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Stanley ran as fast as he could, darting through alleyways and hidden streets as he’d been doing for over seven hours. He was probably being stupid, that much he was aware of, but the situation was too dire to do anything but go for it. He was all too familiar with pursuit and adrenaline, to the point where getting up and running simply came as second nature when he felt someone’s presence following him, closing in rapidly when he’d had no idea what was going on. In the hours following his quick exit, Stanley had put together two vital truths.
First, he was in a different reality of some sort. He’d been told, in theory, that the artifact he and Narrator were retrieving would be able to do that. Still, he hadn’t really believed it…then he’d woken up on unfamiliar pavement after a bit of a snafu with a brand-new sixth sense in his head, which had pretty efficiently made a believer out of him. Also, this reality may or may not have still granted him his powers. Stanley didn’t know, and he had just enough sense to refrain from finding out the hard way if the answer was no.
Second, this reality had a curious quirk in the form of soulmates. People were bound together, some form of supernatural link that allowed them to know the location of each other at all times. He didn’t know too many specifics beyond that, aside from the fact that it usually came with a heavy implication of romance. Either way, it hadn’t stopped him from continuing his flight. Either this person was or wasn’t Narrator, and Stanley really, really didn’t want to know or deal with whatever he’d feel about either answer. Thus, he kept running.
Stanley had thought, for one brief moment, that the question he was avoiding had been answered for him in the negative when someone nearly identical to Narrator - plus a weird amount of blood on his face - popped up in front of him while his soulmate was somewhere behind. But when he locked eyes with the suspiciously-Narrator-like stranger, he noticed that those eyes were piercing blue, not the sharp gold he was familiar with. They’d locked on to him for a split second, stared wide and shocked, then moved on right when Stanley realized that he’d been staring at the wrong guy. He looked like complete hell, covered in dirt and blood, moving slowly but moving nonetheless - and Stanley did his best to shake the image of an injured doppelganger of Narrator out of his mind, unsure why it lingered so persistently.
Stanley’s soulmate was hot on his tail, nearly close enough to grab him by the neck, and Stanley could do nothing but run and hope he was faster than his mysterious new soulmate. And as he ran, another strange doppelganger darted past him, slowly but steadily limping down an alley perpendicular to his own crazed flight - a stranger with his face, his exact face, albeit with a cut on their forehead that Stanley lacked. But Stanley didn’t have much time to dwell on that, racing ahead, nearly but not quite on a collision course with the stranger. And then a voice broke through Stanley’s focus, singular and far too fucking familiar, answering the question of his soulmate’s identity, whether he wanted it answered or not.
“Stanley tripped over himself and fell to the ground,” intoned none other than Narrator, with that specific tone of voice that told Stanley it was backed with his powers.
Stanley had just enough time to think oh, shit before, sure enough, he took a hard misstep and found himself flat on his back on the ground before he could even react to what was happening, barely noticing his strange counterpart hitting the ground in the background.
When Stanley blinked his eyes open and free of the daze of falling so hard, Narrator stood over him, looking singularly unimpressed.
“Really, Stanley?” He asked flatly, and Stanley couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Stanley grumbled, shoving all his emotions down to focus on the fact that Narrator could have stopped him in any other way.
“After the seven - almost eight, really - hours of running you just put me through? Yes, I did,” he shot back as Stanley got back up and brushed himself off.
Then, something occurred to Stanley.
“…Do you even know why you could sense my location at range like that?” He asked.
“I’m sure it’s just a manifestation of my familiarity with your personal threads. Why?” Narrator responded, raising an eyebrow.
Stanley took a deep breath and let it out. He knew he was faced with a choice - confront the awkwardness of telling Narrator what was going on, or let him figure it out on his own if he ever would? But like he often did on their missions when faced with danger, Stanley elected to take the bull directly by the horns and let the consequences fall wherever the fuck they may. Hopefully, it would embarrass Narrator more than Narrator had just embarrassed him.
“This is a different reality,” he started, watching Narrator’s expression carefully.
“I’m aware of that, and unfortunately, our ticket home - or at least, one can assume that artifact works both ways - is missing,” he started, leaning casually against the wall as though nothing was amiss.
“That doesn’t explain why you found it appropriate to run from me like a chicken with its head cut off for eight hours.”
Well, Stanley decided, there was no avoiding it. Best to rip off the band-aid and let Narrator feel the fallout.
“We’re soulmates,” he said, blunt and straightforward, and got to watch Narrator look genuinely shocked for about a half-second before his face settled back into a calmer disbelief.
“What?” He asked, his voice seemingly not having recovered as swiftly as his expression.
“Yep,” Stanley shot back, doing his best to sound completely casual.
“No, that’s ridiculous. Those don’t exist,” Narrator scoffed with an expression on his face somewhere between disbelief and disturbance.
“They do here,” Stanley answered, still maintaining that cavalier tone.
“And? Why on Earth would you assume that?” Narrator nearly demanded, an edge of angry incredulity leaking its way into his tone.
“I found out how it works, and I know it happened to us,” Stanley answered with a shrug.
“That’s still absurd. How would you even know that? Surely I would have noticed whatever you did as well,” Narrator countered, insistent, an expression settling onto his face that Stanley couldn’t read.
“The fact that I could sense your location across blocks isn’t normal, except here. And that’s why you could find me so easily. I know your threads aren’t that good. I know it’s not a coincidence either; I checked,” Stanley explained, taking just an ounce of pity on Narrator’s confusion.
And as Stanley watched, Narrator processed that. And then things visibly clicked together in Narrator’s head, his eyes widening slightly as that unreadable expression flashed into something a man less familiar with him might have described as fear. And then, with no other warning, Narrator turned on his heel and took off running. Stanley stared, left to stand awkwardly in the alleyway and watch Narrator vanish around a corner, much like he had eight hours earlier. For reasons beyond Stanley’s understanding, he was compelled to share an awkward, half-apologetic glance with his bloodied doppelganger as they stood. They looked a little too sympathetic for him to not assume there was somehow context to that for a moment before joining Narrator in making a hasty exit.
Stanley took a deep breath, let out a heavy sigh, and then took off after his wayward co-worker, roommate, and now soulmate. He had a strange feeling that this was going to take a while.