A Friend (Stanford Pines x Reader)

Stanley

Life in the cabin had drastically changed. So much so, that when a knock came to the door, you and Ford had nearly lurched out of your skin in surprise. You, being more coherent and logical, quickly regained your bearings and jumped to answer it. It was a snowy day in February, and you didn't want to leave whoever was outside in the cold. Before you could answer the door, however, Ford stopped you. 

"Y/N, don't."

"What?" You asked, blinking in confusion. "Why?" Ford narrowed his eyes at the door before reaching for his crossbow. "There's only one person who would be out here during a storm of this intensity." He pulled an arrow into the bow, tugging on it for good measure. "Things between my brother and I are... for lack of better words, not pretty. This could get ugly. I need you to wait upstairs."

You were about to protest, but Ford shot you a look. Pain welled up in your chest, though you couldn't tell if it was because of how much Ford had changed, your current circumstances, or something else. Reluctantly, you turned back and retreated to the stairs. Ford waited until your bedroom door closed before swinging the door open. Through the wood, you could hear him shouting. "Who is it?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!"

Your eyes widened as you began to wonder what exactly 'not pretty' meant. Your thoughts were interrupted by a deeper, gruffer voice, though you couldn't interpret his exact response. 

Hushed murmuring, mostly from Ford, could be heard throughout the home. After a few minutes, it stopped completely, leading you to believe he had led Stanley downstairs and into the lab. Without thinking of potential reactions, you opened the door and stepped out and into the hall. You made your way down the stairs and opened your fridge, revealing the mostly bare inside. A half-full milk carton in the back corner, some cheese, and a few vegetables were tossed carelessly inside. You frowned. You closed the door again, your gaze immediately landing on a small magnet. 

You had held onto it, but you knew deep down you were never going to call the number for couple's counselling. Ford instantly denied the idea, claiming that we should stick to a "trust no one" lifestyle -- the only people we needed to get by was each other. 

The experience with the portal had really taken a number on you both, but Ford was being hit the hardest. He had to constantly be on watch for Bill, dreading the moment his body would shutdown and be vulnerable to possession. In the moments that he was asleep, whether it be for a few minutes or several hours, he always woke in a different place. Immediately, he would check on you. Once he found that you were unharmed, he would hug you hold you as close as possible, like you were a lifeline keeping him grounded. Of course, he never admitted why he spontaneously broke from his seclusion to embrace you, but you knew why. He needed to make sure that Bill hadn't used his vessel to harm you. 

Shouting tore you violently from your deep thoughts. Back in the present, you remembered who was here and what Ford had said. Thinking on your feet, you made a beeline from the kitchen to the elevator, pulling open the door and pressing three. Through the agonizingly slow descent, you tried to formulate a plan. If things were getting violent, you wanted to intervene. Ford would disapprove, but you weren't going to take it. Stanley was your only chance of solving your dilemma and returning to a normal life, and you weren't going to allow sibling rivalry to get in the way. The sound of shouts and bangs grew in volume. Finally, the movement ceased, and the doors glided open.

As soon as the elevator opened, you were blinded by bright, blue light. You cringed, retreating into the elevator and shielding your eyes. Accompanying the light, there was a loud, metallic bang that sent chills down your spine. You knew those sounds. Your heart filled with dread. 

Blinking away the last of the brightness from your retinas, you regained your bearings and raced from the elevator, pushing past the clutter in your way until you got to the room with the portal. 

You hadn't been in that room since the failed test. It almost didn't look like the same room. The machines were either broken or partially dismantled, the ground unpaved. The portal still loomed above the room menacingly, demanding the attention of whoever was inside. The sound of the surrounding machines shutting down filled your ears as you stared at the stranger who was pounding on the metal. Stanford was nowhere in sight. 

"Stanford, come back! I didn't mean it!" he cried as he slammed his fists against the metal in desperation. Understanding dawned on you. In that instant, the world around you shriveled up and died. New pain, unfamiliar pain, filled your stomach as a lump lodged in your throat. A small, pained gasp left your lips, but the stranger didn't hear, too preoccupied in his own misery. 

"I just got him back! I can't lose him again!" He scrambled back to the lever, trying with all his strength to make it budge. It was useless: the metal pole remained stubbornly in place. He looked up at the portal. "STANFORD!"

His voice, with every ounce of pain, desperation and regret, echoed off the massive machine and the walls, creating an eerie, depressing echo. Heavy silence hung in the air when finally Stanley turned around. When his eyes landed on you, he jumped back and cursed. You took in his dirty, faded red jacket, white shirt, and dark pants. You could see the similarities between Stanford and Stanley, making the situation all the more painful. The mullet-haired man stared at you with wide eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

It took you a few seconds to find your voice. "I'm... I'm Ford's girlfriend..." The man's expression softened. "Sixer has a girlfriend...?" he asked, mostly to himself, in disbelief.  Before you could respond, he grabbed the journal and ran over to you, shoving the journal in his hands. "Turn it back on! Do you know how? I need him back! I can't lose him again! Fix it!"

"I can't!" you shouted, pulling back from his grip, "I don't even know where to start!" You approached the machine, fighting tooth and nail to not collapse onto the dirt beneath you and sob until no tears remained. "It... it was a three-person endeavor to even build the thing! He was in the process of dismantling it when you arrived."

"You know more than I do 'bout it!" he cried in protest. You raised a hand, stopping him from continuing. "We're not going to get anywhere if we just shout at each other, Stanley!" 

"How... how do you know my name?" 

The question hit you like a truck. In the chaos, you had forgotten entirely the history between Stanley and Stanford. You had to choose your next words with caution. "He told me about you,"

"Sixer talked about me?"

"Briefly. It was a sensitive subject." You watched as his expression fell, and guilt stabbed you in the gut. You knew it wasn't what he wanted to hear, but you weren't going to lie to him. He deserved to know the truth, even if it was ugly. 

"So..." Stanley trailed off, looking back up at the machine. You followed his gaze. It was no longer pristine and fully-functional like it was when last operated. You weren't sure how to even start repairing the machine, and the thought alone overwhelmed you. Determination leaked through. You weren't going to abandon Stanford. You would get him home, regardless of how hard it was. Stanley's voice brought you back to the present. "You helped build that?"

You nodded, watching him tentatively, trying to discern any emotion that he could have been feeling. His face revealed nothing. You sank onto your knees, and Stanley followed suit, seeming to pick up on the fact that you both were in for a long conversation. 

You stared up at the machine. It seemed like centuries ago where you and Ford had looked upon it with pride and excitement. Now, as you gazed at the cracked steel and frayed wires, all you could feel was betrayal. You tightened your grip on the journal. Stanley cleared his throat, redirecting your focus to him. "Ford didn't look good..."

"Y/N," you supplied.

"Y/N. He looked sick. What the hell has been going on here?" You sighed and buried your face in your hands. "That's a very, very long story."