Never Good Enough
stanley parable fandom come get yalls juice
also i may have exaggerated how mean the narrator is on accident but shhhhh
also also this was based on a video by @/nateisanerd on tik tok!
“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo."
Stanley trudged through the first office area. This worried The Narrator. The last two runs, Stanley seemed a little…different. Bored, maybe? It was possible. Usually, Stanley had this look in his eye that could only be described as a rebellious spark. But during those last two runs, where he got The Freedom Ending and The Wife Ending, that spark wasn’t there.
Gradually, Stanley made it to the meeting room.
“Yet there was not a single person here either. Feeling a wave of disbelief, Stanley decided to go up to his boss's office, hoping he might find an answer there.”
Stanley gave no sign that he heard The Narrator, he just lumbered around the big table in the middle of the room and walked down the hallway.
As he walked, Stanley passed by the broom closet. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around to look at the door of the closet.
“Now, Stanley, I know you’re not going to sit in that broom closet for another couple- Stanley!”
Stanley ignored The Narrator and walked back to the broom closet, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. The Narrator sighed as Stanley sat in the corner of the closet, playing with the buttons of his shirt.
“No, no, no, I refuse to encourage this behavior. Really, Stanley, I thought I could trust you! I even took the wooden planks off the doorway! After all the times you’ve walked down this hallway and ignored the broom closet, just to relapse and go back to your old, destructive ways? Truly, Stanley, I am quite disappointed in you.”
Again, Stanley made no gesture to show that he had heard The Narrator’s words. That didn’t mean that he didn’t, however. Stanley listened to every word The Narrator had said, but one phrase stuck to him like a life-draining tick.
‘I am disappointed in you.’
Stanley pulled his knees up to chest.
“When you’re done with this pathetic display of disobedience, just open that door and step outside. I’ll be waiting on you to continue the story.”
‘Pathetic.’
Stanley screwed his eyes shut.
Why did it seem that no matter if he followed directions or not, The Narrator always had something degrading to say about him? It wasn’t like he was always looking for ways to annoy him, he was just curious about the rest of the world The Narrator had created. He didn’t even mind following orders at first.
During his second to last run, Stanley did everything The Narrator said. He followed along with the plot and got to the ending he wanted him to get to. It did feel a little nice, not arguing with The Narrator at every corner. But still, when the game reset, the first thing he said was, ‘See, Stanley? Was that so hard?’
Then, Stanley went through the right door and fell off the platform. The Narrator went on about how Stanley had really shown him, sarcastically commenting on how powerful he was, psychoanalyzing him over an accident.
Then he got The Wife Ending. He mostly did it so he could rest on the fake apartment’s couch for a short while before the game was reset. He also wanted to hear a voice other than The Narrator’s, just for a couple seconds.
Then, The Narrator said, ‘Who’d want to commit their life to you?’
Stanley let out a shaky breath. The first time he’d gotten that ending he really thought that was his wife he was hearing. Then, the mannequin's voice glitched and the hope that had been welling in his chest deflated. The Narrator laughed at him.
Stanley began to rock himself back and forth. He hummed to himself, a little song he remembered from his childhood.
Or rather, the childhood memories that The Narrator programmed into him.
It was a weird feeling, to miss a person who never existed. He had vague memories of a childhood best friend. He remembered scampering up the ladder of a tree house with him, or maybe it was a her? Whenever Stanley tried to picture the people from his memories in too much detail, his head began to ache.
He also remembered playing baseball with said best friend, and then being grounded for pitching the ball through his parents’ bedroom window. Stock images in memory form.
Stanley also remembered having a wife. Maybe that’s why The Wife Ending upset him so much. Maybe it was because he remembered having a wife who’d chastise him for never buttoning his shirt properly before work and would do it for him despite his protests.
Stanley hadn’t realized it, but he was crying.
Why was nothing he did ever good enough for The Narrator? It never mattered if he followed his directions, Stanley could never live up to the expectations of the ‘perfect protagonist’ that The Narrator had set for him.
Nothing he did was ever good enough.
It had been almost half an hour and Stanley still hadn’t left the broom closet. Albeit, Stanley had stayed in the broom closet for longer than that, almost half an hour was still long enough to have The Narrator itching with impatience.
--
The Narrator was growing impatient. He was doing his best to ignore Stanley’s latest attempt at showing he was in control, but he had to admit, he was getting… lonely. It was strange, not having Stanley with him, not talking to him.
He told himself that he’d wait five more minutes before checking in on Stanley.
He got to two before he caved.
“Stanley, it’s been half an hour! What in the world are you-”
The Narrator cut himself off. Before he popped into the broom closet, he pictured his protagonist curled up, fast asleep on the ground. Or maybe he would be leaning against a wall, or playing around with the broom?
Of all the things Stanley could’ve been doing in the broom closet, The Narrator wasn’t expecting to see his beloved protagonist wedged in a corner, pulled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth.
