#backwards!stanley

Bradley lies awake in his bed, staring at the dark ceiling over his head and listening intently to the noises happening right outside his room.

He's never had a reason to fear the dark before, but now, after having been unwillingly wrapped up in time travel murder games and knowing full well how easy it is to find yourself dying at the hands of someone you trusted, he's gotten a lot jumpier.

It doesn't help that he's in a (still) strange house with a bunch of people he doesn't know. Dad!Jon swore up and down that there were fail safes in place and enough protections, but he still doesn't trust everyone here.

He'd be perfectly content to stay in his bed and pretend he didn't hear anything, but the more he listens to the footsteps pacing around, the more anxious he gets. He should check it out, just in case.

Jonathan doesn't allow weapons in the bedrooms so he grabs the next best thing (a fork from dinner he didn't bring back to the kitchen yet) and sneaks up to his bedroom door.

The footsteps seem to be distancing themselves, so he knows he most likely won't be jumped by whoever is walking around out there. Bradley steels himself and then cracks the door open to look. What he finds out there is not what he expected, however.

It's one of the newcomers, an amnesiac red head who reminds him of a startled deer and who Dad!Jon handles cautiously, like saying the wrong thing around her could set something off.

Bradley watches them wander around for a few more seconds before he decides to just fuck it and see what they're doing. Maybe they got lost trying to find the bathroom.

It froze at the noise, its head shooting to the side. He could feel his heart beat faster. A person. A real, live person. He had to find him. With his mission changed, vendETTA left the room, dropping the old search to find a new, more important one. He followed the sounds, his heart beating in his chest faster and faster as he clunked and dragged through the halls. The noise, the voice, got louder till he stood right in front of the door he knew would lead to the person. Another person. His hands shook with giddiness. It hurt. He pushed the door open.

Bradley hears the door opening and he glances up briefly from his work, thinking it might be a friend coming to hang out or maybe a Narrator storming in to yell at him for making a mess of the place.

What he didn't expect was to see a stranger approaching. Their appearance was off putting enough that he freezes, tools still gripped tightly in his hands as he stares at ETTA.

"Er..." He starts, then trails off awkwardly. He gets up and takes a few steps towards him, his eyes slowly widening as the details of vendETTA sinks in.

𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞? 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲? 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞.

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞?

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞? 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞?

"DO YOU REALLY MEAN THAT?" Birch asks.

"He doesn't." Ezra answers for him.

"Well, it feels good now. I missed this place! I was here for a decade, you know." Bradley drops his arms with a pout. No one bats an eye.

"Why did you come back anyway?" Alice says. "You came crashing into our Office like you're running for your life. We all thought you and Ezra would be living happily ever after by now, not rushing to come back here."

"You told her about me?" Ezra mutters.

Bradley shrugs, unapologetic. "I was here for ten years. I thought I'd never see you again, Ezzy. Why shouldn't I have talked about my past?"

Ezra doesn't reply right away, seizing Alice and Birch up with obvious discomfort. His gaze lingers on Birch, especially. The darkness under her hood, her lack of arms or legs unnerve him.

"What if she tried to curse me or something?" He finally asks.

"Excuse me? Why the fuck would I curse you? Do I look like I have nothing better to do with my time?"

"SHE DOESN'T, USUALLY."

"Guuuuuys! Stop it! Can't a man return back to the Hellhole Office he suffered in for years and bring two innocent outsiders along without anyone making a big deal out of it?"

Alice huffs. "Speaking of, who is the newcomer anyway? We know about Ezra, but who is she?"

They all glanced at the woman, who just crosses her arms and glares back at them.

"What's it to you?" She snaps.

Her hair is tied back in a pony tail, light brown and disheleved. She sits like she's ready to spring forward like a taut rubber band, her eyes hard. On her hip she's carrying a pistol.

"She's a friend." Ezra says, at the same time Bradley says, "She's no one important."

A pause. They exchange glances, until Ezra purses his lips in disapproval.

"Don't worry about her." Bradley tells the others. "We were pretty busy in the real world for a while and we maaaaay have sort of accidently become three of the most wanted people in the United States. But! None of that matters right now, I promise. For now, all we wanna do is catch up on rest."

He gets up and offers his hands to Ezra and the woman. They take them, hesitantly, not sure what he's about to do.

