#vee au

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.

Its life was simple. And painless, most of the time. Just a few inconveniences here and there.

In the morning it was woken up early for the first round of physical activity, to shake its body up into alertness. Then a carefully built breakfast with enough calories and proteins to last for 3 to 4 hours, and more exercises. By then the Doctor would have probably already arrived, and started the first Session. Most of the time it felt like puzzles. Look at the light, touch the shiny weird thing, put back the pieces, try the temperature of the liquid, test the sharpness of the needle. With the mind activated, the doctor would say a few words and play a few games withe the Volunteer, to test mental sharpness and gauge for side effects of experimental treatments.

Sometimes they'd sedate it for the Doctor to play with its insides, or fix another problem. It was filled with problems, they said. Other times they'd let it stay awake and try new games; like who screams louder, when the Doctor injected hot or cold stuff into its veins to see what happened; or play Catch with other experiments. It was the only human shaped one, which made it special. The Doctor always said so. Sometimes they'd let it watch something, or have someone read a story out loud. It liked the ring one the best. Just felt right, like an old friend. Not that it had friends now, but maybe from before.

Most of the times when it was allowed to watch stuff it was because it had to be cut open again. It was the Doctor's way of saying sorry or rewarding it. They had other games to play too, but these were the Volunteer's favorites.

The Doctor often talked about its mind and how far it had come. The Volunteer didn’t really understand what he meant. It was still mostly stupid - but it didn’t say that out loud anymore, or the Doctor would be sad.

What is liked best was when they let it play in the woods, within the facility grounds. Then it could be whatever it wanted - sometimes bird, sometimes dog, sometimes even rock. But not fish. It was specially stupid as a fish, for some reason, which made going back to normal really hard.

And in its birthday – or the day it was first collected by the Doctor, it wasn’t really sure – they let it eat something out of its diet. Sometimes it chose sweets. It was always very funny to feel so energized. But it also made it very hard to focus, so after it was administered, they let it play rampant for as long as it wanted, and them sleep for full 2 hours past its waking time!

It was happy, all in all. Just be good, follow the instructions, and make the Doctor happy.

Simple as that.

But then the Doctor stopped showing up. And the others stopped playing with it, or letting it out of its enclosure. It was fine, sure. They still fed it, and it had its little exercise tools, but it was lonely without them taking notes or poking at its arms and torso.

They stopped coming altogether after a week. It still got food, due to the Doctor's automated system. It still had water and enrichment in its enclosure. But no games, or insides-poking, or sciency stuff. Not even their usual chess game.

It stopped grooming itself after a month. No point in being tidy if there was no one to see anyways. It had brown fur on its head and chin, now. The Doctor's head fur had been white, and almost non existent. Most of the others used to wear stuff on their heads so it didn’t know their colors. It wished it could've asked to see it.

After a full year, it started thinking maybe the Doctor wasn’t coming back. Maybe he'd died. He'd been old, and often talked about leaving the Volunteer to the care of someone competent he trusted. He also joked he often did not trust competent people, which made his quest specially hard. It didn’t mind if whoever got it was smart or dumb. It wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyways, dumb as itself was.

On its birthday, it finally left its enclosure to check on the other experiments. Maybe the other sciency people were just busy. It would be very scolded once they saw how untidy and furred it had gotten. But that wasn’t a problem. At that point, it would be glad just to hear someone's voice.

The cages were all empty. The rooms were messy and dirty, like no one had been there in ages. The smell was stale and the temperature was a few degrees too warm to keep any bacteria or virus out. There were papers scattered, mystery liquids broken from its vials, and withered plants laying around in disarray. Why would they leave so many things like this?

Its first instinct was to tidy up the place. The Doctor always praised it when it showcased organized cleaning behavioral patterns, so maybe he'd be happy once he returned. But he often said not to touch, mess with or lick things it didn’t know the origin of, so it restrained the impulse. It seemed that everything had been taken somewhere else.

Everything except for it.

It didn’t understand why that made its heart feel heavy.

It stopped doing the exercises regularly or sleeping at the right time after the mark of one year and a half, and by the time year two was done it also stopped eating. Maybe they'd forgotten about it. Maybe the Doctor didn’t think it was funny anymore. Maybe he'd died and left no one to take care of it.

Maybe it'd just been thrown away. It physically recoiled at the thought, as if struck. And then there was water in its eyes. Tears, it recalled. It meant something wasn’t right with its hormonal levels, or that it was distressed. Maybe it was. The thing in its chest wasn’t pleasing. It didn’t want to be alone. It had tried so hard to be good. He'd promised, promised he wouldn’t leave it alone.

It made distressed sounds that reverberated through the walls of the Doctor's office. There was a metal box thing there, and a note next to it. The Volunteer read it.

'My dear Stanley,

If you are reading this, it means I am dead now, or have been for a while. I am sorry I couldn’t finish reading the Return of the King for you this time, it was entirely out of my control.

I know you must be scared, and must feel lonely, but remember what I taught you. Breathe first, think second, act last.

I have made arrangements for someone to take care of you. He's the pupil of an old friend, and while I don't trust his capabilities with organic projects as much as I'd like to, I trust your abilities enough to not mind it as much as I'd have a year ago. You've come very far, Stanley, and even though you can't remember right now, you were very strong.

The enclosure is set to take care of you for five more years, powered by the secret generator I told you about, but I'll need you to be very brave after that. I hope you don't have to stay for that long before seeking the resources I left for you, but I'd rather make a mistake of excess than one of neglect. Not again, and certainly not with you.

When you're ready, type these numbers into the telephone I left and say you are seeking the code 574N133, that you want to reclaim your agreed payment and end the project. Someone will come collect you in 2 days' time maximum. Until then, take care of yourself, eat and relax.

I wish I'd had more time to prepare you for this. The world isn't kind, Stanley. 4 years ago you might have known that, but not now, not after what happened. After what I did to you. So be careful with who you trust, and never stop fighting to survive.

That is my final request as your head director, and as a friend.

With much care and confidence,

Dr. Lionel T. Beauford.'

It had been staring at it for hours, hoping the words would be revealed to be a lie. It knew the Doctor would die at some point. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

After a whole month of pondering and stalling, it finally gave in. It had to be brave. The Doctor said so. It slowly typed in the numbers left in the note, and waited to be picked up. After a few beeps, there was a voice.

"Hello, this is Fiddleford Mcgucket?"

It breathed in deep.

"I- I'm enacting code 574N133 to... uh... reclaim my- ugh" its voice was raspy after so long staying silent. "To reclaim my agreed pay-peigh- uh, payment, and, uh. End the project."

There was a beat.

"Holy moly" the voice said. "He wasn’t jokin'. You're real."

It nodded, and then realized the gesture wouldn’t be seen.

"Uh- yeah. I'm... uh... here. You... he said you'd come in, uh, 2 days?"

"Oh, no no, don't ya worry, I'll be right there by tomorrow noon or by God my name isn't Fiddleford."

"Maybe you should wait then."

It didn’t know why it had said that. The other end of the line burst in laugher. It smiled.

"Yer a jokey fella, huh? Ye're gonna fit right in, uh- what, what was your name again?"

It stopped, and eyed the letter.

"Um...Stanley." It responded.

"Well, pleasure to meet ya, Stanley! Ya just wait for a bit and I'll be there in no time!" The stranger- Fiddleford, promised. It- uh. Stanley smiled.