of water or a new picture. The Doctor didn’t like it when Stanley was near mirrors. He had the vague recollection of breaking several of them, but didn’t remember why or what happened after. He was pretty sure he had a cleft on his chin, but then again, he also kept counting his fingers wrong. Nobody has 6 fingers, silly.
...
The secret to shaving without a mirror is steady hands. First you feel around, then apply the lotion, and then start the shaving.
But since Stanley did NOT have steady hands, he used the little pond in his enclosure. He almost stabbed himself a couple times, but hey, who else would be able to confidently tell a story about shaving while being horizontal? Win win situation. And if the Figglebud guy asked why it had cut on its face, Stan could probably convince him there'd been a stray raccoon.
He had a pile of rations resting near his nest – originally a bed, but turned into a nest after Stanley stole nearly every blanket in the building for himself – so he didn’t push the button for fresh food. He wasn’t about to waste these bad boys. It wasn’t what he usually ate when the Doctor was around, more like an emergency food. Not tasty, not disgusting, just nutritional enough to keep him healthy.
While he was eating, Stanley had an idea. He opened the duffel bag, spilled its contents away and filled it with rations. He was fairly sure hunting wouldn’t be an option inside a city, and he wasn't really sure how much the Doctor had meant with 'payment' in the letter. Hadn’t Stanley already used it on something? He was almost sure he had, but couldn’t remember on what.
Maybe a treat? Or something fancy, like a really big TV? It didn’t matter. The rations were going on the bag, and the rest was staying.
He eyed the notebook, pens and the wallet. Looking further into the wallet, Stanley found a picture. Two little boys playing on a broken boat, sunmarks all around their squishy little faces and big smiles.
One of the boys did have a cleft chin and six fingers. Stanford.
Oh.
That was a good name.
So that's why 'Stanley' felt incomplete. It really was part of a matching set.
Stanley smiled. It hoped whoever Stanford was, he was happy. He looked like a good kid.
It pocketed the picture and picked the pens.
Okay, these could come too.
Stan spent the next 3 hours drawing how he thought the mystery guy would look like, and also made a few drawings of the Doctor as an homage. He put them near his nest and watched. It was imperfect, but he was pretty sure the Doctor would still be proud of it. Stanley had gotten pretty good at drawing faces. Some of them had even made it to the organ fridge!
He went to sleep looking at the drawing he made of himself. Two, to be exact. One was smiley, clumsy and a bit stupid, and the other was smart, had a cleft chin and six fingers.
He didn’t know what came next, but he hoped it'd be fun.