“S-Stanley? Stanley, what's wrong?”
Stanley lifted his head over so slightly, glancing up at the ceiling with a tearful eye. He didn’t respond with any sort of gesture, he only screwed his eyes shut and hid his face in his knees.
“Stanley, come out, won’t you?”
Stanley curled tighter into himself, reaching one hand up to run it through his hair.
“Oh, Stanley.” The Narrator sighed. His tone almost had Stanley lifting his head. “Have I upset you in some way, Stanley? It’s alright, you can tell me.”
Stanley peered up from his knees at the ceiling. His eyes were red.
“Hm…”
Stanley took a moment to breathe. Having his knees pressed so hard against his chest was really restricting his breathing. He rubbed his face.
“Give me a moment, Stanley. I have an idea.”
Stanley unfurled his legs just a tad. He was annoyed when The Narrator first arrived in the broom closet. He wanted to be alone and stay alone. But on the other hand, the feeling of The Narrator’s presence and the sound of his voice had pulled Stanley out of his spiraling thoughts.
Also, The Narrator’s presence was soothing in and of itself. Stanley hated that. Stanley hated that The Narrator made him feel even the slightest bit better when he was the source of his anxiety. Hell, it was possible that The Narrator had programmed that into him along with the fake memories.
After a little while, the game reset, and Stanley was back in his office.
He sighed.
Slowly, Stanley stood and stepped out of his office, running through The Narrator’s lines in his head before he had even spoken them.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that he wasn’t in the office. Instead, he seemed to be in a bedroom.
The carpet was plush under his bare feet, and the walls were a dark, soothing green. The king sized bed in the corner of the room was sitting under a broad window with tiny potted plants decorating the windowsill. It seemed to be the middle of the night.
Inspecting the room further, Stanley came upon a framed photo of a metal bucket. Despite himself, Stanley smiled.
Looking down at himself, he seemed to be in pajamas.
“There! I hope that you find everything to your liking, Stanley. I even went through the trouble of searching through the office to see what colors came up the most so that I could give this bedroom a novel, yet soothing feeling.”
Stanley pointed to the bed with a raised eyebrow.
“Ah, yes, the bed. You may have noticed that you don’t have needs like other humans do. You don’t feel hunger pains, dehydration, a need to go to the bathroom, or a need for sleep. I decided to change that, if only for a little while.”
Stanley sat on the end of the bed, kicking his feet slightly as he listened to The Narrator go on.
“You see, I did a little research on human needs right before I reset. My studies showed that humans typically feel quite tired after intense emotional stress, and so I decided to temporarily enact your human need for sleep in hopes that you would wake up feeling energized and motivated.”
Stanley smiled a little. The Narrator was right, he did like the room. The little plants on the windowsill and the dark city outside were nice touches.
However, the knowledge that The Narrator could simply modify certain aspects of his biology sent apprehension creeping up his spine. If The Narrator could so easily change those things about him, then was it possible that he could completely alter who Stanley was altogether? Could The Narrator just erase Stanley if he ever got bored of him, discard and create a new, more obedient protagonist? Would he ever get bored of him?
“Now, listen to me. Prattling on as usual. Rest, Stanley. You’ve earned it.”
The minor praise in no way outweighed all of the insults The Narrator had spat at him, but even still, it made Stanley’s heart swell.
Sighing with contentment, he crawled up the bed and wormed underneath the warm covers. One of the blankets seemed to be weighted.
“Well, I’ll let you sleep then. I’ll only come back once you’ve woken up on your own accord.”
Stanley clapped his hands to get The Narrator’s attention before he left.
“Hm? Yes, Stanley?”
Looking out the window as a means to avoid ‘eye contact’ with The Narrator, Stanley signed, ‘Will you get bored?’
“Bored? Bored of what? Of you? Oh, Stanley,” The Narrator chuckled. “How could I ever get bored of perfection? No, no, no, Stanley, you are my protagonist! Your character and personality are what make The Stanley Parable interesting! There would be no Stanley Parable without you.”
That wasn’t the response Stanley was hoping for, but it was still comforting in its own strange way. He brought the topmost blanket up to his face to hide his smile. It was moments like these when he forgot that The Narrator held complete control over everything around him and could sentence him to an eternity of repeated deaths if he wanted to.
“Will I get bored of you, honestly…” The Narrator chuckled to himself. “Of all the silly notions…”
With that, The Narrator’s presence faded away until Stanley was alone in the bedroom. He waited a little while to make sure The Narrator was truly gone before he settled. He thought about how empty the room felt now that he really was alone. It was almost cold, in a sense.
Stanley didn’t dwell on the thought for long. He curled under the thick, warm, heavy blankets of the bed made specifically for him, and gradually dozed off into a dreamless sleep, where no anxious, questioning thoughts of his autonomy and whether or not he could trust his own mind could follow him.