"Why are we holding hands?" The woman asks and Bradley gives her a mischievous grin.

@imaginepostingonsideblogs

Your name is Bradley Spencer and your boyfriend is trying to kill you.

Or at least, you think he is trying. ‘Trying’ because he just attacked you with a knife, ‘trying’ because he didn’t cut far enough to finish you off quickly. Rex’s knife. That somehow makes it worse.

The gash around your neck is deep enough to fill your throat with blood, and it’s shallow enough that you think it might’ve been an accident.

It was an accident, right? Something spooked him and he attacked, blindly. That’s why he’s backing away in horror, that’s why he looks so guilty. Why isn’t he calling the ambulance? He needs to call someone, you’re sure they’ll understand if he explains that he slipped up.

He didn’t mean to stab you.

You try to tell him that it’s alright, it was an accident, but he needs to get someone here right now or else-

Your mind blanks, you can’t think of that. You’re not going to. It’s not going to happen.

-else you will keep bleeding all over your carpet and it’s going to be a pain in the ass to clean up. He doesn’t want to spend the weekend scrubbing your blood off the carpet, right? You will make him help, you swear to god. So he better call someone before it has the chance to dry.

You take a breath to threaten him with hours of scrubbing stained fabrics but blood rushes in instead of air and your lungs protest. You’re starting to get scared.

Cas is still not taking out his phone.

It’s like jumping into a pool and inhaling water, except that it hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt. You feel tears welling up from the sheer pain. Faintly, you thought your adrenaline would keep you from the worst of it, keep you detached from the actual event but you are as present as ever and you feel every throb of your severed flesh.

You’re going to die.

It’s no longer a possibility looming over you, it’s the only road, the only possible ending. Cas isn’t going to help.

Fear kicks in, raw and animalistic, cold like you just plunged into ice water. Your entire body shudders. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

You’re no longer standing, fingernails digging into the now warm, wet strands of the carpet, but you can’t find the strength to drag yourself towards Cas, he’s too far away. He looks terrified. You’re sure you do too.

The knife is still in his hand, tinted red from where he had slashed you.

It’s all so confusing. Not thirty minutes ago you were happy to see him, he came in unexpectedly but that’s fine, you are always happy to see him.

The apartment feels more homey with him around, perched on his chair that only he is allowed to sit in (because it’s the most comfortable one and you are nothing if not the most gentlemanly boyfriend to ever exist, up until you drape yourself in his lap despite his protests), responding to your teasing with snide banter of his own, a smirk that sometimes softens into something more sentimental and genuine which means more to you than his rare words of affection.

Cas always acts like admitting he’s in love is the most embarrassing thing that could happen to him and you find it endearing, especially because he has other ways of telling you he does. Like when he steals your sweaters or laughs at your mediocre jokes or begrudgingly lets you hug him.

When he came to your door, he was upset. You would’ve never turned him away. A fight with Rex, perhaps. Rex is an enigma you can never figure out but for some reason Cas is still attached to him. You were ready to offer comfort and agree with whatever insults he was going to throw at his (ex?) husband, but tonight you didn’t get through to him.

Whatever happened...it was far beyond what you could understand or even begin to fix.

And then Cas got heated. And then the knife came out. And now you are lying on the floor, choking on your own blood.

You are so scared.

You don’t want to die.

You’ve joked about your life being meaningless before and there were times you certainly believed it but now, now you realize how short it has been and how much more there could be if only you can close the gash on your neck and stop inhaling all that blood. Why isn’t Cas here? Why is he staring at you from across the room, not helping, not yelling, just watching you die like he is powerless to stop it?

Why can’t you muster enough strength to yell at him to help?

You try and nothing but an incoherent wet gurgle of Cas’ name comes out. It doesn’t sound like his name at all, perverted with the inevitable. You try again. You can’t feel the tears on your cheeks over the warmth of your blood.

Cas, please. You try to compel him with your thoughts. He is worlds away and yet right there, just across the room. Please. Help me. I don’t want to die. Help me. Call someone. Help me stop the blood. Oh god, it hurts so much.

Your hand opens and closes around nothing.

The room is spinning now.

Your panic increases as you realize you’re approaching the end. Nothing either of you can do about that now. You try to push yourself closer to your boyfriend, wanting to at least feel him there with you before you go. It’s getting hard to see and the only thing you’re more scared of than dying is dying alone.