"Wh-Where did you get that?" Fiddleford scrambles backward, hitting the floor hard in his attempt to get away.

"From you." Stan purses his lips as he finishes inputting his directive. He sits up, connecting his gaze with Fiddleford's. A tear streaks down his cheek. More are quick to follow. "You told me to do this every time. For your salvation. So that you might not be tainted by your desires." His voice breaks. "So that you won't burn."

Burn. Fiddleford can burn. He doesn't care. Maybe he's already burning. "Please! Stan, I-"

"I'm sorry, Fidds. I promised you I would keep you safe and pure. Would probably be easier if I could say 'no' to those pretty fucking eyes of yours." He half-chuckles to himself, but it quickly becomes a sob as he climbs to his feet.