A Friend (Stanford Pines x Reader)

The Death of Stanley Pines

"All right, let's try again. What's your name?"

"F/N L/N,"

"What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Stanford Pines,"

"What does he do for a living?"

"He runs a tourist trap called the Murder Hut." You shuffled your feet and averted your gaze to the ground. 

"Bullshit," Stan said flatly. You sighed in frustration and rose from the couch, flailing your hands in the air. "Well, of course you know it's a lie, Stanley!" 

"I told you not to call me, that, Y/N." Stan cut you off. You groaned and balled your hands into fists. "What's even the point of this?"

Unperturbed by your agitation, Stan leaned further against the wall and crossed his arms. "You've got to get good at lyin', Y/N. We can't risk this whole operation being blown because the lies got sloppy."

"And why are you assuming I'll be the one to mess it up?" you retorted.

"I guess you could say I inherited my ma's pathological liar trait. Ford did tell ya she's a pathological liar, didn't he?" Stan asked nonchalantly. 

"I'm sorry I'm not cunning and able to lie at any waking moment, Stan. I'm not exactly having the best time with this, considering the love of my life could be literally anywhere in God knows what health!" As soon as the words left your mouth, your eyes widened as you risked a glance back at Stan. His posture straightened, not expecting that reaction from you. Immediately, the tension in the room rose, heavy silence enveloping you both. Your irritation was brief, slowly being washed away and replaced by guilt. 

Stan was rough around the edges -- that was something you were able to pick up on immediately. The aloof, mullet-haired vagabond lived a hard life, and countless negative experiences closed him off, stunted his social skills, and surely a decade living on the road would do considerable damage on one's mind. Lack of sleep and paranoia was beginning to get to you. It was difficult to get rest when the room you were in was unnervingly quiet, your overactive mind conjuring different, horrifying scenarios. It wasn't your intention to take your frustration out on Stan, even if it was just a quick raise of your voice. 

"He jus' wanted me to help him. Guess I jus' messed up one more thing for him," Stan's voice broke through the thick silence, though your mind was still partially absorbed in its own thoughts. "I should've taken that damn book. None of this woulda happened if I took it," The words were laced with the pain that he failed to fully conceal. He and Ford both had the concerning habit of doing anything they could to hide their negative emotions. There was no doubt in your mind that the habit had been Filbrick's negative influence on them.

"I didn't mean to get mad at you, Stan. I know you have good intentions. I'm sorry. I'm just... frustrated, you know? I'm not blaming it on you. There is no way what happened was your fault. It could have happened at any time,"

"Where is Ford?" he asked, almost instantly after you finished your apology. Caught off guard by the question, you took a few moments to consider your answer. Your memory was whisked back to the unsuccessful test. You haven't seen Fiddleford since it transpired, and truthfully, you weren't sure if you wanted to. You wanted to hope that he had gone back home, reunited with his wife and son, and maybe looked into getting professional help. You wanted him to have healed from the events, but you knew it was just wishful thinking. It did a serious number on the three of you, and if being partially absorbed in the portal for a few seconds was enough to push him over the edge, you couldn't even imagine what it was doing to Ford right now. He's been stranded in there for a week now, and in all honesty, you didn't have an answer for Stan's question. Ford was the one with the knowledge on the portal -- though the knowledge was more than likely lies, considering his muse was a demon -- but even then, he was just as clueless as you were.